I am most sorry about the school-children." "I don't care a fig about them," said Reginald, impatiently; "there's that cricket match, and all." "What, not the poor little things, Reginald?
just think how they have been expecting this day--it is quite an event for them, and we have so many pleasures: I dare say you will have the cricket the first fine day." Reginald felt rather ashamed, and yet unwilling to acknowledge himself in the wrong; therefore he satisfied himself with remarking, that Louis did not like cricket, and he didn't care about the children, and there was no difference.
Louis' attention was at that moment attracted by something on the table.
"Oh! here is something for me, Reginald!--A beautiful new Bible from dear papa and mamma--and a church service from grandmamma, and what's this?
--'_The Lady of the Manor_' from uncle and aunt Clarence; how kind, look Reginald! and here's another--a beautiful little red and gold book, '_Mrs.Rowe's Poems_,' the book I am so fond of--from you: oh! thank you, dear Reginald." "And many happy returns of the day, dear Louis," said Reginald, who had by this time completely recovered his ordinary good-humor.
At the foot of the stairs, when he descended, Louis met some of the young party, who hardly waited to offer the compliments of the day before they loudly expressed the disappointment felt by each at the unfavorable weather.

"Raining, raining--nothing but splashing and dark clouds--so tiresome, so disappointing--we shall be obliged to stay in-doors," sounded round him in different keys as they marched in close phalanx to the breakfast-room, where they found Bessie Vernon, a little girl of seven years old, kneeling on a chair at the window, singing, in the most doleful accents, "Rain, rain, go to Spain, And mind you don't come back again." "Good morning, Bessie," said Louis.
"Oh! Louis, many happy returns.

I haven't got a present for you, because I hadn't money enough." "Never mind," said Louis; "I would rather have your love and kisses than any present." "And I will give you many, many kisses," cried the little girl, fulfilling her promise in good earnest.
"_My love and a kiss_," said her brother; "that's what Bessie always sends at the end of her letters: isn't it, Bessie, _I send you my love and a kiss_ ?" "Well, I mean it," said Bessie, "and you needn't laugh.

I wonder what we shall do to-day--dear me--I think, though, there's a little lighter bit of sky over the oak." "Let me see--where are my spectacles ?" said Frank.
"Not much hope, I fear," said Sir George's hearty voice behind her.

"Not much hope, Bessie.