"Gwen, you're not jealous?" Father's voice was just a trifle anxious. "No, no!" gulped Gwen emphatically. "Lesbia's a darling; I don't wonder people are fond of her. But oh, Dad, it is hard sometimes to be left out in the cold!" "Very hard. Many older and wiser people than you have felt that. Yet to bear neglect well is one of the bravest things in life. Don't worry about not being appreciated; your own self-respect is worth more to you than the opinion of other people. If you're quite sure you're doing your duty, you can afford to ignore what the world thinks." "I don't know why I should be so unpopular," sighed Gwen, squeezing Father's hand tightly, and rubbing her cheek against his coat sleeve, as if there were something comforting in the very feel of the cloth. "You must live it down. It may take a long time, and a great deal of patience, but I'm sure you'll win, and the girls will be proud of you yet." "Proud! They may get to tolerate me, but I don't believe I'll ever make them like me, Daddy!" "Courage! We never know what we can do till we try. If you want to be liked, make yourself wanted. Good night, childie! Cheer up! The world's not such a bad place, after all." "Not while you're in it!" said Gwen, kissing the dear, plain face that was so like her own. CHAPTER VII Dick Chambers Since the afternoon when Gwen had stopped behind in Stedburgh to arrange about the broken china, and had been obliged to walk home, she had seen nothing more of Dick Chambers. She looked out for him every morning on the bus, but he was not there, and she was just wondering what had become of him when he turned up in the most unexpected quarter. It was the Saturday morning after the prize-giving. Saturday was a whole holiday, and therefore a blissful day, every moment of which was appreciated. Gwen was returning about ten o'clock from an errand she had been sent to do in the village, and as she opened the Parsonage gate she saw in the middle of the front walk a boyish figure that looked familiar. "Hello! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed. "Come on business of a rather particular character," grinned Dick. "Didn't you know your Father's coaching me?" "He never said so!" "He is, though. I'm to come three days a week, from nine to ten, and I've just made a start this morning. I say, he's a ripping chap!" "I agree with you there," remarked Gwen. "But why aren't you going to school?" "Thereby hangs a tale! I happened to do an idiotic thing one afternoon--fainted in the lab, and had to be picked up in the midst of fragments of glass that I'd smashed to smithereens. Then Dad got some wretched specialist to come down and see me, and the fellow said I must stop school for this term at any rate." "Oh, I'm so sorry! Do you feel ill?" "No. I'm all right--but it's rather rotten, for I'm knocked off 'footer'." "How sickening for you! I know how wild I should be if I mightn't play hockey. What may you do?" "Only just loaf about--not even golf."