"I go to afternoon service at Mycening, Harold," I said. "Will not
you come with me?"

"There will be somebody there?" asked Eustace; to which I replied in
the affirmative, but with some protest against his view of the
object, and inviting the others again, but Dora defiantly answered
that Harold was going to swing her on the ash tree.

"You ought to appear at church, Harry," said Eustace. "It is
expected of an English squire. You see everybody, and everybody sees
you."

"Well, then, go," said Harold.

"And won't you?" I entreated.

"I've promised to swing Dora," he answered, strolling out of the
room, much to my concern; and though Eustace did accompany me, it was
so evidently for the sake of staring that there was little comfort in
that; and it was only by very severe looks that I could keep him from
asking everyone's name. I hoped to make every one understand that he
was not the squire, but no one came across us as we went out of
church, and I had to reply to his torrent of inquiries all the way
home.

It was a wet evening, and we all stayed in the house. Harold brought
in one of his political economy studies from the library, and I tried
to wile Dora to look at the pictures in a curious big old Dutch
Scripture history, the Sunday delight of our youth.