'They wouldn't be bad with bread and cheese,' rejoined Cecil, laughing; 'some of our seniors eat them with all sorts of things.'

'Well, you can try the combination if you like, but I don't see any cheese; and oh, hulloa! there's no bread either. Will you ring the bell while I help the eggs?'

'I see them—they're behind you—I'll get them,' and Cecil jumped up and set down the bread, but, among the array of dishes which covered the small table, could find no room for the butter or cheese.

'We can turn out the pickles, and the gooseberries too, for the present,' said Mr. Yorke with a look of amusement. 'Thank you, Cecil; I seem to have brought you here to wait upon me.'

'Oh, it's such fun!' said Cecil delightedly. A thoroughly well-arranged meal would not have given him half the pleasure that this queer little bachelor lunch did.

Before it was over, his spirits were such as entirely to satisfy his host; and Mrs. Keeling, when she came to clear away, was gratified to find that her home-made gingerbread had by no means been despised, though she had been a little offended in the interval by water being rung for. What could Mr. Yorke be thinking of, to let the little gentleman drink water, when there was cowslip wine and raspberry vinegar of her own making in the house, supposing that ordinary wine or beer were thought too strong for him?

But Cecil had affirmed that he always drank water at home, and wished for nothing else, and Mr. Yorke knew better than to try to lead him to other tastes. He liked Cecil's bringing-up altogether—the hardiness and the good sense of it, and the kindness that was never spoiling; and could sympathize the more with the boy, under the cloud which had come between him and his father, because he knew how happy the relations between them had been till now. He was ready to talk about school and cricket, and his own younger brothers, and anything that seemed to interest him; and was rather startled when, as they sat together after lunch in a queer little arbour at the end of the garden, Cecil suddenly said, 'Do you think a person can help being miserable when they are punished for a fault they haven't done?'

'I think it is a great trial,' he answered after a moment's reflection. 'But surely they would have more reason to be miserable if they had committed the fault.'

Cecil pondered over this a minute; then he said, 'But how is it just that they should be punished for what they haven't done?'

'Why, I suppose the person punishing thinks they have done it.'