I was too angry to trust myself with a word, and I turned back to where the rest of the family were standing, looking at a pair of hawks which Andrew had taken from the nest and trained himself; for, sailor as he was, he was very fond of field sports, specially of hawking. I placed myself at his side, and began admiring and petting the hawks, which I had often fed till they were fond of me. Andrew looked pleased. "I shall leave them in your care," said he; "only old Joslyns must take them out now and then or they will forget how to fly." "I am sure I shall like to have them," said I. "And, Andrew, will you get me a new hare's-foot for Dame Penaluna? She says hers does no good because it was cut off below the first joint." "What does she want it for—to paint her face withal?" asked Andrew. "That is what the fine ladies use them for, is it not?" "So I have heard," I answered, laughing; "but the dame wants hers as a spell against the colic." "She shall have it," said Andrew, and again he looked pleased, as he always did when I made any little request, which was not often, for I had grown shy of him of late. "You seem to be in the confidence of all the old women in the hamlet, from what I hear. What do you do to make them like you so much?" "I don't know, unless it be that I listen to their stories," I answered. "I think old folks usually do like that. They like to tell, and I like to hearken, so we are both suited." "Vevette is practising her part beforehand," said Betty, who had followed me back to the green. "She means to be perfect in it by the time she comes to be Lady of the Manor. My mother has never had time to do so much listening." Andrew shot one of his fiery glances at his sister, while I was so confused and so angry both at once that I could not say a word. I was going into the house when he called me and asked me to walk with him to the end of the lane and look out upon the sea. Betty said she would go too, but Margaret called her back rather sharply, to my great joy, for I hardly felt like keeping terms with her, and I was determined not to quarrel if I could help it. "You must not mind poor Betty," said Andrew. (Why is the most exasperating member of a family always spoken of as poor so and so?) "She has always been the contrary feather in the family nest, ever since she was born." "I do not mean to mind her," said I, "if only she would not make mischief. But I think it is too bad in her to lead me on to tell her about London and my uncle and aunt there, and then go and tell your mother, as if it had been all my doing. And then—but there, what is the use?" I added. "You cannot understand, and there is no need of troubling you with the matter. Only I wish we had stayed in Jersey—that is all," I concluded, with a quiver in my voice. Andrew pressed my hand, and we were silent a few minutes. Then he said, "I have a favor to ask of you, Vevette." "I am glad of it," said I, as indeed I was. "What can I do for you?"