Cris broke into a shrill, derisive whistle. It was being prolonged to an apparently interminable length, when he found himself rudely seized from behind. "Is that the way you walk home from church, Christopher Chattaway? Whistling!" Cris looked round and saw Miss Trevlyn. "Goodness, Aunt Diana! are you going to shake me?" "Walk along as a gentleman should, then," returned Miss Trevlyn. She went on. Miss Chattaway walked by her side, not deigning to cast a word or a look to the boys as she swept past. Gliding up behind them, holding the hand of Maude, was gentle Mrs. Chattaway. They all wore black silk dresses and white silk bonnets: the apology for mourning assumed for Mr. Ryle. But the gowns were not new; and the bonnets were the bonnets of the past summer, with the coloured flowers removed. Mrs. Chattaway slackened her pace, and George found himself at her side. She seemed to linger, as if she would speak with him unheard by the rest. "Are you pretty well, my dear?" were her first words. "You look taller and thinner, and your face is pale." "I shall look paler before I have been much longer in the shop, Mrs. Chattaway." Mrs. Chattaway glanced her head timidly round with the air of one who fears she may be heard. But they were alone now. "Are you grieving, George?" "How can I help it?" he passionately answered, feeling that he could open his heart to Mrs. Chattaway as he could to no one else in the wide world. "Is it a proper thing to put me to, dear Mrs. Chattaway?" "I said it was not," she murmured. "I remarked to Diana that I wondered Maude should place you there." "It was not my mother so much as Mr. Chattaway," he answered, forgetting possibly that it was Mr. Chattaway's wife to whom he spoke. "At times, do you know, I feel as though I would almost rather be--be----" "Be what, dear?" "Be dead, than remain there." "Hush, George!" she cried, almost with a shudder. "Random figures of speech never do any good! I have learnt it. In the old days, when----" She suddenly broke off and glided forward without further notice. As she passed she caught up the hand of Maude, who was then walking by the side of the boys. George looked round for the cause of desertion, and found it in Mr. Chattaway. That gentleman was coming along with a quick step, one of his younger children in his hand. The Chattaways turned off towards Trevlyn Hold, and George walked on with Treve. "Do you know how things are going on at home, Treve, between my mother and Chattaway?" asked George. "Chattaway's a miserable screw," was Treve's answer. "He'd like to grind down the world, and doesn't let a chance escape him. Mamma says it's a dreadful sum he has put upon her to pay yearly, and she does not see how the farm will do it, besides keeping us. I wish we were clear of him! I wish I was as big as you, George! I'd work my arms off, but I'd get together the money to pay him!" "I'm not allowed to work," said George. "They have thrust me away from the farm."