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CHAPTER IX.

ROBIN'S SONG OF WELCOME.

"The sailor lad, far out at sea, saw wondrous birds of every hue: Vermilion, tinged with golden green, glancing to amethystine

blue;

But as he left the fairy isle, he looked far on into the sky:

'These have no song,' he said, 'for me-they only glitter as they fly.

I'd give the world that I might hear, above the ripple of the foam, The Robin's note, that sweetly sings no other song than Home, sweet Home!" "

E. M. L.

SEVERAL months passed on-as life in the country so often seems to do, without any striking event, yet full of busy occupation: very much like the soft flowing Haze, which took its even course through the village of Hazelmere as if it had nothing more to do than to reflect the fair picture of its pleasant banks, or sweep off a few dead reeds and grasses from its fairy islets of white "meadow sweet," where the hidden moor-hen had left them, yet, nevertheless, as full of purpose in its onward tide as when, with sudden turn, it hurried on to its work at the dripping mill-wheel; then further

still, to become the useful boundary line of a county; and yet on to busier life amongst the tall sparred masts, clustered in its broad, deep channel, ready to bear them far over the wide sea.

So Christmas-tide came peacefully in due season to Linda Conway, with its joyous music and sweet church bells. A year! it did not seem half so long since she had listened to the same sounds and returned, as of old, from the same employments to the quiet Rectory; above all, since she had written and signed that resolution to banish from her thoughts the regard which she treasured for another. A whole year had passed, but Linda had given herself work to do, and she had done it zealously-nothing great nor worthy of praise from others, still, work that had occupied her mind and strengthened her purpose; and now on this Christmas eve, as she came home wearied with the active business of church-decorating, the dreamy twilight and the low seat before the red embers on the hearth invited her to stay and rest for a while, and soon guided her meditations into a grave review of the past year-yes, indeed, a year!-and to ask herself how far her resolution had been kept. Well, indeed, for her if she could answer truly that it had.

But Linda's thoughtful mood was abruptly interrupted by the firm step in the hall, and the extremely substantial figure of Joyce Archer filling up the doorway. A pile of fir-wood was in her arms; presently this was laid upon the hearth and stirred into a blaze; Joyce placed a dazzling lamp upon the table, and began to remove the books and papers.

It was a fixed rule with Archer, that-whenever the rector had retreated into his study for the evening, with a command that he " was on no account to be disturbed," and she had to bring in a solitary tea-cup for her young mistress,-at least plenty of light and warmth and brightness should surround her; so now-noticing Linda's unusual silence-Joyce bustled out of the room, returning again with a fairer burden, and one she thought more likely to attract notice.

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See here, Miss Linda, did you ever have such a grand bough of mistletoe before, or such beautiful variegated holly ? the berries are clustered as thick as an ear of corn. Squire Hardie sent them with his compliments; and Mrs. Hardie sent good wishes, and such a turkey! Shall I bring that in for you to see?-I should like you to look at it. Lift it you never could; but it's a wonderful great beauty."

Linda roused herself from her dreamy look into the fire, and took up a choice spray of the holly with a sudden look of genuine pleasure. "How very kind of the Squire! This will just do for my work this evening: I like nothing so well as white-leaved holly for my dear mother's grave. am so glad of it, Joyce; and Mrs. Hardie's Christmas gift deserves great thanks—perhaps I had better write to her at once."

"Bless you, Miss Linda, you needn't trouble. I was going into the village to take Miss Trissy Mills your Christmas present to her, and so I just went round by White Court and left the basket and your thanks. I told Mrs. Hardie you had been busy in the church all day, and I knew for certain you'd be too tired to write this evening. She gave me a very nice mince-pie, and I heard a good bit of news here and there; so what with one thing and another I had a pleasant walk.”

"I am glad to hear it," said Linda; "how did you find Mrs. Hardie and-the dogs ?"

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'They're all going to Brighton for change of air," replied Joyce; "at least I know Skye is to go with her, for she said a salt-water bath might perhaps strengthen his leg, which had never been right since his accident."

Linda smiled. "Well, Joyce, we all have our fancies; perhaps Mrs. Hardie would be surprised at mine for the canaries and little 'Goldie.""

"To be sure," said Archer, in her matterof-fact way. "Now I like pets that are useful. A good speckled hen or two, like Bridget and Brownie, are worth all the Skye-terriers that ever barked themselves hoarse; besides, you can't treat them as if they were Christians: they've ways of their own, and they're good independent ways too."

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'Perhaps so," said Linda, mischievously, "if you make ample allowance for their fractious disposition. Joyce, did you ever notice Dame Bridget's unwillingness to put down a choice morsel, even to enjoy it herself? ”

"I don't know that I ever did, Miss Linda; but let me see, what was it I was just going to tell you? Oh, it was a bit of news I picked up at Miss Trissy Mills'. After I left White Court I got to the cross-roads in time for a good cup of tea with the old lady, and she'd plenty to say about everybody. We went over most of the parish. Well, now, it's about time to get tea ready I think; I leave you to guess what I heard—parish news, Miss Linda."

"It is impossible to do that," replied Linda,

L