saw him. He was now saying--as holding his 'Wapsie's' hand, he capered
round in front, looking up in his face--

'Why has Mr. Larkin no teeth when he laughs? Is he ever angry when he
laughs--is he, Wapsie--oh, Wapsie, _is_ he? Would you let him whip me, if
I was naughty? I don't like him. Why does mamma say he is a good man,
Wapsie?'

'Because, little man, he _is_ a good man,' said the vicar, recalled by
the impiety of the question. 'The best friend that Wapsie ever met with
in his life.'

'But you would not give me to him, Wapsie?'

'Give you, darling! no--to no one but to God, my little man; for richer,
for poorer, you're my own--your Wapsie's little man.'

And he lifted him up, and carried him in his arms against his loving
heart, and the water stood in his eyes, as he laughed fondly into that
pretty face.

But 'little man' by this time was struggling to get down and give chase
to a crow grubbing near them for dainties, with a muddy beak, and
'Wapsie's' eyes followed, smiling, the wild vagaries of his little Fairy.

In the mean time Mr. Larkin had got among the noble trees of Brandon, and
was approaching the lordly front of the Hall. His mind was busy. He had
not very much fact to go upon. His theories were built chiefly of vapour,
and every changing light or breath, therefore, altered their colouring
and outlines.