Before he finished, his great carving-knife was playing a tune in that skilful way peculiar to butchers, upon a silver-mounted steel, while the vicar looked aghast and George Canninge stooped down to hide a smile. It was quite an insult when the vicar was present but in the innocency of his heart, Mr William Forth Burge was hoping the joints were done, and eager to begin. "Now, gentlemen, carve away, please," he shouted. "Other ladies and gentlemen and servants, please pass the plates and 'taters. I want the youngsters to have a good dinner to-day. Now, Thomas," he cried to his coachman, who had just set down a pile of plates, "you lay hold of that--that spoon, and do nothing but ladle out gravy to every plate." As he spoke, he was slicing off in the most skilful way prime sirloin of beef, and, smiling with delight, he said that it was done to a turn, as he called it. "I chose every joint myself," he said to one. "Pass the plates quick. See that they have plenty of 'taters, ladies. Eat away, girls." The visitors, after a few moments' awkward hesitation, turned themselves into waiters, and the carvers had a tremendous time, for quite two hundred hearty girls and boys were eating with all the enjoyment of their young healthy appetites. "More! That's right!" cried the young squire. "I beg your pardon, Miss--I really don't know your name; I'm afraid I've splashed your dress." "Pray don't mention it," said Hazel quietly, for she had been busily handing plates, looking brighter and happier than she had appeared for months. "I'm quite envious of our host," said Canninge the next time Hazel brought a plate. "He carves beautifully, and I've hacked my joint to pieces." "Send your knife up here, Mr Canninge," roared Mr W.F.B. from the other end of the table. "I'll give it a touch on my steel." "Will you allow me?" said Hazel, who was the only waiter near. "No, really, I could not think of--Well, if you will--" "There." He had paused to wipe the rather greasy handle upon his white handkerchief, and then, in passing the knife, their hands just touched-- a mere touch, and Hazel had gone. The meat had disappeared, the puddings and pies had followed, and, turned waiter now, the young squire had merrily passed along the plates, till the time for rising had nearly arrived, when accident once more placed him beside Hazel. "Your girls have thoroughly enjoyed themselves, Miss Thorne," he said, for he had learned her name now from one of the elder children--Feelier Potts, to wit. "Oh, most thoroughly," said Hazel, smiling brightly and with genuine pleasure. "It is delightful to see them so happy." "Do you see that Beatrice?" whispered Miss Lambent from the other end of the tent. "Yes." "Grace next I suppose? Oh, there is my mother beckoning to me, Miss Thorne," said the squire hastily, "it is a pity to have so pleasant an affair spoiled. Would you mind hinting to Mr Burge that he should ask the vicar to say grace!"