uncomfortable. He would take Harry to task for his enormity, and then
think no more about it. Meditating thus, he entered Mrs Blackmore's
drawing-room one forenoon early enough to find mamma and the young
ladies hard at Berlin wool--they were finishing Christmas presents--all
but Maria, for whose amusement Harry was turning over a volume of
sporting prints at a little table by themselves.

'We are all industrious to-day,' said Mrs Blackmore, 'on account of our
country cousin--a dear odd creature. She has sent us hampers and baskets
full of everything nice, for I don't know how long. The girls can
scarcely remember when she was here last, and it would be such a comfort
to her to have some of their work. Do, Maria, try and finish that
purse.'

Charles and Harry had heard of that 'dear odd country cousin' ever since
they first entered the house. The turkeys and chickens she sent had been
described in their hearing till they thought they had eaten them. From
the conversation of her relatives Harry concluded her to be a spinster
or widow of an uninteresting age. However, the threatened arrival
created a new employment for him in the shape of holding purse-silk for
Miss Maria to wind; and owing perhaps to the quietness of this
employment--perhaps to its occupying so long a time--the awkwardness of
his position began to stare him in the face. He began to think he was a
bad fellow--although it was all Charles's fault. He did not know that
Miss Maria thought him a goosey-goosey-gander, but he began at last to
hate her all the same--we are so liable to hate those we are conscious
of injuring! He became in truth afraid of her--she haunted him. He knew
he ought to do something, but he did not know what to do. He had all his
life acted under advice, and he now felt as if he had broken from his
moorings, and was on the wide, wide sea, drifting at the mercy of this