“Oh, grandpapa has gone to Orton; there is only me at home; you see, Miss Fenton does not count. If you want Aunt Gay I will show you the way to the kitchen garden.” And as Mr. Rossiter accepted this offer with alacrity, they went off together. We were going down to the beach that morning, and I was only waiting for Hannah to get the perambulator ready, but as a quarter of an hour elapsed and Rolf did not make his appearance, Joyce and I went in search of him. I found him standing by the beehives, talking to Miss Cheriton and Mr. Rossiter. They all looked very happy, and Mr. Rossiter was laughing at something the boy had said; such a ringing, boyish laugh it was. When I called Rolf they all looked round, and Miss Cheriton came forward to speak to me. I thought she looked a little uncomfortable, and I never saw her with such a colour. “Are you going down to the beach? I wish I could come too, it is such a lovely morning, but Mr. Rossiter wants me to go to the schools; Miss Parsons, the schoolmistress, is ill, and they need help. It is so tiresome,” speaking with a pettish, spoilt-child air, turning to the young clergyman; “Miss Parsons always does get ill at inconvenient times.” “I know you would not fail us if it were ever so inconvenient,” answered Mr. Rossiter, looking full at her—he had such nice clear eyes; “you are far too kind to desert us in such a strait.” But she made no answer to this, and went back to the beehive, and after a moment’s irresolution Mr. Rossiter followed her. “Do you like Mr. Rossiter?” asked Rolf, in his blunt way, as we walked down the avenue. “I do, awfully; he is such a brick. He plays cricket with me sometimes, and he has promised to teach me to swim, only mother won’t let him, in spite of all grandpapa says about my being brought up like a girl. Grandpapa means me to learn to swim and ride, only mother is so frightened ever since the black pony threw me. I am to have a quieter one next year.” “Have you known Mr. Rossiter long?” I asked, carelessly. “Oh, pretty long. Mother can’t bear him coming so often to the house; she says he is so awkward, and then he is poor. Mother doesn’t like poor people; she always says it is their own fault; that they might get on better. Do you know, Fenny, Mr. Rossiter has only two little rooms at Mrs. Saunders’, you know that low house looking on the cornfields; quite poky little rooms they are, because mother and I went there. Mother asked him if he did not find it dreadfully dull at Netherton, and he laughed and said, ‘Oh, dear no;’ he had never been more comfortable; the people at Netherton were so kind and hospitable; and though mother does not like him, he comes just as often as though she did.” And I soon verified Rolf’s words; Mr. Rossiter came very often to Marshlands. (_To be continued._) I ONLY WISH I HAD. BY MEDICUS.