my Trinity scholarship--and could just, in the plenitude of my
presumption, extend a little conceited patronage to that unlucky
dunce, Tom Underwood, the lag of every form, and thankful for a high
stool at old Kedge's. And now my children view a cold fowl as an
unprecedented monster, while his might, I imagine, revel in 'pates
de foie gras.'

'O Papa, but we like you so much better as you are!' cried Geraldine.

'Eh, Cherry!' said Mr. Underwood, 'what say you? Shouldn't you like
me better if I were buying that king beech tree, and all the rest of
it?'

Cherry edged nearer, mastered his hand, and looked up in his face
with a whole soul of negation in her wistful eyes. 'No, no, no--just
as you are,' she whispered.

Some mood of curiosity had come over him, and he turned an
interrogative look elsewhere.

Alda spoke. 'Of course, it would be horrid not to be a clergyman; but
it is a great shame.'

'No,' said Wilmet, 'it can't be a shame for this cousin Tom to have
earned a fortune fairly--if he has; but'--and she pressed her hands
tightly together as she looked at the thin worn faces of her parents-
--'one can't help wishing. Why do things always go hard and wrong?'
and the tears dimmed her bright eyes.

'Because--they _don't_,' said her father, with a half-serious