"JOY, I wish you'd put down that stupid book, and talk! You can't think how curious I feel! And how you can sit there reading so quietly when mother's in the next room with that strange gentleman, I can't imagine! I wonder what he's saying to her! I don't believe you're in the least curious to know!"

Joy, whose real name was Joyce, shut her book, and looked at the speaker—her sister Celia—with thoughtful, grey eyes. Her mind was still occupied with the entrancing story she had been reading; and it took her several minutes to realise that her companion was in a state of feverish impatience to ascertain the business of the visitor who had requested a private interview with their mother, and still kept her in earnest conversation in the drawing-room. Joy had admitted the stranger into the house nearly half an hour before.

Mrs. Wallis, whose husband had been a doctor, in the town of A—, had been left a widow some years previously; and she was rearing her family on a small income which had to be portioned out most carefully to make both ends meet. The family consisted of three children—Eric, a handsome lad of fifteen, who was at boarding-school; Celia, aged fourteen; and Joyce, two years younger.

When her husband had died, Mrs. Wallis had at once vacated the large, roomy house in the main street of the town for the small villa where she was living at present. She was a brave woman, and a capital manager, but she found her income very inadequate for the requirements of her family. The two girls attended a day-school where the fees were not large; but Eric's school bills were heavy, and to meet them his mother was obliged to exercise the strictest economy at home.

"That's right!" Celia exclaimed, when she saw she had gained her sister's attention. "Tell me again what the gentleman was like."

"He was tall, and thin, and he stooped rather," was the reply. "I didn't take particular notice of him."

"Oh, how silly you were! I wish I'd gone to the door instead of you. But I do hate answering the door bell," Celia acknowledged, frankly.

"Oh, I don't mind. Jane was upstairs changing her dress, so that was why I went to the door this evening; and you know she often looks so untidy that mother doesn't like her to answer the bell. Of course she has all kinds of dirty work to do," Joyce proceeded excusingly, for Jane, the maid-of-all-work of the establishment, was a favourite of hers; "we shouldn't be spick and span ourselves if we had to clean boots, and black-lead stoves, and scrub and clean like poor Jane."

Celia made no reply, but a look of decided discontent crept over her face. She was a very pretty little girl, with fair hair, blue eyes, and a delicate pink and white complexion. Her sister was a pale, sallow child whose one beauty was a pair of large grey eyes, which rendered her otherwise plain countenance remarkably attractive. Both girls were neatly attired in serviceable blue serge dresses, somewhat the worse for wear; but whereas Joy wore no ornament whatever, the neck of Celia's frock was fastened by a cheap brooch, set with imitation brilliants, which she had saved her pocket-money to purchase, and her golden locks were tied back with a bright blue ribbon. Celia was the greater favourite of the sisters with people, as a rule, for she was invariably good-tempered before strangers, and eager to please; it was only at home that she ever allowed her discontent with the circumstances of her life to be apparent, and then, when her mother's face saddened at her grumblings, she would become repentant, and declare that she had not meant all she had said, that she was quite happy really, only it would be so nice to have a little more money to spend.

"How long the gentleman is staying!" Joy exclaimed, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's nearly seven."

"What did you say he was called?" Celia inquired.

"Tillotson. He said mother would not know his name."

"Did he seem nice, Joy?"

"I don't know. He was very polite; but I thought he stared rather, and when I showed him into the drawing-room, he looked around as though he was noticing everything."

"And the furniture is so shabby!" Celia sighed, regretfully. "The carpet is almost threadbare in places."

"Oh, what does that matter?" Joy asked; laughing at her sister's serious expression.

"It matters a great deal," Celia responded, impressively.

"I don't see that it does. When our friends call, they come to see us, not our furniture."

"That's what mother says. I'm sure when she's talking to visitors she never seems to remember how dowdy the house is compared to other people's; or, if she does, it never troubles her."

"Why should it? Mother couldn't be a greater lady if she lived in a mansion," Joy declared, with a ring of proud affection in her voice.

Celia agreed with her sister, but she did not say so. The two little girls had been sitting by the fireside, for the April evening was chilly; but now the daylight had nearly faded, and Joy, rising, went to the door and peeped into the passage to make certain that Jane had lit the gas there. Satisfied on that point, she returned to her former seat by the fire, and continued the conversation.

"I wonder if we ought to send Jane to the drawing-room to light the gas?" Celia suggested presently. "But, no, mother would be sure to ring if she wished it. Oh, the gentleman's going at last!"

There was a sound of footsteps in the passage. The front door opened and shut, and the next minute Mrs. Wallis joined her little daughters. She was a tall, stately woman with a pale, handsome face, and hair which was prematurely grey.

"My visitor kept me some time," she remarked, as she seated herself in an easy chair, and glanced from one to the other of the children. "I suppose you have been cogitating about him, and wondering who he could possibly be?"

"Yes," Celia nodded.

"His name is Tillotson, and he is a lawyer. He came to me from my uncle, Sir Jasper Amery, of whom you have often heard me speak."

"What! that funny old uncle you used to visit when you were a little girl?" Joy exclaimed.

"The same, my dear. He used to be very kind to me; but we have never met since my marriage. He had an only son—Edward—of whom he was exceedingly fond and proud; but now, Mr. Tillotson tells me, poor Edward is dead, and that Uncle Jasper is quite alone in the world. He sent Mr. Tillotson to me with a strange request, or so I consider it—a request which I do know if I shall be right in complying with or not."

Mrs. Wallis paused and gazed meditatively the fire. The two young girls waited anxiously for her to proceed, and at last Celia inquired:

"What is the request, mother?"

"That I will shut up my house here for a year, and spend that time beneath his roof, so that he may make the acquaintance of you children. He suggests that you should have a governess to undertake your education, and that Eric should remain at boarding-school, and spend his holidays at the Moat House."

"Oh, mother, how delightful!" Celia exclaimed, excitedly.

"Is the Moat House where Sir Jasper lives?" Joy asked.

"Yes, my dear. It is situated in one of the most beautiful parts of Devonshire, about two miles from the market town of T—."

"Oh, mother, you will go, will you not?" Celia cried, imploringly.

"I cannot say yet, Celia. I must think the matter over. I cannot make up my mind hurriedly, for more may depend upon my decision than we can foresee. I must ask God to guide me, and show me how to act."

Mrs. Wallis's tone was so solemn that the little girls were silenced. They knew Sir Jasper Amery was a rich man, and thought how nice it would be to live in affluence, if only for a year. Celia, especially, was elated at the idea; and as she looked around the shabby sitting-room which, nevertheless, was very homely and comfortable, her lip curled scornfully, and a bright, expectant light flashed into her eyes. Surely her mother would not refuse Sir Jasper's request!

Meanwhile Mrs. Wallis was wrapt in somewhat uneasy thought. Had her uncle offered her and her family a permanent home beneath his roof, she would have at once gladly fallen in with the idea; but, she asked herself if she had any right to allow her children to live in luxury for a year, and then, perhaps, be thrown back upon her own resources once more. It was a strange proposal Sir Jasper had made; but his lawyer had desired her to consider it well before making her decision, hinting that it was her uncle's intention to provide for her children's future if the young people met with his approval.

"Tell us what the Moat House is like, mother," Joy said, coaxingly, at length.

"It's a house after your own heart, Joy," Mrs. Wallis replied, smiling, "an old building with thick stone walls covered in ivy, and low ceilinged rooms with mullioned windows. The moat which once surrounded the house had been drained and filled in, and is now cultivated. The neighbourhood all around is beautifully wooded, and as the house stands on a slight eminence, the views from it are remarkably fine. Uncle Jasper was always very proud of his home, and nothing used to delight him more than to hear it admired."

"He is very rich, mother, isn't he?" Celia inquired, her blue eyes shining with excitement.

"Rich as far as money is concerned," Mrs. answered gravely, "but poor in other ways. He never made many friends, and as I told you just now, God has taken from him his only son—the being he loved above all the world. He is in indifferent health, too, Mr. Tillotson tells me. Poor Uncle Jasper!"

"Perhaps he wants to give us some of his money," Celia suggested, shrewdly. "Oh, mother dear, do say you'll go to the Moat House!"

"Are you so eager to leave your own home, Celia?" Mrs. Wallis asked, a little sadly.

"This is such a pokey little place, that I should not mind if we never came back again," Celia confessed; "and we've been so poor here!" she added, sighing.

"We have had all the necessaries of life," Mrs. Wallis reminded her, "and that is a great deal to be thankful for."

"Oh, yes, mother, I know! But, oh, I do dislike having to live in a shabby house, and wear dowdy clothes! Why, when Eric was home at Christmas he said Joy and I were such old-fashioned looking girls!" And Celia's face flushed with annoyance. "Joy doesn't mind," she continued; "as long as she has story books to read, she doesn't care for anything else."

"Oh, yes, indeed I do!" Joy interposed, quickly. "But what's the good of wishing for what one can't get?"

"I am sorry you are so discontented with your lot, Celia," Mrs. Wallis said, gravely, "but I question if you possessed all the luxuries wealth can provide, whether you would be satisfied even then."

"Oh, mother!" Celia cried, unbelievingly.

"I doubt it, my dear, for I am afraid you are very far from knowing the secret of contentment, which is trust in God, and the belief that He knows what is best for you. Riches would not make you happy."

Celia looked incredulous. She thought if she was rich she would be perfectly happy. She longed to wear fine clothes, and have plenty of pocket-money; and she could not understand why her mother hesitated to accept Sir Jasper Amery's invitation.

That night the two young girls, who occupied the same bedroom, remained awake talking for a long while. Joy was nearly as excited as Celia at the prospect of visiting the unknown uncle at the Moat House, and acknowledged she would be not a little disappointed if their mother did not accede to Sir Jasper's request; but at the same time she felt regretful at the thought of leaving her present home, and her school friends. In the next room Mrs. Wallis lay awake till dawn, thinking how best to act for the ultimate welfare of her family, and praying for guidance from above.

[CHAPTER II.]

GOOD-BYE TO THE OLD HOME.

MRS. Wallis had told Mr. Tillotson she must have a week in which to consider her uncle's invitation, and during that time she wrote to several of her husband's relations asking their advice, and expressing her doubts as to the wisdom of leaving her own home for the Moat House. Knowing Sir Jasper Amery to be a wealthy man, they urged her to grant his request, and pointed out to her that by not doing so, she would probably be standing in her children's light.

"You have an income barely sufficient to meet your needs," wrote her brother-in-law, a solicitor in London, "and your children must be getting expensive. Eric, you tell me, is costing you more than you are really justified in spending on him, and you have to scrape and save at home to meet his school bills. Accept Sir Jasper's offer, by all means. He is rich and childless, and unworldly though I know you are, you must see that it is not right to neglect such an opportunity of providing for your children's future as this may prove to be. Your uncle would not invite you to pay him such a long visit without he had some ulterior motive; and if, at the end of the year, you are not asked to prolong your visit, why, it will be no worse off than you were before. Anyway, the change will do you and your little girls good, and you can get a capable governess, as Sir Jasper suggests."

Mrs. Wallis sighed as she put down her brother-in-law's letter, but it had decided for her the course to take. She wrote immediately to her uncle, thanking him for his invitation, and informing him that she and her little daughters would be at the Moat House as soon as Eric had returned to school after the Easter holidays. Easter fell about the middle of April that year; and Eric was at home for three weeks, during which time he and his sisters discussed little else but the projected visit to the Moat House.

"I wish I was going there with you now;" he said on one occasion, "but the summer term will soon pass, and won't we have a jolly time next holiday! I say, girls, I wonder if mother will be able to allow me a little extra pocket-money soon?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Celia replied. "You have more than your fair share as it is," she added, a trifle begrudgingly.

"I don't have so much as most of the boys," he told her with truth, "and, how, money slips away one hardly knows how. I hope if Uncle Jasper proves himself a generous old chap, you'll remind him that you've a brother at school who is generally hard up."

The two girls laughed, and Celia said, ingenuously:

"I do hope Uncle Jasper will like us. He used to be very good to mother when she was young, but he was always rather eccentric."

"What do you mean by eccentric?" Eric inquired.

"Not like other people," Celia replied, promptly. "Mother says he used to spend most of his time shut up in his library, reading and studying, and often he would fall into such deep trains of thought that he wouldn't notice what was going on around him."

"What a queer old fellow!" Eric exclaimed. "I shouldn't fancy he is inclined to be at all sociable."

"Poor old man!" sighed Joy, sympathetically. "Mother told me that he has had great troubles to bear. He lost his wife when she was quite young, and that was a dreadful trial for him because he loved her very dearly; and lately, you know, his son has died."

"How old was the son?" Eric asked.

