evidently made up his mind to receive it as the largest of blessings.

“It is Agatha,” said Monica, sharing more than her mother’s trouble at the exposure; for she much wondered that her younger sister could take such freedom with a baronet.

“Don’t mind Sir Arthur,” said Miss Candituft in her own sympathetic way, to the anxious parent. “Nobody minds him. He hasn’t the genius to be even dangerous.” Mrs. Jericho[Pg 71] stared, and then smiled and jerked her head, at once acknowledging and despising the information.

[Pg 71]

In a minute the disturbed merry-makers, as suddenly grave as they might be, joined the party, Carraways laughing and giving them heartiest praise for their romps. “That’s it! I love to see people not ashamed to enjoy themselves after their own hearts. For my part, I never see a haycock that I don’t wish to go plump head over heels into it. I think, somehow, it’s an instinct of the natural family of man, eh, Mr. Candituft?”

“No doubt, my dear sir,” said Candituft; “not the least doubt—a remnant of Eden that still sweetens the fall.”

“Agatha, I am ashamed of you,” whispered Mrs. Jericho to her red-faced daughter as she sidled up. The next moment Sir Arthur Hodmadod, with a gay confident look, proffered to the rebuked Agatha an arm of the baronetage. The motion was not lost upon the scrupulous Monica; who—to comfort her mother—immediately whispered—“And I’m ashamed of her, too, ma.”

“Here we are,” cried Carraways, halting at an apiary of the trimmest and prettiest order. “Here’s Bessy’s work-people. And I can tell you, charming it is to see them coming in and going out; and delightful to meet ’em in the fields—for upon my life, I sometimes think they know us—as they go bouncing, buzzing by.”

“I’m sure they know me, papa,” said Bessy; and then she modestly added—“at least I think so.”

“Ugh! They must know you,” said Colonel Bones; “bees, bees must be the best judges of flowers. Humph?”

“Delicious! A sweet thought, Colonel,” said Candituft. “Excellent!”

“It is very pretty,” cried Hodmadod, surveying the apiary. “So nicely thatched, too; so very snug. I call it”—said the baronet with authority—“I call it quite a bijou.”

“Do you, indeed?” asked Agatha, all smiles.

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