Two small children were coming along the road towards me, hand-in-hand, through the heat--a boy and a girl; who, drawing near and spying my long legs sprawling out into the dust, came to a stand, finger in mouth. "Hullo, my dears!" I called out, "what are you doing out in this weather?" The children stared at one another, and were silent. The girl was about eight years old, wore a smart pink frock and sash, a big pink sun-bonnet, and carried an apple with a piece bitten out. She seemed a little lady; whereas the boy wore corduroys and a battered straw hat, and was a clod. Both children were exceedingly dusty and hot in the cheeks. Finally, the girl disengaged her hand and stepped forward-- "If you please, sir, are you a clergyman?" Now this confused me a good deal; for, to tell the truth, I had worn a white tie in my younger days, before. . . So I sat up and asked why she wished to know. "Because we want to be married." I drew a long breath, looked from her to the boy, and asked-- "Is that so?" "She's wishful," answered he, nodding sulkily. "Oho!" I thought; "Adam and Eve and the apple, complete. Do you love each other?" I asked. "I adore Billy," cried the little maid "he's the stable-boy at the 'Woolpack' in Blea-kirk--" "So I am beginning to smell," I put in. --"and we put up there last night--father and I. We travel in a chaise. And this morning in the stable I saw Billy for the first time, and to see him is to love. He is far below me in station, --ain't you, Billy dear? But he rides beautifully, and is ever so strong, and not so badly ed--educated as you would fancy: he can say all his 'five-times.' And he worships me,--don't you, Billy?" "Washups," said Billy, stolidly. "Do you mean to tell me you have trotted in this sun all the way from Bleakirk?" I inquired. The girl nodded. She was a splendid child--dark-haired, proud of chin, and thoroughbred down to her very toes. And the looks of fondness she threw at that stable-urchin were as good as a play. "And what will you do," I asked, "when you are married?" "Go home and ask my father's forgiveness. He is proud; but very, very kind." I told them I was a clergyman, and began to cast round in my mind what to do next; for the marriage service of the Church isn't exactly the thing to repeat to two babes, and the girl was quick enough to detect and resent any attempt at fooling. So at last I persuaded them to sit together under the gorse-bush, and told them that matrimony was a serious matter, and that a long exhortation was necessary. They settled themselves to listen. Having been twice married, I did not lack materials for a discourse. Indeed, when I talk of married life, it is a familiar experience with me to be carried away by my subject. Nor was I altogether surprised, on looking up after half an hour's oratory, to find the little ones curled in each other's arms, fast asleep.