'Well, and did Ned get hold of it, then?' asked Herbert, thinking the story was likely to last a long time.

'No, not then; but I knows he has now,' said the boy, bursting out crying afresh. I put it in my trousers pocket; and for fear Ned should steal it, as he sleeps along of me, I put my trousers under my head at night. Next mornin' I didn't like to look and see before him; but I guv it a shake, and felt it jump right enuff; and all the mornin' I was at work along with Ned, and all the time I was athinking and athinking how pleased mother 'ood be with the money. After dinner I set off, and Ned he came with me part of the way; when he turned back and was safe out of sight, I put my hand in my pocket to look at my 'arf-crown, and (sob, sob, sob) only found this,' holding out a very greasy penny.

Milly was puzzled. 'But how did the half-crown get changed into a penny ?'

'That sneak Ned must have changed it last night; I s'pose I slept sound,' burst out the boy; 'and now mother'll go without.'

Milly felt very sorry for him; but at the same time despised him for his tears and evident cowardice; so she said, 'Why, you are not half a boy! Why didn't you run back directly you found it out, and make Ned give you back the money? He has only taken it to tease you.'

Joe looked down, shuffled his feet together, and rubbing his eye with a very dirty finger, drawled out, 'He's arf as big again as me.'

Milly looked and felt still more contemptuous at the answer, and said, 'Well, it was no good crying.'

No, miss, it warn't.'

'Come, take my advice, my boy,' said Herbert; 'go

Joe sent away happier.

17

back to the farm now, and when you see Ned, ask him quietly for your half-crown; and if he gives it you up, as he is almost sure to do, take it, and if you haven't pluck enough to knock him down, hold your tongue; if, however, he won't give it up, you must either fight for it or put up with the loss, unless you like to tell Farmer Palmer.'

'No,' said Joe; 'I'd not like to do that.'

'No, so I should fancy. Well, I'll tell you what I will do for you, Joe; I'll send your mother half a crown tonight, and you can repay me when you get yours, or another again.'

Joe's eyes brightened; but all he could get out was, 'Thank ye, sir; to-morrow's mother's rent-day, and she'll be glad of it, I know.'

'Very well, then, that's settled. Now, Milly, we must be going. Goodbye Joe; don't sit there any longer.'

They rode home rather quickly, for Herbert was engaged out to dinner, and there was no time to lose, as it was already very late.

B

CHAPTER III.

M

MILLY REBELS.

ILLY threw off her habit hastily, leaving it an untidy heap on the floor, and was soon in the schoolroom, telling Miss Horne about Joe Dickson and the half-crown.

'Miss Horne, may we go to Mrs. Dickson's to-morrow, as we walk out?'

'I don't know about that, Millicent. I must ask Mr. Grant first.'

'But why? He always lets me go into any cottage I

like.'

'Well, I have my reasons, my dear. I heard something to-day which I must tell him before I take you.'

'What have you heard? is it anything to make a mystery about? Can't you tell me?' asked Milly, impatiently.

No, my dear, I think it will be better not to do so. Never mind, finish your tea;' and Miss Horne, taking some knitting from her pocket, leant back in her chair and began to work.

Milly pushed her plate and cup from her, upsetting the latter as she did so.

'I don't want any more tea,' she said, pouting. I suppose I may go and see my rabbits before bed-time.'

'Yes, my love, certainly; but come in before it gets damp.'

'Damp!' repeated Milly to herself, contemptuously, as she ran off. 'Damp! this lovely summer's evening! It seems to me that governesses always look on the gloomy side, even when there isn't one. Why can't they be happy and merry, I wonder?'

Poor Miss Horne! Had Milly but known half her troubles, her wonder would soon have ceased; but I think that, in its place, she would have felt surprise that her governess could wear the placid contented face she did. It was a pity that Miss Horne did not work more on her pupil's feelings, instead of shutting herself up in her shell of reserve; for Milly's warm heart would have been the first to sympathize with her, and it would have done her no harm to have heard some of her governess's troubles, although she could not have told the little girl all. How little did Milly know the painful thoughts passing through Miss Horne's mind, when to all appearance she was entirely engrossed with that 'eternal knitting!'

How startled would she not have been, could she have beheld the scene pictured in Miss Horne's mind as she sat and worked! It was that of a cold, bare, dismal room, in a dingy, narrow London street. In the morning it contained only two figures; an old woman scantily clothed, sitting on a hard, frayed horsehair arm-chair, plaiting straw with feeble, trembling fingers, every now and then lifting her sightless eyes to the window, where, seated at a table, so as to catch every ray of light, was a young girl engaged in drawing. In the evening, still looking at the same picture, another figure was added to it, that of a man between thirty and forty years of age, whose coming in for a while brightened

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up the dull, dreary room. For one half-hour the two women ceased working; it was the one solitary pleasure of the day, this visit of the son and uncle to his mother and niece, and they always enjoyed it to the utmost. Still knitting away, Miss Horne could fancy she heard all they said; could fancy she heard her pretty Mary reading Aunt Agatha's last letter; could fancy she heard her dear old mother saying, as she knew she did say every day of her life, 'God bless her, my good dear child!'

But of all this Milly knew nothing, nor of the life of selfdenial her governess had led ever since her childhood, in order to send home weekly some of her hard-earned savings.

It would have been a comfort to Agatha Horne to have talked of those dear to her, even to a child; but she never did so; it was too sad a subject, she thought, for Milly's age and nature. In this she was mistaken; but, like many good and even clever women who undertake the charge of children, she failed to understand the disposition of the child she taught.

It is time now to return to Milly, who, as we have seen, went off to her rabbits in a high state of dudgeon.

'How ridiculous Miss Horne is,' she thought, 'not to tell me her reason for not going to Mrs. Dickson's tomorrow! I hate mysteries. By-the-bye,' as the idea suddenly occurred to her, 'I wonder whether Herbert told any one to take that half-crown to Joe's mother! He went off in such a hurry I daresay he forgot all about it;' and throwing down the lettuces and other green food she had gathered for her rabbits, she started off to the house to make inquiries. The groom, stable-boy, and butler were first asked. No, Mr. Herbert had given no orders of the