"Oh, yes, I will," said Hazel, nodding to him. "As if he were her equal," said Miss Lambent indignantly; while, hurrying to the end of the table. Hazel was just in time to whisper to the host. "Why, of course," he said. "What a stupid! Thank you. Miss Thorne. Mr Lambent!" he cried aloud, "would you be kind enough to say grace?" Out in the field then, with the sun shining, the band playing, and plenty of enjoyment for the schools, which were separated by a rope stretched from one end to the other. Races were run for prizes of all kinds, and, full of animation, while the vicar stood with his hands behind him patronisingly looking on, the young squire was the life and soul of the affair, and ready with a dozen fresh ideas to suggest to the host. There were prizes for the fastest runners, prizes for the slowest, for the first in and the last in, for jumps and hops, and the best singers, and the worst singers, scramblings, blindfold-walking, sports galore. Hazel forgot her troubles, and with Miss Burge's help she was always the centre, of some new sport or game; Cissy and Mabel being like a pair of attendant fairies, ready to be seized upon by Mr Canninge as the bearers of the prizes that were to be won. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I never saw George so full of spirits before," said Mrs Canninge to Rebecca Lambent as they sat in a garden-chair looking on. "I should say he will have a bad headache afterwards," replied that lady. "Oh, no, he is fond of athletics and that sort of thing. Charming young person, your new schoolmistress, Beatrice dear," she continued. "Very ladylike and well-spoken." "Yes, a very well educated person," said Beatrice coldly. "The squire's a brick, that's what he is, Betsey," said the host, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief, about five o'clock. "I tell you what, I'm about tired out. Now, look here, you go in and get yourself a cup of tea, or you'll be done up, and if you're as wise as I take you to be, you'll put just a pinch of ody-wee in the cup. It'll be all over at six, and then well have a comfortable dinner." "But what are you going to do, Bill!" "To do? I'm going to fetch that girl in to have a cup of tea with you. Bless her, she's worked like a slave. No, I won't it's all right, I'll take in her mother. Poor old lady, no one seemed to speak to her. Look at that now. That's what I call a genuine English gentleman, Betsey. Here, hi! Mr Chute, that'll do; now come up to the house, let them play by themselves. I say, Betsey, this has been a day!"