And pray why has your weather-cock mind changed?
What new wind has blown you round now, eh ?" "It's Sunday, grandpapa," said Louis, looking up at his mother with a distressed face.
"Well! Is the boy moon-struck?
'_It's Sunday, grandpapa._' Don't you suppose I know that ?" "I didn't think it was quite right, sir, to go to A---- church when we had one so near us." "Just as you please," said Sir George, contemptuously--"just as you please, Master Louis; only do not expect me to plan any thing for your pleasure again." "I am very much obliged, grandpapa--you don't understand me." "Oh, we understand each other very well, sir," said his grandfather, turning off very haughtily.
As he passed Mr.Mortimer he said, "This comes of _molly-coddling_ that boy at home; you'll make a Methodist of him." What answer Mr.Mortimer made, Louis could not hear, and the next moment they all went into the chapel.
Many contemptuous smiles were exchanged among those of the visitors who heard the colloquy, but Louis was comforted by an approving smile from his parents, and from the sweet consciousness of having done what was right.

The service was very sweet to him, and the lightness of his heart made even the inferior singing very pleasant, and he gained something from "tedious Mr.Burton's" sermon; so much depends on the frame of mind.

Our Saviour has enjoined us to take heed _how_ we hear.
Louis had a very pleasant stroll in the park with his father after service, and when he entered the house with a happy quiet mind, he contrasted his feelings with those he should have had, had he been one of the giddy party at that time returning from A----, and joyfully thanked his heavenly Father for keeping him from dishonoring His holy day in "seeking his own pleasure" on it.
* * * * * The following Thursday evening Mr.Mortimer's carriage was seen coming along the road leading to Dashwood, and at each window was a very joyful face noting all the familiar objects around; and as the horses dashed round a corner under a short grove of limes, the tongues belonging to the two began to move with astonishing rapidity.
"Here's Dashwood!" cried one.
"There's the river," exclaimed the other.
"The Priory chimneys," shouted the first.
"The Grange, Reginald," cried the second.
"And Bessie Gordon in the garden,--she sees us," cried Reginald, who had changed sides for a second.

"Ann White's cottage, Louis--I saw the old picture of Lazarus large as ever--and the sheep--and I smell hay.
Look, there's a hay-field, and Johnson with the hay-makers! Hillo, Johnson! He sees me." "The bells, papa! The bells, mamma!" exclaimed Louis--"Oh, it's home, dear, sweet home! The bells are ringing because you are come home, papa; and look, there are all the people coming out of the cottages--how glad they seem to be!" "Louis, Louis, here we go!" shouted Reginald, as the carriage swept down a lane arched over with green boughs.
Presently they came to the lodge gate; but not a moment had they to wait; it was wide open, and they could scarcely exchange marks of recognition with the gatekeeper and family, when they were out of sight in the long winding carriage road that led through the park.
"Welcome, welcome--home! The dear, dear old Priory," said Louis, with increasing enthusiasm.
"Take care you are not out on the grass, Louis," said his mother, seizing his arm.
"Here we are!" cried Reginald.

"And there's Mary, the little pussy, and sober Neville, looking out of his wits, for a wonder.