“To Wheatfield’s farm, did you say?  That is in Sedhurst.  There are but three fields between it and the church.”

Presently he added:  “I am tempted to ask a great kindness, though I know not whether it will be possible to you.”

“Indeed, sir, I will do my utmost.”

“There are two graves in Sedhurst Church, I have never dared to inquire about them.  Would it be asking too much from my gentle friend to beg of her to visit them, and let me hear of them.”

“I will, I will, sir, with all my heart.”

By eight o’clock the next evening she was again with him, apologizing for being late.

“I scarcely expected this pleasure to-night.  These rural festivities are often protracted.”

“O sir, I was heartily glad to escape and to get the children away.  The people were becoming so rude and riotous that I was frightened.  I never would have gone, had I known what it would be like, but at home the people are fond of asking us to their harvest feasts, and they always behave well whilst we are there.”

“No doubt they hold your father in respect.”

“Yes,” said Aurelia, unwilling to tell him how much alarmed and offended she had been, though quite unintentionally.  Dame Wheatfield only intended hospitality; but in her eyes “Miss” was merely a poor governess, and that to the little Waylands—­mere interlopers in the eyes of the Belamour tenantry.  So the good woman had no idea that the rough gallantry of the young farmer guests was inappropriate, viewing it as the natural tribute to her guest’s beauty, and mistaking genuine offence for mere coyness, until, finding it was real earnest, considerable affront was taken at “young madam’s fine airs, and she only a poor kinswoman of my Lady’s!” Quite as ill was it received that the young lady had remonstrated against the indigestible cakes and strange beverages administered to all her charges, and above all to Amoret.  She had made her escape on the plea of early hours for the children, leaving Molly behind her, just as the boisterous song was beginning in which Jack kisses Bet, Joe kisses Sue, Tom kisses Nan, &c. down to poor Dorothy Draggletail, who is left in the lurch.  The farewell had been huffy.  “A good evening to you, madam; I am sorry our entertainment was not more to your taste.”  She had felt guilty and miserable at the accusation of pride, and she could not imagine how Mrs. Aylward could have let her go without a warning; the truth being that Mrs. Aylward despised her taste, but thought she knew what a harvest supper was like.

All this was passed over in silence by Aurelia’s pride and delicacy.  She only described the scene when the last waggon came in with its load, the horses decked with flowers and ribbons, and the farmer’s youngest girl enthroned on the top of the shocks, upholding the harvest doll.  This was a little sheaf, curiously constructed and bound with straw plaits and ribbons.  The farmer, on the arrival in the yard, stood on the horse-block, and held it high over the heads of all the harvesters, and the chorus was raised: