aroused by the prospect of changes awaiting

her son.

"Tush, ma'am," he growled out, goodnaturedly, "the rector's right about the lad. Can't expect him to live away from home, you know, as though he had an old head on his shoulders; but he'll be steady enough."

Mrs. Grantley just then looked at the squire as though he had been one of Job's comforters. But she only smiled, half sad, half amused.

"Mr. Busby,, why didn't you bring Madeline with you to-night?" asked Agnes. "We would gladly have had a little of her merriment now."

"I don't think she would have cheered you up much, my dear," returned Mr. Busby. "She was dull enough when I left her awhile ago."

"Madeline dull! What can be the matter with her?" asked Agnes.

"Make a note of that, parson," was the squire's only reply as he glanced from the "There's no interest

speaker to her father.

in an old fool like me there. I wish I were young, but," turning to Agnes, he added abruptly, "isn't this brother of yours coming home to-morrow? She's angry with time, I

suppose, because it won't be quicker."

There was something in the very tones of Mr. Busby's voice that always provoked the laughter of Agnes. A sweet-toned, merry peal of it was her sole response.

"Do you think of taking the boy up under your paternal wing, parson?"

"I wish I could, my friend," returned the rector, "but I can't: business of importance calls me away in another direction, and no sustitute will avail to transact it."

"Oh! never mind;

thing for me."

I'll go.

Just the

"Thanks!" said Mrs. Grantley, with both voice and eyes, "and you won't mind standing a fire of questions from me when you come back?"

"We shall tax your known good nature too much, I fear," added the rector.

"No, no; not at all.”

The squire's chair began to move. All were familiar with the signal.

66

Agnes, my dear, play and sing that old ballad again," appealed the rector, and laying a hand on Mr. Busby's shoulder, he added, dramatically, "hold, sir, an' you've the soul of music in you."

Agnes complied, giving the ballad asked for with the adjuncts of skilful fingering, and with a voice well attuned to the sensitiveness of a feeling heart.

The responsibility-look on the old squire's face deepened as the song proceeded, but passed away simultaneously with his grunt of approbation at its conclusion.

Again the chair began to give tokens of its occupant's preparation for departure but, with the tact of a good general, the rector threw in other appeals to his daughter for more music, and thus the squire was detained till the young lady's voice began to fail, when the stratagem lost all power of further detention. The rising up, the parting general

salute, the grasp on the lantern, the loud and rapid tread along the hall took up only a minute, and presently the back-door was heard to close on the retreating figure of Mr. Peter Busby.

CHAPTER II.

TWO ARRIVALS.

UNCLE BUSBY'S youngest sister had been married to Mr. Cecil, a gentleman who had formerly held an important civil appointment in the colonies. Not long after the arrival of the newly-wedded pair in their foreign home, the unhealthiness of the climate began to make inroads on the constitutional strength of Mrs. Cecil. At the close, indeed, of three years, during which time she had given birth to two children, one of whom died in infancy, Mr. Cecil was obliged to bring her to England with her sole remaining child, a daughter.