summer's day Priscilla was seated in the old wainscoted parlor of the
cottage, devouring a book lent to her by Mr. Hayes on the origin of
the Greek drama and occasionally bending to kiss little Katie, who sat
curled up in her arms, when the two elder children rushed in with the
information that Aunt Raby had suddenly lain flat down in the
hayfield, and they thought she was asleep.

Prissie tumbled her book in one direction and Katie in the other. In a
moment she was kneeling by Miss Peel's side.

"What is it, Aunt Raby?" she asked tenderly. "Are you ill?"

The tired woman opened her eyes slowly.

"I think I fainted, dear love," she said. "Perhaps it was the heat of
the sun."

Priscilla managed to get her back into the house. She grew better
presently and seemed something like herself, but that evening the aunt
and niece had a long talk, and the next day Prissie went up to see Mr.
Hayes.

"I am interested," he said when he saw her enter the room, "to see how
you have construed that passage in Cicero, Priscilla. You know I
warned you of its difficulty."

"Oh, please, sir, don't," said Prissie, holding up her hand with an
impatient movement, which she now and then found herself indulging in.
"I don't care if Cicero is at the bottom of the sea. I don't want to
speak about him or think about him. His day is over, mine is-- oh,