he afterwards described it,--and there was a very sparkling,
smiling, vivacious little person of about fifteen, in a lilac cotton
frock, who wore a wreath of laburnum on her black curls, no other
than Kitty Spruce, generally alluded to in the village as 'Bob
Keeley's gel';--and standing near Baby Hippolyta, or 'Ipsie,' was
the acknowledged young beauty of the place, Susie Prescott, a slip
of a lass with a fair Madonna-like face, long chestnut curls and
great, dark, soft eyes like pansies filled with dew. Susie had a
decided talent for music,--she sang very prettily, and led the
village choir, under the guidance of Miss Janet Eden, the
schoolmistress. This morning, however, she was risking the duties of
conductorship on her own account, and very sweet she looked in her
cheap white nuns-veiling gown, wearing a bunch of narcissi
carelessly set in her hair and carrying a flowering hazel-wand in
her hand, with which she beat time for her companions as they
followed her bird-like carolling in the 'Mayers' Song.' But just now
all singing had ceased,--and every one of the children had their
round eyes fixed on John Walden with a mingling of timidity,
affection and awe that was very winning and pretty to behold.

Taking in the whole picture of nature, youth and beauty, as it was
set against the pure background of the sky, Walden realised that he
was expected to say something,--in fact, he had been called upon to
say something every year at this time, but he had never been able to
conquer the singular nervousness which always overcame him on such
occasions. It is one thing to preach from a pulpit to an assembled
congregation who are prepared for orthodoxy and who are ready to
listen with more or less patience to the expounding of the same,--
but it is quite another to speak to a number of girls and boys all
full of mirth and mischief, and as ready for a frolic as a herd of