"Oh, quite grown up," Celia responded; "as old as mother. He was a barrister, a very clever man, and Uncle Jasper was exceedingly proud of him. If his son had lived I don't suppose Uncle Jasper would have asked us to stay at the Moat House," she added, musingly.

"How sad and lonely he must be!" Joy cried, in pitying tones. "It's not much use having a lot of money if all your relations are dead, is it?"

"Rather not!" Eric agreed, heartily. "You girls must try to cheer him up a bit. I can't imagine anything more depressing than living in a big house with only servants. By the way, what's going to become of Jane?"

"She has found another situation where she will get higher wages than mother gives her," Celia replied.

"But in spite of that she's very sorry to leave us," Joy put in, "and I've promised to write to her sometimes. If we ever come back here again perhaps she will return to us."

"I hope that will never be!" Celia exclaimed, involuntarily. "I mean, I hope we shall never come back. I am sure we shall all be happier at the Moat House."

"I don't know about that, I'm sure," Joy responded, reflectively, "I've been very happy here."

"I am glad to hear you say that, my dear," Mrs. Wallis said, as she entered the room; "it's a great blessing to possess a contented spirit," she continued, with a loving glance at her younger daughter, "and you are happy in days of poverty, you will probably be able to stand the test of wealth if it ever comes your way. You know we pray every Sunday in church: 'In all time of our wealth—Good Lord, deliver us.' Greater temptations beset the paths of rich people in many respects than poor ones."

"Oh, mother!" Celia cried, in accents of profound astonishment; "do you really mean that? I think it's so difficult to be good if one's poor. I am sure if I was rich I should have nothing to grumble about, and you know you are always telling me how discontented I am."

"My dear Celia, you imagine riches must needs bring happiness, but you are greatly mistaken. Happiness comes to those only who trust in God, and do their plain duty in life."

Celia hung her head, and flushed hotly, for there was reproof in her mother's voice, and the kind eyes which searched her face were gravely reproachful.

"I have just received a letter from Uncle Jasper," Mrs. Wallis proceeded, after a slight pause; "he says he is looking forward with much pleasure to make the acquaintance of my little daughters, and he hopes they will feel quite at home at the Moat House. He remarks that if I have not already engaged a governess, he would recommend the niece of a neighbour of his for that post—a Miss Pring, who has had several years experience as a teacher in a school, but is now out of a situation. I must write and tell him that I should like to see Miss Pring before anything is decided. I shall be really glad now when we have left here, and are settled at the Moat House."

"You must let me know all about the place, and how you get on with Uncle Jasper," Eric said to Joy, who nodded assentingly.

The boy was very fond of both his sisters, but Joy was his favourite, for she took teasing better than did Celia, who was inclined to stand on her dignity, and resented his good-humoured banter, especially when he ridiculed her for her vanity and love of finery. Then, too, Celia was so entirely wrapped up in herself that she took very little interest in what concerned her brother, and was much too dignified a young person to join in his pursuits. She always declined to accompany him in the long walks he loved to take during his holidays, and it was Joy who tramped patiently for miles by his side, simply to spend a few hours fishing in a stagnant pool, and returned home quite satisfied if he was, even though their catch of fish was only a few small roach or perch; and it was Joy who diffidently asked her mother if she could spare Eric a trifle more pocket-money next term, and was delighted to receive an answer in the affirmative.

"I shall have no household expenses now, so I can well make Eric a larger allowance," Mrs. Wallis said, cordially, for she was glad to be in the position to grant her little daughter's request. "I know the poor boy has not had so much money to spend as his companions. I have often regretted the fact, but I have been unable to give him more. He never complained, however."

"Oh, no, mother, he would not do that, for he knows you have always done all you could for him. He says a great many of his school-fellows have rich fathers, but some are no better off than himself. His great chum—Lawrence Puttenham—is the son of a poor curate in London, and he has a very small allowance of pocket-money, indeed. Celia wonders Eric does not make one of the richer boys his chum, but Eric says he likes Putty—that's short for Puttenham, you know—best."

Mrs. Wallis smiled, then sighed. She sometimes wondered where Celia got her worldly-wise notions, for she had certainly never learnt them at home. Joy had made several friends at school, but Celia had not, and her mother suspected, what was actually the truth, that the reason was she did not consider the friendship of her fellow pupils worth cultivating, as they were all children from comparatively poor homes.

Dearly though Mrs. Wallis loved her children, she was not blind to their faults. She knew that Eric was easy-going, and inclined to be idle, and that he did not make the most of his opportunities at school; but, she knew also that he was truthful and honourable, and hoped that as he grew older he would overcome his indolence and recognise that it was his duty to work hard and not waste his time. Joy had her failings, too, but they were not of a kind to cause her mother much anxiety, the chief being a temper quick to anger and to resent a wrong. Celia's character was a complex one, difficult to understand. Often Mrs. Wallis would be painfully astonished to hear her elder daughter pass a remark which would sound cynical from a woman grown; but which was certainly strangely incongruous from the lips of a girl of fourteen who looked childish for her years. Celia would appear so penitent when reproved, the tears would rise to her blue eyes, and the burning blushes to her fair cheeks, that Mrs. Wallis would tell herself she had not meant what she had said, and that she had spoken without thought.

Between the sisters was a very real and deep affection, though they were totally unlike in every way. Joy admired Celia openly, and never experienced the least sensation of jealousy when, as was often the case, new acquaintances were attracted by Celia's pretty face and winning manners, and she herself was overlooked altogether; whilst Celia found Joy generally ready to follow her lead, and to defer to her opinions.

The last few days of the Easter holidays were spent in leave takings. Mrs. Wallis, having lived in A— ever since her marriage, had many friends; but she told them all that at the end of a year's time it was very probable she would be in their midst again, so there were no sorrowful partings.

And yet, when Eric had returned to school, and the day came for the departure of Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters from their home, they were all very grave. Jane had packed her box and gone to her new situation; the family's luggage had been sent to the railway station; and in a very short while the cab would be at the door to fetch the waiting trio. Joy wandered restlessly about the house, and at last joined her mother and sister, who were waiting more patiently in the sitting-room.

"How disconsolate you look, my dear!" Mrs. Wallis exclaimed. "But I don't know that that is to be wondered at. It is always a grave matter to take a new step in life, because we don't know where it's to lead us. God knows," she added, reverently, "and we must trust our future to Him. He will guide us aright."

"Yes, mother," Joy replied, seriously. "I can't think why I feel sad, but I do, and yet I am longing to see the Moat House and Uncle Jasper. I believe Celia is right—she said just now I was like a cat, attached to the house and furniture. Now I come to leave here I find I am really very fond of our shabby little home."

