"I am afraid this is hard for you, Mattie," Grace had said to her, as the sisters were unpacking late the previous night. "I ought not be so happy to come, when I know I am turning you out." And Mattie had winked away a tear, and answered, quite cheerily,-- "Oh, no, Grace; you must not feel that. I have had a nice time, and enjoyed myself so much with dear Archie, and now it is your turn; and, you know, he has always wanted you from the first." "Poor dear fellow!" murmured Grace; "but he looks thin, Mattie. Perhaps I ought to be here, as he wants me; but I shall never keep his house as beautifully as you have done. Mother would be astonished if she saw it." And this piece of well-deserved praise went far to console Mattie that night. But she began to feel just a little sore at breakfast-time. Once or twice, Archie decidedly ignored her, and turned to Grace; he even brought her his gloves to mend, though Mattie had been his faithful mender all these months. "Come into the study, and we will have a talk, Grace," he had said, and as Grace had involuntarily waited for her sister to accompany them, he had-added, hastily: "Oh, Mattie is always busy at this time with butchers and bakers! Come along, Grace:" and, though Mattie had no such business on her hands, she dared not join them. It was only when a parish meeting called the young vicar away that Mattie bethought herself of the Challoners. Poor Mattie! Low spirits were not much in her line. She had never thought enough of herself to indulge in the luxury of wounded susceptibility,--the atmosphere that surrounded her had been too rough and bracing for that; but nevertheless this afternoon she longed to indulge in a good cry. Happily, however, before the first tear had begun to redden her eyelids--indeed, she hardly got her mouth into the proper pucker--a vigorous pull at the bell warned her of an impending visitor, and immediately afterwards Sir Harry marched into the room, looking ruddier than ever with the cold air and exercise, his warm coloring kindling a glow in the room. His heavy footsteps shook the old flooring of the vicarage; but as he greeted Mattie he looked round him, as though somewhat surprised to find her alone. "How do you do, Miss Mattie? Why, what have you done with your sister?" he asked, in rather a disappointed tone. "I came to have a chat with you both." Another little sting for Mattie: he had only come to see Grace. "She has gone out with Archie," she returned, in a subdued voice. "He is showing her the church and the schools." "I was up at the Friary just now," he said, carelessly, "and they were all talking about your sister, praising her up to the skies. What an odd capacity women have for falling in love with each other at first sight! Phillis especially seemed very far gone. So I told them I would just come and have a good look at this paragon: one cannot judge of a person in a hat and veil."