a small army of workmen had appeared at lislehurst, and the village folk were beginning to realise the incredible fact that their marquess did at length intend to do his duty by them, when pauly’s fifth birthday came round.

“may i have him to tea with me?” sydney asked, and on receiving permission began to make extensive preparations in the way of good cheer.

mrs. fewkes was easily induced to devote her energies to the making of a truly stupendous cake, conical in shape and covered with white sugar, adorned with amazing flowers and fruits of all colours. and there were birds, butterflies, and beetles made of chocolate upon it, and five pink candles fixed around its topmost peak, to signify the five years which the small birthday king would have reached.

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not content with this marvel of confectionery, mrs. fewkes further added dishes of cream, buns, and other delicacies for which she was deservedly famous, so altogether pauly’s birthday tea bid fair to be a very great success.

it was spread in the school-room, and on his plate was seated a large furry toy dog, with red tongue hanging out in a dégagé manner, and a spring which, when pressed, caused him to jump uncertainly about, and also bark in a thin and spasmodic way. this was sydney’s present to the hero of the day. miss osric had contributed a box of bricks, which stood upon his chair.

all was in readiness at four o’clock, when pauly arrived in charge of his nurse, looking rather extra fat and red about the cheeks, sydney thought.

he was immensely excited over something and would not wait, as she suggested, to take off his little overcoat upstairs, but insisted on removing it the very moment he had set two rather muddy little feet inside the hall.

the reason of his eagerness was soon apparent. the blouse and bunchy petticoats were raiment of the past; pauly was attired in all the glories of his first sailor suit!

sydney knelt down beside the small sturdy

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figure and kissed the round important little face. “why, pauly, you are splendid! and what a great big boy you look to-day!”

“as big as daddy?” he enquired.

“ever so much bigger than you looked when first i saw you,” sydney answered, evading the question with dexterity. “isn’t he a man to-day, miss osric?”

miss osric admired duly, and then suggested an adjournment to the school-room. but pauly stood like a rock, his legs planted wide apart and his hands in his pockets.

“want to show my twousers to mrs. fewkes,” he said.

“oh, but you can’t, little man,” said miss osric.

“come, pauly!” sydney cried.

he did not budge.

“want to show my twousers to mr. gweaves.”

sydney and miss osric exchanged puzzled glances. what was to be done? of course he was naughty, but neither liked to scold him on a birthday.

sydney had recourse to coaxing.

“there is such a lovely cake upstairs,” she said, “a cake as high as that.” she held her hand some distance from the floor. “it has

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sugar all over it and such lovely fruits and sweets, white and pink, and all kinds of nice things upon it. don’t you want to see it, pauly?”

he scorned bribery. “want to show my twousers to the ill one!”

“what, dear?”

“to the ill one. want to show my twousers to the ill one!”

“lord st. quentin, i suppose he means,” miss osric said aside to sydney. “but i don’t think he would like to see the child, do you?”

sydney was rather doubtful. “there is something so wonderful upstairs in your plate, pauly,” she assured him insidiously; “something that has such a nice funny voice, and jumps about too, doesn’t it, miss osric?”

pauly put one irresolute foot forward in the direction of the bear-guarded staircase, and then drew it back again.

“want to show my twousers to the ill one,” he said, in the same loud sing-song voice as he had used before.

it is sad to relate that two grown-up girls were worsted by this scrap of manhood wearing to-day manly garb for the first time. sydney rose from her knees and went toward the library. “i will ask st. quentin,” she said, feeling rather small.

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her cousin seemed rather tickled by the story of the fight.

“oh, bring him to me, by all means!” he said. “upon my word! that boy ought to make a prime minister. he has enough force of character for anything. tell him the ‘ill one’ will be charmed to see the trousers!”

sydney led the boy in, whispering to him not to make a noise, for lord st. quentin was very tired.

“never make a noise,” he assured her, without much regard for truth.

st. quentin surveyed his small visitor with fixed and flattering attention. “hullo!” he said, “what’s this huge chap coming in? the vicar himself, i suppose? oh, his son, is it, sydney? well, how are you, eh, paul? is that your name? going to shake hands with me—that’s right. i suppose you’re seven at least, aren’t you?”

“i am five,” pauly said, with modest elation.

“dear me! and i’m thirty-five and not half so proud of it. and these are the new trousers. upon my word! they’re remarkably fine specimens, aren’t they, sydney? you want a pinch for your new clothes, don’t you,

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youngster? or would you rather have a sixpence to put into each of those trouser pockets? what, you would rather have the sixpences? that’s odd, isn’t it? there, put them in your pockets, and now you may run away; only don’t eat quite all the cake miss lisle has provided for you, or you won’t be able to walk home! he looks as if he eats too much already,” he concluded aside to sydney. “what a colour the child has!”

“he is a good deal redder than usual, and fatter-looking too,” sydney said. “i have never seen him look quite like this before.”

“well, don’t stuff him too much,” said her cousin, and the two went out.

st. quentin’s caution was not needed. for once pauly did not seem hungry, even for cake. he was delighted with his dog and kept it on his knee all through tea-time, but though he set up a little shout of joy at the sight of the splendid cake, he only played with the noble slice that sydney cut for him, and couldn’t be persuaded to be hungry even when “carlo” was made to bark for crumbs!

“i don’t think the child is well,” said miss osric.

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they gave up coaxing him to eat after that, and all three sat upon the hearth-rug, building, with miss osric’s bricks, a most wonderful kennel for carlo.

for a little while pauly seemed happy, and laughed merrily enough, then suddenly, without apparent reason, he began to cry.

sydney, who had never seen the manly little fellow shed tears yet for any reason whatsoever, was alarmed.

she gathered him into her arms and tried to find out what was wrong. “what is it, pauly, darling? aren’t you well?”

“want daddy?” pauly sobbed, nor could they comfort him.

sydney had risen to ring and order the pony-carriage, thinking that she and miss osric had better take their little visitor back at once to the daddy he was crying for, when one of the footmen came up to the school-room to announce “mr. seaton is come for master paul.”

sydney ran downstairs to ask if mr. seaton were walking, and to offer the pony-carriage. the vicar was looking very tired and grave, and seemed in a hurry to be off. he said he had been visiting in the village all the afternoon: there was a great deal of illness about. “i think you must discontinue your working-party

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for a week or two, miss lisle,” he said. “dr. lorry thinks mrs. sawyer is suffering from some kind of low fever; the same thing which seems prevalent in loam. don’t go into her cottage for a day or two, at all events, till we see how things are. i am keeping pauly from the village now.”

declining the offer of the pony-carriage, he took his small son, quiet now that he had got his daddy, and still clasping carlo, in his arms, and the two went out together.