Celia raised her eyebrows incredulously; but, at that instant, the expected cab arrived at the door, and a few minutes later they were being driven in the direction of the railway station.

[CHAPTER III.]

THE ARRIVAL AT THE MOAT HOUSE.

THE bright May sunshine shone upon the Moat House with its ivy-clad walls, and peeped into the library where Sir Jasper Amery was seated, pen in hand, before his writing-table. A short thin old man was Sir Jasper, with a pale, wrinkled countenance, and snow-white hair, which was brushed smoothly back from a somewhat massive forehead. Presently, as a ray of sunshine flickered across his face, he glanced up quickly, revealing a pair of sharp grey eyes, deep-set beneath overhanging brows.

"Dear me, I had nearly forgotten all about them!" he muttered, as he laid down his pen. "It's almost five o'clock. Time for them to be here."

Rising, he hobbled rather than walked to the door, for he was crippled with rheumatism, and went into the hall, where he encountered Mrs. Mallock, his housekeeper, who had been in his service many years.

"Has the carriage gone to meet my niece and her children?" he inquired.

"Yes, Sir Jasper," was the prompt reply; "your instructions have been carried out to the letter. The rooms in the east wing have been put in order, and very home-like and comfortable they look, I do assure you! Mrs. Wallis will be hard to please if she is not satisfied."

Sir Jasper nodded approvingly. Taking his hat he went out-of-doors to wait for his visitors.

The Moat House was indeed beautifully situated, and from the terrace which fronted the dining-room and drawing-room windows, the surrounding country was plainly visible for miles, pleasant meadow lands, and woods now decked in their freshest spring garb, stretching as far as the eye could see. The moat, which had originally been full of water, had been filled in, and had been prettily laid out as a rock garden, where shrubs of various kinds flourished, and flowers peeped between the rough boulders which looked as though nature and not man had placed them there in such picturesque confusion. Sir Jasper's eyes wandered from the tresses of golden laburnum flowers, and purple and white lilac now in full bloom, to the distant high road along which he expected to see the carriage pass which had been sent to the railway station, two miles distant, to meet his guests. He had not long to wait before it appeared in sight, and five minutes later it had passed up the wide carriage drive which cut through the rock garden in place of the bridge which had originally spanned the moat, and had drawn up before the front door.

Sir Jasper hastened to greet his visitors, doing so very cordially. He had not seen his niece since her girlhood, and he noticed she had greatly changed. Trouble, and many small carking worries, had left their traces upon her countenance; and a look of patient resignation had taken the place of the bright, hopeful expression which had once been her chief charm in his eyes.

"Welcome, dear Margaret!" he said. "I am rejoiced that you have come. You will have patience with an old man who has lost all his happiness in life."

"Do not say that, Uncle Jasper," she replied, gently, as she kissed his withered cheek. "I too have seen much sorrow, but it has been God's will."

"Still the old faith!" he exclaimed, with a look of surprise.

"Yes," she answered steadily, "still the old faith, that what God does is best." Her face brightened as she spoke, and he recognized the expression he had missed at first, as she quoted with a smile:

"God's in His heaven— All's right with the world!"

He made no reply, but turned to the girls, who were regarding him with slightly veiled curiosity.

"This is my elder daughter," Mrs. Wallis told him, indicating Celia, who smiled and blushed as Sir Jasper's eyes rested searchingly on her countenance.

"What is your name, my dear?" Sir Jasper asked, shaking hands with her cordially.

"Celia," she answered.

"Well, Celia, you must call me Uncle Jasper. I am your great-uncle, you know. What a pretty child!" he added in an undertone to Mrs. Wallis, but Celia heard the words and her blush deepened with pleasure.

"And this is Joyce," Mrs. Wallis proceeded, hastily, "but we always call her Joy."

"Joy," he echoed. "Joy. That means gladness—happiness! Poor child, I hope the name will never appear in the light of a mockery to her."

"I hope not. I do not think it will," Mrs. Wallis responded, but she glanced uneasily at Joy, who was regarding Sir Jasper with astonished grey eyes, wondering why he should speak of her in such a decidedly pitying tone.

"No doubt you are all tired after your long journey," he remarked, "so come into the house, and let Mrs. Mallock show you your rooms. You remember my housekeeper, Margaret? Yes, I still have the same. I have had her put the east wing in order for you, and I hope you will find everything to your taste. I am somewhat of a recluse myself, nowadays, and never go outside the grounds; my doctor enjoins quietude, yet he thinks I spend too much time over my books. I have been looking forward to your society with much pleasurable anticipation, but I fear you will find me not a very cheerful companion."

Mrs. Wallis cast a look of quick sympathy at the bent form of the little old man, as he preceded her into the hall, and her answer showed her compassion for his loneliness, and at the same time evinced her desire to be perfectly straightforward.

"When I accepted your invitation; it was with the hope that I might be a comfort to you, Uncle Jasper," she said, "though I thought of myself as well, and of my children, whom I believe will benefit by the change. You know," she added, candidly, "that I have had as much as I could do to make both ends meet."

He nodded comprehendingly; and then Mrs. Mallock came forward to escort the visitors to their rooms. She had known Mrs. Wallis in the old days, and, like Sir Jasper, was struck by the change in her appearance.

"Ah, ma'am," she exclaimed, "I am glad to see you, indeed! I'm sure you'll benefit by a breath of Devonshire air."

She led the way upstairs, talking volubly the while, and assuring Celia that she was exactly in appearance like her mother had been at her age, a remark which Celia received in dead silence, wondering if it could possibly be true; afterwards, when she heard the same from Sir Jasper's lips, she concluded that it was.

Mrs. Wallis expressed herself very pleased with all the arrangements the housekeeper had made for her comfort, whilst the little girls were delighted with the bedroom which was allotted to them.

"How big it is!" Joy exclaimed. "And, oh, what a great, high bed! Look at the curtains around it! I declare it's almost as large as our room at home!" Then she ran to the window, and uttered a cry of admiration. "Oh, Celia, what a lovely view! Isn't it simply magnificent?"

"It is very pretty," Celia replied, composedly.

"Pretty!" Joy echoed. "Why, it is grand!"

"Yes, it's very nice, and so is the house. The furniture is rather old, but it's very handsome. I should think Uncle Jasper must be exceedingly rich. He's a funny old man, isn't he? Did you ever see sharper eyes? They seemed to look me through and through."

