"But this is worse than lying in bed, or bending over your books; you have quite put yourself into a fever."
"I won't do it again," said I.
I was racking my brains with thinking how to tell her about Mr. Weston, for she must know he was coming to-morrow. However, I waited till the breakfast things were removed, and I was more calm and cool; and then, having sat down to my drawing, I began—
"I met an old friend on the sands to-day, mama."
"An old friend! Who could it be?"
"Two old friends indeed. One was a dog," and then I reminded her of Snap whose history I had recounted before, and related the incident of his sudden appearance and remarkable recognition, "and the other," continued I, "was Mr. Weston, the Curate of Horton.'
"Mr. Weston! I never heard of him before."
"Yes, you have: I've mentioned him several times, I believe, but you don't remember."
"I've heard you speak of Mr. Hatfield."
"Mr. Hatfield was the rector, and Mr. Weston the curate; I used to mention him some-
