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Billy turned quickly. "No more of that," he said. "This is my funeral—and the teacher's. Everybody else keep out of it." "Oh!" she cried and hid her face on her arms. "Is Miss Acton eating her dinner?".

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"No," answered Billy, promptly, "not even Teacher Stanhope." Neither Captain Acton nor Miss Acton witnessed anything strange in the absence of Lucy from the breakfast table. She was in the habit of taking these early walks, and would often turn into a cottage whose inmates she well knew and breakfast with the occupants, enjoying more the egg warm from the nest, the home-cured rasher of bacon, the pot of home-made jam, the slice of brown bread and sweet butter, the bowl of new milk, or the cup of tea which on such grand occasions would be introduced by her humble friends, than the choicest dainties which her father's cook could send to the breakfast table at Old Harbour House. She stood a few moments with her hands clasped before her at arm's length, and her head bowed as though deep in thought, then went to the tray again, knelt beside it and continued her meal, taking the biscuit and the tongue in her hands without seeming to be in the least conscious of the presence of Mr Lawrence. "'You think you got all of 'em, Bill?" Scraff called..