"I don't think he is very happy," Joy remarked, reflectively. "I wonder what he meant by saying he hoped my name would never appear in the light of a mockery to me. Wasn't it an odd thing to say?"

"Very," Celia replied, carelessly.

Joy saw her sister was not attending to her, so she sat down on the broad, cushioned window-seat, and allowed her gaze to wander over the fair landscape, whilst Celia, after closely scrutinising each article of furniture the room contained, turned her attention to the dressing-table, and thoughtfully regarded her countenance in the looking-glass. Then she untied the ribbon which fastened back her golden locks, and commenced to brush her hair.

"You had better put yourself tidy, Joy," she advised her sister, presently; "didn't you hear Mrs. Mallock tell mother that tea would be served in the dining-room almost directly? I should have thought Uncle Jasper would have dined late, but it appears he does not."

"I'm glad he doesn't," Joy replied. "I like a regular sit-down tea, because we're accustomed to it, and so does Eric. Oh, here's mother!" she cried, as Mrs. Wallis entered the room. "Oh, mother, you're ready to go downstairs, I see! Don't go before us."

"Are you afraid you will lose your way?" Mrs. Wallis inquired, with a smile, as Joy dashed to the wash-hand stand, and began hastily to bathe the traces of travel from her face. "It is a large house, certainly, but not so large as all that. Uncle Jasper was very thoughtful in giving us the east wing to ourselves, and I believe we shall be very comfortable here. You will soon see if he desires your society, children; if he does, I hope you will endeavour to make him more cheerful; and if he does not, you will have no difficulty in keeping out of his way. Poor old man! He has had so many sorrows and disappointments in his life."

"What did he mean when he spoke of my name, mother?" Joy questioned, eagerly. "How could it ever be a mockery to me?"

"It could only be a mockery if you lost your faith in God, my dear. Joy means gladness and happiness, as Uncle Jasper said; but, I fear, he does not realise that its foundation is trust in Jesus Christ."

"Isn't Uncle Jasper a Christian?" Celia asked quickly.

For a moment Mrs. Wallis hesitated as though she hardly knew what answer to make, then she replied: "I believe he is professedly a Christian, but I fear he does not possess the child-like, unquestioning faith which alone brings peace. You know, my dears, it is very difficult at all times to say 'Thy will be done.'"

Joy ran to her mother, and throwing her arms around her neck, gave her an impulsive kiss. She rightly guessed that Mrs. Wallis thinking of the grave in the cemetery at A— where her husband lay. Joy had been very fond of her father, and though she had been too young at the time of his death to be told more than that he had gone on a long journey, she had always remembered him vividly, and could recall the sound of his voice, and his hearty laugh. What his loss had meant to her mother she could dimly understand. Celia had been deeply attached to her father too, and there were regretful tears in her bright eyes as she thought of him now.

Ten minutes later Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters entered the dining-room, where Sir Jasper was awaiting them. They took their seats at the large, square table, upon which a substantial meal was laid, to which the travellers did full justice, for they were hungry after their long journey. Sir Jasper exerted himself to be agreeable, and he and Mrs. Wallis discussed bygone days, which appeared to interest him more than the present time; whilst the little girls sat quietly listening, each experiencing a dream-like sensation of unreality, and almost feeling as though the large room with its handsome furniture and shining silver on the side-board, with its oak-panelled walls and pictures of short-waisted ladies, and gentle-men with frilled shirts and high stocks, would give place to the shabby little sitting-room at home. Joy touched Celia with her foot under the table to assure herself that she was really not dreaming; and Celia awoke from her reverie with a start and a smile as she met her sister's eyes.

By-and-by, Sir Jasper turned his attention to his younger guests, and inquired what they thought of the Moat House, and if they considered they would be able to make themselves happy beneath his roof.

Joy answered him rather shyly; but Celia was perfectly composed, and expressed admiration of his home so enthusiastically that he was evidently very gratified, and looked at her with most decided approval. After the meal was over, he drew her to the window, and pointed out a distant orchard, white as snow with apple blossoms; and, afterwards, at her suggestion, accompanied his guests out-of-doors, and sat down on a garden seat with Mrs. Wallis for a companion, whilst the young people explored the grounds.

"You are a rich woman, Margaret," he said impressively, his eyes following the children's forms as they continually disappeared and reappeared between the boulders in the rock garden. "That elder girl of yours is a beauty. Is your boy good-looking, too?"

"People tell me he is a handsome lad," she replied, smiling. "Celia is very pretty, I know. I hope you will not spoil her, Uncle Jasper."

"Pooh!" he cried, "she does not take after her mother in disposition if she can be spoilt! How well and sensibly she talks! She appears very observant."

"In some ways she is older than her years, and I regret it," Mrs. Wallis remarked, a shade of uneasiness crossing her face. "Joy is much more childish; but, of course, she is two years younger than her sister."

"I suppose you considered my invitation a strange one," Sir Jasper said, abruptly; "I know you did from what Tillotson told me, and from your hesitation in agreeing to comply with my request. I am glad you decided to humour an old man's whim, my dear," he added, meaningly; "believe me, neither you nor yours will be the worse off eventually from the fact of your having done so."

[CHAPTER IV.]

AUNT AND NIECE.

NOT more than five minutes' walk from the entrance to the grounds of the Moat House was a six-roomed, thatched cottage, called Home Vale, standing back from the high road, from which it was divided by a long strip of garden and a thick privet hedge. It was a picturesque little home, looking at it from the outside, with its windows hung with spotless white lace curtains, its porch covered with clematis, and its front door posted invitingly open to admit the May sunshine, and the fresh breeze scented with lilies-of-the-valley and jonquils. Inside, everything was in apple-pie order. The brass face of the tall, eight-day clock in the little entrance hall shone brightly; the furniture in the parlour, which looked out on the flower-garden and the strip of high road beyond, was arranged with evident care; whilst upstairs, the three small bedrooms with their latticed windows were pictures of neatness and freshness, their beds hung with white dimity curtains, and their dressing-tables draped in white, starched muslin petticoats looped up with coloured ribbons to match the shades of the wall papers.

But, perhaps, the prettiest room in the cottage was the front kitchen, with its red-tiled floor and white-washed walls, against which the copper warming-pan and brass and tin cooking utensils showed off so well. A canary sung gaily in a cage hanging in the window, from which was an uninterrupted view of the kitchen garden, where the mistress of Home Vale was at work on this sunny May morning, industriously turning up a piece of ground with a spade, handling the tool with almost the strength and dexterity of a man.

