“Miss Vivian! you have the advantage of me,” said Julius, a little stiffly.  “Let me introduce my wife.”

The hands met, and Rosamond perceived in the failing light a very fine-looking maiden, with a superbly carried head and neck, simply dressed in gray cloth.  “Are you sheltering here, or are you sketching?” she asked, seeing some paper and drawing materials.

“I was giving a lesson.  See,” exhibiting some bold outlines on large paper.  “Does not my pupil do me credit?”

“Very spirited,” said Rosamond.  “Where is she?”

“He is gone to fetch me his grandmother’s umbrella.  He is the little Gurth of these parts.”

“Of whom you are making a Giotto?” asked Julius, thawing a little.

“Exactly; I found him drawing on a barn-door with such zeal and spirit, that I could not help offering him some lessons.  Only see, does he not get on?  I wish I could get him to the school of design.”

“May I ask what becomes of his pigs?” demanded Julius.

“Don’t you hear?” as sundry grunts and squeals of those eminently conversational animals were audible through the walls.  “They are driven home to this rick-yard, so here I meet the boy.”

“Who is he?” asked the Rector.

“I only know that he answers to the name of Joe.  And here he comes,” as a boy about ten years old came lumbering up in big boots, with a heavy plaid shawl on one arm, and an immense green umbrella in the other.

“Thank you, Joe.  Make your bow to the lady and gentleman.”

This was a pull of the flaxen forelock; for Joe was a slender, pretty, fair boy, of that delicately-complexioned English type which is not roughened till after many years of exposure.

“That’s right, my man,” said Julius, kindly.  “What is your name?”

“Please, sir, Joshua Reynolds.”

“Instinct,” whispered Rosamond.

“Or influence of a name,” returned Miss Vivian.

“Are you one of Dan Reynolds’s boys, or Tim’s?” proceeded

“No, I bides with granny.”

Julius made no further attempt at disentangling the pedigree but inquired about his employments.  Did he go to school?

“When there ain’t nothing to be done.”

“And what can be done by such a mite?” asked Rosamond.

“Tell the lady,” said the Rector; “what work can you do?”

“Bird-starving.”

“Well!”

“And stoon-picking, and cow-herding, and odd jobs up at Farmer Light’s; but they won’t take I on for a carter-boy not yet ’cause I bean’t not so lusty as some on ’em.”

“Have you learnt to read?”

“Oh yes, very nicely,” interposed Miss Vivian.

“Did you teach him?” said Rosamond.

“No!  He could read well before I came to the place.  I have only been at home six weeks, you know, and I did not know I was poaching on your manor,” she added sotto voce to Julius, who could not but answer with warm thanks.