Miss Mills took off her hat as she spoke, and allowed the summer air to play with her somewhat thin fringe and to cool her heated cheeks.
"I hate children," she soliloquized. "I did hope that my time of servitude was nearly over, but when men prove so unfaithful!" Here a very angry gleam flashed out of her eyes; she put her hand into her pocket, and taking out a letter, read it slowly and carefully. Her expression was not pleasant while she perused the words on the closely written page.
She had just returned the letter to its envelope when a gay voice sounded in her ears. A girl was seen walking across the field and approaching the stile. She was a fair-haired, pretty girl, dressed in the height of the fashion. She had a merry laugh, and a merry voice, and two very bright blue eyes.
"How do you do, Miss Mills?" she called to her. "I am going to see Hilda. Can you tell me if she is at home?"
"How do you do, Miss Anstruther?" replied Miss Mills; "I did not know you had returned."
"Yes, we all came home yesterday. I am longing to see Hilda, I have such heaps of things to tell her. Is she at the Rectory?"
"At the present moment she is very busily employed trying to train the most unmelodious choir in Great Britain," replied Miss Mills. "The Harvest Festival takes place on Sunday, and in consequence she has more than usual to do."
"Ah, you need not tell me; I am not going to venture within sound of that choir. I shall go down to the Rectory and wait until her duties are ended. There is not the least hurry. Good-by, Miss Mills. Are the children well?"
"You can see for yourself," replied Miss Mills; "they are coming up the road side by side."
"Old-fashioned little pair," replied Miss Anstruther, with a laugh. "I'll just run down the road and give them a kiss each, and then go on to the Rectory."