A tall, muscular, middle-aged woman was the mistress of Home Vale, clad at present in short, drab, serge skirt; thick laced-up boots; a washed-out cotton blouse; a broad-rimmed straw hat; and a pair of gardening gloves. A small knot of iron-grey hair was visible beneath the brim of the hat behind; and when she paused for a minute or so to rest, and glanced up at a lark carolling high overhead, she revealed a dark, sunburnt countenance, with large, irregular features, and a pair of bright, brown eyes.

Such to outward appearances was Miss Pring, who had lived at Home Vale, as Sir Jasper Amery's tenant, for the past ten years. Formerly, she had been a rich woman; but, owing to the failure of a bank, she had lost most of her money, and finding herself in really poor circumstances, she had sought about for a country cottage, with a large garden which she could turn to some account. Once Miss Pring had gardened for pleasure; now she laboured for profit as well, and grew quantities of vegetable and flowers for sale in the neighbouring market town of T—.

At first when she had settled at Home Vale, people had looked at her rather askance; but, slowly it had dawned on her neighbours—none of whom lived very near, by-the-by, with the exception of Sir Jasper Amery—that careless of appearances though she was, and living without a servant, of which fact she was not a whit ashamed, there was no truer lady at heart than Miss Pring. A year previously she had locked up her cottage for a couple of days, and started on a journey. On her return she had brought with her a pale, weary-looking girl, evidently in very bad health, whom she had introduced to her acquaintances as her niece, Mary Pring. The girl had been a governess in a large town in the midlands, where she been underpaid, and, at the same time, so greatly overworked that she had broken down altogether, and being homeless, had been in dire distress of mind as to how to act when her aunt had appeared upon the scene, and insisted on carrying her home with her to Devon.

Now, Mary's health was completely restored, and she had been on the look-out for another situation for some weeks, when, only yesterday she had received a note from Sir Jasper Amery, asking her to call the following morning at the Moat House, as his niece, Mrs. Wallis, who had come to pay him a long visit, required a governess for her two little girls, and he thought she might prove suitable for the post.

Mary had accordingly started for the Moat House that morning in high spirits, whilst her aunt had betaken herself to the kitchen garden to pass the time of her niece's absence in hard work, to keep her from thinking, as she told herself. Miss Pring was very anxious for Mary to remain with her, for she realised how lonely she would feel if the girl was forced to leave her, and she could not afford to keep her at Home Vale in idleness. She watched the lark till, its song finished, it sank to the ground in an adjacent field, then resumed her work, turning up the rich, red mould with a will.

"I hope the child will get the situation," she thought; "she appeared very sanguine about it herself. How I should miss companionship if we had to part! We suit each other, for all we're so unlike. I'm glad I spoke of her to Sir Jasper when I saw him last. Poor old man! It will be a great change for him to have young people at the Moat House. Oh, here's Mary at last!"

Mary came swiftly down the garden path towards her aunt. She was a tall, slight young woman, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with a face which, possessing not one perfect feature, was nevertheless wonderfully pleasing and attractive, and now wore an expression so bright and joyous that Miss Pring knew at once that her heart's desire was to granted, and that Mary had obtained the much coveted situation.

"Well?" the elder woman said, interrogatively, in a deep, somewhat gruff voice.

"It is well, Aunt Esther," Mary replied, putting her arm around her aunt's waist, and imprinting a hearty kiss on her sunburnt cheek. "Everything is settled, and I am to commence my duties to-morrow. And what salary do you think I am to have?"

Miss Pring shook her head, and her niece continued:

"Forty pounds a year! I never dreamt it would be so much. Yes, indeed it is true. Now I shall be able to pay you for my living here. We shall be quite rich, shan't we? I am to be at the Moat House from ten to four."

"Then you will dine there?"

"Oh, yes. I saw my pupils; they appeared nice little girls, and one—the elder, who is fourteen—is so pretty. I was quite taken with her. And her manners are charming! Her name is Celia. The other child is younger by a couple of years."

"What like is the mother?" Miss Pring questioned.

"She is a handsome woman, but worn-looking. She was very genial, and said she would like to make your acquaintance, Aunt Esther. I told her all about you and how kind you have been to me."

"Pooh! you shouldn't have mentioned that. I've done nothing more than my duty towards you, child. I couldn't leave you to be sent to a hospital to be nursed back to health, could I, when I'd a home in the country all ready for your reception?"

"A great many aunts would have done so but not you, though."

"I should hope not."

Miss Pring never saw but one path in life open to her, the straight, narrow path, which is often so difficult to tread. She was an undemonstrative woman, with a very warm heart hidden beneath a somewhat masculine exterior. She hated shams or make-believe of any kind, and it was her niece's open straightforward disposition which had met with her approval and won her affection, when, after hearing of her illness, she had gone to her assistance. Miss Pring had rich relations whom she seldom mentioned, for their ways were not her ways. Mary was the only child of a ne'er-do-well brother who had died some years previously, leaving his wife and daughter unprovided for. His wife had not survived him long, so Mary had found herself alone in the world, for the rich relations had not come forward with any offer of assistance, and it had devolved upon Miss Pring to help the girl in her hour of need.

"I feel so very glad that I have obtained this situation, for I am sure it will suit me, and that I shall give satisfaction," Mary said, confidently. "I was getting quite low-spirited at the thought of leaving you, Aunt Esther, and I prayed earnestly that God would give me work to do here, so that we might not be parted, and you see He has. It is just as though these great-nieces of Sir Jasper's had been brought to the Moat House especially for me to teach."

"Things work wheel within wheel," Miss Pring replied, gravely. "Did you see Sir Jasper?" she inquired.

"Yes. He came into the room when Wallis was telling me what my duties would be, but he did not remain many minutes. He spoke to me very kindly, though, and asked for you. What a feeble old man he looks! I wonder if he means to leave Mrs. Wallis his property?"

Miss Pring shook her head, and said she had not the least idea what his intentions were. She was actually very curious to meet Sir Jasper's niece, whom he had mentioned to her in very affectionate terms. Sir Jasper never visited his tenant at Home Vale; but she went to see her landlord on every quarter day to pay her rent, and since his son's death she had waived ceremony at his request, and had called upon him on several occasions in a friendly fashion. The master of the Moat House had a sincere liking and respect for his plain-spoken neighbour, who went her own way, irrespective of public opinion.

