nature in spite of the best intentions, the word "mordling" must suggest itself.

A surname one cannot choose any more than one can choose a dark or a fair skin; but whilst the curate was willing to allow that the name of Mordle was an unavoidable congenital misfortune, its conjunction with Sylvanus he looked upon as a foul crime, and reviled the godfathers and godmothers who had tacked such a soft-sounding appellation on to Mordle.

On the principle of living it down, he was always brisk and cheery in his manner. It was never too hot, never too cold, never too sunny, never too windy for the Rev. Sylvanus Mordle. He preached almost merry sermons, conveyed in short incisive sentences, rattled out in a quick, decisive, quitebeyond-doubt way. His phrases followed one another like the detonations of a cracker. They seemed designed to slap the listener on the breast, and hammer and hammer away at that sin-hardened receptacle as if meaning by a series of repeated blows to enforce conviction and obedience. They were crisp, strong, muscular exhortations, eminently suited to the spiritual needs of the poorer parishioners. Only when he preached a funeral sermon could Mr. Mordle's style be cavilled at. On such an occasion he was bound to be doubly careful not to get his manner mixed up with his name, so sometimes his discourse did not quite satisfy the bereft relations and grieving friends.

But a funeral sermon was only due to a deceased member of one of the families of position: moreover, Oakbury is a healthy spot, and when an important death did. occur the rector was usually in his place to do his duty. So the Rev. Sylvanus managed very well.

For the rest, he was a man of about thirty, pleasantlooking and popular, not disdainful of the good things of this world, yet not hankering after them-doing the whole work of a curate and three-fourths of that of a rector for

one hundred and twenty pounds a year. It was lucky he had a good constitution and a small fortune of his own!

This afternoon Mr. Mordle felt the Talberts' excuses no slight to himself. He begged the brothers might not be

disturbed. He was quite content that Miss Clauson should entertain him tête-à-tête as long as possible. He inquired if any news had arrived about the missing mother; then, turning his attention to the child, went through a variety of those little actions which grown-up people, rightly or wrongly, suppose ingratiate children. Noticing how the pretty boy clung to Beatrice, he complimented her on her rapid conquest of his affections-a compliment in which Miss Clauson might have found a deeper meaning lurking had she cared to look for it. He would have called much earlier to learn what had transpired, but had been compelled to attend a funeral several miles off. He alluded to the melancholy reason for his delay with as much cheerfulness as many people mention a wedding.

“And where are your uncles?" he asked.

"In the housekeeper's room," answered Beatrice demurely.

"Busy, of course-Saturday. Bad day to call. What are they about now?"

As he jerked out his short sentences, Beatrice glanced at him and saw his eyes twinkling. She could not help smiling.

"Well-what is it?" asked Mr. Mordle.

The girl gave a little gurgle of laughter. The curate once more repeated his question.

"Oh, Mr. Mordle," said Beatrice, "they are doing the clothes!"

"Quite right; some one must do them. Now, I wonder," he continued, in a more reflective way than usual, "I wonder if they look them out for the wash on Mondays." "Oh no; not so bad as that. But did you ever know anything so funny!"

"Took you by surprise, of course?" said the curate briskly.

"Yes. I had heard something about it, but the reality overwhelmed me. Uncle Horace doing wool-work was my first experience. The next morning I found Uncle Herbert doling out stores to the cook. And to see them manage the house better than any woman!"

"Delightful. I could tell you some very amusing things,

Miss Clauson."

"Please don't.

They are so kind and amiable I can't

bear to laugh at them."

"They are kind. I love them dearly. What my poor people would do without them I can't think. If they'll leave you enough to do, you're certain to be happy here."

Beatrice smiled. She remembered the horror they had displayed at the bare thought of her having any part in the domestic arrangements of Hazlewood House. It seemed to Mr. Mordle that he had never seen Miss Clauson look so bright and lively as she looked to-day. She looked most lovingly at the child, who, tired of his play, lay peacefully on her lap.

"But I have not enough to do," she said, her hand the while caressing the boy's golden head. "Mr. Mordle, I wish you would help me in something."

Anything everything-command me," said the curate in his quickest, most decisive way.

"I have taken such a fancy to this dear little man that, supposing his people do not reveal themselves, I want to persuade my uncles to let me keep him. I could be so happy with him here." She kissed and fondled the boy.

Now that he saw whither his rash promise was to lead him, Mr. Mordle paused and hesitated. "I am sure Uncle Herbert wouldn't mind," added Beatrice.

"Mr. Talbert would never consent,” said Mr. Mordle. "What harm would it do?" asked Beatrice.

The Rev. Sylvanus was silent. He did not like to tell the girl that the retention at Hazlewood House of this mysteriously-sent child might create scandal.

"You will help me, will you not?" pleaded Beatrice. The look in her eyes turned Sylvanus's heart into wax.

So, with the weakness of male humanity when thus assailed, he promised to do what he could to insure her wish being carried out. Beatrice gave him a look of gratitude, the very remembrance of which he felt would repay him for a much greater service than the one she entreated of him.

By and by he took his leave of her in that happy

frame of mind peculiar to the man who has laid a lovely woman under an obligation.

Horace and Herbert he did not see. They were detained for an indefinite period. The linen paid in by the laundress did not balance with the counterfoil in the washing-book, so they had to go through it again—an annoying, but a necessary task.

CHAPTER VI.

BEATRICE TRIUMPHANT.

MISS CLAUSON carried her point. Her success was due to a curious combination of events, as well as to her own persistence and eloquent pleading. She managed to get Uncle Herbert alone-a difficult matter, as the "Tabbies" were almost always together—and, after sundry arguments and entreaties, if unable to win his consent to her proposed arrangement, exacted a promise from him that he would not object if Horace approved of her keeping the boy. To be sure he had not the faintest idea that Horace would consent.

Mr. Mordle, the adviser of the family, and Herbert Talbert thus brought on her side or rendered neutral, Horace remained the arbiter of the boy's fate, and Miss Clauson directed all her energies towards making him yield.

At

Like a clever girl, she took care that the young intruder should be no nuisance to any one, not even to the servants. When her uncles saw him they saw him at his best. the first signs of bad behaviour Beatrice whipped him away. As he had not yet run amuck through their bric-à-brac, not demolished a ruby-backed plate, or detruncated a Chelsea figure, they had no fault to find with his general behaviour. Indeed, they liked to see the little fellow about the place, and the confiding way in which sometimes he climbed upon Horace's knee was quite touching. He was not a bit afraid of these tall grave men. Children see further in some ways than grown-up people, and no doubt the little boy felt instinctively that many excellent feminine