Mrs. Falconer never betrayed what was indeed the truth, that the sound of Piers' crutches as they tapped across the old stone pavement of the hall, sent a thrill of sorrow through her breast, and that when Piers was laid up, as was not unfrequently the case, with an attack of pain in the hip which had been so severely injured, she avoided being much with him, and left him to Joyce, because the sight of his suffering brought back the memory of that morning when she saw him clinging with a frightened face to Rioter's back, and heard her husband say, "Don't make a coward of the boy: his brothers rode long before his age." She knew too well how bitter had been her husband's self-reproaches, and she dreaded adding to them by any impulsive, unguarded word of her own. Thus it was that Joyce was sister, mother, and friend to her lame brother. Their lives were bound up together, and the bond strengthened as time went on. It was sufficient reward for Joyce to know that, however irritable when in pain, or depressed sometimes by a sudden reminder of his helplessness when contrasted with his brother's independence and vigour, she could always be sufficient to charm away the cloud by her own sunny brightness, and that by making his interests hers, she never let him think she did anything for him, which was not a real pleasure to herself. The secret of heart service lies in this, that those who are served never know it to its full extent, and that any effort that may be made, or any trouble that may be taken, is so hidden under the mantle of all-pervading love that it is often wholly unsuspected. When the giver is as happy as the receiver, the gift, in whatever form, is sweetened and enhanced a hundred fold. CHAPTER VI. AMONGST THE HEATHER. Gilbert Arundel's visit to Fair Acres extended far beyond the limit of a week. He felt every day more absorbed by the simple, happy life, in which, as Joyce had said, Melville was the only cloud. He was an universal favourite. A man who has been accustomed to yield respect and courtesy to his own mother, seldom fails in yielding it to the mothers of his friends. If anyone in the household at Fair Acres was dissatisfied it was Melville himself, who found that his friend had been so entirely taken possession of by his brothers and sister, and was held in such high esteem by his father and mother, that his own light was effectually put out. The twins, Harry and Bunny, came to him about fly-fishing, and Ralph consulted him as to a difficult passage in his Homer; while he spent a whole morning in helping Piers to re-arrange his moths and butterflies, and to look out their names with greater precision in a book he had actually borrowed from the Palace at Wells, for this purpose. All the time Joyce went about her accustomed duties: darned Melville's socks, mended the schoolboys' clothes, and was every morning assisting her mother in her household duties.