At this moment up rode Harry Thorsby, and soon came rapidly in. “Well, you won’t go to this party at Fair Manor, of course?” “We are all going,” said Mr. Woodburn, with a sort of brusque jollity. “You are?” And Thorsby looked silently from one to another. “Not Letty, though?” he added. “Yes, Letty and all,” said Mr. Woodburn. “Are not you a little cracked?” asked Thorsby, gravely. “After what passed lately—why, I can scarcely credit my senses.” “It’s all right,” said Mr. Woodburn. “I will pledge my wisdom that all will be most innocent, and, I dare say, rather amusing.” “_Very_ amusing, I should think,” said Thorsby, laughing. “Nay, then, if you are all going, I am going, and I shall try to make a little fun, if possible; but if I see any sermon coming, I shall seize on you, Letty, and run right off with you. But I can’t imagine, for the life of me, how we are to get through the evening.” “Oh, but they can teach you how to save money,” said Letty, mischievously; “and what can be pleasanter? That Mr. Fairfax showed my father how to save seventy pounds the other day.” “That would be charming, indeed!” said Thorsby. “That settles the whole question.” “We shall see what they will do,” said Mr. Woodburn. So it was concluded to accept the invitation; and Harry Thorsby was entrusted with the note to that effect to leave at the lodge in passing. The evening of the appointed day saw the Woodburns driving up towards Fair Manor. Other carriages were seen approaching from Castleborough, indicating that it was to be a considerable gathering. It was a lovely evening. The day had been cloudless and hot; the earth was dry and glowing, for there had been no rain for many weeks. The air, as five o’clock approached (the early country hour fixed for tea), was still warm and genial. “The weather is really made for these good people,” said Mr. Woodburn; “we have not the proverbial rains and chills of pic-nics and _fêtes champêtres_.” “And I think it’s made for us, too,” said Letty, gaily. “I don’t think Providence is partial, dear father.” “Just so,” said Mr. Woodburn; “for as you are inclined to be a little wicked, you moralising chit, it fulfils the proof that God makes his sun to shine on the just and the unjust.” “Oh! do you number me with the unjust?” “Now and then I do, Letty; but, taking you altogether, you are pretty well, I think.”