“My dear, that boy’s trick, on that sunny day, when all seemed going straight and well, broke my mother’s heart, and changed my father for life.  It did, indeed.  Old Clare said, Peter looked as white as my father; and stood as still as a statue to be flogged; and my father struck hard!  When my father stopped to take breath, Peter said, ‘Have you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, and still standing quite quiet.  I don’t know what my father said—­or if he said anything.  But old Clare said, Peter turned to where the people outside the railing were, and made them a low bow, as grand and as grave as any gentleman; and then walked slowly into the house.  I was in the store-room helping my mother to make cowslip wine.  I cannot abide the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; they turn me sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came in, looking as haughty as any man—­indeed, looking like a man, not like a boy.  ‘Mother!’ he said, ’I am come to say, God bless you for ever.’  I saw his lips quiver as he spoke; and I think he durst not say anything more loving, for the purpose that was in his heart.  She looked at him rather frightened, and wondering, and asked him what was to do.  He did not smile or speak, but put his arms round her and kissed her as if he did not know how to leave off; and before she could speak again, he was gone.  We talked it over, and could not understand it, and she bade me go and seek my father, and ask what it was all about.  I found him walking up and down, looking very highly displeased.

“’Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he richly deserved it.’

“I durst not ask any more questions.  When I told my mother, she sat down, quite faint, for a minute.  I remember, a few days after, I saw the poor, withered cowslip flowers thrown out to the leaf heap, to decay and die there.  There was no making of cowslip wine that year at the rectory—­nor, indeed, ever after.

“Presently my mother went to my father.  I know I thought of Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was very pretty and delicate-looking, and my father looked as terrible as King Ahasuerus.  Some time after they came out together; and then my mother told me what had happened, and that she was going up to Peter’s room at my father’s desire—­though she was not to tell Peter this—­to talk the matter over with him.  But no Peter was there.  We looked over the house; no Peter was there!  Even my father, who had not liked to join in the search at first, helped us before long.  The rectory was a very old house—­steps up into a room, steps down into a room, all through.  At first, my mother went calling low and soft, as if to reassure the poor boy, ’Peter!  Peter, dear! it’s only me;’ but, by-and-by, as the servants came back from the errands my father had sent them, in different directions, to find where Peter was—­as we found he was not in the garden, nor the hayloft, nor anywhere about—­my