down the small room with his hands behind him, glanced now and then at
the young lady, but not speaking, at length paused from that monotonous
exercise by the chair of his wife, and touched her shoulder. She stopped
from her work, which, more engrossing than elegant, was nothing less than
what is technically called "the taking in" of a certain blue jacket,
which was about to pass from Matthew, the eldest born, to David, the
second, and looked up at her husband affectionately. Her husband,
however, spoke not; he only made a sign, partly with his eyebrow, partly
with a jerk of his thumb over his right shoulder, in the direction of the
young lady we have described, and then completed the pantomime with a
melancholy shake of the head. The wife turned round and looked hard, the
scissors horizontally raised in one hand, while the other reposed on the
cuff of the jacket. At this moment a low knock was heard at the street-
door. The worthy pair saw the girl shrink back, with a kind of tremulous
movement; presently there came the sound of a footstep below, the creak
of a hinge on the ground-floor, and again all was silent.

"That is Mr. Mainwaring's knock," said one of the children.

The girl left the room abruptly, and, light as was her step, they heard
her steal up the stairs.

"My dears," said the parson, "it wants an hour yet to dark; you may go
and walk in the square."

"'T is so dull in that ugly square, and they won't let us into the green.
I am sure we'd rather stay here," said one of the children, as spokesman
for the rest; and they all nestled closer round the hearth.

"But, my dears," said the parson, simply, "I want to talk alone with your