"Going to save it for your wedding-day?" Jenny felt very little inclined for jests; the rather since she was beginning to feel extremely doubtful if she would ever have any wedding-day at all. She felt instinctively that a jewel such as King Charles's clasp was not fit for her to wear. Tom would not like to see it, she well knew; he detested anything which looked like ostentation. And, perhaps, Christ would not like it too. Would it not interfere with the wearing of that other ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, with which He desired His handmaidens to adorn themselves? Jenny resolved that she would not put on the clasp. "No, Kate, I shouldn't like to wear it," she said quietly. "I've got it put by safe, and you can see it whenever you have a mind: but it's best there." "Thou'rt right, my lass," said old Mrs Lavender. "Well, I shouldn't like you to lose it, of course," admitted Kate. Jenny fancied, and with a heavy heart, that Tom carefully avoided speaking to her in the churchyard. Old Anthony and Persis had a kind word for her, but though Tom went away in their company, carrying his aunt's books, he never came up to speak with Jenny. It distressed her the more because Kate said afterwards: "Have you had words with Tom Fenton, Jenny? I asked him if he'd a grudge against you, that he never spoke." "What did he say?" asked Jenny quickly. "He didn't say neither yea nor nay," answered Kate, laughing. The afternoon brought several young people, and there was, as usual, plenty of mirth and chatter. Jenny felt utterly out of tune for it, and slipped out of the back door into the lane. She went slowly up, feeling very low-spirited, and wondering what God was going to do with her. When she came to the gate of the bean-field--the place where Tom had overtaken her a few evenings before--she stopped, and resting her arms upon the gate, watched the sun sinking slowly to the west. Thinking herself quite alone, she said aloud, sorrowfully--"Oh dear! I wonder if I've never done anything but make mistakes all my life!" "Ay, we made one the other night, didn't we?" said a voice behind her. Jenny kept her start to herself. "Yes, we did, Tom," she replied soberly. "I've made a many afore now," said Tom gravely. "Not so many as me," answered Jenny, sorrowfully. "Tell me your biggest, Jenny, and you shall hear mine." "There's no doubt of that, Tom. The biggest mistake ever I made was when I fancied God's service was all gloom and dismalness." "Right you are, Jenny. That's about the biggest anybody can make. But what was the second, now?" "Oh look, Tom, those, lovely colours!" cried Jenny, suddenly seized with a fervent admiration for the sunset. "Them red streaks over the gold, and the purple away yonder--isn't it beautiful?" "It is, indeed. But that second mistake, Jenny?" "Nay, I was to hear your biggest, you know," said Jenny slily.