"Miss Tinker seems to be enjoying herself," said Nehemiah to Mrs. Jones, after he had duly admired her own numerous offspring whom she had indicated in various quarters of the field. "Is she as nice as she is pretty?" "Yes, she is very nice, and seems fond of the people. She spoils the children though,--my husband is sometimes a little put out. She does not take life seriously enough, she says, and he is vexed she won't be baptised, though she is quite old enough to become a full church member. I asked her if she had religious scruples that Mr. Jones could assist her to banish; but she only laughed and said the immersion costume of the girls was hideous enough to account for a bushel of scruples without searching further. But then you know she is Mr. Tinker's niece, and I daresay she is indulged too much at home." Nehemiah did not think this very likely, but, all the same, he replied that it was a great pity. "Do you now," he said, "I have never had the pleasure of meeting Miss Tinker in society. She doesn't go out much. I fancy. Would you mind----?" "Certainly, Mr. Wimpenny, if you wish it. See, she is resting now and fanning herself with that outlandish hat of hers. Shall we join her?" And presently the diplomatic Wimpenny was making a somewhat exaggerated bow before the heiress of Wilberlee. And Tom's eyes followed the graceful girl as she walked by the side of Nehemiah, chatting gaily and seeming well content with his companionship; and Tom plunged his hands deep into his pockets and stalked moodily with clouded brow about the field, deaf to every entreaty from tempting lips to "choose the girl that he loved best," and feeling that for him life had lost its zest. The blue of the sky was dulled, the music of the lark soaring in the azure might have been the cawing of the rooks, and the gentle summer breeze that scarce stirred the leaves an icy blast from eastern shores. "What a fool I am, crying for the moon. I, Tom Pinder, apprentice to Jabez Tinker, Esquire and Justice of the Peace. Go to yonder rosy faced weaver with sparkling eyes and towzled hair. _She_ will lend a ready ear, you can send her home to-night, her heart in a tumult of delight; in her dreams heaven will open to her, and she will wake with your name upon her lips. Or go down yonder to the _Clothiers' Arms_. There are some jolly fellows there, and you will be all the more welcome because you have been set down as a strait-laced, sour-faced curmudgeon with lead in your veins for blood. Go drink with them and join in their drunken chorus; better that than eat your heart out after fruit that is not for you." And so with head down-bent he makes for where he had left Hannah and Lucy; and in his abstraction nearly walks into Wimpenny and Dorothy. Mrs. Jones had remembered the wise saying that two are company and three are none.