It was a warm, brilliant day; one of those lovely days that sometimes come in spring, presenting so great a contrast with the past winter, and raising many a heart to Heaven. As she sat there, Benja darted in. The door was not firmly closed, and the child pushed it open triumphantly and flew to Mrs. St. John, black as any little tinker: hands, face, dress, a sight to be seen. She wore a charming gown of apple-green figured silk, and a coquettish little lace head-dress, fastened with large gold pins. "Benja, what have you been doing to yourself?" Benja laid his little black hands on her gown, and told her a tale not very easy to be understood--his grey eyes laughing, his pretty teeth glistening. Brave had run somewhere, and Benja had run after him, and the two--or perhaps only Benja--had fallen down by the cocks and hens, where it was dirty. And they had _stayed_ down apparently, and rolled about together. "Then Benja's a naughty boy to get himself into such a state," she cried, having quickly interposed her handkerchief between the silk and the dirty hands. "Where's Honour?" Benja broke into a merry laugh. He had contrived to double upon Honour and evade her, while she was looking for him. The child kept his place at her knee, and chattered on in his imperfect language. Mrs. St. John did not give herself further trouble to understand it; she fell into a reverie, her fingers unconsciously rambling amidst the child's fair curls. "Oh! so you are here, sir!" exclaimed Honour, looking in. "My goodness! I've been all over the house after you." "Me wid mamma," chattered Benja. "And a fine pickle you are in, to be with your mamma, naughty child!" "You should not let him get into this state, Honour." "It's not my fault, ma'am; he ran away from me after the dog." "Take him into the nursery," concluded Mrs. St. John, turning her eyes again to the window and the winding road. Honour carried him away, talking lovingly to him--that he was a sad little boy to make himself so dirty, and dirty little boys never went to heaven, unless they got clean again. And Mrs. Carleton St. John sat on, dreamily watching. The first thing that aroused her from it was the sound of voices outside. She looked out and saw Honour and Benja. Master Benja was now dressed in a handsome green velvet tunic, and looked as if he had just come out of a bandbox. Honour had her things on for walking. "Where are you going?" inquired Mrs. St. John. "Me going to see papa," responded Benja, before Honour could speak, his eyes bright, and his cheeks glowing. "I am taking him to meet the carriage, ma'am." "But----" Mrs. St. John was beginning, and then suddenly stopped; and Honour was half scared at the blank look and the momentary flash of anger that succeeded each other on her face. "Why should you take him there?" she resumed. "He will see his papa soon enough at home." "Why should I not take him, ma'am?" rejoined Honour, quite respectfully, but in a bold spirit.