Judge Keane’s place was a mile out of Pendlepoint.  It was in the opposite direction from Thankful Rest, and stood within its own extensive grounds, at the base of the Peak.  The house was built a little way up the slope, and commanded a magnificent view of the great plain and the river, whose silver thread was visible long after all other objects receded from view.  You have made the acquaintance of the judge already; let us accompany Mr. Goldthwaite and his sister to the Red House on a mild October evening, and make friends with the rest of the family.  When the minister and his sister were ushered into Mrs. Keane’s drawing-room, its only occupants were that lady and her two daughters, Alice and Minnie.  The former was a tall, stately young lady, like her father, stiff and reserved to strangers, but much liked by her friends, among whom Carrie Goldthwaite was the chief.  Minnie Keane was a bright-eyed, curly-haired maiden of fifteen, wild as an antelope, and as full of fun and frolic as any one of her pet kittens.  Their mother was an invalid, seldom able to leave her couch;—­not a fretful invalid, you must understand, but a sweet, gentle, unselfish woman, who bore her pain and weakness without a murmur, so that those she loved might be spared pain on her account.  Mr. Goldthwaite often said that Mrs. Keane’s life was the best sermon he had ever come across; and I think he was right.  The brother and sister received a warm welcome.  Miss Keane and Carrie withdrew to the wide window for a private chat, while Mr. Goldthwaite remained by Mrs. Keane’s sofa.  He was an especial favourite of hers.  Minnie disappeared, and ere long Judge Keane and his second son, George, appeared in the drawing-room.  It is not necessary for me to describe Mr. George Keane, except to say that he was his father’s right hand, and the greatest comfort of his mother’s life; and that is saying a great deal, isn’t it?  When he came in Alice found something to do at her mother’s couch, and her seat in the window did not long remain unoccupied.  There was quite a hum of conversation in the room, and then when candles were brought in, and the curtains drawn, Miss Keane said with a smile,—­

“We have not had our pilgrimage up the Peak this fall.  If we don’t have it soon it will be too late.”

“Frank and I were talking of it yesterday,” said Carrie Goldthwaite.  “The days are so pleasant, why not have it this week or beginning of next?”

“Well,” said Judge Keane, “settle the day when you are at it; I was beginning to think our annual excursion was to be forgotten this fall.”

“This is Thursday, and to-morrow is my class day at Pendlepoint,” said Miss Keane.  “Saturday won’t suit you, Mr. Goldthwaite?”

“Monday would be better,” admitted Frank.

“Then Monday be it,” said the judge.  “We will start at twelve, and luncheon at the summit at one.”

“And, O papa, mayn’t the big waggon go?” pleaded Minnie.  “I want to take Mopsy and Ted and Silver Tail.”