the angelic blossom itself. Presently he moved restlessly, and
turning in his chair looked at her intently. The fixity of his
gaze drew her like a magnet from her work and she put down her
sewing.

"Do you want anything, Dad?"

He rose, and began to fumble with the buttons of his smock.

"Ay--just help me to get this off. The working day is over,--the
working clothes can go!"

She was at his side instantly and with her light deft fingers soon
disembarrassed him of the homely garment. When it was taken off a
noticeable transformation was effected in his appearance. Clad in
plain dark homespun, which was fashioned into a suit somewhat
resembling the doublet and hose of olden times, his tall thin
figure had a distinctly aristocratic look and bearing which was
lacking when clothed in the labourer's garb. Old as he was, there
were traces of intellect and even beauty in his features,--his
head, on which the thin white hair shone like spun silver, was
proudly set on his shoulders in that unmistakable line which
indicates the power and the will to command; and as he
unconsciously drew himself upright he looked more like some old
hero of a hundred battles than a farmer whose chief pride was the
excellence of his crops and the prosperity of his farm managed by
hand work only. For despite the jeers of his neighbours, who were
never tired of remonstrating with him for not "going with the
times," Jocelyn had one fixed rule of farming, and this was that
no modern machinery should be used on his lands. He was the best