gold.'

She sat lost a moment in a pleasing dream.

'Shall I bring oot the tea to you theer, mum?' called Sarah gruffly,
from the garden door. 'Master and Mr. Elsmere are just coomin'
down t' field by t' stepping-stones.' Mrs. Thornburgh signalled
assent and the tea-table was brought. Afternoon tea was by no means
a regular institution at the vicarage of Long Whindale, and Sarah
never supplied it without signs of protest. But when a guest was
in the house Mrs. Thornburgh insisted upon it; her obstinacy in the
matter, like her dreams of cakes and confections, being part of her
determination to move with the times, in spite the station to which
Providence had assigned her.

A minute afterward the vicar, a thick-set gray-haired man of sixty,
accompanied by a tall younger man in clerical dress, emerged upon
the lawn.

'Welcome sight!' cried Mr. Thornburgh; 'Robert and I have been
coveting that tea for the last hour. You guessed very well, Emma,
to have it just ready for us.'

'Oh, that was Sarah. She saw you coming down to the stepping-stones,'
replied his wife, pleased, however, by any talk of appreciation
from her mankind, however small. 'Robert, I hope you haven't been
walked off your legs?'

'What, in this air, cousin Emma? I could walk from sunrise to
sundown. Let no one call me an invalid any more. Henceforth I