said Beatrice, smiling. "How much do they amount to this time? My brother will be so anxious to know."

Out came Mr Piper's pocket-book again, the pencil was drawn from its sheath, and the page found.

"Boys' pence for the year ending the blank day of blank eighteen blank," read Mr Piper, "thirty-two pound seven shillings and eightpence-ha'penny: though I can't quite make out that ha'penny."

"And the girls', Mr Piper--how much is that?"

"Well, you see, Miss Thorne ain't ready 'm yet so I can't tell. It's no use for me to put down the sum till I get the money. Good morning, miss. Good morning, miss. It's a busy time with me, so I must go."

The churchwarden left the schoolroom, his hat still upon his head, and Hazel was left face to face with her friends from the Vicarage.

"Had you not better call Mr Piper back, Miss Thorne," said Rebecca.

"Shall I call him, Miss Thorne?" said Beatrice eagerly.

"No, ma'am, I thank you," replied Hazel. "I explained to Mr Piper that I was not ready for him this morning."

"But did he not send word that he was coming?" said Rebecca suavely. "I know he always used to send down the day before."

"Yes, Miss Lambent; Mr Piper did send down, but I have not the money by me," said Hazel desperately. "My--I mean we--had a pressing necessity for some money, and it has been used. I will pay Mr Piper, in the course of a few days."

Rebecca Lambent appeared to freeze as she glanced at her sister, who also became icy.

"It is very strange," said the former.

"Quite contrary to our rules, I think, sister," replied Beatrice, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, dear. Good morning, Miss Thorne."

"Yes; good morning, Miss Thorne," said Beatrice; and they swept out of the school together, remaining silent for the first hundred yards or so as they went homeward. "This is very extraordinary, Rebecca," cried Beatrice at last, speaking with an a.s.sumption of horror and astonishment, but with joy in her heart.

"Not at all extraordinary," said Rebecca. "I am not in the least surprised. Unable to pay over the school pence and deeply in debt to the grocer! I wonder what she owes to the butcher and baker?"

"And the draper!" said Beatrice malignantly. "A schoolmistress flaunting about with a silk parasol! What does a schoolmistress want with a parasol?"

"She is not wax," said Rebecca. "I rarely use one. And now look here, Beattie; it is all true, then, about that boy."

"What! Miss Thorne's brother?"

"Yes; Hazel Thorne's brother. He was in trouble, then, in London, and fled here, and it seems as if the vice is in the family. Why, it is sheer embezzlement to keep back and spend the school pence. I wonder what Henry will say to his favourite now?"

Meanwhile Hazel, whose head throbbed so heavily that she could hardly bear the pain, had dismissed the girls, for it was noon, and then hurried back to the cottage to seek her room, very rudely and sulkily, Mrs Thorne said, for she had spoken to her child as she pa.s.sed through, but Hazel did not seem to hear.

"I sincerely hope, my dears, that when you grow up," said Mrs Thorne didactically, "you will never behave so rudely to your poor mamma as Hazel does."

"Hazel don't mean to be rude, ma," said Cissy in an old-fashioned way.

"She has got a bad headache, that's all. I'm going up to talk to her."

"No, Cissy; you will stay with me," said Mrs Thorne authoritatively.

"I may go, mayn't I, ma? I want to talk to Hazel," said Mab.

"You will stay where you are, my dears; and I sincerely hope to be able to teach you both how to comport yourself towards your mamma. Hazel, I am sorry to say, has a good deal changed."

A good deal, truly; for she looked ghastly now, as she knelt by the bed, holding her aching head, and praying for help and strength of mind to get through her present difficulties and those which were to come.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

MOTHER AND SON.

"I thought you would have come in, George," said Mrs Canninge, entering her son's library, where he was seated, looking very moody and thoughtful.

"Come in? Come in where?"

"To the drawing-room, dear. Beatrice Lambent called. I thought you would have known."

"I saw some one come by," he said quietly. "I did not know it was she."

"She is in great trouble, poor girl!" continued Mrs Canninge; "or, I should say, they are all in great trouble at the Vicarage."

"Indeed! I'm very sorry. What is wrong!"

"Nothing serious, my dear; only you know what good people they are, and when they make a _protegee_ of anybody, and that body doesn't turn out well, of course they feel it deeply."

"Of course," said George Canninge absently; and his mother bit her lip, for she had not excited his curiosity in the least and she had wanted him to ask questions.

"It seems very sad, poor girl!" she said after a pause.

"My dear mother," said the young squire rather impatiently, "Is it not rather foolish of you to speak of Beatrice Lambent as 'poor girl'? She must be past thirty."

"I was not speaking of Beatrice Lambent, my dear," said Mrs Canninge; "though, really, George, I do not think you ought to jump at conclusions like that about dear Beatrice's age, which is, as she informed me herself, twenty-five. I was speaking of their _protegee_ at the Vicarage."

"I beg your pardon," said George Canninge. "I did not know, though, that they had a _protegee_."

"Well, perhaps I am not quite correct, my dear boy, in calling her their _protegee_; but they certainly have taken great interest in her, and it seems very sad for her to have turned out so badly. They took such pains about getting the right sort of person, too."

"Whom do you mean?" said the young man carelessly; "their new cook?

Why, the parson was bragging about her tremendously the other day when he dined here--a woman who could make soup fit for a prince out of next to nothing."

"My dear boy, how you do run away, and how cynically and bitterly you speak!" exclaimed Mrs Canninge, laying her hands upon her son's shoulders. "I was not speaking of Mr Lambent's cook; I meant the new schoolmistress."

There was a pause.

"I felt his heart give a great throb," said Mrs Canninge to herself.

"Calm as he is striving to be, I can understand him, and read him as easily as can be."

"Indeed!" said George Canninge at last, as soon as he could master his emotion. "I was not aware the Vicarage people thought so much of Miss-- of the new schoolmistress."