"Yes; don't look so distressed about it. My father is at the Petty Sessions at Raheenduff. This is the first day he takes his seat on the bench. And here am I, like the little boy in the story, who had no one to play with, and appealed to all the insects in turn, but they were all too busy. Miss Hilda, are you too busy, or may I sit down here?" "You may, if you will tell me first which of the insects I represent?" I said severely. "It's too hard, Miss Hilda. Let it be a bird or a flower," he said with imploring eyes. I passed over the suggestion in silence. Then I rushed awkwardly into a subject which had been much in my mind. "I was glad you met my sister yesterday. I have always wanted you to meet her." "Thank you. I was very pleased to meet her," he said simply. "She is my chum of all the family," I said. "I think there is no one like Esther." "She is a very lovely creature," he answered. "You remembered her again?" I asked. "No," he said, looking at me questioningly. "Did I see her before?" Well, I don't mind confessing that a little wave of joy rushed over my heart. I could hardly keep my voice still as I answered him, for I had told myself so often that his eyes that day long ago must have been for Esther. "Why, of course," said I. "She was with me that day at Annagassan races." "I only saw one face there," he said softly. "Miss Pettigrew's?" I asked mischievously. "Miss Pettigrew!" he repeated in astonishment. "Yes, you remember you were walking with her when you first passed close to our shandrydan early in the day?" "Ah! I remember; I had forgotten her name. Someone, a man in my regiment, had asked me to take her to see the leaping at the stone wall. I never saw her afterwards. But"--with a flash of triumph--"you noticed me then and remembered me?" "I couldn't help it. You were looking at us when I was capering about because an Irish horse had won." "I can see you now," he said. "Don't, please!" I cried out. "I must have looked too silly." "Shall I tell you how you looked?" My eyes dropped before his, and I trembled, but I said nothing. "I will tell you then. I thought you the dearest, sweetest, softest little white-and-gold girl in all the world." "Oh!" I cried out, and held my fingers tightly across my eyes. "You couldn't. I am Hilda the Ugly Duckling. How could you look at me when Esther was there?" "Perhaps I like ugly ducklings," he said. "And I have a lame foot!" I cried. "Dear little foot! We will cure it." I removed my fingers from before my eyes and said: "The Dublin doctor said it would cure itself. I am not nearly as lame as I used to be." "Ah! that is a good thing," he answered, laughing; "but even if it were not curable, do you think that would come between us?" I said nothing, not quite knowing what to say. "Come down here, you white witch," he said next, "or am I to climb your ladder for you?" "Oh, I will come down," I said, "but why?"