John gave the information that papa and Alex were only just behind, and in another minute they made their appearance.  “Good morning sir; good morning, ma’am,” were Uncle Roger’s greetings, as he came in.  “Ah, Mary, how d’ye do? glad to see you here at last; hope you are better.- -Ah, good morning, good morning,” as he quickly shook hands with the younger ones.  “Good morning, Geoffrey; I told Martin to take the new drill into the outfield, for I want your opinion whether it is worth keeping.”

And thereupon the three gentlemen began a learned discussion on drills, during which Henrietta studied her uncle.  She was at first surprised to see him look so young—­younger, she thought, than Uncle Geoffrey; but in a moment or two she changed her mind, for though mental labour had thinned and grizzled Uncle Geoffrey’s hair, paled his cheek, and traced lines of thought on his broad high brow, it had not quenched the light that beamed in his eyes, nor subdued the joyous merriment that often played over his countenance, according with the slender active figure that might have belonged to a mere boy.  Uncle Roger was taller, and much more robust and broad; his hair still untouched with grey, his face ruddy brown, and his features full of good nature, but rather heavy.  In his plaid shooting coat and high gaiters, as he stood by the fire, he looked the model of a country squire; but there was an indescribable family likeness, and something of the same form about the nose and lip, which recalled to Henrietta the face she loved so well in Uncle Geoffrey.

The drill discussion was not concluded when Mrs. Langford gave the signal for the ladies to leave the breakfast table.  Henrietta ran up stairs for her mother’s work, and came down again laughing.  “I am sure, Queenie,” said she, “that your papa chose his trade rightly.  He may well be called a great counsel.  Besides all the opinions asked of him at breakfast, I have just come across a consultation on the stairs between him and Judith about—­what was it?—­some money in a savings’ bank.”

“Yes,” said Beatrice, “Judith has saved a sum that is wondrous in these degenerate days of maids in silk gowns, and she is wise enough to give ‘Master Geoffrey’ all the management of it.  But if you are surprised now, what will you be by the end of the day?  See if his advice is not asked in at least fifty matters.”

“I’ll count,” said Henrietta:  “what have we had already?” and she took out pencil and paper—­“Number one, the tea-chest; then the poor man, and the turnpike trust—­”

“Vixen’s puppies and the drill,” suggested her mamma.

“And Judith’s money,” added Henrietta.  “Six already—­”

“To say nothing of all that will come by the post, and we shall not hear of,” said Beatrice; “and look here, what I am going to seal for him, one, two, three—­eight letters.”

“Why! when could he possibly have written them?”