Sophy of Kravonia

pronunciation clear beyond doubt-the word must rhyme with "crouch" and "couch." Well might Lady Meg Duddington swear it was the ugliest name she had ever heard in her life! Sophy was not of a v

his class-indeed, late for any class-and was already well on in middle age. He held a very small farm, lying about half a mile behind the church. Probably he made a hard living of it, for the only servant in his household was a slip of a girl of fifteen, who had, presumably, both to cook and scrub for

tood the Hall in its grounds. This was a handsome, red-brick house, set in a spacious garden. Along one side of the garden there ran a deep ditch, and on the other side of the ditch, between it and a large meadow, was a path which led to the church. Thus the church stood behind the Hall grounds; and again, as h

r father had indulged Sophy with a ride on the bough, and she begged a renewal of the treat on their homeward journey. The farmer was a kind man-more kind than wise, as it proved, on this occasion. He set the child astraddle on the thick end of the bough, then went to the other end, which was much slenderer. Probably his object was to try to shake the bough and please his small tyrant with the im

in the Rectory grounds and in the dining-room

Williamson, the Rector's second son, wh

tory gate, across the ro

en-years-old daughter of a widow named Robins who lived there, came out at

red without looking back: "Yes. Isn't it fun? K

aughing. "They don't fa

just on the nape of his neck, and had driven him down, face forward, onto the first. He lay with his neck close pinned between the two, and his arms spread out over the undermost. His face

d?" Julia

answered. Neither of th

bough and strove with all his might to raise it. The girl gave a shriller cry for assista

er of them had

rushed out straight across his lawn, and (though he was elderly and stout) dropped into the ditch, clambered out of it, and came where the dead man and the children were. As he passed the drawing-room windows, he called out to his wife: "Somebody's hurt, I'm afraid"; and she, after a moment's conference

or fellow," sa

he looked at the farmer's face. Julia Robins sobbed, and t

said the butler. His mas

h-about a yard from the th

the impact of the second bough had caused the end of the first to fly upward; Sophy had been jerked from her seat into the air, and had fallen back on the path, striking he

bins. "The little girl with the mark

rownlow murmured; she knew that death had robb

taken into the saddle-room at the Hall. Mrs. Brownlow followed the procession,

, and I sha'n't let this mite come to harm." She was a childless woman, with a motherly heart, and as she spoke she kissed Sophy's wounded forehead. The

he cried. "I'd cut them all

ther," said Julia. "An

moment, still looking at the trees as

en to that little girl," said Julia, wit

boy asked

ark-that mark she'

uneasily. The event of the evening had stirred the

othing-so mother says." Other people

ered again. "Oh,

. "Just come as far as our

miled scornful

ice of the angry wind essaying new mischief in the tops of the elm-trees, he stood for a moment listening fearfully. Then he laid his sturdy legs to the ground and fled for home, looking neither to right nor left till he reached the hosp