"Oh!" cried the child pouting, "don't go, Mr Bayle! I do like being in the garden with you so very, very much!" Mrs Hallam turned her sweet, grave face to him. "Can you give her a few minutes? Julie will be so disappointed." "There," cried Bayle merrily, "you see, doctor, what a little tyrant she grows! She makes every one her slave!" "I don't!" said the child, pouting. "Mamma always says a run in the garden does me so much good, and it will do Mr Bayle good too. Thibs says he works too hard." "Come along, then," he cried laughing; and the man seemed transformed, running off with the child to get a basket, while Millicent gazed after them, her countenance looking brighter, and the old people seemed to have forgotten their troubles, as they gazed smilingly after the pair. "Bless her!" said Mrs Luttrell, swaying herself softly to and fro, and passing her hands along her knees. "Yes, that's the way, Milly. Give her plenty of fresh air, and laugh at me and my tribe." Then quite an eager conversation ensued, Mrs Hallam brightening up; and on both sides every allusion to trouble was, by a pious kind of deception, kept out of sight, Millicent Hallam being in the fond belief that her parents did not even suspect that she was not thoroughly happy, while they were right in thinking that their child was ignorant of the straits to which they had been brought. "Why, we are quite gay this morning!" cried Mrs Luttrell; "or, no: perhaps he comes as a patient, he looks so serious. Ah, Sir Gordon, it is quite an age since you were here?" "Yes, madam; I'm growing old and gouty, and--your servant, Mrs Hallam," he said, raising his hat. "Doctor, I wish I had your health. Ah, how peaceful and pleasant this garden looks! They told me--old Gemp told me--that I should find Bayle here. I called at his lodgings--bless my soul! how can a man with his income live in such a simple way! The woman said he was out visiting, and that old scoundrel said he was here. Egad! I believe the fellow lies in wait to hear everything. Eh? Ah, I'm right, I see!" Just then there was a silvery burst of childish laughter, followed by a deep voice shouting, "Stop thief! stop thief!" Then there was a scampering of feet, and Julia came racing along, with her dark curls flying, and Christie Bayle in full pursuit, right up to the group by the yew hedge. "She ran off with the basket!" cried Bayle. "Did you ever see--Ah, Sir Gordon!" he cried, holding out a currant-stained hand. "Humph!" cried Sir Gordon grimly, raising his glass to his eye, and looking at the big, brown, fruit-stained fingers; "mighty clerical, 'pon my honour, sir! Who do you think is coming to listen to a parson on Sundays who spends his weeks racing about gardens after little girls? No, I'm not going to spoil my gloves; they're new."