"It will be such happiness to be at work again," Mary proceeded, as Miss Pring turned her attention once more to her labours, and having finished spading up the earth, raked it until it was quite smooth and fine. "Let me see, Aunt Esther, you are going to put kidney beans here, are you not?"

"Yes," was the response, "I shall soon till the beans now the earth is prepared for them; and in the meantime you may get dinner ready—cold beef, and there's a baked custard in the oven."

Mary nodded comprehendingly, and ran back to the house to do her aunt's bidding, whilst Miss Pring tilled her beans, humming a song the while, for she felt particularly light of heart. She had not a musical voice—it sounded rather like a bee in a pitcher—but there was a jubilant note discernible in it, nevertheless, very pleasant to hear. Not even Mary guessed the depth of her aunt's joy that she had obtained the situation as governess at the Moat House, for Miss Pring had never confessed to living soul the sense of loneliness she had often experienced before she had brought her niece to Home Vale. Her work satisfactorily completed at length, the gardener carefully cleaned and put away her tools, and then went indoors, and upstairs to her own room, where she changed her gardening attire for a neat black gown with white linen cuffs and collar, subsequently joining her niece at dinner. They spent the afternoon sewing in the little parlour, Mary talking light-heartedly of her coming duties; and after an early cup of tea they started for a walk.

It was in a shady lane where the branches of the hazel bushes almost met overhead that they encountered Celia and Joy Wallis, who had been finding treasures—wild hyacinths and anemones—in the mossy hedge-rows. The two girls were pleased to meet their new governess, who introduced them to her aunt.

"You must come and see me at Home Vale," said Miss Pring, hospitably.

"Mary," she added, turning to her niece, "you must bring your pupils to have tea with me one day."

"Oh, thank you!" Celia exclaimed. "We should like that, shouldn't we, Joy?"

"Yes," her sister nodded.

"You have an unusual name," Miss Pring remarked, transferring her attention to Joy. "Is it an abbreviation!"

"Yes, I am really called Joyce. Everyone seems struck with my name," Joy said, gravely; "Uncle Jasper was—I am not sure he liked it."

"I like it," Miss Pring declared, decidedly, whereupon Joy smiled up into the dark plain face of her new governess's aunt, and met an answering smile in return. "We shall be friends, I foresee," Miss Pring continued; "you and I will soon learn to understand each other."

"Are you coming to the Moat House to call on mother?" Joy asked, eagerly. "Oh, I hope you are!"

"I will come very soon," Miss Pring replied, suddenly making up her mind. "How do you like the Moat House?"

"Very much. We have been there a week, you know, and Uncle Jasper is very kind, but we don't see much of him. He likes to talk to mother best. We are going to begin lessons to-morrow, and I think I am glad."

"Joy," interposed Celia, "I have been telling Miss Pring— I mean this Miss Pring," she said, indicating Mary with a smiling glance, "that as her surname is the same as her aunt's, we might call her Miss Mary, and she says she has no objection to our doing so."

"Very well," Joy agreed readily.

After that, good-byes were exchanged, the children turned homewards, and aunt and niece proceeded in the opposite direction.

"Well, what do you think of our governess's relation?" Celia asked, as soon as she and her sister were safely out of earshot of the others. "Did you ever see such an ugly old frump before?"

"Oh, Celia!" Joy cried, reproachfully, "I thought she seemed so very nice, and I didn't think her ugly at all."

"Well, all I can say is that if Miss Mary was like her aunt in appearance, I should be sorry she was going to be our governess," Celia remarked, meditatively. "I do like people to be pretty and well-dressed," she admitted; adding, "I don't call Miss Mary pretty exactly, but she's nice-looking, and as mother says, anyone can see she's a lady."

"I heard Uncle Jasper tell mother he has a very high opinion of Miss Pring," Joy said, eagerly; "he said she was a good woman, as straight as a line, and as true as steel."

"I daresay," Celia replied, carelessly, "but she isn't any the better looking on that account."

"Perhaps she is rather plain," Joy admitted truthfully; "but," she summed up with some warmth, "I'd rather be good than pretty any day." To which sentiment Celia vouchsafed no answer, and when she spoke again, changed the conversation into an entirely different channel.

[CHAPTER V.]

TRYING TO PLEASE SIR JASPER.

"WELL, children, and how do you get on with your governess?"

The speaker was Sir Jasper Amery, who encountered Celia and Joy in the garden a few evenings after Miss Pring had commenced her duties at the Moat House. He leaned heavily upon his stick, and surveyed the countenances of his little great-nieces with his usual keen, though not unkindly glance.

"We like her so much, Uncle Jasper," Celia answered, promptly; "she's very strict in lesson hours, and makes us work hard; but she's always ready to help us, and explain everything we don't understand."

"I shall ask her to give me her opinion of your abilities," Sir Jasper said. "I heard someone practising on the piano this afternoon. Which of you was that?"

"Oh, it was I!" Joy cried, a flush rising to her sallow cheeks. "I'm afraid I don't play very well; but I love music dearly."

"You play remarkably well for your age," Sir Jasper told her. "I wonder if you know any of my favourite tunes—'The Last Rose of Summer,' for instance?"

"No; but I am sure I could learn it if I had the music," Joy replied.

"Come with me to the library," the old man said, abruptly.

He hobbled on in front, whilst the child: followed in silence. Neither Celia nor Joy had ventured to enter the library as yet, though they had been curious to see the room where Sir Jasper spent most of his days. It proved to be a long, low apartment, dim in the evening light, the walls lined with books, and the writing-table strewn with papers. In one corner stood an old-fashioned, high-backed piano which Jasper opened.

"Come, which of you is going to give me some music?" he asked. "Are you musical, Celia?"

"Not very, I'm afraid," Celia acknowledged, regretfully, for she was most desirous of making a favourable impression upon Sir Jasper. "Of course I do play, but not so well as Joy."

Sir Jasper turned to Joy, who, after moment's hesitation, took her seat at the piano and struck the opening notes of a piece of music she knew by heart. She was very nervous at first, but she gained confidence as she played, and delighted Sir Jasper, who thanked her very cordially when at length she stopped and turned around on the piano stool to see if he was satisfied.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, earnestly, "you have given me a great treat. Until now no one has touched that piano since my son died. His were the last fingers to play upon it. You have a talent for music which should be cultivated."

"I wish I could play the piece you spoke of just now," Joy said; "is it very difficult?"

