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Perhaps his uncle would sleep so soundly that he would not hear her call for help, and then he, her wicked nephew, would be the one to help her—to save her, to be forgiven. He nestled close against the door, drew himself together for warmth, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.

The next morning Sir Joseph rose very early, after a sound night's rest, that he might see if the men were at work in his model farm. When he had dressed himself, he went back to his wife's room to ask how she was. Having received with satisfaction a good account of that lady, who was only half awake, he opened her door, and all but trod upon his little nephew.

"Dear me dear me! What on earth dear me!" he exclaimed.

He looked at Master Irvine with an expression of extreme perplexity and some annoyance. The boy's head was pillowed on one arm, and his young face looked pale in the shaded morning light. Sir Joseph felt, as he had often felt before, that a problem was presented to him which would require his most careful consideration. He experienced a passing pleasure in the thought that he should have something to consider in his study between breakfast and luncheon. When he had made an early

inspection of the Home Farm, and had no justice's business to attend to, he was apt to want a vent for his superfluous energy. As he stood looking down at his problem, the boy stretched himself, turned over, and opened his eyes.

"Oh, uncle Joseph," he cried, jumping up, "is she worse? Are you going for the doctor?" "Bless the boy! What do you mean?" said his uncle.

"Aunt Ellen!" cried Irvine.

"Your aunt is quite well," said Sir Joseph. "Dear me! dear me!" he added, shaking his head; and then, with the air of one who sees his way out of a difficulty, finished with, "Come, you be off to bed."

"Oh, I am so glad!" cried the boy. "Thanks, uncle Joseph-thanks so much."

"Get off to bed, there's a good boy."

The boy ran off, and Sir Joseph stood staring at his hand, which had been wrung with what seemed to him an absurdly exaggerated demonstration of gratitude.

"I can't make anything of that boy," said Sir Joseph to himself.

The declaration was modest, and he felt that it was praiseworthy. When the farm had been in

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spected and breakfast was done, Sir Joseph, who was fond of meetings, announced a conference in the library. Thither came Lady Harefel, having finished her talk with the housekeeper, and dutifully prepared to listen to matters less important. Thither came Miss Susan from the benevolent but perhaps impolitic occupation of watering plants in the sun. She had been struck by their thirsty looks. Sir Joseph, when the ladies entered, was turning over some books.

"My dear," said he to his wife, "there has never been any insanity in your family? Of course

not?"

"Dear me, no!" said Lady Harefel, reproachfully, as if she had been accused of an impropriety.

Thereupon the gentleman told how and where he had found his little nephew that morning. He spoke in his magisterial manner, and patronised some familiar and well-sounding phrases, together with an ancient proverb or two, which generally carried weight. In conclusion, he threw out a suggestion. "Perhaps on the maternal side, eh?" and touched his smooth forehead significantly.

Poor Carry was excitable and nervous, certainly," said Lady Harefel, and never in my

opinion the right wife for my poor dear brother. You know Joseph, I have often said"

"Yes, dear, you have," said the magistrate, who liked to be chief speaker. "I thought there might be something-something on the maternal side, you know."

"Stuff and nonsense!" remarked Lady Harefel, blandly; "why do you say such horrid things, Joseph ?"

"I confess that I cannot make out that boy," said he, solemnly.

"A strange, complex character," murmured Miss Susan.

"A dear, good boy," said Lady Harefel, impatient of subtilty; "but too like his poor mother, full of fancies and feeling. But, dear me! if he has been lying about the house with nothing on but his shirt, he may have caught his death. I will go and see after him at once. A dose taken in time often-"

"No, Ellen; pray let me detain you a few minutes. Very likely you are right, and some medicine taken to-night- But I am most anxious to settle something about the boy. You think that there is merely an excess of feeling, eh?"

"I should say quite the contrary," said Miss

warm feeling.

Harefel, softly. "To me there seems a want of No one can be fonder of Irvie than I am; and he often pains me by his coldness and hardness to me."

"Dear me now you mention it, I think that is true. Upon my word, I have never noticed that he showed much affection for me."

"Of course, Irvie is very fond of us all," said Lady Harefel, softly but decidedly; "but," she added, "he has certainly too much feeling."

"Can there be too much feeling?" asked her sister-in-law, as if she expected no answer.

"Susan!" cried Lady Harefel in a tone of rebuke. She considered the question almost improper.

"Well, what is to be done with the boy?" asked Sir Joseph. "I have been looking into some of these books on education, and insanity, and that sort of thing, but I can't find much to the purpose. Irvine appears to me to be really a unique case. It would be far simpler if he were more like other boys; like our Ned, for example."

His wife's kindly face beamed with pleasure. "You can't expect to find many boys like Ned," she said; and added, after a pause, "I have been thinking that it was almost time for Irvie to go to school."

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