“Ah, child, you will sing another note perhaps when it is too late,” said her sister, with a sigh between envy and compassion.

It floated past Aurelia unheeded, as she danced up one side of a stile, and sprang clear down into a green park, jumped Eugene down after her by both hands, and exclaimed, “Harriet is in her vapours; come, let us have a race!”

She was instantly careering along like a white butterfly in the sunshine, flitting on as the child tried to catch her, among the snowy hawthorn bushes, or sinking down for very joy and delight among the bank of wild hyacinths.  Life and free motion were joy and delight enough for that happy being with her childish heart, and the serious business of the day was all delight.  There lay the rich meadows basking in the sun, and covered with short grass just beginning its summer growth, but with the cowslips standing high above it; hanging down their rich clusters of soft, pure, delicately-scented bells, from their pinky stems over their pale crinkled leaves, interspersed here and there with the deep purple of the fool’s orchis, and the pale brown quiver-grass shaking out its trembling awns on their invisible stems.  No flower is more delightful to gather than the cowslip, fragrant as the breath of a cow.  And Aurelia darted about, piling the golden heap in her basket with untiring enjoyment; then, producing a tape, called on Harriet, who had been working in a more leisurely fashion, to join her in making a cowslip ball, and charged Eugene not to nip off the heads too short.

The sweet, soft, golden globe was made, and even Harriet felt the delicious intoxication.  The young things tossed it aloft, flung from one to the other, caught it, caressed it, buried their faces in it, and threw it back with shrieks of glee.

Suddenly Harriet checked her sister with a peremptory sign.  She heard horse-hoofs in the lane, divided from the field by a hedge of pollard willows, so high that she had never thought of being overlooked, till the cessation of the trotting sound struck her; and looking round she saw that a horseman had halted at the gate, and was gazing at their sports.  It was from the distance of a field, but this was enough to fill Harriet with dismay.  She drew herself up in a moment, signing peremptorily to Aurelia, who was flying about, her hat off, her one long curl streaming behind as she darted hither and thither, evading Eugene who was pursuing her.

As she paused, and Eugene clutched her dress with a shout of ecstasy, Harriet came up, glancing severely toward the gate, and saying, as she handed her sister the hat, “This comes of childishness!  That we should be seen thus!  What a hoyden he will think you!” as the hoofs went on and the red coat vanished.

“He!  Who?  Not the farmer?” said Aurelia.  “This is not laid up for hay.”

“No indeed.  I believe it is he,” said Harriet, mysteriously.

“He?” repeated Aurelia.  “Not Mr. Arden, for he would be in black,” and at Harriet’s disgusted gesture, “I beg your pardon, but I did not know you had a new he.  Oh! surely you are not thinking of the young baronet?”