"Even to the persecution of Dr. Easterby," put in Julius. "And yet he is the great supporter of that abominable public-house in Water Lane, the Three Pigeons--which, unluckily, escaped the fire. He owns it, and all those miserable tenements beyond it, and nothing will move him an inch towards doing any good there!" "I remember," said Jenny, "papa came home very angry on the licensing day; the police had complained of the Three Pigeons, and the magistrates would have taken away the license, but that Mr. Moy made such a personal matter of it." "You don't mean that he is a magistrate!" exclaimed Julius. "Yes," said Raymond. "He got the ear of the Lord-Lieutenant." "And since he has lived at the Lawn, they have all quite set up for county people or anything you please," said Jenny, a little bitterly. "Mrs. Moy drives about with the most stylish pair of ponies; and as to Miss Gussie, she is making herself into a proverb! I can't bear them." "Well done, Jenny!" exclaimed Julius. "Perhaps it is wrong," said Jenny, in a low voice. "I dare say I am not just. You know I always did think Mr. Moy could have cleared Archie if he would," she added, with a slightly trembling tone. "So did I," said Raymond. "I gave him the opportunity after George Proudfoot's death; but when the choice lay between two memories, one could hardly wonder if he preferred to shield his brother-in-law." "Or himself!" said Jenny, under her breath. "Come, Jenny," said Julius, feeling that the moment for interruption had come, "it is time we should be off. Methinks there are sounds as if the whole canine establishment at Mrs. Hornblower's were prancing up to meet us." So it proved; and Jenny had to run the gauntlet through the ecstasies of all the dogs, whose ecclesiastical propriety was quite overthrown, for they danced about her to the very threshold of the church, and had to have the door shut on their very noses. That drop of bitterness, which her sad brief story could not fail to have left in poor Joanna's heart, either passed out of mind in what followed, or was turned into the prayer, "And to turn their hearts;" and she was her bright self again for her promised assistance at the school. Then Herbert's address was, "Come, Joan, I promised to take you to see the Reeves's pheasant at the Outwood Lodge. Such a jolly old woman!" "The pheasant?" "No; the keeper's mother. Tail a yard long! I don't see why we shouldn't turn them out at home. If father won't take it up, I shall write to Phil." "Thank you, Herbs. Hadn't you better secure a little reading first? I could wait; I've got to write to Will." "The post doesn't go till five." "But I want to get it done. The mail goes to-morrow." "You'll do it much better after a walk. I can't understand anything after the fumes of the school, unless I do a bit of visiting first; and that pheasant is a real stunner. It really is parish work, Jenny. Look here, this is what I'm reading her."