people tugged their forelocks, and would like, if he would let them, to kiss his hand.  ’We will try the scarlet livery on one of our drives, Richie,’ said he.  Mrs. Waddy heard him.  ‘It is unlawful, sir,’ she said.  ‘For whom, ma’am?’ asked my father.  ‘None but Royal . . .’ she was explaining, but stopped, for he showed her an awful frown, and she cried so that my heart ached for her.  My father went out to order the livery on the spot.  He was very excited.  Then it was that Mrs. Waddy, embracing me, said, ’My dear, my own Master Richmond, my little Harry, prepare your poor child’s heart for evil days.’  I construed her unintelligible speech as an attack upon my father, and abused her violently.

While I was in this state of wrathful championship, the hall-door was opened.  I ran out and caught sight of my aunt Dorothy, in company with old Mr. Bannerbridge.  I was kissed and hugged for I know not how long, until the smell of Riversley took entire possession of me, and my old home seemed nearer than the one I lived in; but my aunt, seeing tears on my cheeks, asked me what was my cause of sorrow.  In a moment I poured out a flood of complaints against Mrs. Waddy for vexing my father.  When she heard of the scarlet livery, my aunt lifted her hands.  ’The man is near the end of his wits and his money together,’ said Mr. Bannerbridge; and she said to me, ’My darling Harry will come back to his own nice little room, and see his grandpapa soon, won’t you, my pet?  All is ready for him there as it used to be, except poor mama.  “Kiss my boy, my Harry—­Harry Richmond.”  Those were her last words on her death-bed, before she went to God, Harry, my own!  There is Sampson the pony, and Harry’s dog Prince, and his lamb Daisy, grown a sheep, and the ploughboy, Dick, with the big boots.’  Much more sweet talk of the same current that made my face cloudy and bright, and filled me with desire for Riversley, to see my mother’s grave and my friends.

Aunt Dorothy looked at me.  ‘Come now,’ she said; ‘come with me, Harry.’  Her trembling seized on me like a fire.  I said, ‘Yes,’ though my heart sank as if I had lost my father with the word.  She caught me in her arms tight, murmuring, ’And dry our tears and make our house laugh.  Oh! since the night that Harry went . . . . .  And I am now Harry’s mama, he has me.’

I looked on her forehead for the wreath of white flowers my mother used to wear, and thought of my father’s letter with the prayer written on the black-bordered page.  I said I would go, but my joy in going was gone.  We were stopped in the doorway by Mrs. Waddy.  Nothing would tempt her to surrender me.  Mr. Bannerbridge tried reasoning with her, and, as he said, put the case, which seemed to have perched on his forefinger.  He talked of my prospects, of my sole chance of being educated morally and virtuously as became the grandson of an English gentleman of a good old family, and of my father having spent my