part in conversation with their cousins, though Essie was manifestly afraid of her aunt.  They had always been fond of Barbara, and took eager possession of her, while John’s Oxford talk was welcome to all,-—and it was a joyous evening of interchange of travellers’ anecdotes and local and family news, but without any remarkable feature till the time came for the cousins to return.  They had absolutely implored not to be sent home in the carriage, but to walk across the park in the moonlight; and it was such a lovely night that when Bobus and Jock took up their hats to come with them, Babie begged to go too, and the same desire strongly possessed her mother, above all when John said, “Do come, Mother Carey;” and “rowed her in a plaidie.”

That youthful inclination to frolic had come on her, and she only waited to assure herself that Armine did not partake of her madness, but was wisely going to bed.  Allen was holding out a scarf to Elvira, but she protested that she hated moonlight, and that it was a sharp frost, and she went back to the fire.

As they went down the steps in the dark shadow of the house, John gave his aunt his arm, and she felt that he liked to have her leaning on him, as they walked in the strong contrasts of white light and dark shade in the moonshine, and pausing to look at the wonderful snowy appearance of the white azaleas, the sparkling of the fountain, and the stars struggling out in the pearly sky; but John soon grew silent, and after they had passed the garden, said—-

“Aunt Caroline, if you don’t mind coming on a little way, I want to ask you something.”

The name, Aunt Caroline, alarmed her, but she professed her readiness to hear.

“You have always been so kind to me” (still more alarming, thought she); “indeed,” he added, “I may say I owe everything to you, and I should like to know that you would not object to my making medicine my profession.”

“My dear Johnny!” in an odd, muffled voice.

“Had you rather not?” he began.

“Oh, no!  Oh, no, no!  It is the very thing.  Only when you began I was so afraid you wanted to marry some dreadful person!”

“You needn’t be afraid of that.  Ars Medico, will be bride enough for me till I meet another Mother Carey, and that I shan’t do in a hurry.”

“You silly fellow, you aren’t practising the smoothness of tongue of the popular physician.”

“Don’t you think I mean it?” said John, rather hurt.

“My dear boy, you must excuse me.  It is not often one gets so many compliments in a breath, besides having one of the first wishes of one’s heart granted.”

“Do you mean that you really wished this?”

“So much that I am saying, ‘Thank God!’ in my heart all the time.”

“Well, my father and mother thought you might be wishing me to be a barrister, or something swell.”

“As if I could-—as if I ever could be so glad of anything,” said she with rejoicing that surprised him.  “It is the only thing that could make up for none of my own boys taking that line.  I can’t tell you now how much depends on it, John, you will know some day.  Tell me what put it into your head—-”