"Not at all! It is a fine old English ballad, but I have it somewhere arranged as a piece for the piano." He rummaged over a pile of music on a stand close by, and at last selected the piece he was looking for. "Here it is," he cried. "'The Last Rose of Summer' is not in fashion now, I believe, but I love the old tune. Take the music, my dear, and see if you can learn to play it."

"I will," Joy replied, earnestly.

Sir Jasper was in a sociable mood, and he detained the girls in conversation. Joy was getting over her first shyness of him, and talked in her usual frank fashion.

"I should like to be a great musician some day," she informed him, "and then I should earn a lot of money, shouldn't I?"

"Do you want to earn a lot of money?" he inquired, regarding her attentively.

"Oh, yes," she answered, "indeed I do. I should so like to be rich!"

He appeared a little disappointed at her answer, Joy thought, and a somewhat grim smile crossed his face. Celia looked put out and frowned at her sister, who came to the conclusion she had said something she had better left unsaid.

"SHE TURNED ROUND ON THE PIANO STOOL TO SEE IF HE WAS SATISFIED."

"How could you have been so foolish as to tell Uncle Jasper you wanted to be rich!" Celia exclaimed, in tones of intense vexation, the very first moment she and Joy were alone together. "It was such a stupid thing to say!"

"Why?" Joy demanded, wonderingly. "I meant it."

"I know, and of course Uncle Jasper saw you meant it. You needn't always say exactly what you mean, though. I want to be rich, too, a great deal more than you do, I daresay, but I shouldn't think of telling people so—especially Uncle Jasper!"

"I only meant that I would like to have a lot of money so that mother shouldn't be worried any more, and—"

"Mother isn't worried now she's living here," was the impatient interruption.

"No, but when we go home again—"

Celia turned sharply away from her sister, and would not hear the conclusion of the sentence. She was delighted with the Moat House and her surroundings. It was a pleasant change to have the best of everything provided for her; to live in a large house, handsomely and comfortably furnished; to have servants to wait on her, and dainty food in the place of the plain fare she had been accustomed to all her previous life. Mrs. Wallis and Joy found it a pleasant change, too, but they sometimes talked of their home at A—, whilst Celia never mentioned it, and hoped fervently that Uncle Jasper would want them to remain with him altogether.

Sir Jasper appeared perfectly contented with the present arrangement. He spent a good deal of time in his niece's company, and made it a habit to walk up and down the terrace in front of his house every evening leaning upon her arm. One evening, Mrs. Wallis being engaged in letter-writing Celia took her place. Joy, seated on a garden seat, watched her sister as she chatted to Sir Jasper, her bright face aglow with smiles, her blue eyes shining brilliantly, and thought how well Celia was getting on with her companion. She appeared to know exactly what to say to amuse and please him; she never made a remark it would have been better to have left unsaid.

By-and-by Joy opened the English history book she had brought out-of-doors with her, and commenced to learn the lesson Miss Mary Pring had given her to prepare for the next day. She had nearly finished her task when suddenly Sir Jasper's voice broke upon her ears.

"So you don't care for money, then?" he was saying.

Joy glanced up quickly, and saw her sister and the old man had paused at a little distance from her. She listened curiously for Celia's answer. It filled her with a sense of intense astonishment.

"Not in the very least," was the apparently careless reply.

"Nonsense, my dear!" In spite of his words, Joy noted that Sir Jasper's voice sounded very pleased. "Money is a very good thing sometimes."

"Is it?" Celia questioned, innocently.

"A very good thing sometimes," he repeated; "but there are occasions when it is useless, quite useless. What good is it to me—a poor old man who has lost his all?"

"But you do good with it," Celia reminded him, gently. "Miss Mary was telling us only yesterday how kind you have been to the poor widow of that farm labourer who died suddenly last week. And see what you have done for us!"

"You are a grateful little soul, Celia," he told her, with a tender inflection in his voice. "You are like your dear mother."

Joy heard no more, for she hastily rose and retreated into the house. She was full of indignation against her sister. What could have induced Celia to utter such a falsehood as to say she did not in the least care for money, when all her life she had bemoaned her poverty, and longed for wealth?

Later in the evening, when the sisters were preparing for bed, Joy taxed Celia with having told Sir Jasper an untruth. For a moment the elder girl was confused, then broke into a laugh as she exclaimed: "Oh, Joy, you surely don't imagine I would be as silly as you, and tell Uncle Jasper I cared for money, do you?"

"But you do care for money, Celia!"

"Of course I do, but it wouldn't be wise to let Uncle Jasper know it."

"Why not? He said himself that money is a very good thing sometimes."

"Yes, I know, but—well—I can hardly explain what I mean, but I want him to think we like him for himself, and not his money. We ought to try to please him."

"Why, so we do; but it's never right to tell a lie. It's a sin, you know it is as well as I do," Joy declared, bluntly. "Mother wouldn't have liked you to be deceitful, and say what wasn't true, even to please Uncle Jasper."

"Well, you needn't make such a fuss about a trifle. There's no reason why you should work yourself into a passion. And why should you dictate to me when I am so much older than you? I don't like it. Do you mean to get me into trouble with mother?"

"Of course not!" Joy flashed out, angrily, resentful at the suggestion.

Celia looked relieved. She proceeded undress in silence, casting side glances at Joy meanwhile.

By-and-by Joy's indignation commenced to cool; she began to wonder whether she might not have misjudged her sister, and to doubt if she had intended to tell a deliberate falsehood. Celia was so kind-hearted, so desirous of pleasing! Joy looked at her as she stood brushing her hair in front of dressing-table, and hoped she had misjudged her, for it pained her deeply to think her dearly loved sister, whom she admired more than any one else in the world, was not truthful.

"Don't let us quarrel!" she said at length.

"Oh, I don't want to quarrel," Celia replied, smiling; "but I thought you wanted to fall out with me. Don't be cross any longer, Joy. Here have I been giving up my spare time this evening to amusing Uncle Jasper, because mother has been busy letter-writing, and for my pains you accuse me of story-telling! I declare it's too bad of when I've only been doing my best to please him. You know mother wants us to make him happier, if we can."

The moat house

"LULU STOOD ON THE DOORSTEP AND WAVED HER HAND IN FAREWELL."

THE MOAT HOUSE,

OR,

"Sir Jasper's Favourite Niece."

BY

ELEANORA H. STOOKE.

AUTHOR OF

"Little Maid Marigold," "The Hermit's Cave,"

"Sir Richard's Grandson," "Mousey,"

etc.

WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS.

London:

S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.,

8 & 9 PATERNOSTER ROW.

CONTENTS.