nothing of the country or country life, except what I have seen on my few holidays."

"And how do you think you shall like the country?" "Why, sir, I think everything in the country is beautiful. I can never look or listen long enough."

"And how do you like the people?"

Stephen was not so ready with his answer to this question, for the fact was that, up to this time, he did not like the people at all.

"I don't know any of them yet, sir," he replied evasively.

"And they don't know you. Well, you will be better friends by-and-by. I daresay, if the truth were known, you think them a queer, half-civilised set of boors; but wait a little, you will find they have good hearts and clever heads too, some of them. I dare prophesy that, before a year is over, you will be quite proud of some of the very boys you now consider stupid dunces. You see you don't understand each other yet; and I daresay there is a little prejudice to be got over on both sides. Now confess, have you not thought the people rather unfriendly and disagreeable?"

"Well-yes, sir, I must say I have," said Stephen reddening, "wherever they have seen me, they have stared at me as though I were some wild animal, and the boys at school seem determined to dispute my authority in everything. But I don't mind that so much," he added. "I shall conquer them in time, only, of course, it makes matters ten times worse when the parents set them against me, as I can see plainly enough they do."

They are rough and boorish, no doubt," answered the Rector, "and perhaps inclined to resent having a stranger placed over them, and they do not know enough of the world to make allowances. But I am afraid you made rather a false start to begin with; these people are very sensitive, and apt to take offence at any fancied slight, and perhaps you will be surprised to hear that they have set you down as a proud, stuck-up fellow, because you walked across the village green without speaking to one of them. I tell you this, because I believe you have good sense enough to try to make things right. The green with us is almost like a club-room; every one who comes on to it in the evening is expected to be friendly and ready for a gossip, or he will very soon be black-balled. You don't know how far a friendly word and a pleasant smile go with these simple country folk, especially from any one they feel to be in any way their superior. Now, Rivers, you take my advice, and try to make friends with all the boys' mothers; a very few kind words will do it, and you will soon win the heart of the whole village."

After this piece of advice, the Rector talked of other things till they returned home to tea and to church.

Stephen was willing enough to follow the Rector's advice, but he did not know how to begin to make friends with these country folk. He knew nothing about pigs or poultry, cattle or crops, what could he talk to them about? he asked himself.

He left his house on Monday evening, and turned towards the village green, with the full intention of making friends with some of the people, but unfortunately the first person he met happened to be Poole the

C

blacksmith. Stephen had a strong feeling that this man looked at him with no friendly eye, and he had discovered that it was the young Pooles who were his most rebellious subjects in the schoolroom. However, he said, "good evening," in as pleasant a tone as he could command. His salutation was answered by a grunt, which, with the most charitable interpretation, could hardly be understood to signify anything friendly.

The hot blood rose to the schoolmaster's face, and with a shrug of his shoulders he turned away, and down the lane which led to the river. He walked on, feeling moody and disappointed, till he came to the drawbridge. It was a curious picturesque object; Stephen sat down on the bank and began to sketch it, for he was very fond of drawing, and if he had followed the dictates of nature, he would have been a painter. He always carried a little sketchbook in his pocket, and had already sent his mother two or three outlines to give her an idea what Chiltern was like.

He found the bridge a good object, and determined to try to make a water-colour of it some Saturday afternoon. He was quite absorbed in his work when he was startled by the sound of wheels, and he only started to his feet in time to make way for a pony carriage, which was occupied by two young ladies; one driving, the other leaning back among cushions. With an instinctive impulse Stephen raised his hat as they passed, he could hardly see their faces under their large shady hats, but they both turned round to look at him as they crossed the bridge, and then he remembered that they were the same ladies he had noticed in church.

66

CHAPTER IV.

THE SCHOOLMASTER RECEIVES AN INVITATION.

'THERE, that is the schoolmaster," Violet was saying, in a suppressed but excited tone. "Now Edith, does not he look like a gentleman? He evidently knows how to behave, he lifted his hat as we passed, and did you notice what fine dark eyes he had? Really, Edith, I think they are something like yours."

"Then they must be fine," replied Edith, with a laugh, "but I did not look at him at all, I was trying to see what his drawing was like. I wish I knew some one who could teach me something about perspective; I wonder whether he knows anything about drawing properly."

"I daresay he does," replied Violet, "you know people can learn everything well in London. We will ask mother to let him give you lessons. What fun it would be! Why Edith, you would be Ned Poole's schoolfellow then," and Violet laughed merrily at the idea. No joke was too small to bring out her merry laugh.

Edith laughed too, and as soon as they reached the house, Violet ran to find her mother.

"Oh, mother dear," she cried, "such fun! We have found a drawing-master for Edith at last. Will you go to-morrow and engage him to give her lessons?"

"Found a drawing-master!" repeated Mrs Melville

looking mystified, "what do you mean, child? Did you meet any one at your uncle's?"

"No; we just met him on the towing-path-he was making a lovely sketch of the bridge."

Now Violet had not even glanced at the sketch, but only at the artist's face.

"He is some travelling artist, no doubt," said Mrs Melville.

"No, mother, he is not a travelling artist at all; he has come to live in the village for good and all."

"It's strange that I should have heard nothing about him," said Mrs Melville, who knew every house and every face in Chiltern.

"Violet is talking nonsense," said Edith. "It is only the new schoolmaster; we saw him making a sketch of the bridge as we passed. But really it looked very good from the glimpse I caught of it, and if he could teach me a little about sketching from nature I should be very glad."

"I think it hardly likely a village schoolmaster would be able to teach you drawing, my dear; but I will ask your uncle to find out what he can do," said Mrs Melville, who never took any step concerning her girls without consulting her brother; and he, for his part, was willing enough to be consulted, for he loved his nieces, and took the deepest interest in their affairs.

Mrs Melville had been left a widow while her children were mere babies; she came to Chiltern to be near her brother, and from that time devoted herself to her two daughters. Hitherto Violet had been nothing but a joy to her. She was a bright, healthy child from the day of her birth, full of those joyous spirits that only