July is so near crying that she must be answered. “Nobody is to blame; there is no harm,” said Menie, quickly, leading her back to her seat--quickly, with an imperative hush and haste, which throws July back into timid silence, and sets all her faculties astir to listen, too. But there comes no sound into this quiet room--not even the footsteps which have passed out of hearing upon the garden path, nor so much as an echo of the voices which Menie knows to be engaged in converse which must decide her fate. But this restless and visible solicitude will not do; it is best to take up her work resolutely, and sit down with her intent face turned towards the window, from which at least the first glance of them may be seen as they return. No,--no need to start and blush and tremble; this step, ringing light upon the path, is not the stately step of Randall--not our mother’s sober tread. “It’s no them, Menie--it’s just Miss Laurie,” whispers little startled July from the corner of the window. So long away--so long away--and Menie cannot tell whether it is a good or evil omen--but still they do not come. “My sweet children, are you here alone?” said Miss Annie, setting down her little basket “Menie, love, I have just surprised your mamma and Mr Randall, looking very wise, I assure you; you ought to be quite thankful that you are too young to share such deliberations. July, dear, you must come and have your lesson; but I cannot teach you to play that favourite tune,--oh no, it would be quite improper,--though he has very good taste, has he not, darling? But somebody will say I have designs upon Mr Lithgow, if I always play his favourite tune.” So saying, Miss Annie sat down before the piano, and began to sing, “For bonnie Annie Laurie I’ll lay down my head and dee.” Poor Johnnie Lithgow had no idea, when he praised the pretty little graceful melody and delicate verses, that he was paying a compliment to the lady of Heathbank. And July, with a blush, and a little timid eagerness, stole away to Miss Annie’s side. July had never before touched any instrument except Menie Laurie’s old piano at Burnside, and with a good deal of awe had submitted to Miss Annie’s lessons. It did seem a very delightful prospect to be able to play this favourite tune, though July would have thought very little of it, but for Miss Annie’s constant warnings. Thanks to these, however, and thanks to his own kindly half-shy regards, Johnnie Lithgow’s favourite tunes, favourite books, favourite things and places, began to grow of great interest to little July Home. She thought it was very foolish to remember them all, and blushed in secret when Johnnie Lithgow’s name came into her mind as an authority; but nevertheless, in spite of shame and blushing, a great authority Johnnie Lithgow had grown, and July stood by the piano, eager and afraid, longing very much to be as accomplished as Miss Annie, to be able to play his favourite tune.