IF she had not ridden to Newstowe Grange that afternoon before Twelfth-night, she would never have known about Robin, the poacher.

And who so joyous as Lady Marjorie, riding at her grandfather's side? Especially as her distant cousin, Percy de Lancy, was making his pony. prance and canter, and was throwing teasing, roguish words at her of his better speed as he raced ahead.

"Better me no betters, Master Percy," laughed Marjorie, leaning over and patting her own Seafoam's neck. "We'll show him who 's the better horse, won't we?"

"Dost thou then like thy birthday gift, my Meg?" asked her grandfather.

“Oh, my lord!-oh, Grandsire!-like him, coming from you? How could I not like him? - But, indeed, he seems just made to carry me."

"Hadst thou been a summer child, I would have given thee a jewel or other kickshaw; but hardy sports are more fitting for our midwinter maid who came to us twelve years agone on Twelfthday. So thou art pleased?"

"Nothing could please me so well!" Marjorie rose in her saddle and grazed the earl's mustache with a kiss. "Indeed, dear Grandsire, this is the greatest birthday of my life."

Lord Penthaven smiled, well pleased. The boy Percy was heir of his title and earldom, but to Marjorie was given the old man's love.

"The maid is well grown and forward," he

thought, as the cousins raced ahead. "To-night she shall take her place as lady of Penthaven Castle. One of my own race shall again preside over the old rook's nest. The younger the better -she will learn all sweet customs by the time she and Percy are of an age to wed." Marjorie's laugh echoed back clear upon the sweet, nipping air. The frosty grass crackled beneath their horses' hoofs, and little icicles hung from the bills of the stone swans at the fountain. Who so happy to-day as Lady Marjorie?

Just as Seafoam had sprung a length ahead at the park gates, Marjorie saw two men hurrying through the shadows, dragging a third between them. Lord Penthaven, riding up, reined in his horse.

"Who's this?" he demanded.

"Robin Hogg, plowman, m'lord," replied one of the men. "We caught 'im stealin' a hare, m'lord; caught 'im in the act."

Through the gloom Marjorie peered at the thief's face. He looked hungry and ill, with soft, hollow eyes.

"Rascal! Has the fellow been poaching again -and twice pardoned already?-Ride on, Percy, with my granddaughter.-Take him to the tower," Marjorie heard her grandfather add, as she moved away; "I'll finish this business after Twelfth-day."

The laughter was all gone from the girl's lips and eyes, and the lightness from her heart. She

had seen tears, but never such a woeful face as this. She rode on silent and thoughtful, between huge bonfires beginning to blaze on every side. Men were shouting gaily to each other, and the Twelfth-night song echoed far from field and hayrick.

It was only when they reached Newstowe Grange that Marjorie began to be her happy self again. The farm was a portion of her own dower, and she had come as little lady of the manor to "bless" the grand old apple-orchard. Standing in great state by the oldest apple-tree, she sipped the farmer's hard cider without making a wry face-even sipping it again like a gracious little lady-then emptied the big pewter pitcher upon the ground, singing:

"Here's to thee, old apple-tree!"

while the men's voices took up the chorus:
"Mightily bud and mightily blow,
And afterward give us apples enow!"

The great park gates stood wide open as the children raced up again, leaving Lord Penthaven behind. Seafoam sprang aside as a woebegone figure stepped forward into the moonlight. It was a woman. Her feet were bare, and she was shivering. Marjorie could see a baby's head against her bosom-a wan, lean little face.

THE GRAND OLD APPLE-ORCHARD.

"Come hither, poor woman," said Marjorie, quieting Seafoam. "What is thy name?" "Lisbeth Hogg, m'lady." "And is the baby hungry?" "Hungry and cold, m'lady."

"Ah, poor babe! And thou, too!-Here, take this." The girl drew a coin from the purse at her girdle.

Instead of taking it, the poor creature burst into tears and fell upon her knees.

"Oh, m'lady, m'lady! I can go hungry-but Robin, my man! Speak to m'lord, m'lady"- She choked and was silent a moment. "Oh, sweet m'lady, do not let them-"

"It must be the wife of Robin, the poacher!" exclaimed Percy.

"Ah!" Marjorie burst into sudden tears. She had been told how people were punished in England for stealing; but nothing like this had ever come near her before.

"Oh, why did he do wrong?" she asked, sobbing.

"Ah, m'lady, m'lady, you know not what it is to starve-and he too ill to work! And the hares so near-they ran by the door- Speak to m'lord, m'lady!"

"I will, I will, indeed!" Marjorie choked back her tears as Lord Penthaven, riding up, tossed the woman a coin without asking her business.

trembled for the thief. Twelfth-night eve should be so joyous, and yet her young heart was heavy. If only her gentle mother had lived! But Percy whispered, "Cheer up, sweet Coz!" as he caught her hand in the darkness, and then she hoped that together they would find a way.

As they dismounted at the great hall, it was blazing with long rows of sconces and torches high among the stags' heads, while mighty logs yielded up their hearts in fire.

her head with a bright ribbon. The new gown of blue Padua satin glistened with silver roses. It had been copied from one worn by the king's little sister when she sat for her portrait to the great court painter.

"Grandsire will be pleased with me to-night," she said, with sparkling eyes.

"Marjorie, Marjorie!" called Percy from the gallery. Starting back as she sprang to the door, Percy threw up his hands as if dazzled by the