“He looks a gentleman, and it pleases me to think he is such.”

“And decidedly he is,” joined in Caroline, in distinct tones.

“You are his friend, at any rate,” said Shirley, flashing a searching glance at the speaker.

“I am both his friend and relative.”

“I like that romantic Hollow with all my heart—­the old mill, and the white cottage, and the counting-house.”

“And the trade?” inquired the rector.

“Half my income comes from the works in that Hollow.”

“Don’t enter into partnership, that’s all.”

“You’ve put it into my head!” she exclaimed, with a joyous laugh.  “It will never get out; thank you.”

Some days later, the new friends were walking together towards the rectory when the talk turned on the qualities which prove that a man can be trusted.

“Do you know what soothsayers I would consult?” asked Caroline.

“Let me hear.”

“Neither man nor woman, elderly nor young; the little Irish beggar that comes barefoot to my door; the mouse that steals out of the cranny in the wainscot; the bird that, in frost and snow, pecks at the window for a crumb.  I know somebody to whose knee the black cat loves to climb, against whose shoulder and cheek it loves to purr.  The old dog always comes out of his kennel and wags his tail when somebody passes.”

“Is it Robert?”

“It is Robert.”

“Handsome fellow!” said Shirley, with enthusiasm.  “He is both graceful and good.”

“I was sure that you would see that he was.  When I first looked at your face I knew that you would.”

“I was well inclined to him before I saw him; I liked him when I did see him; I admire him now.”

When they kissed each other and parted at the rectory gate, Shirley said: 

“Caroline Helstone, I have never in my whole life been able to talk to a young lady as I have talked to you this morning.”

“This is the worst passage I have come to yet,” said Caroline to herself.  “Still, I was prepared for it.  I gave Robert up to Shirley the first day I heard she was come.”

III.—­Caroline Finds a Mother

The Whitsuntide school treats were being held, and it was Shirley Keeldar who, at the head of the tea-table, kept a place for Robert Moore, and whose temper became clouded when he was late.  When he did come he was hard and preoccupied, and presently the two girls noticed he was shaking hands and renewing a broken friendship with a militant rector in the playing field, and that the more vigorous of their manufacturing neighbours had gathered in a group to talk.

“There is some mystery afloat,” said Shirley.  “Some event is expected, some preparation to be made; and Robert’s secrecy vexes me.  See, they are all shaking hands with emphasis, as if ratifying some league.”

“We must be on the alert,” said Caroline, “and perhaps we shall find a clue.”