were always formal, uncomfortable affairs, from which Ida escaped with
a sense of relief, and that evening--being weak with illness and
disappointed by Mrs. Overtheway's absence--her nervousness almost
amounted to terror.

Nurse did her best in the way of encouragement. It was true that Ida's
uncle was not a merry gentleman, but there was such a nice dessert!
What could a well-behaved young lady desire more than to wear her best
frock, and eat almonds and raisins in the dining-room, as if she were
the lady of the house?

"Though I am sorry for the child," Nurse confided to the butler when
she had left Ida with her uncle, "for his looks are enough to frighten
a grown person, let alone a little girl. And do you go in presently,
like a good soul, if you can find an excuse, and let her see a
cheerful face."

But before the kind-hearted old man-servant could find a plausible
pretext for intruding into the dining-room, and giving an encouraging
smile from behind his master's chair, Ida was in the nursery once
more.

She had honestly endeavoured to be good. She had made her curtsey at
the door without a falter--weak as she was. She had taken her place at
the head of the table with all dignity, and had accepted the almonds
and raisins with sufficiently audible thanks. She had replied prettily
enough to her uncle's inquiries after her health; and, anxious to keep
up the conversation, had told him that the hedge was budding.

"_What's_ the matter with the hedge?" he had asked rather sharply; and