Ethel sought her room, with graver, deeper thoughts of life than she
had carried upstairs.




CHAPTER XVIII.



Saw ye never in the meadows,
Where your little feet did pass,
Down below, the sweet white daisies
Growing in the long green grass?

Saw you never lilac blossoms,
Or acacia white and red,
Waving brightly in the sunshine,
On the tall trees over head?
HYMNS FOR CHILDREN, C. F. A.


"My dear child, what a storm you have had! how wet you must be!"
exclaimed Mrs. Larpent, as Meta Rivers came bounding up the broad
staircase at Abbotstoke Grange.

"Oh no; I am quite dry; feel."

"Are you sure?" said Mrs. Larpent, drawing her darling into a
luxurious bedroom, lighted up by a glowing fire, and full of pretty