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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4abba33 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62631 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62631) diff --git a/old/62631-8.txt b/old/62631-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d80fa51..0000000 --- a/old/62631-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9745 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Three Bright Girls, by Annie E. Armstrong - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Three Bright Girls - A Story of Chance and Mischance - -Author: Annie E. Armstrong - -Illustrator: W. Parkinson - -Release Date: July 13, 2020 [EBook #62631] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE BRIGHT GIRLS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines - - - - - - - - - -[Frontispiece: MOLLY READS A LETTER FROM HUGH.] - - - - - Three Bright Girls - - A Story of Chance and Mischance - - - BY - - ANNIE E. ARMSTRONG - - Author of "Madge's Mistake" "A Very Odd Girl" - "Violet Yereker's Vanity" &c. - - - - _WITH SIX PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. PARKINSON_ - - - - BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED - LONDON GLASGOW AND DUBLIN - - - - - CONTENTS. - - CHAP. - - I. Hot Chestnuts - II. Doris's First Dinner-party - III. Shopping and a Rehearsal - IV. Hugh's Mentor - V. Husband and Wife - VI. Tableaux Vivants - VII. Startling News - VIII. Gone! - IX. A House of Mourning - X. Facing the Future - XI. The Brothers Talboys - XII. A New Home - XIII. The Horton Boys distinguish Themselves - XIV. A Council of War - XV. Doris makes a Pudding - XVI. Trying to make both Ends meet - XVII. Daisy's Birthday - XVIII. Dr. John Sinclair - XIX. A Visit from Aunt Sophia and the Horton Boys - XX. Becky - XXI. A Disastrous Visit to a Frog Pond - XXII. Daisy's Illness - XXIII. Dick's Good News - XXIV. Doris's "Knight of the Woods" - XXV. Honor answers an Advertisement - XXVI. The Mr. Talboys resort to Strategy - XXVII. Two Departures - XXVIII. Brighter Days - XXIX. "What a Tease you are, Molly!" - XXX. Hugh's Parting Gift - XXXI. Preparations for a Ball - XXXII. John Sinclair's Fairy Tale - XXXIII. The Wood-Cutter and the Princess - XXXIV. "I am Lancelot," says Sir Edward - XXXV. Doris's Wedding - XXXVI. The End of a Fairy Tale - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS. - - -Molly reads a Letter from Hugh .... _Frontis._ - -Honor assists Doris to dress for Dinner - -Doris sings "The Sands of Dee" - -"Listen!" said Molly, "there is the Ghost again" - -Daisy and the Mr. Talboys visit Whitestar - -"You are not going to disappoint me, Honor?" - - - - -THREE BRIGHT GIRLS: - -A STORY OF CHANCE AND MISCHANCE. - - - -CHAPTER I. - -HOT CHESTNUTS. - -Pop! - -"There's one!" cries an excited voice. - -Pop! bang! - -"There's another! look, two! and both on my side," exclaims an -equally eager though older voice. - -"Here, Doris, you just sheer off to your own side and pick up your -own, if you've got the pluck to risk burning those white fingers of -yours;" and casting contemptuous glances at the hands in question, -the speaker, a bright, handsome boy of about thirteen, dives down -upon the rug and commences making sundry ineffectual snatches at -several chestnuts which are lying smoking and gleaming amongst the -cinders. - -"Not so fast, good sir," cries the owner of the white hands, -following her brother's example and, despite her seventeen years, -prostrating herself beside him. "White or black, I bet you twopence -I pick them up quicker than you. Here, Molly, hold the plate. Now, -Dick, start fair, you know. Oh! there's another!" And thereupon -commences a hot skirmish, in every sense, over the nuts, which by -this time are besprinkling the hearth pretty freely: so hot and -energetic, in fact, that the other occupants of the room wisely -retire from the contest, contenting themselves with looking on, and -exploding with laughter now and again at the suppressed exclamations -indicative of the warm nature of the undertaking. - -A breathless silence for at least two minutes, then, flushed with -victory, Doris rises from the floor and is about to lay her plate on -the table, when, lo! another loud pop. Whereupon Dick rushes over -with great violence to the spot where his sister is standing, and -knocking against her in his efforts to reach the prize first, Doris -loses her balance, and clutching wildly at the back of a chair which -Daisy is sitting on and tilting back comfortably, down come Daisy, -chair, Doris, and nuts, all in an indiscriminate heap on the floor. -Loud exclamations arise on all sides, and a pitiful howl is wrung -from Daisy, who has planted her hand, in falling, on an almost -red-hot chestnut. Doris does not attempt to get up, but, still -sitting where she has arrived in such summary fashion, she rates Dick -soundly for his ungallant behaviour, her voice subsiding into a sort -of wail as she concludes with the remark, "And now I suppose I shall -have to do my hair again, you _wretched_ boy. I can't appear before -every one like this. Look here!" and giving her head a shake -forward, down comes the pretty erection of golden curls which half an -hour ago had crowned so becomingly the small neat head. - -"Bless me!" exclaims the incorrigible boy, "I quite forgot my lady is -to grace the festive board downstairs to-night. But don't you tell -me, Miss Doris, that you wouldn't have done your hair again anyhow! -_I_ know what a time girls take dressing, and my name is not Dick -Merivale if you don't spend a good hour this evening pranking and -prinking before the glass." - -"Help me up, Dick, and don't talk so much," says Doris, quietly -ignoring this tirade; "and now, if you have _quite_ finished and will -be kind enough to let Honor speak, I shall be glad. To my certain -knowledge she has been trying to make herself heard for the last five -minutes." - -The noise having now subsided, a clear, gentle voice is heard from -the neighbourhood of the fireplace, where Honor is kneeling beside -the afflicted Daisy and examining the small burn caused by the hot -chestnut. - -"I was only saying, Doris, that if Lane is too busy with mother to -help you I will turn lady's-maid and do your hair and dress you. -Molly, do put down that poker." - -"You're a dear!" exclaims impetuous Doris throwing her arms round -Honor's neck. "I would ever so much rather you helped me than Lane. -She's so prim and fussy. Where is Lucy, though?--mother will not -want them both." - -"O, I meant to tell you. Her sister is worse again, so mother let -her go home to see her. Now let us have these chestnuts if we're -going to. Pull your chairs up to the fire again and let us be cosy. -Good gracious, what an untidy rug you've made! What would Miss -Denison say if she saw it? Dick, my boy, you will have to mend your -manners before she returns, or she will be looking every hour of the -day in that quiet way of hers which speaks such volumes. Really I am -glad she is coming back to-morrow, for I have had about enough of -keeping order, or trying to, since she left." - -"Why didn't she appoint _me_ commander-in-chief?" says Doris, pouting -over the skinning of a still-hot nut. "I am the eldest, though no -one ever seems to think so." - -"Because you are such a scatter-brained piece of goods," puts in her -polite brother. "No one with a grain of sense would ever credit your -being the elder by twelve, nay, thirteen months. Why, Honor looks a -hundred compared to you!" - -"Thanks, Dick. You are monstrously polite this afternoon," said -Honor quietly. "In what consists my antiquity, pray?--has my hair -turned white? or have I lost all my front teeth?" - -"O, I meant nothing about your appearance," replies the boy, looking -rather sheepish; "I mean as to sense and cleverness and--and all that -sort of thing, you know. Of course Doris is considered the beauty of -the family, with her light fluffy hair and her great blue eyes, but -to my thinking old Honor is every bit as good-looking. What say you, -Molly?" - -"She's a dear old Honor, that's what she is," says Molly, looking up -and patting her elder sister's hand affectionately. To be sure the -effect of this statement is somewhat marred by the fact of the -speaker's mouth being full of chestnuts. The sentiment is the same, -however, and Dick, banging his hand down on the table, cries -triumphantly, "There you are, you see--_old_ again! _Now_ what have -you got to say, Miss Honor?" - -"That you are a goose and that Molly is another, for if she will -persist in tilting her chair like that she will follow Daisy's -example and come to the ground." - -Molly brings her chair on to its fore-legs with a bang, then proceeds -to announce solemnly, "We don't seem to be getting a bit nearer to -settling these theatricals. Here's Miss Denison coming back -to-morrow expecting us to have arranged everything and to have been -rehearsing our parts, and--" - -"_Parts!_" echoes Dick; "how can you call it a part when you have -nothing to do but to sit or stand still?" - -"Well, it _is_ a part all the same," cries Molly, not to be put down. -"Each one is a part of the whole picture, I suppose; so if you can't -allow it in one sense you can in another." - -"Hum, especially when there is only one person in the picture!" -mutters Dick. But here Honor's voice is heard saying, "Well, -children, no disputing or we shall never settle anything. Now, who -has got the list of the subjects that we made out last night?" - -"Here it is," says Doris, who has had it spread out on her knees -studying for some time. "Now, first of all, is it quite settled that -we are only to have nursery rhymes; or do you think people will think -it silly?" - -"We _might_ have one or two historical scenes, perhaps," says Honor -reflectively. - -"Or one or two Shakespearian or Tennysonian," suggests Dick, who has -rather high-flown ideas. "Let us do the 'play scene' in Hamlet. -_I'll_ be Hamlet, and--I--suppose Doris would have to be Ophelia." - -"How absurd you are, Dick!" exclaims that damsel satirically. "Where -would you get all the people from? Do for goodness' sake bring the -picture before your mind's eye for a moment. Why, besides Hamlet and -Ophelia there are the king and queen, all their ladies and gentlemen, -and then all the players. Why, we couldn't do it, not with _all_ the -boys next door even; and just think what a bother the scene would be -to arrange. We should want a double stage, and all sorts of regal -appendages which I am sure we could not find anywhere. You Hamlet, -too!" she finishes up with scorn. - -"All right! Don't excite yourself," says Dick calmly. - -"I think," says Honor, "we shall be wiser to keep to the nursery -rhymes, because we can take any amount of license with them, and use -our own discretion about the dressing of them. But if we take a -scene that everybody knows we _must be_ careful to have everything -perfectly correct; and though I should be sorry to underrate the -talent of such celebrities in the art of acting as ourselves, I -_don't think_ we are up to it. Now, Doris, read your list." - -"Mother Hubbard," reads Doris; "verse where she looks in the -cupboard. Vic will do the dog capitally. Molly will coach her up in -her part and--" - -"There, you hear!" exclaims that young lady. "Doris calls them parts -too, and so they are, of course!" and looking at her brother -defiantly she attacks the chestnuts with renewed ardour. - -"What shall we do for the cupboard?" inquires Daisy with wide-open -eyes. - -"We can get Mrs. Mason to let us have one of her portable safes up, -and if there are a few plates and dishes left inside, with anything -in the eatable way on them, Vic is sure to sit up and beg." - -"Well, that one will do," says Molly, getting up and hanging over her -sister's shoulder; "but read on, Doris. Look! the time is going on -awfully fast; in another hour you'll have to dress." - -So Doris reads the list, which gives general satisfaction. Then -laying it down, she says, "If only father helps us, we shall _do_. -He only wants a little petting and coaxing, and I am sure he will. -Hark! that's the carriage now, isn't it? Run and look, Dick; is it -father?" - -"Yes, and it's snowing like anything. I declare he has got quite -white while standing a minute to speak to Rawlings. We must give him -time to get off his coat and speak to mother, and then we'll fetch -him up here, and not let him go until he promises all we want." - -"Hey! what's that I hear?" cries a cheery voice at the door. "Come -now, that is what one might call a very moderate request, ladies and -gentlemen. Why, where is Bobby? Oh, gone to tea next door; a common -occurrence, eh? Now, come and kiss me, girls. Bless my heart, one -at a time, one at a time; there are plenty of kisses for all. And -here's mother, looking jealous, I declare!" - -"I shouldn't wonder," says Mrs. Merivale, who, almost unobserved in -the midst of all the tumult, has quietly entered the room behind her -husband. "Enough to make anyone jealous, I should think. Honor, -dear," her tone changing to one of anxiety, "I hope you haven't been -letting Daisy eat many of those nasty indigestible nuts." - -"O, no, mother!" replies Daisy herself promptly, "I wanted heaps -more, but Honor said 'No.'" - -"Yes, and with a capital N too," remarks Molly. - -"I came up with your father because I want to speak to you two -girls," resumes Mrs. Merivale. "Lucy has not come back yet, so I -don't think she will now, that is in time to dress Doris. So I -thought you would help her, Honor, for I want her to look nice. You -know what dress; the new plain white silk. And, mind, not a single -ornament, not one!" - -"O, mother!" exclaims Doris, pouting; "not my pearl cross that father -gave me on my last birthday?" - -"Tut, my dear!" puts in Mr. Merivale, who has overheard this touching -appeal, "let her wear it. What's the use of having things if they -are never to see the light?" - -"Well, as it is only pearl, I don't mind. I will send Lane to see -that all is right," continues Mrs. Merivale, "and to give any -finishing touches that may be wanted; and now I must go downstairs -again. There are several things I want to see to before I dress. -Don't be late in the drawing-room, Doris, that is all I beg. And, -James, don't stay long up here. They will be trapping and inveigling -you into all sorts of rash promises if you do;" and Mrs. Merivale -leaves the room, putting her head in again, however, to say to Honor, -"Let Jane come up and sit with the children whilst you are with -Doris, and _don't_ let them be up late. If Lucy is not back, Jane -can call for Bobby; William will be too busy to-night. _Please_ see, -Honor, that Daisy and Bobby go up to nurse punctually at half-past -seven. Molly and Dick, I trust to you both to go up at nine." - -There is a chorus of "All right, mother!" and as the door closes they -all five flock round their father; questioning, demanding, coaxing -and wheedling, until, becoming confused amongst them all, he begs to -be allowed to sit down and take the questions in turn. - -"Have I been to the carpenter's?--Yes, I have, and he is going to -look in to-morrow morning to take a look at the room. Have I been to -the costumier's?--No, I haven't, for I don't know what you do want -and what you don't. Moreover, I think if you can do without anything -from there, all the better. I can't say I like the idea of your -wearing hired costumes. Anything like swords, sceptres, helmets, or -such like you may order, or I will for you; but anything in the way -of gowns, I'd rather you bought the stuff for them and have them -made. You will then be better able to please your own tastes. Get -your mother to let you have Mrs. Needles-and-pins, or whatever her -name may be, here for a day or two, and if you like to put down all -that you are likely to want, I will undertake that you have the money -for it. Now, I can't say more than that, can I?" - -General approbation of this plan is expressed, and Mr. Merivale is -about to escape, muttering something about "Mother fidgeting herself -into fiddle-strings," when he is once more seized upon, and Molly, -who is generally to the fore where speaking is concerned, asks in a -stage-whisper, "What about the music for the dancing, father?" - -"Why, bless my soul, there's plenty of time for that, surely! Now, -let me see, what evening is fixed?--the 27th, isn't it? Very well, -then, this is only the 13th; so you have a clear fortnight before -you." - -"Yes, father, I know," says persevering Molly; "but you see, dear old -Dad, we want to feel that it is _all_ settled, and nothing left on -our minds, you know!" - -"O, _do_ you, now?" says Mr. Merivale, pinching his daughter's rosy -cheek. "Well, I wish _I_ could get everything in my business settled -off so satisfactorily, and nothing left on _my_ mind. Well, well, we -will see; I will go and look up someone to play in a few days--don't -you fuss about it, I won't forget. Now, really, children, I _must_ -go down. Let me go, there's good girls." - -"And make mother promise to give us a real _good_ supper, not -sandwiches and sweets only!" they scream after him down the passage. - -"Yes, yes, I'll see to it all," calls back the victimized parent, -only too thankful to escape at any price, and never stopping to -consider what extra responsibilities he is taking upon himself. - -Having settled down quietly once more, there is an animated -consultation on the important subject of the dresses, and the -respective prices of chintz, velveteen, silk, lace, &c. &c., are -discussed with interest. - -"It is so difficult to tell what sum we really shall want," says -Doris, leaning her chin on her hand and staring absently into the -fire. "However, I propose that you and I, Honor, go to Miss Renny -to-morrow morning and just consult her as to quantities and so on, -and then we could arrange about her coming to work at the same time." - -"Yes, I think that will be the best plan. Good gracious, Doris! look -at the clock! What time is dinner to-night?" - -"Eight," replied Doris, "and mother said I was to be in the -drawing-room not a moment later than half-past seven;" and starting -up, the girls dart out of the room and up the stairs like a lightning -flash into Doris's room, where, on the bed, is carefully arranged the -toilette she is to wear on this the occasion of her first -dinner-party. - -"And now come and help me with my hair, there's a good girl," cries -Doris presently; "and _do_ you think you could curl it at the back -without burning me _very_ terribly? You did horribly last time you -undertook it, you know. My gracious! there's the second gong! Why, -Lane will be up in a moment, and sha'n't I catch it if I am not -nearly ready!" - -"My dear Doris, if you would only sit down in this chair and not fuss -so, we should get on much faster. Now give me the hair-pins as I -want them, and keep quiet for a few minutes if you can." - -[Illustration: HONOR ASSISTS DORIS TO DRESS FOR DINNER.] - -After having brushed the long silky hair through, Honor with a few -skilful twirls and twists raises a becoming erection which (as Doris -says) would do credit to a court hair-dresser. - -"And now for the awful moment!" exclaims Honor, grasping the -curling-tongs and thrusting them ferociously into the fire. "Now sit -still, dear, if you can, and it shall not be _my_ fault if you are -burnt. There, I think I have really made you look lovely!" and she -steps back gazing admiringly at her sister, who, with cheeks slightly -flushed, and eyes almost preternaturally bright, looks in her soft -white dressing-gown as pretty a picture as one would wish to see. - -"Now tell me who is coming to-night, and all about it? Anyone from -next door?" - -"Why, there is only one of them old enough--Hugh; and he is only -nineteen," says Doris with all the conscious superiority of a -seventeen-and-a-half-year-old girl. "I believe he _is_ coming, -though; with his mother, of course. I wish mother would let me go in -to dinner with him; it will be so dreadfully slow and dull if I have -to sit through two whole mortal hours with some stupid old fogy who -thinks of nothing but his dinner. Well, then, let me see if I can -remember the rest. Oh, _Honor_, don't squeeze so; I can't bear that -hook. Good gracious! how tight Madame Cecile has made the waist!" - -"You'll _have_ to bear it," says Honor, gasping, and remorselessly -pulling and tugging at the refractory hooks and eyes. "I heard -Madame Cecile mutter to herself the other day that she must make your -waist smaller, so I suppose she means to systematically pull in an -inch or so every time she makes you a new dress. Ah--there it is at -last! How do you feel?" - -"O dreadfully tight and wretched. Now if I have any breath left I -will go on telling you who is asked for to-night. Aunt is coming for -one, with the Pagets, you know. That means a party of three at once. -Then the rector and Mrs. Benson. Now, let me see, with father, -mother, and myself that is eight; and I am sure we are to be -fourteen. O, I know--Colonel and Mrs. Danvers, Captain Hall, that's -eleven: Mrs. Horton and Hugh, thirteen--now _who_ is fourteen?" - -"Why, Molly's old friend, Sir Peter Beresford," chimes in Honor. "I -know he is coming, because I heard mother telling Rankin that he must -be put up near the end of the table out of all the draughts. O, here -comes Lane. I wonder what she will have to say to the capabilities -of the new maid." - -"Now, young ladies, sharp's the word. Turn yourself round, Miss -Doris, and let me see if all's right;" and the woman proceeds to turn -and twist her young mistress about with the scant ceremony of an old -and privileged servant who, as she is fond of saying, "dressed and -waited on your ma before ever you were born or thought of, my dears." -Giving a pull here, and a twist there, Lane at length is pleased to -announce that all is satisfactory. - -At this moment Mrs. Merivale glides into the room, a floating -ensemble of velvet, silk, lace, bugles, feathers, and what not; one -of those costumes in which you can accuse nothing of being -predominant, and as a whole is perfect. - -"Mother!" gasp both the girls. "What a _lovely_ dress, and how -nicely Lane has done your hair!" - -Lane sniffs gracious approval of this compliment, and turning to her -mistress says, "I think Miss Doris will do, ma'am?" - -Holding her double eye-glass up by its beautiful mother-of-pearl -handle, the mother makes a critical survey of her daughter from head -to foot, then dropping it languidly to her side she nods -encouragingly. "Yes, very nice. Nothing like white _silk_ for very -young girls. Satin is too old looking. Honor, your dressing does -you credit, dear; you have done her hair charmingly. Now you may as -well come down at once with me, Doris. Have you everything--fan, -handkerchief, gloves? Oh, I see you have those on! wise girl to get -them nicely arranged before you leave your room." - -"O! that was Honor's doing, not mine," says Doris promptly. "She -would have me rigged out all complete, as Dick would say." - -"_Doris!_" exclaims Mrs. Merivale as she sails out of the room -followed by that young lady, "_pray_ do not always be using those -expressions which Dick seems to delight in,--troublesome boy! You -are always down upon him for these Americanisms which he has picked -up (at school, I suppose), but it seems to me you are ready enough to -make use of them too. I do hope you will be careful to behave nicely -altogether to-night, and not like a hoydenish school-girl as you do -more often, I fear, especially when Miss Denison is not by." - -"O don't be anxious about me, mother; _I_ shall pull through somehow, -and conduct myself with such propriety as even to satisfy Aunt -Sophia. If you _should_ see me doing anything dreadful at the -dinner-table, and I am too far away for a stage-whisper, you might -'hail' like Mary Ann the scholar in _Our Mutual Friend_, you know, -then I shall understand and pull myself together." - -"You incorrigible girl," says Mrs. Merivale with something between a -laugh and a sigh; "but now run back, dear, and get my fan off the -dressing-table in my room. O, and look in and tell Honor that she -can come down for an hour or so to-night if she likes. Tell her to -wear her white nun's veiling with the moiré sash and ribbons." - -Charmed with this message Doris is soon back in her own room, where -she finds Honor still helping Lane to put things a little straight, -in Lucy's prolonged absence, which is irritating the older maid not a -little. - -"Honor, my girl, you are to come down into the drawing-room to-night; -mother says so. O, and you are to wear your nun's veiling, &c. Now -_don't_ say you don't want to!" - -"I don't, truly," says Honor, looking from Doris to Lane and back -again. "I am tired and sleepy now, and it is a bother to have to -change one's dress just for an hour, when I'd _far_ rather be in bed." - -"Well, I call it downright spiteful of you, Honor. Just the evening -of all others that I want you. I was looking forward to telling you -all about the dinner, and we could have had a jolly time in a -secluded corner with Hugh. And oh, I forgot, Regy is coming in after -dinner; so we four might have some rare fun. _Do_ come, there's a -dear!" And Doris looks at Honor so beseechingly that she sacrifices -her own feelings in the matter and says, "Very well, dear, I'll come. -Now run away, there's mother calling you." - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -DORIS'S FIRST DINNER-PARTY. - -That quarter of an hour before dinner, which to people who are used -to it is generally rather a bore than otherwise, is quite an -amusement to Doris, whose only experience of dinner-parties hitherto -has been a bird's-eye view, obtained by hanging over the balustrade, -of the guests filing into the dining-room. To-night the girl feels -all the importance of being for the first time an actual participant -in the entertainment; and flushed with the consciousness of her own -dignity in having to assist her mother in receiving their friends, -and the proud knowledge that she is wearing a properly-made dress, -she feels there is at last some advantage in being the eldest girl of -the family. A long peal at the bell, and Doris rushes hastily across -to her mother. - -"Do you _really_ wish me to talk to every one, mother, and divide my -attentions between them all, as I have seen you doing?" - -"Yes, dear, of course. You will soon take it up and get accustomed -to the ways of society. I want you to see a little in your own home -before coming out next season, so that you may gain a little -experience; otherwise I should not let you dine with us at your age. -I don't know, I am sure, what your aunt will say to what I suppose -she will call my injudicious haste in bringing you forward. She -considers eighteen quite the correct age for introducing girls, but -six months the other side--" - -"Dr. and Mrs. Benson," announces Rankin; and Mrs. Merivale, followed -by her daughter, goes forward to receive the first guests. The -rector takes immediate possession of his host, and getting him on to -the rug before the fire enters into an animated discussion with him -on the prime minister's speech of the previous night; dashing into it -so suddenly that Doris, who is standing by, is inspired with the idea -that they must have begun this conversation some time during the same -day somewhere, and having perhaps been interrupted, have now taken it -up again at the exact point at which they left off. Mrs. Merivale -and the rector's wife being seated together on a sofa talking softly -about their respective families, Doris roams about the room a little -until another loud peal at the bell causes her to retire a little -behind her mother's chair, in order to be in readiness when the next -visitors are announced. This time it is Colonel and Mrs. Danvers and -almost close upon them are ushered in Mrs. and Mr. Hugh Horton and -Captain Hall, as if they had all come together. There is quite a -buzz of conversation in the room now, and Doris finds herself seated -by Mrs. Danvers, with Captain Hall and Hugh standing before them, -laughing and chatting as if she had been accustomed to this sort of -thing all her days. - -"Well, how do you think you will like your first dinner-party, -Doris?" inquires Hugh, going round and leaning over her chair. - -"O, I think it will be jolly. I am enjoying it all so far; only if -mother sends me down with one of the old fogies the dinner part of -the performance will be awfully dull. You take me down, Hugh, _do_; -then we can discuss the tableaux and the party, you know. We have -got a lot settled to-night, and the carpenter is coming to-morrow to -see about arranging the room. It only remains to be decided which we -shall choose." - -"All serene!" replies the young fellow. "I'll take you down if I -can, Doris; but your mother may have other views for me, you know. -Ah! here come some more. I say, Doris, is Honor coming down -to-night?" - -"No--that is, yes," hurriedly answers Doris, rising as the door is -thrown open, and "Mr. and Mrs. Paget" and "Lady Woodhouse" are -announced. - -"Why, bless my heart, child, what does this mean?" exclaims the -latter lady, bearing down upon her niece, and lifting her eye-glass. - -"What does _what_ mean, aunt?" inquires Doris demurely, and meeting -the astonished stare of her aunt with unmoved gravity. - -"Why, your being down here, dressed up in a gown which I am quite -sure Miss Renny was never guilty of making. You are never going to -dine?" - -"Yes, I am, aunt, of course, or I shouldn't be down here at all. -Mother says she means me to appear a little at home before really -coming out. She wants me to get a little into the ways of society." - -"Ways of fiddle-sticks, _I_ should say!" rejoins Lady Woodhouse -tartly. "In my young days one was never seen or heard of until -properly introduced. Let me see, how old are you, child--seventeen, -eighteen?" - -"Seventeen and a half, aunt." - -Lady Woodhouse holds up her hands in horror. "Not even eighteen! -What is the world coming to? But there, your mother is one of the -most injudicious women I know, and always will be, I suppose. Well, -Mr. Hugh Horton, and how are you? I suppose you two young people are -going down together, eh?" - -"No such luck, I'm afraid. I believe I'm to take one of the other -ladies--Mrs. Danvers, in fact." - -"Nothing of the sort!" exclaims this energetic lady. "I have made up -my mind you shall take me, young man. Go over and tell your mother, -Doris, that I insist upon going down with Mr. Hugh Horton. Then we -will see if we can't contrive to sit next to you and your escort. -Mind now, child, when you see me leaving the room, you follow; then -we shall manage, I daresay. Ah! here comes Sir Peter--last, as -usual. Now I suppose the party is complete. Run, Doris, or you will -be too late." - -Almost before Sir Peter has greeted his host and hostess, the door is -once more thrown wide, and the announcement "Dinner is served" brings -the assembled guests to their feet. Doris is standing obedient, -close by her aunt, who has already taken forcible possession of Hugh, -when a cheery, manly voice from behind says "Now, Miss Doris, your -mother tells me I am to have the honour of taking you in to dinner on -this auspicious occasion of your first appearance in public;" and -Colonel Danvers stands before her with smiling face and outstretched -hand. - -"I couldn't come and speak to you before," he explains, "for your -father and the rector pinned me at the other end of the room and -dragged me into a political discussion." - -"O, I am so glad I am to sit beside you!" exclaims Doris with genuine -pleasure. "I was dreadfully afraid it would be Captain Hall; and he -is so stupid, you know. It takes him about five minutes to get out -the most ordinary remarks with his silly affected drawl." - -"Now, Doris;" and Lady Woodhouse turns to leave the room, closely -followed by Colonel Danvers and her niece, Mrs. Merivale and Sir -Peter Beresford bringing up the rear. As Doris and the colonel turn -the corner of the stairs a smart wrap on the former's head causes -them to look up to the flight above, where they descry Molly, armed -with a battledore, hanging over the balustrade. "Hush! don't say -anything. How is Doris behaving?" she says with breathless -inconsistency. Colonel Danvers looks up laughingly and nods a -greeting. "O, pretty well, considering;" and Doris adds, "Do go -away, Molly. Did you actually dare to rap my head with that thing?" -But Molly, seeing that her mother is close at hand, disappears -mysteriously, and there is much scuffling and giggling heard on the -next landing, where evidently the others are collected also. - -Although Doris finds herself seated between Hugh and her favourite -the colonel, she is so dazzled and confused with the brightness of -the scene and the incessant flow of talk that she at first sits -perfectly silent. - -With the assistance of Colonel Danvers she gravely studies her -_ménu_, he explaining the meaning of some of the elaborate names of -the dishes, which to her, fresh from the school-room, are as Greek. - -Presently Mrs. Benson, who is on the other side of the colonel, takes -up his attention for a time; and as Hugh and Lady Woodhouse are now -carrying on a spirited conversation on her right, Doris quietly takes -a look all round the table. - -There is old Mr. Paget sitting next to Mrs. Horton, with his -table-napkin tucked up over his shirt-front, looking as if he had not -tasted food for the last month, such undivided attention is he giving -to his soup; Mrs. Danvers is carrying on a rather one-sided -flirtation with Captain Hall; and good-natured Mrs. Paget is talking -with all her might to old Sir Peter, who is looking worried to the -last degree by the palpable exertions of the good lady to make -herself agreeable and entertaining. - -"Why, how quiet we are!" suddenly remarks the colonel, looking down -at the bright face beside him. - -"Yes, I should think so," says Doris laughing. "It's a terrible -ordeal, the responsibility of having to keep one's self in order, you -know, and do all that is right and nothing that is wrong. Do you -remember your first dinner-party?" she continues. - -"Yes, I remember it only too well; I have reason to, I assure you." - -"Why? Did anything dreadful happen?" - -"Well, yes; I thought it dreadful. What! no champagne?" - -"I don't know that mother would like me to have it; I told her to -'hail' when anything important was likely to happen, but she is so -taken up with Sir Peter that I believe she has forgotten all about -me. Never mind, I'll telegraph to father." - -"No, you need not do that!" exclaims the colonel, as well as he can -for laughing. "Say 'yes' the next time it comes round, and I will -take the responsibility. There, I see Rankin looking this way, I'll -beckon him. Some champagne for Miss Doris, please," he says, and in -another moment her glass is filled with the sparkling, foaming wine, -at which she looks half frightened however. - -"Well, now, what were you going to tell me about your first -dinner-party?" she asks. "What dreadful thing was it that happened?" - -"Well, I must tell you that I had to take a severe-looking old -dowager in to dinner that evening. She was very rich, I suppose, for -I remember that the flashing of her diamonds made me quite nervous, -especially as she had a sharp way of suddenly turning round to speak -to one with a kind of jerk, which made me jump, and more than, once I -nearly dropped my spoon or fork, or whatever it chanced to be. I -must also mention that this good lady was also very fat and very -ugly. Well, matters went on pretty well altogether until dessert. I -had just had my glass filled with port, when suddenly a voice on my -right said, 'Mr. Danvers, may I trouble you to crack these filberts -for me?' I turned so suddenly, that before I saw what I was doing my -elbow had overturned the glass of port, and away it went in one -remorseless stream down the old lady's gown. I was so horrified at -the awful catastrophe that I sat helpless, as if stunned, and the old -lady was just about to pour forth a torrent of wrathful reproaches on -to my defenceless head, her eyes meanwhile flashing as much as her -diamonds, when a man sitting on the other side of her (a fellow of -about my own age now) suddenly jumped up, seized a decanter of -sherry, and saying hastily, 'Allow me, madam,' he quietly and -deliberately poured a good half of its contents upon the gown where -the darker wine had left a deep red stain." - -"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris with wide-open eyes, "was that to -take the old lady's attention from off you?" - -"Well, yes and no," says Colonel Danvers taking up a pear and slowly -peeling it with great nicety; "but the fact is I didn't wait to see, -for the much ill-used lady, on receiving what she thought to be an -insult added to the injury she had sustained, flew, so to speak, at -this gentleman, one Major Carpenter; and seeing that for the moment -my very existence was forgotten, I must confess that I was cowardly -enough to slip out of my place unperceived and into the hall, where a -good-natured young footman, who had seen the whole thing, I suppose, -opened the library door, remarking as he did so, 'There's a nice fire -in here, sir.' You see, I couldn't go into the drawing-room when -even the ladies had not left the table." - -"Poor old lady!" says Doris, cracking nuts perseveringly; "she _must_ -have been put out with such outrageous behaviour on the part of _two_ -gentlemen. Now, don't you think so?" - -"Well, I don't know. You say 'poor old lady,' but you never give a -thought to the agonies of mind which _I_ suffered. You are rather -hard on _me_, I think." - -"Well, but you _were_ rather cowardly, by your own confession you -were, to run off and leave Major Carpenter to bear the full brunt of -the old lady's displeasure. O yes, it certainly was _very_ bad of -you!" - -"Ah! yes, I suppose it was," says the colonel, leaning back in his -chair; "and yet, Doris, since that time I have stood before a -cannon's mouth without flinching. I have ridden across an open plain -with, not cannon, but shot of all description 'to right of me' and -'to left of me,' without so much as a friendly shrub to protect me -from the sight of the enemy. Oh! I assure you, that was a very warm -position in more senses than one. However, here I am still, safe and -sound; but I verily believe if I spilt a glass of port upon another -old lady's dress I should feel just as inclined to turn coward and -run away as ever, for the truth must be told, Doris, ever since that -eventful night I have felt a mortal antipathy, not unmixed with fear, -in the company of fat, cross old ladies." - -Doris sits silent for a few seconds, giving her attention to the pear -which Colonel Danvers has just put upon her plate. Then she says, -"You haven't told me yet what your friend threw the sherry upon the -dress for?" - -"No, neither I have. Well, the sherry it seems, if poured over a -ready-made stain of port-wine, takes it out, only leaving a sort of -ring round the place, which, I suppose, can be easily removed with a -little ordinary cleaning. Somebody explained afterwards to the old -lady why Major Carpenter had done it, and in a few days he received a -note from her, thanking him for the service he had rendered her on -the occasion of Mrs. Mordant's dinner-party, and begging to apologize -for any little annoyance she might possibly have shown when the -accident occurred. Ever after that evening she designated me as -'that young man, Mr. Danvers,' whilst my friend was 'that charming -Major Carpenter.' There's your mother, Doris, signalling for the -ladies' departure. You must tell me all about these theatricals in -the drawing-room afterwards, will you?" - -Arrived upstairs, Doris makes at once for a secluded niche draped -with curtains in one of the windows, wherein she knows she will find -Honor ensconced, probably with a book. - -The book is at a discount this evening, for Regy Horton, a fair, -delicate-looking boy of seventeen, has already arrived, and he and -Honor are deep in a discussion about some picture they have lately -seen, painting being an art of which they are both passionately fond. - -"Now this is really delightful!" exclaims Doris, throwing herself on -the wide window-seat beside her sister. "We will just keep here by -ourselves until the gentlemen come up, and then I will fetch Hugh and -Colonel Danvers, and we will all talk over the 27th." - -"That's all very well, Doris, but you can't do just as you like -to-night, you know. You will have to talk to people; bless you, your -duties are not _half_ over yet. Here comes mother now to fetch you. -There, didn't I say so?" - -"Doris, you must not hide yourself in a corner," remonstrates Mrs. -Merivale, coming up to the little group; "you must come and do your -share of talking. And have you brought any of your songs down? I -shall expect you to sing by and by." - -"O, mother, I _can't_--I can't really! I should sink through the -floor. Besides, Molly is not here to accompany me; and she is the -only one who can, decently. Honor's a goose at accompaniments." - -"Never mind, dear, we will see," says Mrs. Merivale vaguely. "Come, -Honor, and you too, Regy; we can't have any more whisperings behind -curtains when as yet there is no one to amuse the ladies." - -So Doris and Honor are both dragged out of their corner, much to -their chagrin, and there is a suspicion of a pout on the rosy lips of -the former as the three advance into the middle of the room. - -Later on, when the gentlemen have come up, and tea and coffee have -been served, Doris, with much mystery, beckons Colonel Danvers over -to the little group consisting of herself, Honor, and the two Horton -boys. - -"You _will_ be the 'old woman,' won't you?" gasps Doris excitedly. -"You would do it so beautifully. And you _promised_, you know, to do -anything we wanted; now, didn't you?" - -"A very rash promise apparently. May I be permitted to inquire to -what 'old woman' you are referring?" - -"Why, the 'old woman' who lived in a shoe, to be sure. Honor and I -have talked it all over, and if we dress you up in one of nurse's -gowns, with an apron and cap, you will look _lovely_!" - -"Upon my word, I feel highly complimented. I hope I shall not be -considered inquisitive if I ask whether this old woman was considered -handsome or not? By the by," adds the colonel with a crestfallen -look, and stroking his moustache, "how shall I dispose of this -commodity? You will never be so despotic as to command me to cut it -off, will you?" - -Both the girls cry simultaneously "Oh, no, of _course_ not!" and Hugh -adds reassuringly, "Oh, that's nothing; you can flatten it down -easily with a little cosmetic, and it won't show at all if you powder -your face after." - -"Very well, then. I will undertake to promise anything in that line -if one of you girls will consent to be in my custody with a view to -receiving the first whipping. Really," adds the colonel laughing, "I -don't think the picture will be half bad if there are plenty of -children forthcoming and the shoe is well managed. What are your -plans concerning it, Hugh?" and the two proceed to enter into a deep -discussion relative to the height, depth, and width thereof, when -suddenly Honor and Doris are electrified by the sight of Molly -entering the room, arrayed in a white frock matching that which Honor -wears. Molly has a roll of music under her arm, and with the -greatest self-possession in the world she marches up to the grand -piano and lays it down. She then stands as if awaiting further -orders, with flushed face, bright sparkling eyes, and hair tumbling -over her forehead and ears and curling down upon her neck in rather -wild but pretty confusion. - -"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris aside to Honor, "what can it mean?" - -"It is very plain to _me_ what it means," replied Honor. "Didn't you -see the music she brought in with her? That music is _yours_, my -dear,--your songs; and mother has sent for Molly to play the -accompaniments. So now you can't escape." - -"Well, I really call that _mean_ of mother!" exclaims Doris. "Molly, -why weren't you in bed and asleep, you wretched child, like any other -reasonable being? then you _couldn't_ have come down, you know." - -"Mother sent me a message not long ago," replies Molly promptly, "to -say I was to get dressed and to look out some of your nicest songs, -and come down when I was sent for. So of course I was arrayed in my -white frock, with more speed than elegance, I'm afraid, for my sash -is all awry, and I can't reach round to do it for myself; and," she -adds, lowering her voice mysteriously, "I have actually come down in -odd shoes. Look!" holding out first one foot and then the other. -"One rosette is nearly twice as large as the other, and I verily -believe one shoe is kid and the other patent leather! It _is_--look! -Then it is your shoe I caught up, Honor, and that accounts for it -pinching so horribly; why _will_ you persist in having such small -feet? Well, I must take care not to show both feet at once, and then -it will be all right--they're both nice shoes of their kind." - -"Why didn't you go back and change them?" inquires Doris turning over -the songs. - -"I never knew they were odd until I was on the landing outside the -door, and Rankin, as soon as he saw me, threw the door wide open, so -I couldn't do anything but walk in and make the best of it." - -"Doris, will you sing us something, dear?" says Mrs. Merivale from -the distance; and Doris, somewhat reassured by her feeling of -complete confidence in her young accompanist, resigns herself to her -fate with a tolerably good grace. Gounod's graceful little chanson -'Au Printemps' is the first the girls select from the goodly pile -which Molly has brought down, and the effective accompaniment with -the fresh young voice soon draw an appreciative group round the -piano. 'The Sands of Dee' is next placed upon the stand by Colonel -Danvers, and Molly, nothing loth, starts off at once with the prelude -without ever consulting Doris's inclination in the matter. - -[Illustration: DORIS SINGS "THE SANDS OF DEE."] - -One or two other songs quickly follow, and then some of the guests -take their leave, while one or two, Colonel Danvers and old Sir Peter -being amongst the number, go up and speak kindly to Molly, who, now -that her duties are over, is standing a little abstractedly by the -piano, running her fingers noiselessly up and down the keys. - -"What a pity the Hortons had to leave so early," says the colonel to -Molly. "With you here to accompany so well we might have prevailed -on Hugh to sing. I do so like of all things to hear his tenor voice -in 'Molly Bawn,' and also the immortal 'Sally in our Alley.'" - -"One would think he could sing nothing else," remarks Molly, "by the -way in which he persists in dosing us with those two, and especially -the former. I am always wanting him to learn others--there are such -heaps of pretty tenor songs--but it's no use; he will keep on with -those and other old ones. He says none of the new songs can hold a -candle to them, but I don't know--I believe it is laziness, really." - -The example of the first departures being quickly followed by others, -the room is soon cleared of all the guests, save Sir Peter Beresford, -who being passionately fond of music, begs his hostess to allow Molly -to sit up five minutes longer that she may play him one more piece. - -Mrs. Merivale looks doubtfully from Molly to the clock and then back -again. - -"Well, sit down, Molly, and play something to Sir Peter--you know -which are his favourites,--then you must all three run away off to -bed instantly. Here is Doris yawning behind her fan, and Honor looks -whiter than her frock, if anything. I don't know what father will -say, I am sure." - -"O, let them stay a bit longer," says indulgent Mr. Merivale, and -crossing over to the piano he seats himself beside his three girls, -and listens with no little pride to Molly's musicianly playing. The -piece ended, Mrs. Merivale keeps to her word, and hardly allowing Sir -Peter time to thank Doris and Molly for the musical treat which he -declares they have given him, she bids her daughters say -"good-night," and with a kiss to each, dismisses them. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -SHOPPING AND A REHEARSAL. - -The next morning breaks dismally enough outside. The streets are -thickly carpeted with snow, which has fallen plenteously and almost -without cessation during the previous night. There is a deadened, -muffled sound of occasional traffic only in the usually busy streets, -and even this is soon drowned in the scrape, scrape of shovels with -which armies of small boys parade the quieter streets and terraces, -wherein are the houses of the rich and prosperous men of the large, -smoke-begrimed manufacturing town, whilst the fortunate occupants of -these large fashionable mansions, who are still curled up comfortably -under warm eider-down quilts, are unpleasantly roused to a -consciousness of what awaits them by the loud persistent cries of -"Sweep yer doorway, ma'am,--doorway ma'am?" - -Indoors things look somewhat more cheerful, especially at the -Merivales, who are an early-rising family. It still wants a few -minutes to eight, but Doris and Honor, true to habit, are already -kneeling on the rug before the bright fire, spreading their hands as -near as they dare over the glowing coals, and carrying on a spirited -talk, which proves that the few hours' sleep of which they have been -deprived has not done them much harm. The door opens, and enter -Molly--yawning hopelessly, and it must be confessed looking haggard -and pale, with dark rings round her large blue eyes. - -"Hallo, Moll! late hours don't evidently suit you, my dear. You _do_ -look an object of pity, upon my word. Here, come to the fire and -stop chattering your teeth, for goodness' sake!" - -Molly accepts the invitation and joins her sisters, and after a few -minutes Mr. Merivale comes in rubbing his hands briskly. - -"Now, girls, let the old man see a bit of the fire! Ah! just eight," -taking out his watch and comparing it with the clock on the -mantel-piece. "Good girls, to be punctual after your late hours. -Ring the bell, Honor; it's no use waiting for your mother this -morning. She has one of her bad headaches, and I shouldn't wonder if -she does not come down at all. She said she would send word by Lane -after prayers, so we need not wait now." - -By this time the servants have filed into the room and taken their -places; and the old nurse having also appeared with her two -particular charges, Daisy and Bobby, Mr. Merivale takes his place at -a side-table, and morning prayers are commenced. Before leaving the -room again nurse places the two children in their usual places at the -breakfast-table, and at the same moment Lane steps forward from the -row of servants, and going up to Honor says, "If you please, Miss -Honor, your ma says will you make breakfast this morning, for her -head is that bad she can't raise it from her pillow?" - -"_Honor_, of course!" and with a pout and a flounce Doris takes her -usual seat at the table, while Honor moves to the end opposite her -father, who is busily occupied in sorting the letters. - -Breakfast is generally a quiet meal at No. 4 Lancaster Terrace, for -Mr. Merivale leaves the house at half-past nine punctually every -morning in order to be at the bank before it is opened to the public. - -There is little or no conversation therefore this morning, the mother -being absent, and the six girls and boys take their breakfast in -almost complete silence, speaking, if at all, in low subdued voices -which will not disturb their father over his newspapers and letters. - -Presently he puts these aside, however, and as he passes his cup up -to be refilled by Honor says, "Didn't I hear mother say Miss Denison -was to return to-day?" - -"Yes, father," answers Doris. "Mother heard from her yesterday, and -she is to arrive by the 12.45 train." - -"O, I wonder if mother will let us meet her," says Honor, looking up. - -"Well, why not ask her?" says Mr. Merivale, rising from the table. -"I don't suppose she will be going out herself this morning, so you -might take the carriage in that case." - -"O, that _would_ be jolly!" cries Doris, jumping up and clapping her -hands; "and I tell you what, Honor, we'll try and get mother to let -us have it all the morning, then we shall get through no end of -business. Father will ask her--won't you, dear?" - -"Not I, indeed; go and ask her yourself. Besides, it is time I was -off--there will be no one to open the safe, and then what will they -do, eh?" and so saying Mr. Merivale bustles into the hall, where -William is standing waiting to help his master into his overcoat, and -snatching the _Times_ from Honor's hand, who, with Doris and Molly in -her wake, has pursued him out on to the steps, he makes his escape -into the brougham which is waiting at the door. - -Doris and Honor hold a consultation on their way back to the -dining-room as to the pros and cons of their getting permission to -use the carriage, and on Doris promising to be spokeswoman, they both -run up to their mother's room. - -"Mother, we want the carriage, Honor and I, to do our shopping, you -know. And father says if we are out we may as well take it on to the -station and meet Miss Denny; so we can, can't we, mother?" And Doris -takes up one of the slender white hands lying upon the coverlet, and -softly pats and strokes it between her own. - -Mrs. Merivale shrinkingly turns her head away from her anxious young -daughter's appealing gaze, and closing her eyes says, "My _dear_ -Doris, you might have a little more consideration for my nerves, I -think. Here I am, completely prostrated, and you rush into the room -like an earthquake, thinking of nothing but yourself. Do _pray_ -leave me alone, and, oh yes! you can have _both_ the carriages if you -like, only leave me in peace; and Honor, give me the Cologne, and -then find Lane and send her to me. And _do_, all of you, try to walk -a little less like elephants than you generally do. Oh! pray shut -the door quietly." - -The girls are quenched, and leave the room much more quietly than -they entered it. - -"I hope to goodness _I_ shall never have any nerves," says Doris -pouting, as she links her arm in Honor's. "Mother is fussy and cross -this morning. I believe she would like us all to sit perfectly mute -through the livelong day whenever she has one of her headaches. Now -don't look shocked, Honor, my girl! You know in your own heart of -hearts you think so too, only you are too good to say it, even to -yourself. I often wonder what mother would do if father were a poor -man, and she had to make her own dresses, and do her own hair, and we -had the washing done at home. Ah! that would just suit mother, -wouldn't it? Fancy how delicious--a perpetual smell of washing!" - -"Hush, dear!" says Honor gently, "you must not talk like that about -mother; she is delicate, of course, and you know what Miss Denison -says about the back being fitted to the burden." - -"O, that's all very well! but you know there are burdens clapped on -people's backs when they least expect it sometimes, at least so I've -read in books, so I don't altogether believe in _that_ statement." - -In half an hour's time the two girls, radiant and comfortable, with -rugs, foot-warmers, and muffs, are being whisked through the now -slushy streets by a pair of fresh young horses. A very delightful -morning of shopping follows, until Honor, looking at her watch, is -startled to find that they have only just time to get to the station -to meet the train by which their governess is travelling. - -"Be quick, dear," she says to Doris, who is divided between the -conflicting beauties of two delicate chintzes, one of which is -destined to adorn the person of "Mary," of the perverse character, -"or we shall not be there before the train comes in, and then poor -Miss Denny will think there's no one there to meet her." - -Honor's fears of being late are not without some foundation, they -find, for as they step on to the platform the train is already -gliding into the station. A hand is seen waving a recognition from -one of the carriage windows, and as Doris and Honor rush up to the -door, a tall pleasant-looking woman steps down, and is quickly being -nearly stifled and smothered in the embraces of her impetuous pupils. - -"And now, girls," straightening her bonnet and then giving a hand to -each, "how are all at home?" - -"O, all right!" replies Doris, promptly dismissing the subject; "and -we have no end to talk to you about. The theatricals will be a -_tre-men_-dous success. Honor and I have been shopping this morning; -that's how it is we have got the carriage. Mother had one of her -headaches, you know, so she couldn't come and meet you herself; and -oh, isn't it _splendid_?--Colonel Danvers is really going to be the -old woman!" - -"My _dear_ Doris, how you do run on!" says Miss Denison, smiling down -at the bright face by her side. "A few moments ago you said all were -well at home, and now you say your mother has a bad headache. Now do -let Honor speak too, dear," she adds laughing, as Doris shows signs -of starting off on a fresh subject. - -All chatting pleasantly together the drive home seems to be -accomplished in about half the usual time, and as soon as Miss -Denison has been extricated from the carriage, which, in addition to -the three occupants, is filled almost to overflowing with packages, -she has to undergo a warm reception from Molly and Dick, who are -dancing a sort of Highland fling of expectation on the door-step as -the carriage drives up. - -Then they all follow Miss Denison up to Mrs. Merivale's boudoir, -where, now almost recovered, she is languidly looking over her -letters of the morning. - -"My _dear_ Miss Denison," she says, holding out both hands as the -governess approaches her, "you can have no conception what an -unspeakable relief your return is to me. I thought I should have -_died_ sometimes with the terrible racket these children have made. -Their father doesn't seem to mind it--indeed I really believe he -_likes_ it rather than otherwise; but oh, what my poor nerves have -gone through!" and Mrs. Merivale shudders and looks round for her -smelling-salts. - -"_What_ we shall do without you when you leave us for good I really -_don't know_," she continues. "Honor and Molly will have to go to -school, I think. Doris must stay at home, of course, if she is to -come out next season. O, how I wish Honor was the eldest!--she is so -quiet and sensible compared to that child there. It is all very well -when I am quite well myself, but these headaches completely prostrate -me, and when they are all at home together it is almost _more_ than I -can stand. Molly, _do_ stop shuffling your feet!" - -"I am sure, dear Mrs. Merivale, I would willingly have made my -engagement a longer one still," says Miss Denison sitting down close -to her, while Doris squeezes up to her side, Honor sits on a stool at -their feet, and Molly and Dick take up their position behind the -sofa; "but Frank declares he will wait no longer, saying--which is -quite true, of course--that I have put him off twice already. I -should like to have finished Honor as well as Doris, especially as I -fear that young lady has not done me as much credit as she might have -done. Now, Honor is more studiously inclined, and so I _think_ is -Molly." - -"Now, I call it mean talking like that!" cries Doris pouting. "If I -haven't a natural taste for study it isn't _my_ fault, and it's twice -and three times as easy for people to learn when they really _like_ -it, and not half so praiseworthy in _my_ opinion. Never mind," she -adds, tossing her head, "I shall marry a duke; and it won't matter -then whether or not I can speak French, German, or Italian!" - -"O my stars, hark to that, Miss Denison!" exclaims Dick. "Why, my -good Doris, if you marry a duke you will have to go to court, you -know; and supposing the queen invited you to dinner, and she took it -into her head suddenly to have nothing but Chinese, or--or Fi-ji-an -spoken all the time, where would you be _then_, my girl?" - -"Don't be absurd!" retorts Doris loftily; "and do let Miss Denny go -on with what she was saying." - -But at this moment the gong sounds and there is a general move. A -merry and noisy meal is the luncheon to-day; Mr. Merivale, who has -come home unexpectedly, being himself one of the merriest of the -party. - -After much discussion and a few passages-at-arms between Doris, -Molly, and Dick, which are promptly suppressed, however, by Miss -Denison, a rehearsal is called for half-past six o'clock, after the -school-room tea. A note, in a somewhat sprawling masculine hand, is -written and despatched by Molly to command the presence of the five -Horton boys at that hour; and as the carpenter has pronounced the -school-room to be most suitable for the erection of a stage, the time -before tea is devoted chiefly to the clearing of all superfluous -articles (of which there are not a few) away into cupboards and -ottomans, &c. Presently Hugh, Regy, Alick, Ted, and Joey Horton -arrive, and hard, steady rehearsal is the order of the evening until -bed-time. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -HUGH'S MENTOR. - -The time soon flies past, every one being in a whirl of excitement -which passes Mrs. Merivale's comprehension. But at last the day -before that fixed for the party arrives, and the house is in a -perfect uproar from attic to basement. - -Mrs. Merivale has struck a bargain with the girls that, so long as -they undertake to keep everything in connection with the theatricals -out of her sight and hearing, she will promise to eschew all aches -and pains, and take into her own hands the entire management of the -rest of the entertainment. This is more in her line; and from little -things the girls overhear from time to time they feel satisfied as to -their Christmas party being a success. - -On the day in question the general excitement reaches a pitch which -defies description. Downstairs the cook has lately been reduced to a -pitch of frenzy by the constant demand for paste, glue-pots to be -heated, flat-irons, &c. To-day, however, she has struck against -this, for has she not the supper of the next night to prepare? So -she has shut her kitchen doors, and announced emphatically that under -no pretext whatever will she open them to any of the young ladies or -gentlemen until the party is over. Mr. Merivale is heard to declare -that "there is not a place whereon to rest the sole of my foot," for -even his bedroom is not exempt (on this the last day) from litter of -various kinds. On one occasion, when sitting down for a few minutes' -chat with his wife, Doris, looking in to ask a question, suddenly -rushes across the room, and seizing her astonished parent by the -lapels of his coat exclaims, "O, _father_, you're sitting on my Queen -of Hearts dress! and you _must_ have smashed the crown flat! O, how -_could_ you?" - -There is to be a dress rehearsal this evening at half-past seven, and -Colonel and Mrs. Danvers are coming to dine quietly, so that the -former can enter upon his duties as stage-manager as well as practise -his part of the "old woman." - -It is about five o'clock, and Miss Denison and the young people are -seated at tea in the school-room, when Jane enters, and addressing -herself to Molly says rather mysteriously, "O, if you please, Miss -Molly, Mr. Hugh is down in the hall, and he wants to speak to you -most particular for a minute. I asked him to step into the -drawing-room, but he said 'no,' nor he wouldn't come up here neither." - -"What can he want?" says Molly, rising from her chair; "may I go, -Miss Denny?" - -Permission granted, down she runs and finds Hugh sitting -disconsolately on one of the hall chairs, his hands in his pockets, -and his eyes fixed moodily upon the ceiling. - -"What are you sitting there for like a hall-porter?" she cries with -scant ceremony; "and why couldn't you come upstairs like a reasonable -being? Why, _what_ is the matter? You look as doleful as a -crocodile!" And copying the expression of his face to a nicety, she -plants herself before the young fellow and thrusts her hands into -imaginary pockets. Then she suddenly bursts into irrepressible -laughter. - -"Well, you needn't laugh at a fellow! _You_ would look gloomy if -after days and days of work you found yourself in the same quandary -as I am. It's the shoe, that's what it is!" - -"O, it's the _shoe_ that pinches, is it?" and teasing Molly goes off -into fresh fits of laughter. - -"Well, you needn't laugh! as I said before. The fact is I don't know -how to get it here: it is so large, you see. It's really a beautiful -shoe, and will hold a lot of youngsters, but the fact remains that I -can't even get it out of the door of my own room! What's to be -done?" A pause. Then Hugh goes on, "You see I want to get it in -here while it is dark, because if anyone saw it being taken in they -would think we were all lunatics, naturally." - -Molly rests her chin upon her hand and ponders deeply. "How many -pieces is it in?" she asks. - -"Only three," mutters Hugh despondently. - -"Well, now," says Molly, "why can't you take it to pieces again? I -will help you, and it will be such fun lacing it all up again. We -ought to have had it made _here_, in the house; then there would have -been no bother at all. As it is, to take it to pieces is the only -thing I can suggest. Shall I run and ask Miss Denny if I may go in -now with you, and then we shall get it put together again in time for -the rehearsal to-night?" - -"Yes, do, and I will wait here. What a clever girl you are, Molly! -I knew you would think of a way out of the difficulty." - -"Pooh!" says Molly. "That's nothing. It's you boys who are so -_helpless_ without us girls to manage for you! I won't be a second;" -and away she bounds up the staircase. - -In two or three minutes she reappears with a large piece of cake in -one hand. Tucking the other through Hugh's arm she remarks (rather -unintelligibly, her mouth being full of cake), "Miss Denny said I -might, so I drank my tea standing, and--oh, have a bit of cake, do! -I have only begun it on this side." Hugh with great gravity accepts -the offer, Molly breaking off a good-sized piece of the great slice; -and this matter being satisfactorily arranged, they quickly slip out -of one door and in at the other. As they pass through the hall a -door opens, and a refined, gentle-looking woman of about four or five -and forty pauses on the threshold in surprise at the unexpected sight -of Molly under the escort of her son at that time of the evening. - -"My dear boy," she says, "what _are_ you doing with Molly? Why, do -you know that the child has no hat on, nor even a wrap of any kind?" - -"I _had_ a wrap, Mrs. Horton, but I have just thrown it off, and it -was not worth while to put anything on my head." - -"O, if you have only just come from next door that is a different -matter," says Mrs. Horton, reassured. "What has Hugh dragged you in -here for now?" she continues kindly while she puts one arm -affectionately round the girl's shoulders. "It is surely your -tea-time now, dear, and it is too bad if he has taken you away from -that." - -Hugh looks guilty, but Molly comes to the rescue for the second time. - -"O, I didn't mind, indeed, Mrs. Horton," she says. "Hugh was so -dreadfully put out about the shoe, you know, so I thought it best to -come in and see what we could do about it. He didn't ask me to come -at all; I offered to myself." - -"I shouldn't have bothered Molly about it at all, mother," the young -fellow puts in; "but you see it is your 'at home' day, and I didn't -know whether every one had gone. And what to do about this blessed -shoe I didn't know, with the time running on so fast too; and I had -_promised_ to have it ready for to-night's rehearsal. Molly's a dear -good-natured girl, and I knew she would find some way of managing." - -"Well, Hugh, you know I would gladly have done anything I could for -you about it; but of course, as you say, I couldn't very well leave -my guests. Now, shall we go up and see what this tyrannical shoe -requires?" - -On reaching the large room upstairs which is devoted exclusively to -the use of the boys, they find all the other four engaged in -different occupations, more or less noisy. The babel of tongues -ceases, however, at the sight of the trio looking in upon them, and -there is a general rush towards the door. While Ted and Joey seize -upon their mother, Regy and Alick dart at Molly, and dragging her -across the room to where a funereal-looking object is reclining -against the wall, they proceed to describe noisily the difficulties -of the case. - -"I wanted it lowered out of the window!" cries Alick, determined to -be heard, "and hauled up again into yours. That would have been -_quite easy_, you know, and not half the fuss in my opinion." - -"Who cares for _your_ opinion, Alick?" says Regy contemptuously. - -"No, but really," goes on the boy, not to be suppressed, "it will be -an awful shame to take it all to pieces. Why, I declare I never knew -Hugh to work at anything so hard before." - -"Nor I," mutters Regy, glancing at his brother, who is leaning up -against the mantel-piece staring gloomily at the object of discussion. - -"Well, Molly knows best," he remarks decidedly, "so it's no use -discussing it any longer. Who's got a pair of sharp scissors or a -knife or something? Mother, you will help us take it to pieces, -won't you?" - -"And you and I and Colonel Danvers will soon have it together again -when once we get it in there," says Molly, jerking her head in the -direction of the next house. "O, good gracious, what's this?" she -exclaims, as she trips up over some hard object sticking out from -under the shoe. - -"Why, it's one of the supports--_wood_, you know," explains Ted, -nodding solemnly at Molly. "You weren't such a goose as to think -cardboard would stand up in that way alone, were you?" - -"Where are your manners, Ted?" puts in Hugh. "Molly, did you hurt -yourself? Come round, and let me show you the whole concern." - -The "whole concern" having been duly admired, and all its points of -beauty expatiated on, they all set to work, and in a very short time -the shoe is once more in three distinct pieces; and while the boys -are busily taking the laces out with elaborate care, Molly, -thoroughly at home in the house, as indeed are all the girls, strolls -out of the room and down the passage to a little room at the -end--Hugh's private sanctum and study. - -"_Study_, indeed!" thinks Molly to herself as she stands looking -scornfully round; for the room, it must be confessed, does not -suggest the idea of any very violent mental work going on within its -four walls. Books there are in plenty, certainly: good, substantial, -solid reading too; but there they are, comfortably reposing on their -shelves, "looking," as Molly says to herself, "as if they had not -been touched for the last six weeks." She has just marched up to the -books in question, and is in the act of drawing her finger along -their dusty backs, when Hugh puts his head in at the door. - -"Now, Miss Molly, what are you doing in my study?" he demands, "and -what are you turning up that elegant little nose about? Come, what's -wrong, eh?" And crossing over hastily, he reaches the girl's side -just in time to see her finish writing with her finger the word -"dust" in large capital letters. - -"_That_ is what is wrong," she says, turning round slowly and facing -the young fellow; "d-u-s-t, _dust_! A fine study indeed!" she -continues, glancing round contemptuously. "Look how painfully tidy -the rest of the room is! My goodness, you should just see our -school-room when we are in the thick of our lessons and really mean -business! Doris and I get covered with ink, and our hair gets all -rumpled up, and sometimes we stick pens into it without knowing. -Honor knits her brows and frowns away like anything, and Miss -Denison's voice is several degrees more severe than usual. Oh, I -assure you we look _tragic_ when we really _are_ working! I should -like to know, now, what use it is your going to Sandhurst," she -continues severely, "when you never so much as open a book at home? -Ah! you are a lazy fellow, Hugh; and I don't believe you will ever -pass all your exams. If you ever do get into the army (which I very -much doubt) it will be by the backdoor, I verily believe." - -"Why, what do _you_ know about the backdoor, Molly?" exclaims Hugh, -bursting into uncontrollable laughter. - -"O, I know all about it," replies Molly, nodding gravely. "I heard -father talking about it to Colonel Danvers the other evening. Father -was saying he wondered how Cyril Harcourt got into the army. And -Colonel Danvers said, 'Oh, _he_ got in by the backdoor, you know.' -So I asked father afterwards what it meant, and he told me by getting -into the militia first; and I thought to myself, 'Ah! that's what -Hugh will have to do.' And so you will, you know, if you ever do get -in, which, as I said before, I very much--" - -"No, don't say it again," says the young fellow, putting his hand -over Molly's mouth. "I'll do anything in the world to please you, -Molly, and I'll work like--like fury, only don't pitch into me any -more. Encourage me a bit sometimes, and I shall do wonders yet. I -daresay you could even help me sometimes if you only would. I don't -mean in the actual way of studying, you know, though I believe you -are a hundred times more clever than I am; but I mean as to keeping -me up to the mark, and all that sort of thing." - -"Yes, that's all very well," says Molly, shaking her head. "I do try -to do that, I'm sure; but if you won't help yourself, _I_ can't help -you. And look here, Hugh, it is all very well to say you will do it -to please _me_; but what about your mother, who I know worries -_dreadfully_ about you? It's downright wicked of you, when you come -to think of it. Upon my word it is." - -"So it is, Molly. You are quite right, and I deserve every word you -are saying," says Hugh dejectedly. - -"Now, will you make me a promise, like a dear, good boy?" - -"Yes, that I will!" he cries with energy. "And what is more, I will -keep it, my wise little mentor." - -"That is right, Hugh. Well, I won't say anything about to-morrow, of -course, because until that has come and gone I don't suppose we shall -any of us know whether we are on our heads or our heels. But will -you promise me that the next day you will really set to work--real -_hard_ work, such as other young men do? Then you will soon make up -for lost time, with your talents, which it is perfectly _sinful_ to -throw away. You will very soon get used to it, and after a bit it -won't seem such a trouble to you to work. And look here, Hugh," she -adds, suddenly growing grave, and speaking in a whisper, "'Help -yourself, and God will help you,' you know. Now, will you promise -me?" And looking anxiously up into her companion's face, Molly holds -out her hand. - -"I will, Molly; upon my word I will," replies Hugh earnestly. And -taking the girl's hand in both his own, he adds, "What a dear, good -girl you are, Molly, and how I wish I had a sister like you! Ah! -never fear, I shall fire away now and pass all my exams, in less than -no time; and then you shall see what I can do afterwards, Miss Molly!" - -"O, yes!" says the girl, moving towards the door, "I have no fear for -you when once the studying is over; it is _that_ which is the -stumbling-block, eh? But thanks so very, very much for your promise, -dear Hugh. I consider your exams, all as good as passed, now that I -have that. Hark! there they are calling us. All right--coming!" -And away she darts down the passage, all life and fun again. - -Hugh follows, in time to see her pounced upon by all the four boys, -who, it seems, are in the midst of a violent dispute as to who shall -have the honour of carrying in the several portions of the shoe next -door. At last the question is settled, and the parts are carried -with much caution and solemnity out of the Hortons' house and into -the Merivales' by the three elder boys, Molly, escorted by Ted and -little Joey bringing up the rear with the laces, &c. - -"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris, whom they meet half-way up the -staircase, "what a _time_ you have been! We are all ready; and Miss -Denny, and nurse, and Honor have been dressing up Colonel Danvers, -and he looks splendid!" - -"Does he? All right! we shall not be two minutes in putting the shoe -together again; come along, boys!" And away scampers Molly up to the -school-room, closely followed by all the Hortons. - -At last it is ready, and Colonel Danvers and Mr. Merivale, assisted -by most of the boys, hoist it up satisfactorily into its place. - -As the colonel is looking somewhat embarrassed in his petticoats, -shawl, and big poke-bonnet, it is decided that the "old woman who -lived in a shoe" shall be rehearsed next. It is also settled that -this picture shall be placed first in the programme, instead of third -as originally intended. This is partly because Colonel Danvers -declares he shall be consumed with nervousness until his part is -over, and he can once more appear in his own proper attire. - -"You see, I am not used to petticoats and long gowns," he remarks -plaintively; "so _please_ let us get that tableau over as early as -possible!" - -It being necessary to have everything in working order, the curtain -is let down, and in the first trial rests itself triumphantly at one -end on a part of the shoe, leaving a startling array of ankles and -feet plainly visible to those looking on. - -This being remedied, great consternation is caused by the sudden -mysterious disappearance of Bobby. On search being made it is -discovered that the curtain in its first descent has knocked him over -into the interior of the shoe, from which strange, unearthly sounds -are issuing. He is speedily rescued, however, apparently none the -worse for his sudden collapse, except that his mouth, eyes, and hair -are pretty freely filled with dust. Having, however, been once more -set upon his legs, he soon recovers from his sneezing fit and joins -in the laugh with the rest. - -In the second trial all goes well, and the other pictures are duly -rehearsed according to their order on the programme. After a few -hours' steady practising they are one and all pronounced to be -satisfactory by the audience, which, though limited (consisting only -of Mrs. Merivale, Mrs. Danvers, and Mrs. Horton), is decidedly -critical; and after a little light refreshment, for which they all -betake themselves to the dining-room, the party is dispersed, the -colonel in a devout state of thankfulness at feeling himself, as he -expresses it, a man once more. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -HUSBAND AND WIFE. - -Mr. and Mrs. Merivale are still seated at the breakfast-table on the -morning of the 27th, the former deep in his newspaper, the latter -taking another glance through her letters. The children have already -taken themselves off some time, and with Miss Denison are busy -upstairs putting finishing touches to some of the costumes for the -evening. - -"Here is a letter from Sophia," presently remarks Mrs. Merivale to -her husband. "She proposes coming to us for a few days on her way -back to town when she leaves the Pagets; would you like-- Why, -James, what is the matter?" and rising quickly from her chair she -hurries round to his side, startled by the ashy paleness which has -suddenly overspread his face. - -"No--no, it is--nothing!" gasps Mr. Merivale; but at the same moment -he drops the paper and presses his hand against his side with a -little smothered moan. Mrs. Merivale snatches up her salts (which -are always at hand) and holds them under her husband's nostrils, then -hastily unscrewing the other end of the pretty toy she deluges her -handkerchief with _eau de Cologne_, and bathes his forehead and -temples until there is once more a little colour in his face. -"Thanks, dear," he says at last feebly. "I am all right again -now--it was only--a stitch--that's all! You need not look so -frightened, Mary, my dear. The pain was sharp while it lasted, but I -am quite myself now, indeed I am. Give me a little strong coffee, -Mary; and perhaps I had better have a spoonful of brandy in it." - -"You must call and see Dr. Newton," says Mrs. Merivale as she busies -herself with the coffee; "and now _do_ try and get home an hour or -two earlier to-day. I am sure there is no reason why you should not." - -"Oh, but there is!" says Mr. Merivale, sipping his coffee. "That's -just it. Waymark has gone away for a few days, and I shall have -double work until he comes back, instead of being able to take things -easily." - -"How very provoking! What could he want to take a holiday for just -now? Surely it is an unheard-of time for a holiday." - -"Yes, so it would be. But this is no holiday, I fancy, for I believe -he said something about an aunt being very ill and being summoned to -see her; but really I was so busy at the time I hardly noticed what -he did say. I had called him into my private room to show him a -letter from Clayton & Co., who have a large account with us, you -know. It was merely advising us as a matter of form that they would -be withdrawing the bulk of their deposit on the 30th instant, and as -Waymark sees to all the books and that sort of thing, I wanted him to -have the letter of course; then it was that he told me he must leave -for a few days, said he was just coming in to tell me about it." - -"Well, and what about the letter? didn't he see that this would give -you extra trouble?" - -"Well, he didn't seem to concern himself much about that; which after -his bad news was natural, I suppose. But he said Mr. Hobson knew as -much about the books as himself, and that I need have no trouble -about the matter, as I could leave it all to him. He only looked in -a moment after that to say good-bye, and that very possibly he would -be back himself by the 30th, in time to give a look to the affair. -So now you see, Mary, instead of sitting here I ought to be hurrying -off. Of course I shall get home as soon as ever I can, for the -children's sake as well as my own; but as to seeing the doctor -to-day, I can't promise. It will do very well in a day or two when I -have more time. It seems quite ridiculous to have made such a fuss -about nothing, for I feel as right as a trivet now." - -"_Nothing!_" repeats Mrs. Merivale testily. "If you could have seen -your face as _I_ saw it, James, you would not talk of 'nothing' in -that manner. Besides, you have had these _stitches_, as you call -them, more than once lately, and you _ought_ to have advice. But -there! you won't, of course. I never knew any man so care-less about -himself--_never_; and I might just as well talk to the wind for any -notice you take of what _I_ say. O, dear me! was ever any woman in -this wide world tried and worried as I am?" - -"Well, there, there, Mary; don't worry yourself about me," and Mr. -Merivale comes up to his wife and kisses her affectionately. "I -promise you I will go, only I _cannot_ spare time for the next day or -two. But the moment Waymark comes back, we will go together if you -like. Now, I can't say more than that, can I?" - -His wife looks somewhat consoled, and for her husband's sake she -shakes off the anxiety she really feels. With a once-more smiling -face she helps him on with his overcoat herself, and stands at the -street door until the brougham has driven away. There is not much -time for thinking when she gets back into the dining-room, for with a -rush like a whirlwind the girls run down the staircase and quickly -surround her, each one proffering a different request. Poor Mrs. -Merivale! her hands go distractedly to her head at last, and sinking -into a chair she cries, "Oh, my _dear_ girls, do run away and leave -me now! You _promised_ not to worry me about the tableaux, and if -you _will_ persist in doing so I shall be completely prostrated -before the evening comes, and then what will you do? You have got -poor Miss Denison up there slaving for you, and I am sure she is a -host in herself. That's right, run away! Oh, _don't_ slam the door! -Now, cook, what is it?" and with a sigh of resignation the -unfortunate lady gives her attention to the final arrangements for -the supper. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -TABLEAUX VIVANTS. - -After a day of rush and bustle for every one in the house alike, the -hour of eight, at which the guests have been invited, at length -arrives, and whilst Mrs. Merivale receives them herself on the first -staircase landing, a man-servant conducts them to the school-room, -where they are placed in their seats by two maids dressed in neat -black dresses and dainty little lace caps and aprons. These damsels -present each guest with the prettiest of programmes, which sets forth -a sufficiently attractive list of _Tableaux Vivants_, finishing up -with the information, "At the piano, Miss Denison and Miss Mary -Merivale." - -These two are already seated at the piano, waiting with exemplary -patience for the signal to begin the overture. There have been -extensive practisings going on for some time between the two, and now -the "ballet music" from Gounod's "Faust" is spread open before them, -and Molly is leaning back in her chair gazing abstractedly at the -curtain, while Miss Denison is making futile efforts to shield one of -the candles which shows a disposition to gutter. - -Suddenly the little bell is rung, rousing Molly from her reverie, and -the sweet strains of the above-mentioned music soon reduce the -audience to a state of quietude and attention. - -Molly, thorough musician that she is, plays on with such rapt -attention to the music and naught else that a gradually increasing -agitation of the curtain at the nearest wing is entirely lost upon -her. Quite forgetful of the fact that she is bound to make a -precipitate retreat the moment the final chord is struck, in order to -swell the number of the children belonging to the lady who resided in -the shoe, she plays on until she becomes aware of Miss Denison's -voice whispering in her ear "They are _ready, Molly_, and we must -hurry the end of this." - -Still Molly only half catches the words, till suddenly Dick, reduced -to desperation, puts his head out from behind the curtain, and after -making frantic signs to cease, says in an audible whisper, "That's -enough, Molly, we're all ready and waiting for you." - -This peremptory summons recalls the girl to the business of the -evening, and giving a quick nod of comprehension to her governess, -they both hurry through the few remaining bars, and finishing up with -two or three banging, crashing chords, as Molly puts it, she pushes -back her chair and promptly disappears. - -There is only a delay of a few seconds before the little bell tinkles -again, and while Miss Denison plays a soft melody the curtain rises -on the first tableau. - -Certainly "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe" was a great -success. - -Colonel Danvers, arrayed in one of the nurse's cotton gowns, with a -little shawl pinned over his shoulders and a large poke-bonnet, looks -the character of the "old woman" to perfection, as with one hand he -grasps Honor's arm with a firm grip, whilst a formidable-looking -birch is raised threateningly over her with the other. The rest of -the children are all seated round and about the shoe in various -attitudes; some half in and half out of it. All are supplied with -basins, popularly supposed to contain broth, and Molly, well to the -fore, with bare feet and rumpled head, is pausing in the act of -carrying her spoon to her mouth, with a distinct expression of "Will -it be _my_ turn next?" in her wide-open blue eyes. - -The curtain goes down amidst a storm of applause; and it being -arranged that no encores will be accepted, there is instantly a rush -of pattering feet across the stage, accompanied by much giggling and -whispering, and then a mysterious sound of pushing and dragging, -which duly announces the removal of the shoe. - -Honor's "Mother Hubbard" comes next, and Molly once more takes her -place at the piano, her presence not being required again on the -stage until the end of the first part of the programme, where her -much-dreaded part of the "Maiden all forlorn" comes on. Molly is -anything but happy in her mind about this part of the programme, she -having grave misgivings as to Hugh's intentions in the matter. - -"Look here, Hugh," she says, when his services not being in request -elsewhere he strolls into the room and hangs over the piano, -nominally to turn over the music, "I shall ask Colonel Danvers to -make our picture awfully short. I don't know, I'm sure, how you mean -to manage about that stupid kiss; but it is very certain you can't -keep on kissing me all the time; and another thing is, if you have -your face so close to mine I _know_ I shall be tempted to bite you. -I shouldn't be able to help it, I am sure." - -"Well, I suppose I must risk that," laughs Hugh good-naturedly; "and -I don't suppose you would bite very hard either." - -"O, wouldn't I though! my teeth are as sharp as anything. You have -no idea what they can do when they give their mind to a thing. Hush! -here is Doris's 'Mary, Mary.' Doesn't she look pretty?" - -And so she does. A chintz with a green ground has carried the -day,--green being, Doris had declared, the colour best suited to -Mary's contrariness of nature. So green it is, even to the neat -little high-heel shoes of which Doris is not a little proud. - -A miniature garden has been quickly improvised for this picture; and -the girl standing in the middle of it, with finger on pouting lip and -a general air of discontent and vexation, looks natural and well. -Truth to tell, the pouting expression is not altogether foreign to -Doris's face; and while the audience is thinking how well she has -assumed the contrariness, Dick whispers to his sister, "I say, Honor, -Doris's pouting propensities have come in useful at last, haven't -they?" - -There is only one more picture now before the end of the first part, -so Molly once more disappears, and is in time to help in placing -Daisy in position as "Miss Muffit," with her companion the spider, of -which she feels rather a wholesome dread. Unfortunately for her -feelings, Regy, who has manufactured it, has made one of the -creature's legs a shade shorter than the rest. The consequence is -that, when the spider is standing, this short leg dangles loosely and -suggestively, inspiring poor Daisy with genuine terror. The best -side is, of course, turned towards the audience, and when the curtain -goes up the little girl is discovered in a very natural attitude of -fright, as she shrinks away from the monster, with her cup of -curds-and-whey in one hand and her spoon in the other. Molly emerges -from the dressing-room just as a storm of vociferous applause informs -her that the curtain has descended on the much-appreciated picture of -"Little Miss Muffit." As she passes into the school-room behind the -huge screen which hides the actors and actresses from view as they -enter, she meets Hugh, who is evidently feeling as forlorn as the -"maiden" herself in his ragged and tattered garb. He is keeping well -in the shadow at present, and only steps forward as Molly comes up. - -"You don't look very handsome," she remarks laconically; "and--yes, I -verily believe your face is dirty." - -"Yes," says Hugh guiltily, "I'm afraid it is. The fact is, I smudged -it with a bit of burnt cork. I was going to wash it--I was indeed," -he adds hastily, "but we heard the applause beginning for 'Miss -Muffit,' and Colonel Danvers said there wasn't time, and declared it -was not the least likely that the 'Man all tattered and torn' would -have a clean face. I can go and wash it now," he says humbly, "if -you think it will do to keep everybody waiting." - -"O, no!" says Molly hastily, "we can't do that, of course; but do for -goodness' sake give it a rub with your handkerchief. Have you got -one?" she adds, looking doubtfully at him; "perhaps you haven't even -got a pocket in that tattered old coat. Well, here's mine;" and -diving into the depths of the capacious pocket which is hidden away -in the folds of the still-room maid's cotton dress which she is -wearing, she produces a small dainty cambric affair, which Hugh, with -a mixture of amusement and awe, accepts gratefully. At this moment -Colonel Danvers hurries up. - -"Come, you two," he says, "they will be tired of waiting. Now, you -sit here on this stool, Molly. That's right--capital! Show your -face a _little_ more to the audience; now lean it on your hand--so, -and twist up your apron with the other. I'll see to the 'man'--don't -you move on any account now, there's a good girl. Now, Hugh, just -here. All right! you'll remember the sign, and don't fall over the -pail;" and before Molly has time to ascertain his whereabouts the -bell tinkles, and up goes the curtain. - -It is a pretty picture enough; for a neat little rustic scene has -been painted for the back of the stage, in which the refractory cow -may be seen grazing, rather peaceably perhaps considering its -reputation for bad temper. A sun-bonnet is lying on the green baize -in front of Molly, and at her side is a genuine milking-pail borrowed -from the dairy. Molly herself is staring straight before her in a -truly dejected manner, while Hugh has the appearance of having crept -up stealthily till within about half a yard of her. The seconds -creep on, and as Hugh has not moved an inch Molly reassures herself -with the thought that after all it was only his nonsense about being -obliged to give the kiss. She congratulates herself too soon, -however, for as the bell rings for the curtain to descend, Hugh -suddenly darts forward and kisses her lightly on the cheek just as it -is about half-way down. - -The peals of laughter which, with the applause, ring through the room -testify to the audience's thorough appreciation of the joke; but -Molly as she rises expresses extreme indignation at what she called -Hugh's "horrid meanness," throwing dark hints over her shoulder as -she marches from the room as to all favours being discontinued for -the remainder of the evening. Hugh looks so disconsolate that -Colonel Danvers slaps him on the shoulder, saying with a hearty -laugh, "Come, cheer up, man! the fun of the picture was in the kiss, -you know, and Molly doesn't mean what she says. You leave her little -ladyship to me and I'll see that it's all right; she is only put out -for the moment. Now clear the stage for the first scene of 'The -queen was in the parlour.' Where is the queen? Oh, here you are, -Doris! Yes, you will do very well; but your crown is all on one -side, and the effect is rakish in the extreme. Come here, and let me -straighten it." - -"O, for goodness' sake mind the honey!" cries Doris excitedly. "It's -trickling down the sides now, I do believe!" and she holds up the pot -down the side of which a thin stream of the sticky substance is -steadily making its way. "I found Teddy and Dick at it, you know," -she continues, deliberately drawing one finger up the side of the pot -to stay the stream; "and in the scuffle it got knocked over, and -before I could rescue it of course some must needs run over. I have -stuck to it ever since though!" she adds triumphantly. - -"It seems to me that it has stuck to _you_," says the colonel dryly. -"How in the world can you endure to have such sticky fingers?" - -"O, I don't mind," says Doris carelessly. "I shall require to have -some of it spread upon bread by and by, you know, and I shall be sure -to smear myself then. I always do with honey or jam or anything of -that kind. Besides, having once got the pot I don't intend to put it -down again. Oh, good gracious, Bobby, you're standing on my train! -_Do_ pull him off, Colonel Danvers!" The stage-manager does as he is -desired, and Master Bob is led off by the ear mildly protesting at -the indignity offered him. - -Molly has long ago returned to her duties at the piano, for during -the "interval of ten minutes" the audience must, of course, be -sufficiently amused. - -That over, the three pictures of "The queen was in the parlour, -eating bread and honey," "The king was in his counting-house, -counting out his money," and "The maid was in the garden, hanging out -the clothes," rapidly follow, with Doris as queen, Regy Horton as -king, and Honor as the maid, a stuffed magpie having been engaged for -the role of the blackbird. - -Directly the curtain descends on the last of these three Molly once -more leaves Miss Denison at the piano, it being imperative that she -shall increase the number of domestics appertaining to the kitchen in -which the Queen of Hearts is discovered making tarts. - -Honor is the queen on this occasion, and Dick personates the knave in -the second scene. Great care and thought have been expended on the -dressing of this set of pictures, and in the last, when a goodly -crowd, all representing the suit of hearts, is collected on the -stage, the effect is really good. Hugh manages to get up the bland, -vacant kind of expression in which the kings of a pack of cards -generally rejoice, and Honor, after the manner of cardboard queens, -looks decidedly cross, presumably at the abduction of her tarts; -while Dick has the debonair, impudent manner peculiar to the knaves. -If anything mars the effect of this last tableau it is the painful -fact that the knave of hearts, as he stands with his arms folded, -scornfully glancing down at the dish of tarts, shows distinct signs -of having tasted as well as purloined those dainties; for his flushed -countenance is embellished here and there with little streaks of jam, -which if not becoming are at least highly suggestive. - -This last picture brings the dramatic portion of the evening to a -close, and the actors and actresses dash madly from the room, -regardless of the dire confusion left behind them; for in another -moment the audience will be making their exit by the same door on -their way to the study, where light refreshments are being served -before the next business of the evening, namely the dancing, begins. -Honor and Doris are soon ready to join the throng below, for it has -been arranged that they shall keep to their last dresses in the -tableaux for the remainder of the evening. Molly, however, is to -wear the new white silk which is to do duty for the round of -Christmas parties which the girls are generally in request for. It -is some time, therefore, before she makes her appearance in the -drawing-room. The dancing has already commenced, but Doris and Honor -are still standing, the centre of a congratulatory group, and it is -only when their respective partners come forward to claim them that a -truce is given to the compliments which might have turned the heads -of any less sensible girls than they. - -When Molly at length appears she feels, to use her own expression, -rather "out of it," for during her absence engagements have of course -been made for the first one or two dances, so she leans rather -disconsolately against a doorway from which the door has been -removed, and half hidden by a curtain she looks on at the gay scene -before her. She is just answering some energetic signs from Alick -Horton, and telegraphing back her willingness to finish the dance -with him if he can safely pilot himself round to her retreat without -being run down by the many couples now whirling round the room, when -her shoulder is touched from behind, and Colonel Danvers puts back -the curtain, saying as he does so, "Now, Miss Molly, I have brought a -penitent sinner with me who is desirous of having the honour of -dancing with you." - -Molly glances up, and seeing Hugh standing beside the colonel with a -crestfallen and guilty appearance, looks down again saying, "I am not -going to dance this time, thank you; or if I do," she adds hastily, -seeing Alick approaching slowly and surely, "it will be with Alick; I -have promised him." - -The mention of his brother's name appears to have an irritating -effect on Hugh, for he says hastily, and not without some temper, "O, -Alick is nobody! he can wait. Come now, Molly, you promised me, you -know." - -But Molly shakes her head. - -"Well, but you know, Molly, that kiss could not be helped," puts in -the colonel at this juncture; "and for my part I think Hugh managed -it in a highly commendable manner. Besides, poor boy, he is really -dreadfully put out at having been compelled, as it were, to annoy -you, and I am sure he will never dream of doing such a thing again; -will you, Hugh?" and he turns towards the young man with a roguish -twinkle in his eye. - -Hugh does not respond, but he looks pleadingly towards his little -favourite, and holding out his hand says, "Come, Molly, won't you?" - -Molly considers a moment, then slowly moving towards Hugh she says, -"Just this one dance then, Hugh, as Colonel Danvers wishes it." - -"And plenty more when that one's done!" calls the Colonel after them, -as he goes off with Alick to find another partner for him. - -The evening goes on merrily and fast, and Molly's programme is -speedily filled up, the initials H. H. figuring pretty often in it -notwithstanding her previous displeasure. Doris and Honor are heard -to confess more than once during the evening that they are sorry they -were tempted by feelings of vanity to keep on their regal attire, the -trains thereof constantly tripping them up and embarrassing them -generally, to say nothing of an unfortunate habit, which their -respective crowns possess, of tumbling off on the slightest -provocation. Thus they are seen to look envyingly from time to time -at Molly, who in all the independence of short skirts and crownless -head, is enjoying herself thoroughly. - -Most of the guests have departed, and only a few familiar friends are -still standing about the staircase and hall when Hugh goes up to -Molly, who, now completely tired out, is sitting on one of the hall -chairs, gazing abstractedly into the dining-room opposite. - -"Good-night, Molly," he whispers, "and I wanted to tell you that -to-morrow will be the first day of my hard work: _real hard_ work, -you know, that even _you_ would approve of. I haven't very much more -time at home now, but I mean to make the most of it, and when once I -get back to Sandhurst I shall work like a nigger if I can feel that -you are trusting me." - -"O, I am so glad, Hugh!" says the girl, looking up brightly at the -handsome, earnest face above her; "because I know you will do so well -if you only give yourself a fair chance, and do not give way to that -wicked laziness. I do so want you to be famous and distinguished and -all that sort of thing when you go out to India, if you do go." - -"I don't know exactly what I am to distinguish myself in, unless it -is pig-sticking or some other pursuit of that character," laughs -Hugh; "but seriously, if I do get on well out there, or anywhere else -indeed, I know whom I shall have to thank for it. And now good-night -again, Molly; sleep well, and if it is still fine and frosty -to-morrow, I'll come and take you for a spin on the ice." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -STARTLING NEWS. - -It is ten o'clock in the morning, and Mr. Merivale, senior partner of -Merivale, Waymark, & Co., bankers, is seated at the table in his own -private room, meditating an attack upon the formidable pile of -letters which lies before him. He is looking pale and depressed on -this, the morning after his children's party, and is saying to -himself that if only Waymark were back, he really would take a few -days' rest. He is just about to open one of the letters when a tap -comes to the door, and the head and confidential clerk, Mr. Hobson, -enters the room. He starts back, however, as Mr. Merivale raises his -head from the still unopened letter in his hand, and muttering to -himself "God bless my soul!" hurries to the mantel-piece, where a -glass jug of cold water stands, and quickly pouring out a glassful he -takes it to his principal, saying, "You look a little faint and tired -this morning, sir; will you drink some water, and then I will ring -for the sherry? Dear, dear, how very pale you are, to be sure!" and -the kind old man bustles over to the bell, which he pulls vigorously. -Then hastening to the door, and at the same time keeping one eye on -Mr. Merivale, he opens it, and pouncing on a young clerk who is -leisurely strolling down the passage with his hands in his pockets, -gives him a sharp peremptory order, which astonishes that young -gentleman not a little. - -On turning back into the room the old man is immensely relieved to -see a little colour once more in the face of Mr. Merivale; but he -will not allow him to speak as yet, and the housekeeper at the bank -entering at this moment with the sherry, he seizes the decanter from -the tray, and pours out a glass. Then Hobson stands by his elbow, -waiting patiently until the short gasps of breath become longer and -more regular, and the spasm, which had frightened him very -considerably, has passed off. Then he quietly insists on Mr. -Merivale taking the sherry, and in a few minutes has the satisfaction -of seeing him sit upright in his chair, apparently himself again, -though with a face still pale and drawn-looking. - -"Thanks, Hobson, thanks!" he says, passing his hand over his -forehead. "Don't look so anxious, old friend; I have had these -little attacks once or twice before, but I assure you it is nothing -serious. My wife was telling me only a day or two since that I ought -to have advice; but I know just what the doctor would say--'General -debility and want of tone,' &c. &c., and then he would suggest rest, -and change of air and scene, and all the rest of it, which you know, -as well as I do, I cannot get while Waymark is away. Take some -sherry, Hobson, and do sit down." - -"Ay, that's just where it is," replies the old man slowly. "This is -really what I came to speak to you about, sir. Is it your wish that -I should attend to this matter of Clayton & Co." - -"Yes, by all means, Hobson. I shall be really grateful if you will -take it all off my shoulders; and, of course, if there is any little -thing you want to talk over, why, you will know where to find me if I -am not here." - -"Just so, just so," replies the old man, getting up. "And now, sir, -if you will take my advice you will go straight home and rest for the -remainder of the day. You trust me, sir, to see that all's right, -and if anything particular should take place during the day, I might -perhaps step round in the evening. Now, shall I send for a cab for -you?--the brougham has gone off long ago, of course." - -A cab being procured, Mr. Merivale gets into his overcoat, and, -accompanied by Mr. Hobson, goes down the steps of the bank. As the -cab drives away, the old man, who is still watching it, shakes his -head, and says mournfully to himself, "No, no, I don't like it at -all. I have never seen such pallor but once before, and then-- Oh, -a telegram--answer prepaid, eh? All right! I'm coming;" and the old -man goes back to his desk with a heavy heart, and opening the yellow -envelope returns to the business of the day. - -* * * * * * * * - -Miss Denison and her pupils are all seated round the school-room -fire, in various stages of fatigue and sleepiness. There has been a -sociable high-tea at seven o'clock instead of the usual late dinner, -at which all the family, from Mr. Merivale down to Bobby, have been -present. - -Conversation is being carried on in rather a desultory sort of -fashion, the only variety being Dick's persistence in asking riddles, -which are invariably proved to have no answers. - -Discussion waxes warm presently on the subject of that beautiful poem -on the letter H, often attributed to Lord Byron, but written by -Catherine Fanshawe. Dick protests loudly that it is Shelley's, while -Honor and Doris are equally sure it is Byron's. - -"What do _you_ say, Miss Denny?" asked Doris raising herself on to -her elbow and looking up from her place on the hearth-rug. "You know -everything, so surely you can settle the question." - -"I was not aware that I am such a walking encyclopćdia as you seem to -imagine," replies Miss Denison laughing, and shaking out a skein of -wool preparatory to placing it on Molly's hands; "and, to tell you -the truth, Doris, my own personal experience is that the more one -learns, the more one finds there is to learn. At the present moment -I cannot recollect the author of that enigma, but my impression is -that you are both wrong, though I could not say so for certain. Now, -who can recite it without a mistake? If someone can, very likely I -shall call to mind the name of the author. But first ring the bell, -Dick; Daisy and Bobby must go to bed." - -"A capital idea!" cries Dick, referring to the suggestion about the -poem, "and I'll give anyone who says it through without a single -hitch a whole packet of butterscotch. There!" - -"I don't believe you have got the money to buy it," says Molly -crushingly; "for I heard you only this morning bewailing the fact -that you had only three halfpence left in the wide world." - -"You can get penny packets," mutters Dick; but he is promptly -suppressed, for Honor in a clear melodious voice is already -beginning-- - - "'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell, - And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell; - On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest, - And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed. - 'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder, - Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder. - 'Twas allotted to man in his earliest breath, - Attends at his birth, and awaits him at death. - It presides o'er his happiness, honour, and health, - Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth. - Without it the soldier and seaman may roam, - But woe to the wretch who expels it from home. - In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found, - Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion be drowned. - 'Twill not soften the heart, and though deaf to the ear, - 'Twill make it acutely and instantly hear. - But in shade let it rest, like a delicate flower-- - Oh, breathe on it softly--it dies in an hour.'" - - -A burst of applause greets Honor as she steps down from the footstool -upon which Molly has previously handed her with much ceremony. No -one, however, seems any nearer settling the author than before. - -"Most annoying, to be sure," says Miss Denison, tapping the fender -impatiently with her foot; "I do dislike to be baffled like this. -I'll tell you what, we will send down and ask your father to let us -have both Byron and Shelley from the study. After all I think it -_must_ be one of those two--anyway, we will search until we _do_ find -it. Now, who will be my ambassador?" - -All start up at the same moment, each signifying his or her -willingness to undertake the commission. But Miss Denison singles -out Doris, as being most accustomed to putting in an appearance -downstairs at that time of the evening, and Doris accordingly leaves -the room with a look of calm superiority at the others. The interval -is spent in hot argument as before, and Dick is just offering Molly a -bet consisting of a new book of travels against her recently -purchased tennis racquet when the door opens, and Doris with a white, -scared face re-enters the room. - -"_Doris!_" exclaim all the voices in a breath, "what is the matter?" - -The girl comes slowly towards the table, and resting one hand upon it -she pushes back her ruffled fair hair with the other. - -"I--I hardly know--" she gasps, "but something is wrong. I don't -know what--only old Mr. Hobson is shut up with father in the study, -and mother said I must not go in. Then father came rushing into the -room and asked mother for his keys which he had left on the -dining-table, and oh, it was his face that frightened me so--it was -so white, and drawn, and old-looking!" and with a smothered sob -Doris's head falls on the shoulder of the kind governess, who has -risen and is standing with her arm round her pupil's waist. - -"Courage, dear!" she whispers, gently stroking the bowed head. "This -trouble, whatever it is, may not be so serious after all. Come, dry -your eyes and wait here with the others whilst I go down to your -mother and see if there is anything I can do;" and Miss Denison -leaves the little group, with the exception of Doris, who is still -crying quietly, standing staring at each other in blank dismay. - -Before many minutes have elapsed Miss Denison returns, and though her -face looks grave and anxious, she makes an effort to speak cheerfully. - -"Your father has had some bad news in connection with his business, -girls; but I do not know yet to what extent. We must all hope for -the best, therefore, until we know more; and in the meantime, every -one must do his and her best not to increase the trouble by showing -grief which, after all, may prove to be quite uncalled for. It is -already after nine, so Molly and Dick had better go to bed. I want -you, Doris, to go down to your mother. You will find her in the -drawing-room; and your father wants you to go to him in the study, -Honor. I heard the hall door shut just now, so I expect Mr. Hobson -has gone: he was just leaving as I came up. Now, dears, I will run -up and say just a word to nurse, and then I will go down again to -your mother. Honor, you will know where to find me. Your father may -want to send some telegrams, and I may be able to help you." - -When Doris enters the drawing-room she looks with a little surprise -at her mother, who with closed eyes, handkerchief pressed to her -delicate nose, and smelling-salts well within reach, is now -gracefully reclining on the sofa. - -Advancing further into the room she says softly, "Miss Denny sent me -to you, mother, and she is coming down again herself after she has -spoken to nurse. Honor is with father in the study." - -"Yes, very well," says Mrs. Merivale languidly. "And now lower the -lamps, Doris; and oh! do move about quietly. Now bring a chair and -come and sit here, close to the sofa. I suppose you have heard the -wretched news that old Mr. Hobson has brought to-night? It seems -that your father's partner has embezzled immense sums from the bank, -and when he heard of the probability of something occurring which -would expose the whole thing, he quietly decamped, taking care to get -a sufficiently good start to do away with any chance of his capture." -Mrs. Merivale pauses a moment to give a vicious little pull to the -sofa cushion, then she goes on impatiently, "I don't suppose it would -have gone on to such an extent in any other case; but your father is -the most unsuspecting man that ever breathed. He would allow himself -to be cheated by anyone, under his very nose. I always disliked that -man, and I told your father so; but of course I might just as well -talk to the chairs and tables for all the attention there is paid to -anything I say. Oh, good gracious! here is that dreadful dog! _Do_, -for goodness' sake, take the creature away!" - -Doris is just in time to catch up Vic as she bounds on to the sofa -with a view to settling herself for a comfortable nap on the end of -Mrs. Merivale's dress. Being put on the floor and told to lie down, -she does so under protest, and with a "whoofa" of indignation. But -presently discrying an attraction in the shape of a misguided fly, -that with reckless confidence has emerged from some safe nook and is -flying feebly towards one of the lamps, she starts up, and making -snap after snap, careers madly after it round the room. Suddenly -catching sight of her own stumpy tail, however, which in the -excitement of the hunt bids fair to wag its owner's body off its -legs, she pulls up suddenly, then whirls round and round, teetotum -fashion, in pursuit of the offending object. Mrs. Merivale is in a -state of frenzy. - -"Doris!" she exclaims angrily, "do catch the dog and put it out of -the room. I call it downright cruel of you to encourage it as you -do. But there, I must say you are all alike in that respect; no one -ever considers _me_! Even in this tiresome upset (and I am sure I -don't clearly understand _what_ it is or _why_ it is) your father's -one thought seems to be 'the children,' and what will be done about -this, that, and the other concerning them." - -"O _mother_! I'm sure you do father an injustice in saying that!" -cries Doris indignantly. "You _must_ know that you are always his -first thought in everything." - -"Well, I don't know. And what," continues Mrs. Merivale, giving -another little impatient pull to the sofa cushion--"what am I to -understand when your father talks of ruin? I suppose we shall have -to give up one of the carriages, perhaps; though which I don't know. -It will be _too_ dreadful to think of stifling in a brougham during -the day, and yet if we kept the victoria, how in the world could I go -out at night?" - -A brief pause, in which Doris reads for about the twentieth time the -advertisement which is staring her in the face from the back of a -periodical which lies uncut upon the table. - -Then Mrs. Merivale sighs rather than says, "I suppose too we shall -have to do with a servant or two less. I do really think"--a bright -idea suddenly striking her--"that you could very well do without a -maid in the school-room now; and perhaps we could manage with only -one housemaid, though I should dread proposing such a thing to -Louisa, and of course I could not think of letting _her_ go. It is -equally impossible too that I could spare Lane, after having her with -me such a number of years. I don't really see what else I can do. -We need not give so many dinner-parties, perhaps; a light supper -costs less than a dinner, and one need not be so particular about the -wines. You, Doris, will have to come out at one of the county balls, -instead of being presented in London; and Honor will have to take -painting lessons from some cheaper master than Signor Visetti. I -daresay, after all, we would only have been paying for his name." -Another short pause, and then "I suppose if things are really so -serious as your father makes them out to be, Dick, poor boy, will -have to make up his mind to give up Oxford in the future. Oh, thank -goodness, here is Miss Denison! Now, Doris, you can go; and do hurry -Lane with that cup of tea she is getting--and, Doris," as the girl, -only too glad to escape, nears the door, "_pray_ shut that dog up; -and if it cannot be quiet _in_ the house, let it go to the stables. -It is what most other dogs have to do." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -GONE! - -In the meantime a very different conversation is being carried on in -the study, whither Honor has gone to her father. Although Mr. -Merivale has had some difficulty in making his wife understand the -extent of the trouble which has come upon them, he finds it quite -another matter with his daughter. In a very few minutes Honor's -clear head has completely taken in the situation; and it is an -unspeakable relief to Mr. Merivale to feel that there is one in the -family at all events upon whose aid he can rely in that hard and -difficult task which now lies before him, that of beginning life over -again. The girl's loving sympathy also goes far towards softening -the blow which has fallen with such cruel force, and though still -haggard and wan-looking it is with a little smile that he at length -looks up and says, "So we must all make the best of it, Honor; and -after a time, I daresay, we shall manage very well. If only your -mother understood a little better; but you see, dear, she has always -from her birth upwards lived in affluence and luxury, and it will -come very hard upon her, poor thing, to have to live such an utterly -different kind of life." - -Honor, who with her chin resting upon her hand is staring -abstractedly into the fire, merely nods acquiescence to her father's -remarks, until after a brief silence she looks up. - -"And will there be absolutely nothing left for us, father? Will all -mother's fortune have to go too?" - -"Yes, all of hers, my dear, except a trifling sum which, thank God, -is safely invested in something else. I don't know what she will -say, poor thing, when she comes to learn this. No, Honor, we must -make up our minds to face the worst; for even with the cursory glance -I have taken into the bank affairs to-night with Hobson, I can see -that when we have given up every farthing that we possess there will -still be a deficiency which is perfectly frightful to contemplate. -Ah! Honor, if we were the only sufferers I could begin again with a -comparatively light heart; but when I think of the numbers who are -ruined by the dishonesty of one scoundrel--of the hardly-earned -savings of many an honest, hard-working man, all swamped, all -swamped--I feel that to sit here, powerless to alleviate the -sufferings of all the victims of this gigantic fraud, is enough to -drive me out of my senses. Oh, if only I had known, if only I could -have guessed! But for some time past Waymark has taken more and more -upon himself, saying always that it was to save me trouble as my -health became uncertain; and how could I tell? _how_ could I tell?" -And with a smothered sob poor Mr. Merivale's head falls forward on -his arms. - -"Don't, father,--don't!" says Honor, putting her arms lovingly round -him and drawing his head down upon her shoulder. "The thought that -no blame can possibly rest on you should be a comfort to you; and you -cannot do more than you are going to do, dear father, in giving up -everything you possess." - -"No, dear; alas! that is all I _can_ do. But do that I will to the -uttermost farthing; and if it would only mend matters I would give -the very coat from off my back only too gladly." - -"Will they try to overtake Mr. Waymark, father?" presently asks Honor. - -"They will try, dear, but with little hope of success, for he has too -good a start to be easily found. Now, are you sure you have got -those telegrams worded exactly as I dictated? Very well, then, let -William take them off to the station at once. I am anxious your aunt -should have hers, because I am sure she will come over and see your -mother at once, and I think she will very likely be able to explain -matters to her better than I can. And now, dear, leave me, and at -ten o'clock bring me a cup of strong coffee with your own hands; and -don't let me be disturbed by anyone until then, for I have papers to -look through and writing to do which may keep me up half the night. -Tell your mother this, Honor, and beg her not to be anxious about me, -but to go to bed soon. Poor thing! this will be a terrible blow to -her. But you must help her to bear it--you and Doris. Ah, poor -little Doris!--send her to me for a minute, Honor. I should like to -say a few words to her too. Molly and the others have gone to bed, I -suppose?" - -"Yes, some little time ago. I will bring your coffee punctually, -father; and after Doris has left you I will see that no one disturbs -you." - -As Honor a few minutes later mounts the staircase, lost in thought, -she comes suddenly upon a white-robed figure which is standing with -rumpled hair and wide-open blue eyes gazing anxiously down into the -hall below. - -"Hush! don't say anything, Honor!" whispers the figure excitedly; "I -can't stay in bed--it's no use, so I have just slipped on my -dressing-gown, and here I am. O, _don't_ send me back, Honor!" the -girl adds imploringly as she sees symptoms of nervousness as to cold, -&c., pass over her sister's face. "Let me go into the school-room, -do. I'll be as still as a mouse, _really_ I will, only _don't_ ask -me to go back to bed!" - -"Poor Molly!" says Honor, putting an arm round her sister. Then -relenting she turns down the passage towards the school-room, and -pushing open the door leads her in and ensconces her in a big -arm-chair by the still-smouldering fire. - -"Ah! that's better," sighs Molly as Honor seizes the poker and stirs -the embers into a cheerful blaze; "and now _do_ tell me, Honor dear, -what this trouble is, and all about it." - -"It is soon told, Molly," says the girl, and seating herself in a low -chair opposite her sister she tells her of the dishonesty of their -father's partner. Then there is a brief pause, during which Honor, -poker still in hand, knocks a "stranger" off the second bar, and -Molly drops a slipper. "So now, dear," continues Honor, "you will -know what father means when he speaks of ruin; for ruined we are, -Molly, as to fortune, though, thank God, father still bears an -unstained name and can hold his head as high as ever he did." - -That Molly at length grasps the situation is evinced by the way she -sits staring at her sister with eyes wide open and full of trouble. -She does not speak for a few minutes, but at last she leans forward, -and taking Honor's face between her two hands she says slowly and -with a little painful sort of gasp, "When you speak of father giving -up all he possesses you mean his own fortune, I suppose, all his -_money_, I mean, and perhaps mother's too--eh, Honor?" - -"No, dear," says the elder sister gently, and taking one of Molly's -hands between her own. "We shall not only lose that, but everything! -The houses will be sold, both this and Sunnymeade; all the furniture, -pictures, and plate; the horses and carriages; and, in fact, as I -said, Molly, _everything_. Poor father says he must begin life over -again, and that we shall all have to help him." - -"Poor mother!" says Molly presently, after another pause. - -"Ah, poor mother!" repeats Honor, rising and kissing her young -sister. "We shall have to take care of her now, dear, and do all we -can to prevent her feeling the great change that is coming into all -our lives. And now, dear, you _must_ go to bed again; you will feel -happier now that you really know the worst, so you must try and not -think about it now, but go to sleep." - -Having seen Molly comfortably tucked up once more, Honor wanders -downstairs, and is just turning into the drawing-room in an aimless -sort of way when she meets Miss Denison coming out. - -"I was just looking for you, Honor," she says, putting her arm -through her pupil's and turning back with her into the room. "Your -mother seems so poorly that Doris and Lane have been seeing her to -bed; she had one of her hysterical attacks, but she is better now, -and I think it will be best to leave her quiet." And Miss Denison -sighs as she tries to stir the fire into some little semblance of -life. "Your father has sent for Mr. Trent, has he not, dear?" - -"Yes, and for Aunt Sophia too," replies Honor, sinking into a chair -opposite her governess; "though I don't know exactly what good _she_ -can do." - -"I don't know about that," says Miss Denison quickly. "Your aunt is -a very sensible, clear-sighted woman, and I daresay he thought she -would be a comfort to your mother, and that she may be able to -explain things better to her than he can." - -And so governess and pupil sit talking, until the little French clock -on the mantel-piece striking ten, Honor jumps up, remembering her -promise to take her father's coffee to him at that hour. As she lays -her hand upon the bell, the door opens, and Rankin appears with a -little tray which Honor takes from him. - -"I shall not be many minutes, Miss Denny," she says as she leaves the -room. "Father is busy writing, so he is sure not to keep me." - -Arrived at the study, Honor opens the door softly and goes into the -room. Her father is still seated where she left him, his head a -little bent forward over the papers spread open on the table. He -appears so engrossed in looking at these that Honor's entrance does -not even disturb him, and she carries the cup to the table and places -it within reach, quietly waiting by her father's side until he shall -speak to her. - -The girl's eyes wander to the fireplace. The fire is out, and with -the exception of the ticking of the large clock on the mantel-piece, -which sounds louder than usual, there is an unnatural stillness in -the room which oppresses her. - -She glances down at the quiet figure by her side, which still seems -unconscious of her presence. Then she notices for the first time -that the pen in her father's hand, although resting on the paper, is -not moving. She leans forward quickly and lays her warm hand upon -the motionless one near her; she shudders and draws back, then moves -rapidly to the other side of the chair, and with tender hands raises -the drooping head. With one glance at the dearly loved face, now so -ashen and white, Honor learns the fearful truth, and with a shriek of -anguish which rings from cellar to attic she falls senseless to the -ground. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -A HOUSE OF MOURNING. - -When Honor opens her eyes again it is to find herself on her own bed, -with kind Miss Denison leaning over her, bathing her forehead and -temples with _eau de Cologne_. Molly stands on one side of the bed -at a little distance looking pale and frightened; and an elderly -gentleman is standing by the other side with his finger on Honor's -pulse. He nods across the bed to Miss Denison as the girl looks -round and then tries to sit up. - -"She will do now," he says quietly, "so I will go down to Mrs. -Merivale again;" and he quietly slips out of the room, beckoning -Molly to follow him. - -Honor lies quite still for a few minutes; then, slowly turning her -eyes towards her governess, she asks the question which Miss Denison -has been so dreading. Then gently and kindly she breaks the sad news -to her: tells her how Dr. Newton had said that her poor father had -been dead for more than an hour when he was called in; that it was -disease of the heart, and the shock of the bank failure had been too -much for him. - -"And mother? Poor mother!" says Honor at length, when, a long and -violent fit of crying over, she leans back against her pillows, calm, -though pale and exhausted. - -"She is better now, dear. We had great trouble with her at first--or -rather Lane and Doris and the doctor had, for I was with you, dear. -She went from one fit of hysterics into another; and now, of course, -she is utterly worn out. Your Aunt Sophia took her in hand directly -she came (it is really most providential that she was so near); and -then kind Mrs. Horton has been such a comfort to her. I sent in to -her, you know, and she came herself the moment she got my message." - -"But how came aunt here to-night?" asks Honor, putting her hand to -her head and knitting her straight little brows. "I can't remember -clearly, but surely I spoke of _to-morrow_ morning in my telegram." - -"Yes, dear; so you did. But when this happened I got Doris to write -a hasty line which I sent off with the brougham to the Pagets', and -your aunt came back in the brougham. She will be a great help to you -all till your mother has got a little over the shock; she always had -great influence over her, you know. And now, dear Honor, I shall -give you the little draught the doctor ordered for you, and then I -will leave you to sleep, for that will bring you strength to bear -your trouble better than anything else. I shall be within call, for -I have promised Doris to sleep with her to-night; so we will put the -door ajar between your rooms. Now, dear, God bless you! And you -must promise me, Honor, to be brave, and not to fret any more -to-night. You know you told me your dear father's last words to you -were of thankfulness for the comfort and help he was sure you would -be to him. And now, more than ever, you must prove that you are -worthy of the trust he placed in you--for a trust it is, dear -Honor--and one, I know, that with God's help you will faithfully -discharge. Your poor mother will need a long time to recover from so -severe a shock. And although Doris is older than you, she is younger -in ideas and character, and has not, I fear, so much common sense as -my little Honor. But now, dear child, good-night once more. I shall -not let anyone else come near you, as I am most anxious you should -get to sleep." And kissing the girl most affectionately, Miss -Denison softly leaves the room. - -A little later and the house which but a short time since was the -scene of so much happiness and rejoicing is wrapped in silent gloom; -and as nature asserts its rights with the younger members of the -family, giving them temporary relief from their sorrow in blessed -sleep, older heads are resting on their pillows with wide-open, -sleepless eyes, looking vaguely into the future which has changed so -quickly from sunshine into shadow. - -* * * * * * * * - -Three days have passed since Mr. Merivale's death and Honor has -already taken most of the cares and responsibilities of the family -and household upon her young shoulders with a quiet dignity and -gentle patience which amaze her mother completely. The old family -solicitor, Mr. Trent, has already called several times and had long -and serious talks with Honor--Mrs. Merivale having sent down a -message to the effect that she was too completely prostrated to see -_anyone_, and would he say anything he had to say to Honor, as it -would be quite the same thing. It was doubtful whether Mr. Trent -entertained the same idea on this subject, for whereas he had before -quaked in his shoes at the bare idea of the task which lay before him -of trying to make his late client's widow understand certain facts -which he felt morally certain she was incapable of grasping, he now -found that he had a very different sort of person to deal with--one, -in fact, to use his own expression, "with her head screwed on the -right way." With a kindness and delicacy which went straight to poor -Honor's heart, he took all the arrangements for the funeral upon -himself, and proved indeed a most kind and valuable friend in more -ways than one. - -"You and your aunt, my dear Miss Honor," the kind little gentleman -had said, "will have to put things clearly, so to speak, before your -mother, since she cannot see me. It will, I fear, be very difficult -to make her understand that all--literally _all_--she has now to -depend upon is Ł50 a year; and that is only owing to a fortunate -chance, the money having been invested in some other concern; of -course had it been placed in the bank it would have gone with the -rest. To be sure there is your own little bit of money left you by -your godmother, but that only amounts to about Ł20 a year. Dear me, -dear me! it is terrible; a paltry sum of Ł70 a year to bring up a -large family upon, and without a stick or a stone to start with!" - -And now Honor is standing just where the old lawyer has left her -after the foregoing conversation, gazing dreamily into the fire. -"You and your aunt must make her understand"--those are the words -which keep repeating themselves over and over; but to a girl of -Honor's sensitive nature the task of doing so is no light one. - -"Ah me!" sighs the girl as she leaves the room and slowly mounts the -stairs, "I wish Aunt Sophia were here!" - -But Aunt Sophia is not there, so Honor has to open the door and go in -alone. Mrs. Merivale is seated at a little writing-table, which is -strewn with deep black-edged paper and envelopes. She is not -writing, however, but leaning back in her chair looking drearily -before her. As Honor enters she rouses herself, and wiping away the -tears which stand in her eyes she motions the girl to come and sit -beside her. - -"I wanted to speak to you, dear," she says, taking Honor's hand in -her own, "and I was just going to send Lane for you. Now that I am -better you must tell me a little of what has been done. How have you -managed about the mourning?" - -"Miss Renny has been here, mother, ever since--ever since it -happened, and all our dresses are nearly finished now, and I expect -yours from Mrs. Carey will be home to-night. We couldn't disturb you -the other morning about it, so aunt and I together chose a style we -thought you would like. Ours are all alike--cashmere and crępe made -quite plainly; and yours, dear mother, will be of crępe cloth, and of -course heavily trimmed with crępe." - -"Yes, dear; that is all quite right. Only I wish Mrs. Carey had made -all your dresses as well. Miss Renny would have made you others for -common wear afterwards, you know. But now, dear, this is what I -wanted to consult you about, you are so much more clear-headed and -sensible than Doris. About my better dresses, dear,--I mean those -that Madame Cecile will have the making of. I shall not have any -dinner dresses made at present, because I shall not be going out or -receiving for some time to come, but I was just going to write to -Cecile to ask for patterns." - -"Dear mother," says Honor gently, "I am so glad you spoke to me about -this first, because it would have been so awkward if you had already -sent." - -"Why awkward, dear? What do you mean, Honor?" - -"Don't you remember, dear mother, the sad news poor, dear father had -before this other dreadful trouble came upon us?" - -"Well, of course I do," Mrs. Merivale answers rather testily; "but I -don't really see why you should take this time to remind me of it, -and I must say, Honor, I think it very inconsiderate and unfeeling of -you to come and worry me like this, and your poor, dear father not -yet laid in his grave. I should think I have gone through grief and -trouble enough," continues Mrs. Merivale, weeping, "without my -children making things harder for me!" - -"Dear mother," cries poor Honor, sobbing in concert, "pray, pray do -not think I mean to be unkind; but Mr. Trent has been talking to aunt -and to me, and it seems, dear mother, as if we shall hardly have -enough to live upon when everything is settled up." - -"Hardly enough to live upon!" repeats Mrs. Merivale, sitting up and -drying her eyes. "My dear child, don't talk nonsense. As if I did -not know more about these things than you do. I know we shall have -to cut down our expenses, and diminish our household probably; do -with a servant or two less, I mean. But as for being _poor_, Honor, -you are talking ridiculous nonsense, child, as I said before. Why, -even if your father's money were all lost--which I should say is very -unlikely, people do exaggerate so,--but even if that were all gone, -there is my fortune, which if necessary we could very well manage -with somehow." - -Poor Honor sighs at the hopelessness of the situation; but with a -feeling of desperation she is just about to speak when the door -opens, and to her great relief Lady Woodhouse enters the room. - -"O, Sophia!" exclaims Mrs. Merivale with a little hysterical gasp, "I -_am_ so glad you have come in, my dear. Here is Honor talking the -most outrageous nonsense; trying to make out that all our property is -gone, and--well, in fact that we are as poor as church mice!" - -"Well, and so you are," remarks Lady Woodhouse, sitting down and -untying her bonnet-strings with a jerk, "the child has said nothing -but the truth. I am sorry," she adds, softening a little on seeing -the cambric handkerchief drawn from her sister's pocket preparatory -to a fresh burst of grief--"I'm sorry to have to speak so plainly; -but it seems to me that poor James did his best to make you -understand the state of affairs in his conversation with you the -night of his death; and considering all he said to you then, I must -say it passes my comprehension that you can still be ignorant of your -true position. Mr. Trent begged me to speak to you on the subject, -and that is why I have come now, because I think it is so much better -than putting it off until after the funeral; for I am sure there will -be little or no time to arrange anything then. Now, Mary, be -sensible, my dear, and let us talk quietly over a comfortable cup of -tea." - -Mrs. Merivale, however, is not in a humour to do anything quietly, -and Lady Woodhouse on her way to ring the bell for tea is suddenly -electrified by a sound behind her, partaking of the nature of a -scream, a gasp, and a convulsive laugh all at once. In plain words, -the trying nature of the past conversation has reduced Mrs. Merivale -to a violent fit of hysterics; and Lady Woodhouse, deeming it -advisable that she should be left alone with her sister for a time, -takes the smelling-salts from Honor's hand, and whispering "Leave her -to me, child, and I will bring her round," signs to the girl to leave -the room. - -On going downstairs Honor sees Hugh Horton standing in a hesitating -sort of manner on the door-mat; a wreath of rare white flowers in one -hand, and a note in the other. - -"I told William I wouldn't see anyone, Honor," he whispers, coming -forward and laying the wreath on the hall table, "but he would go off -to see if there was anyone about, and as I wanted to leave a message -from mother I was obliged to wait till he came back. How are you -all, Honor dear? No, I won't come in," he adds, as the girl silently -motions him towards the dining-room; "I won't really. I only wanted -to give you that (nodding towards the wreath), with love from us all. -And I was to tell you, Honor, that mother will come in to-night after -dinner to have a talk with Mrs. Merivale and Lady Woodhouse about a -suggestion she wants to make." - -"It is very kind of her," says Honor simply. "She has been such a -comfort to us all;" and with a little stifled sob she buries her face -in the wreath which she has taken up. "White violets, how beautiful! -and the flower that father loved best. How good of you, Hugh!" - -"I remembered that when mother and I were giving orders for it this -morning, and I knew you would like them. How is Molly, Honor?" - -"She is a little better now, I think; but her grief has been -something terrible. Poor girl! She idolized father almost, and the -shock has been almost too much for her. She is so highly sensitive, -and she feels the loss so much, never having seen him alive again -after dinner on that dreadful evening. Doris and I were both with -him, you know; and of course it was just chance that Molly was not -there too. At first she was nearly wild with grief, then she sank -into a sort of dull apathy, taking notice of nothing and of nobody. -Miss Denny has been kindness itself to her, as she has to us all, -indeed; and to-day Molly seems more like her old self." - -"I am so glad," Hugh says feelingly, "Good-bye, Honor, for the -present; let me know, mind, if there is _anything_ I can do for any -of you;" and hastily pressing the girl's hand the young man runs down -the steps and out of sight. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -FACING THE FUTURE. - -The day of the funeral has come and gone. The last fond look has -been taken, and the last kiss given to the calm, placid face, so soon -to be hidden from sight. And now the mortal remains of the fond -husband, loving father, and kind master have been carried from the -once happy home, and, followed by a large number of sympathetic -friends and acquaintances, in addition to the little train of -mourners, are laid in their last resting-place. - -The blinds are once more drawn up, and the winter sunlight streams -into the dining-room, where are assembled Lady Woodhouse, Miss -Denison, Doris, and Honor, with Mr. Trent and the old head clerk, Mr. -Hobson, who is visibly overcome by the sadness of the occasion. - -"It is no use," remarks Mr. Trent, moving some papers about, and -seeming chiefly to address himself to the old man seated opposite -him. "It will be no use going through my late client's will, -although it was properly drawn up and witnessed only a few months -back." - -"Not the least in the world," asserts Mr. Hobson, taking off his -spectacles and carefully polishing them up. - -"Therefore," continues Mr. Trent slowly, "we may dispense with the -usual forms and give our attention, Mr. Hobson, to settling the -future affairs of Mrs. Merivale and these poor young ladies here. I -have looked through Mr. Merivale's papers, and I find that there will -be absolutely nothing but your own little property, Miss Honor, and -the small portion of your mother's fortune, which is safely invested. -The two together will amount to Ł70 per annum, and that, I regret to -say, is absolutely all." With that the old gentleman looks kindly, -and with eyes not altogether free from dimness, at the two orphan -daughters of his late client, and for a few moments there is a dead -silence in the room, broken by Honor, who presently asks: - -"But, Mr. Trent, ought we to keep this--I mean, ought we not to give -up _everything_ in such a case as this?" - -Lady Woodhouse gasps, and is about to pour forth a torrent of -remonstrances, when Mr. Trent, also looking slightly taken aback, -replies: - -"My dear young lady, just consider a moment. You have a perfect -right to this money, and, pardon me if I ask, what would you propose -to do without it? You cannot even realize what a paltry sum it is -when house-rent, food, and clothing, to say nothing if any other -expenses have to come out of it. You are doing as much as it is -possible to do; indeed more than some persons would do; and I can -assure you, Miss Honor, that there is not one among the unfortunate -sufferers in this collapse who will not be satisfied with the course -that is being taken." - -Honor sighs and brushes away a tear. "I was thinking," she says, "of -some of the last words my dear father ever spoke. He said he would -give the very coat from off his back if that would be of any use." - -"_If_ it would be of any use," repeated the old gentleman kindly; -"but would it, my dear? would it? You must not allow your proper -judgment to be run away with by your feeling--through an exaggerated -feeling--of justice." - -"Exactly what I was going to observe," says Lady Woodhouse with a -jerk of her bonnet-strings. "You are your father's child all over, -Honor; and I will say this of you: you are conscientious almost to a -fault, and so was he, poor man. You can, I am sure, take the Ł70 a -year with a clear conscience; so for goodness' sake let us hear no -more about it. You have yet to learn what a mere drop in the ocean -it will be when you come to try living on it--and that at once. Now -do, girls, let us be plain and business-like, and give up talking -nonsense. I have only an hour before I must return to the Pagets', -and I have promised to have a cup of tea with your mother before I -go, so that we can make our final arrangements for the journey -to-morrow. Now, I understand that there is a certain amount of -furniture in the house which belongs to your mother. I'm afraid it's -not much; but still it is better than nothing. Where is it?" - -"There is some in the school-room," answer the girls together, "and -the rest is in the nurseries." And Honor adds despondently: - -"I'm afraid there are not more than two beds." - -"Well--now this is what I want you to do, Honor. Mr. Trent, I -understand, has most kindly invited you and Miss Denison, while she -is with you, to go and stay with him and Mrs. Trent for a little -while. Now I want you while you are there to make out a list of what -else is absolutely necessary in the way of furniture and send it to -me. Mr. Hobson, it appears, has very kindly been looking at the -advertisements of houses, and he tells me he has brought one or two -to show you, which might, perhaps, be worth answering. He will, I -feel sure, give you all the advice and help that he can in this -matter. I am thankful, too, that good Miss Denison will be with you -a little while longer, for I know what a comfort she will be to you; -and if you are in any doubt or perplexity on any point you must go to -her, Honor; she will give you the best and wisest advice." - -"I shall indeed look forward to being of some use to Honor while I am -with her," says Miss Denison; "and you may rest assured, dear Lady -Woodhouse, that I shall do all in my power to help her and the rest -of my young charges in settling and arranging all that has to be -done." - -"You are a good, kind creature," exclaims Lady Woodhouse impulsively, -"and these girls ought to be grateful to you for the way in which you -have brought them up. I always told my sister that if any of them -turned out well she would have you to thank for it. Now, Honor, I -must go. See that your mother and the two girls are ready when I -call in the morning. You know Mr. Paget cannot bear to have his -horses kept waiting a moment; and I'm sure _I_ don't want to be the -cause of their taking cold. You will have all the rest of the -packing to see to with Lane after we have gone." - -"O, our packing will not take long," replies Honor, "with Miss Denny -and Lane to help us." - -"Not take long, child! Why, what can you be thinking about? Your -mother's wardrobe will be something to get together and pack." - -"O, I didn't think of packing anything of mother's excepting what she -will be requiring now. I mean," adds Honor with a little tightening -of her lips, "that I do not think it would be right to keep any of -mother's handsome dresses, and certainly not her jewels. Doris and I -have, of course, very little in that way; but," with a little -threatening look at her sister, "I shall expect her to do as I do, -and give up _everything_ that is of value." - -Doris does not look highly pleased at this proposition, but she says: - -"Of course, Honor," meekly enough, though she is immensely relieved -at her aunt's next words: - -"What you say about the jewels is quite right, Honor,--that is to -say, your mother's; in fact we have already talked over the subject -together. Little personal gifts, and indeed any jewellery your -mother had before she was married, she will, however, keep," adds -Aunt Sophia rather decidedly. "And Doris and you must keep the -little trinkets you have; which are, I suppose, most of them birthday -presents. You say yourself they are not worth speaking of. As to -the dresses, you are really quite quixotic, Honor; no one would -expect such a sacrifice; and when you all go out of mourning it is -more than probable that you will feel very thankful that you have -taken my advice. Now I really must go, or I shall be late." And -shaking hands with Miss Denison and the two gentlemen, Lady Woodhouse -leaves the room. - -Those left behind immediately enter on a discussion touching the -question of the new house. Mr. Hobson has cut out one or two -advertisements which on consideration are not found to be -particularly _un_suitable, which, perhaps, is something, in the -matter of house-hunting! One of them states that there is a -nine-roomed house to let--good drainage, large garden, hen-house, and -pig-sty. Low rent to careful tenant.--Apply to Messrs. E. & B. -Talboys, care of Messrs. Gilmore, solicitors, High Street, Edendale -Village, &c. - -Taking it altogether, this sounds hopeful. So Honor sits down, and -with Mr. Hobson's assistance answers the advertisement, while Doris -and Miss Denison leave the room with Mr. Trent, whom Mrs. Merivale is -now equal to seeing "just for a few minutes," prior to her departure -with her sister next day for London. For the rest of that day and -all the morning of the next Honor and Miss Denison are engaged in -packing and directing all that is theirs to take, and with the -assistance of Lane and of the school-room maid (who has begged with -tears to be allowed to remain with the family, at any rate until they -are settled in the new house) they get through a great deal. And -when at last they have watched the departure of the carriage -containing Mrs. Merivale, Lady Woodhouse, Doris, and Daisy to the -station, they enter the house again, to see if all is in order for -the sale which is so soon to follow their own departure, with that -feeling of blank melancholy attendant on that much-to-be-pitied -condition of having "nothing to do." Dick and Bobby are already -established next door with their good friends the Hortons--Molly to -follow later, according to the kind suggestion made a few days before -by Mrs. Horton; and there they are to remain until the family plans -shall be more settled. - -While Miss Denison and Honor are making a last pilgrimage round the -house, Molly stands disconsolately at the dining-room window pressing -her little _retroussé_ nose against the pane. Suddenly she sees a -telegraph-boy running up the steps, and her nerves being all unstrung -by recent grief and sorrow Molly rushes with pale affrighted face to -the door, fearful of more trouble to come perhaps, to take the -message from the boy. She gives a little sigh of relief, however, as -she glances at the direction and sees her governess's name upon it, -and her long legs soon carry her upstairs to her mother's boudoir, -where Honor and Miss Denison are. As Miss Denison reads the telegram -her face changes, and in a voice trembling with agitation she says: - -"My poor girls! I shall have to leave you directly after all. This -is from Frank's mother saying that he is dangerously ill, and that I -must get there without a moment's delay. O, how unfortunate, to be -sure! I cannot bear to leave you all alone at such a sad time; and -nothing but this would induce me to do so. But you see, Honor--you -see--how imperative it is. Indeed I fear even now that I may be too -late;" and thinking of her own trouble for the first time Miss -Denison breaks utterly down, and with her pupils' arms round her, -their tears mingling with hers, she sobs uncontrollably for a few -seconds. - -Active steps have to be taken, however, and in less than an hour the -remaining occupants of the house have left it for ever, and Honor and -Molly are standing on the platform at the station by the locked door -of the compartment in which Miss Denison is seated, looking down upon -them with wet and sorrowful eyes. One last hand-clasp and a -half-stifled sob, and the train moving slowly from the platform -leaves the two girls standing, hand in hand, desolate and alone. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE BROTHERS TALBOYS. - -It is ten o'clock on one of those warm balmy mornings which in this -erratic climate of ours sometimes come upon us in the month of -February. The bushes and hedges, and even some of the young trees, -lacking experience and knowledge, allow themselves to be deluded into -the idea that spring is coming, and are making feeble attempts at -budding. They are apparently ignorant of the fact that the next -frost will cut off the too venturesome little sprouts, and breathing -upon them with its chilling breath reduce them all to the little -brown lifeless-looking twigs that they were before the week's spell -of mild weather had turned their heads. Even the rose trees, in -which the garden of "The Rosery" abounds, show signs here and there -of succumbing to the seductively balmy air, and it is with real grief -that the two little old gentlemen, who are trotting round the garden -taking their usual after-breakfast constitutional, shake their heads -at these unlooked-for symptoms of frivolity in their much-cherished -pets, murmuring plaintively: - -"The blossoms will not be half so fine this year; this will weaken -them dreadfully." - -These two little old gentlemen are none other than the Messrs. E. and -B. Talboys alluded to in the advertisement of the nine-roomed house -to let, and owners of the same. In appearance and manners they are -almost exactly alike, being in point of fact twins; the only -noticeable difference being that one, Mr. Edward, is in all points a -little more strongly developed than his brother, Mr. Benjamin. Mr. -Edward is perhaps a trifle the taller of the two, but as he is at the -same time also a trifle stouter the difference in height is hardly if -at all perceptible. Both have good, benevolent faces; but here again -is the slight, very slight, difference referred to. Both brothers -have bright blue eyes; but while Mr. Benjamin's have the mild, limpid -expression which tells of the more placid nature beneath, Mr. -Edward's have a keenness, amounting at times almost to a glitter, -which is entirely absent in those of his brother. Both have the same -perfect aquiline nose; and while the mouth and chin in both faces are -equally good in a measure, the curves of Mr. Edward's mouth, and the -slight extra squareness of his chin, testify to his having the -stronger character. The same thing is to be noticed in the matter of -dress; for although the brothers are always dressed exactly alike, -they appear to wear their clothes differently. Both have high shirt -collars, but there is, or appears to be, always less starch in those -of Mr. Benjamin; and while his cravat is tied in a modest little bow, -which has a trick of being always either a little to the left or the -right of the stud which fastens the collar in front, Mr. Edward's is -always tied with the greatest precision, the end of one loop -protruding exactly the same distance from the middle of the collar as -the other. There are also little creases and folds to be sometimes -detected in Mr. Benjamin's coat, which never by any chance can be -discovered in that of his brother. Mr. Benjamin walks with a slight -limp, owing to an accident which had occurred years ago when they -were young men. Both the old gentlemen, therefore, carry a stout -black walking-stick, with a gold knob at the top. The subject of -this accident is a sore one to both brothers, and it is without -exception the only one upon which they have ever been known to -disagree. - -A cricket match in which both brothers were playing was being held on -the village cricketing ground. Edward was batting, and his brother -was fielding close to the opposite wicket. The rays of the setting -sun were streaming down upon the field, right in the very eyes of the -batsman; and as the ball came swiftly bounding towards him straight -as a dart from the practised hand of the bowler, it seemed to -Edward's dazzled sight that there were two balls instead of one to -claim his attention. With a feeling of desperation he rushed, so to -speak, at the ball; but in the flurry he received it on the edge of -his bat, and sent it flying with the strength for which he was envied -by the whole field exactly in the opposite direction to that he -intended. It was a few seconds before he noticed that the other -wicket was deserted, and that nearly all the men were clustered round -one who was stretched upon the grass at their feet. With a terrible -fear at his heart he strode across to the little throng, to find, to -his grief and horror, that it was indeed his brother lying helpless -before him. Though nearly fainting with agony Benjamin was in the -wildest state of anxiety that the truth should be kept from his -brother as to his having been unwittingly the cause of his broken -ankle, the pain of which was rendering him half unconscious as he -leant back, faint and white, in the arms of the wicket-keeper. - -"Don't let him know it!" he gasped, unconscious of the fact that his -brother was standing close beside him; "let him think I -slipped--and--fell. You see the sun was in my--eyes--or I would have -seen it--coming; I ought to have got out of the way. Don't let him -know--don't let--" and with these words he fainted, and was carefully -carried from the ground by his sympathetic friends, Edward being -still too much stunned to take any active part in the proceedings. -Ever since that hot early evening in August it had been a subject of -discussion between the brothers as to whether the sun could possibly -set in two places at once, each one being perfectly convinced that he -himself had been standing opposite to its dazzling rays. - -Only two days ago the brothers Talboys had met Honor and Molly -Merivale by appointment at "The Rookery," as the house they had been -advertising was called. Old Mr. Hobson had come down with the girls, -rightly thinking that there should be someone older than Honor -present on such an important occasion as taking a new house. - -"You cannot be expected to understand anything about bad drainage, -damp, and such things, my dear," he had said to Honor, "and it will -do me good to run down into the country for an hour or two; so let us -consider it settled that I go with you and Miss Molly whenever it is -convenient for you to fix a day. No--not a word of thanks, my dear; -I am only too glad to be of use to the children of my dear old -friend, your father." - -And so at the appointed time Mr. Ned and Mr. Ben, waiting about for -their possible new tenants, passing now in now out of the -quaint-looking old house, were not a little surprised to see bearing -down upon them from the road, two young ladies, an old gentleman who -was walking by their side, and four youths, or more correctly -speaking two youths and two boys, who made a sort of straggling -procession in single file. For at the last moment, when Honor, -Molly, and Hugh Horton were just starting with old Mr. Hobson, Dick, -accompanied by Regy and Alick, suddenly arrived upon the scene, -determined to look over the new house also. - -"Why, bless my soul, Brother Ben!" exclaimed Edward, planting his -stick firmly on the ground and looking with undisguised dismay at the -troupe now entering the gate, "these boys can never all belong to the -family. Why, why--they will make havoc of the garden before they -have been a week in the place." - -"I do not suppose they _all_ belong to the family," mildly responded -Brother Ben, "and even if they do they may turn out to be quiet, -well-disposed lads enough." - -And of that the boys themselves gave ample proof, so polite and -respectful were they to the two old gentlemen, whose minds being now -relieved on the score of the possible if not probable destruction of -the garden, soon found themselves chatting away with them and showing -them about (as Mr. Ben said afterwards to his brother) "as if they -were our own boys, you know." The house proved to be a thoroughly -old-fashioned, rambling place, although small as to the actual number -of rooms. There were long passages with deep capacious cupboards, -"which would have made delightful store-closets, if we only had -anything to store," whispers Honor to Molly with a sigh. Upstairs -were the funniest old-fashioned bed-rooms, with two steps leading up -to one and three down into another, and so on. Altogether there were -five bed-rooms on that floor, and two attics above which had not been -included in the advertisement, and which Honor, who, followed by -Molly, had crept up the few steep steps which led to them, declared -to be "lovely!" partly on account of the odd nooks and corners caused -by the roof, which seemed to slope in half a dozen different ways, -and partly from the fine and extensive view to be obtained from the -window in each attic. But on speaking of these attics to the -brothers they shook their heads, and Mr. Ned, who was always -spokesman, said: - -"My dear young ladies, we did not include them in the number of rooms -mentioned, because we consider them to be uninhabitable. If they -should prove to be of any use we shall indeed be glad; but I would -recommend their not being used as sleeping-rooms, as we fear--nay, we -feel sure, of there being not a few mice already in possession, to -say nothing of spiders. Is it not so, Brother Ben?" - -Mr. Ben nodded, folded his hands over his stick and glancing up at -the chimneys of the said attics, murmured, "Surely, surely!" his -invariable reply to any of his brother's statements. - -The good old men had been much distressed and interested on hearing -from Mr. Hobson, who took them aside for the express purpose, some of -the sad circumstances of Mr. Merivale's sudden death, and the ruin -which had come upon his family as upon so many others. This they had -of course heard of, and when, from two or three little remarks that -the old clerk let drop respecting his late employer, they found that -he was the James Merivale who had been at the same school with them, -their delight knew no bounds. - -"You see, my dear sir," cried Mr. Ned, excitedly pinning Mr. Hobson -by the button-hole, "it places things in such a totally different -light. The fact of our having known the father of these young ladies -when a boy enables us to render them many little services which we -might otherwise perhaps have hesitated to offer. To be sure," he -added, looking doubtfully at his brother, "James Merivale was a very -little chap when he came to Dr. Gurney's; you remember, Ben, he -entered the school much about the time that you and I were -leaving--not before I had thrashed the bully of the school in his -service though. Ah!" continued the old gentleman, chuckling to -himself, "Tom Yates was the boy; don't you recollect, Ben? He -remembered _me_ for many a long day, I reckon. There was another big -lad in our form, too, who detested Yates as much as we did--Arthur -Villiers (poor fellow, he's gone too). I remember giving him the tip -to keep an eye on the youngster after we left; bless you, Yates -daren't lay a finger on anyone when Villiers was by. A cowardly lump -of humanity he was, like all bullies. Eh, Ben?" - -And so the old men ran on; and the girls and Mr. Hobson were as -pleased with them as the brothers were with the unaffected natural -manners of Honor and Molly. So now the two brothers are in the -garden, as has been said, looking at their plants and watching for -the postman; and at length their minds are set at rest by the -appearance of that ancient individual, and they eagerly seize the -letter (the only one this morning) which he holds towards them. It -is, in fact, neither more nor less than the expected letter from the -Merivales, which is to decide whether or not they will take "The -Rookery." - -Hastily tearing it open Mr. Ned proceeds to read it aloud for the -benefit of his brother, who is nevertheless looking over his shoulder. - -"There!" he says as he folds it up and puts it into his pocket with a -little sigh of gratification, "I thought they _would_ take it, -Brother Ben; but I am really sorry we asked as much as twenty pounds -rent, under all the very sad circumstances, because, you see, Ben, -fifteen pounds would be five pounds less! A mere nothing to us one -way or the other; but a great deal, I expect, to them, poor things. -It wouldn't have done, however, to run the risk of hurting their -feelings in the matter, and perhaps fifteen pounds a year is rather a -low figure for a house like 'The Rookery.' - -"Dear me! dear me! How sad, to be sure, to be thrown in an hour, as -one may say, from affluence into poverty; for poverty it is, Brother -Ben, you may take my word for it. But now really, brother, we must -not stand gossiping here like this when there are a thousand and one -little things to see to up at the house before the family takes -possession. You really are a terrible old chatterbox, Ben, when you -once get a start." - -And Brother Ned, who as usual has been keeping the conversation -exclusively to himself, shakes his head and his stick at quiet old -Ben, as together they pass out of the garden gate and trot down the -road towards "The Rookery." - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -A NEW HOME. - -Three weeks have passed, and Honor and Molly have just stepped out of -the old station fly at the door of their new abode, possession of -which they are to take that very day. There have been not a few -expeditions backwards and forwards from town; but now everything is -settled, the house ready for their reception, and the furniture -actually on its way. The two girls are standing on the steps -watching the driver, who, with the assistance of Jane, is bringing -their trunks and boxes into the hall. Although the deep, heavy -mourning of the sisters tells of their recent bereavement, the -sorrowful look which seemed to have settled on their young faces but -a few weeks since has now passed away; for at fifteen and seventeen -the spirits are elastic, and however sharp and painful the grief may -be at first, the buoyancy of youth soon asserts itself, and the -trouble melts away into the past, ere long resembling a dream which, -though vivid at the time, gradually becomes more shadowy and -indistinct as time rolls on. - -"I can't think why some of the boys didn't come down with us," -remarks Molly rather crossly, as she kneels down and unfastens the -cords of a hamper in which her pet cat is packed. "Now they really -_would_ have been of use to-day, whereas, whenever they came with us -before, they seemed to do nothing but get in the way." - -"O, Molly!" remonstrates Honor, "how _can_ you say so? Look how -beautifully Hugh trained all the creepers over the front of the -house; and I'm sure it must have been a work of patience too, for -they were in a fearful tangle. It quite distressed those nice old -gentlemen to see how persistently Hugh worked at them; but they were -simply delighted when they were done. They told me afterwards that -they were most anxious to save him the trouble by sending in their -own gardener to do it; but Hugh was determined, so they let him have -his own way." - -Molly shakes her head as, with Timothy now enthroned upon her -shoulder, she gazes out of the open door. - -"Boys are always a nuisance, more or less," she observes, "though I -don't deny that I like them well enough in their place; and of course -I allow that Hugh has fastened up the creepers well, especially the -yellow jasmine." - -Molly says this quite magnanimously, and is about to descend the -steps with a view to receiving an armful of the small packages now -being extricated from the interior of the fly, when a loud knocking -from inside the house suddenly startles both the girls into a -listening attitude. - -"Hark!" says Molly with finger on lip, "it's the family ghost coming -down to receive us! Not _our_ ghost--the late occupant's, you know. -Listen! there it is again. Who'll come up with me to see who or what -it is? It _sounds_ from the attics." - -[Illustration: "LISTEN!" SAID MOLLY, "THERE IS THE GHOST AGAIN."] - -"O, I durs'n't, miss!" exclaims Jane, dropping a whole bundle of -parcels as Molly glances in her direction; "ghost or no ghost, I -durs'n't go a-nigh the attics while that knocking is going on. O, my -gracious, Miss Honor--there it is again! I shall drop with fright, -my legs is that trembling!" - -And suiting the action to the word, Jane, regardless of appearances, -subsides in a sitting posture on the top of the hamper which the cat -has lately vacated. - -"Hush--h!" cries Molly theatrically, and secretly enjoying the girl's -discomfiture; "he's dragging something about up there! Perhaps it is -the old arm-chair of his deceased great-grandmother, or possibly his -own coffin--" But here Honor interposes, seeing signs of a further -collapse in Jane's frightened face, and frowningly signing to Molly -she says: - -"Nonsense! how can you both be so silly? It is probably some workmen -still attending to something at the top of the house. I'll call out -and see." And mounting a few steps she calls loudly: "Is anyone up -there?" - -"No!" answers a ringing voice from the attic regions. "Half a -second, Honor, and I'll be down; I'm just finishing." - -"_Finishing!_" echoes Molly, puckering up her eyebrows; "what in the -name of goodness is Hugh finishing here? Let us go and see. Jane -can come too if she likes." - -But that young person prefers to remain where she is, deeming perhaps -that her greater safety lies in proximity to the man who is still -unloading the heavily-laden fly. - -"I'd rather stay here, if you please, miss," she says with her hand -pressed against her side; "the fright has give me such a turn, and -the air will do me good perhaps if--" But Honor is off up the stairs -after Molly, whom she finds pounding away with her little doubled-up -fists at the closed door of the largest and best attic. - -"All right, all right!" cries a voice within; and then suddenly the -door is thrown wide open by Hugh, and both girls cross the threshold -cautiously. - -The floor of the room, which had looked so shabby and bare three -weeks ago, is now stained and polished from one end to the other. -There is a small square of Turkey carpet in front of the fireplace, -while several skins are scattered at intervals over the rest of the -floor. At both little windows thick oriental curtains are -artistically draped, and across a large angular recess is hung -another on large brass rings. Just on this side of the curtain -stands an easel--Honor's, with a sketch of her own lying upon it; -while on a little rough table, half hidden by the curtain, lie all -her painting materials. Two or three high-backed oak chairs, which -had formerly been part of the furniture of Mr. Merivale's study, are -standing about the room; while three little dainty-looking wicker -chairs are placed invitingly near the bright crackling fire so -merrily burning at the other end of the room. In a recess near the -fireplace is a low, pretty book-case containing all the girls' -favourite books, while on the top stand several little bronze -statuettes. A large basket work-table with "a second floor," as Hugh -describes the upper shelf, completely fitted up with materials of all -kinds, stands near one of the chairs; and a nice little table, with a -reading-lamp upon it, completes the furniture of the room. - -Both the girls gasp as, taking courage, they advance further into the -room. Their eyes fill with tears as they recognize some of their -much-prized belongings which they had never expected to possess -again; and they are both so touched at the kind delicacy of thought -for them which is so plainly visible in every little detail of the -room, that for a second or two they are too much overcome to speak. -Hugh, who is leaning with one elbow on the mantel-piece, sees the -struggle which both the girls are making for composure, and fearful -of the consequences, having already all an Englishman's horror of "a -scene," he says rather abruptly, "I hope you will all like it. The -working affair is mother's arrangement, and I believe it is well -furnished. The easel, the painting things,--and the statuettes were -Regy's thought; and everything else is--well, among us all, as it -were;" the real fact being that the "everything else" alluded to had -been Hugh's own particular care. - -"O, Hugh," cry both the girls, darting forward and each seizing one -of the young fellow's hands, "how good--how _kind_ of you! and how -beautifully you have arranged everything, in this short time too!" - -"Well, to tell you the truth, I believe Alick, Regy, and I have each -worn out a pair of trousers walking round the room on our -knees--doing the staining and polishing, you know; for that was a big -job, and we were so afraid we wouldn't get it done in time. We had -to press Ted and also Dick (under strict promise of secrecy) into the -service the last day or two." - -The girls having now quite recovered themselves, they proceed to make -a tour of inspection round the room; and Molly, having dived behind -the curtain, discovers Honor's old big portfolio filled to -overflowing with sketches, good, bad, and indifferent, which the poor -girl, thinking sketching and painting days were over, had had no -heart to bring away with her. Making this discovery Molly cries with -enthusiasm: - -"Why, here is Honor's dear old portfolio! You _are_ good to have -thought of that! I know it was you, because here is the label in -your own handwriting. I could hug you for that, Hugh!" - -"Well, why don't you?" asks Hugh promptly. - -At this moment Honor, who is standing at one of the windows feasting -her eyes on the lovely view which is stretching far and wide, -exclaims: - -"Why, what is this huge thing in the cart turning in at the gate? It -isn't the furniture, I'm sure! It must be a mistake. I had better -go down and tell them before they begin to unpack it--whatever it is." - -But Hugh is before her; and Honor and Molly arrive on the front steps -just in time to hear him say "All right!" to the men in charge of the -van with so much confidence that Honor stares stupidly at him and -says nothing. Then one of the men comes forward and touching his hat -presents a letter to her. - -"I don't know which of the young ladies it is for, miss," he says, -then retires down the steps again to where the others are already -unpacking the mysterious contents of the van. - -"It is for you, Molly, I suppose; you are the only 'Miss M. Merivale' -in the family excepting Daisy." And when her sister has broken the -seal Honor looks over her shoulder and reads the following:-- - - -"My dear Miss Molly, - -"Please accept the accompanying little present from an old man whom -you have often delighted with your playing. My old enemy the gout -has necessitated my leaving England again for a time; so young Mr. -Horton has promised to attend the sale at Lancaster Terrace and to -manage this little business for me. I have written to your mother -expressing the great sympathy I feel for you all in your sad -bereavement, and to say that I shall take the earliest opportunity of -calling to see you on my return, when you will perhaps oblige me with -your admirable rendering of the 'Sonata Pathetique.' This will be -the pleasantest thanks I can receive. - - "Believe me to remain, - "Yours very truly, - "PETER BERESFORD." - - -Molly turns to Honor with eyes full of grateful tears at this -unexpected kindness from a fresh quarter, but she is unable to say -anything, for at the same moment the head man approaches them again -and asks which room the instrument is to be taken into. It had been -a bitter trial to poor Molly to have to leave her beloved piano to -the mercy of strangers, and her unbounded delight may be imagined, -therefore, now that she finds herself looking upon it once more with -the proud consciousness that it is her own--her very own! Honor -calls her into what will be the drawing-room, where she and Hugh are -standing consulting with the man as to the best place to put it. - -"Not _too_ near the window, and certainly not near the door," says -practical Molly promptly. "It mustn't be in a draught. _Here_ would -be a good place. Don't you think so, Honor? O, good gracious! here -they come with it, staggering under its weight. How nicely it will -help to furnish the room, Honor! And oh, what a dear old man Sir -Peter is! I hope you'll grow up like him, Hugh!" - -"Thanks! I shall want to strike out in a line of my own before I -reach Sir Peter's age," laughs Hugh. "Do you wish me to be the same -height also, Molly? because I can't accommodate you there, being -already about half a foot taller." - -At this point all three are driven ignominiously into a corner by the -piano, which, being now placed on the little wheeled platform used -for such purposes, runs into the room in quite a jaunty manner. - -"I suppose it _is_ ours," hazards Honor, looking rather dubiously at -the back of it. - -"Of course it is; can't you recognize it? Besides, look here"--and -Molly takes up one of the legs which have been laid down in a -corner,--"don't you see where Timothy sharpened his claws one day -just before Christmas? Here are the long scratches, down the right -leg. What a way mother was in! I remember it quite well. Don't -you, Honor?" - -"I think I can vouch for its being your own also," says Hugh, -"considering that I bought it at the sale; besides, Sir Peter sent -the note to me, and asked me to give it to the man to bring with it, -and I saw it packed up myself." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE HORTON BOYS DISTINGUISH THEMSELVES. - -The three young people are just leaving the room, all deploring the -protracted absence of the furniture vans, which the men had solemnly -declared to Honor would be there by ten o'clock, if not sooner (it -being now between twelve and one), when they are suddenly startled by -a tremendous commotion outside in the garden, and rushing down the -steps they hear a series of "chuck-a-chucks" in every key and style, -coming from round the other side of the house. Hastening to that -part of the garden they rush right into the midst of a panting group -of boys, whose heated countenances denote excitement in the highest -degree. Alick is leaning, flushed with victory, against the wall of -the chicken-house, a pendent hen in each hand, which, notwithstanding -the disadvantages of an inverted position, still give utterance now -and then to mildly remonstrating "chuck-a-chucks." Ted is at the -same moment engaged in gravely dodging a fine duck, which appears -anxious to betake itself to the flower-garden; and just as Hugh and -the girls are all opening their mouths together to speak, Regy -appears from behind the chicken-house also the triumphant captor of -two indignant hens. They all look at one another, and then burst out -laughing simultaneously, and Regy, not stopping to explain matters, -says: - -"We've got them all now, I think, Alick, except the second speckled -hen--hang her! She's got right out into the road again, with Dick, -hatless, in hot pursuit. I can't do anything with that old rooster! -He seems to have some extraordinary aversion to the henhouse, and -shows a distinct preference for the pig-sty; these hens got in there -too, but I routed them all out; but old Pincher, not to be done, flew -up to the top of the sty, and there he is now, standing on one leg -and crowing with all his might. Here, Ted, out of the road! Let's -get these beggars shut up; and then, perhaps, with our united -exertions we may capture Mr. Pincher. O, here's Dick! You've caught -her then; hold her tight while I open the door again. I declare -there are enough feathers flying about to stuff a bed almost." - -Then they all set to, and after an animated chase succeed in -capturing and housing the "old rooster." Honor and Molly are quick -in their efforts to thank the boys for this kindness, but nothing -will induce them to listen; and some words that Honor lets drop -leading them to infer that she and Molly have come to the house -prepared with some temporary refreshment, Alick, Ted, and Dick -instantly make for the kitchen, where the others, following, find -them busily engaged in emptying a hamper of its contents. - -"You'll have to make shift without chairs and tables, ladies and -gentlemen," remarks Alick, diving into the hamper again and -reappearing with a large, tempting-looking pie in his hands. - -"Nonsense!" cries Dick. "Why should we, when there's a comfortably -furnished room with a large fire upstairs?" - -"Indeed, you boys are not going to have the run of _that_ room," -Molly puts in hastily, and Honor adds: - -"No, certainly not! And just think, what a litter we would make -having our lunch up there. This will do very well; only I _wish_ we -had something to sit down upon." - -Hugh, suddenly appearing to be inspired with some grand idea, darts -across the kitchen and begins vigorously pulling at the dresser -drawers. - -"Stop a bit!" he cries. "I've got an idea; here, Regy, lend a hand!" - -And in a trice they have got out two of the drawers and have seated -the two girls on them with grave politeness; Molly's being placed -sideways, propped against the wall, in consideration of the extra -length of her legs; while Honor's is turned upside down, and makes -quite a comfortable seat. - -"If you don't feel comfortable you can change with us, you know," -says Regy, as he and Hugh seat themselves on the wide window-sill. -"The rest of you must dispose yourselves on the dresser and the -hamper--Ted's the lightest, so he'd better have the hamper." - -Then follows an impromptu sort of picnic, which gives complete -satisfaction to all, especially as to the fare; for kind Mrs. Trent -has not forgotten that boys and girls, especially when working hard, -are apt to get hungry, and rightly thinking that it would probably be -a long time before anyone had leisure to think about cooking, she has -included many useful things, with an eye to future needs. - -"O, I say!" cries Alick, suddenly laying down his knife and fork; -"isn't there anything to drink?" - -"Pump, out there," briefly explains Molly, waving a jam tart in the -direction of the garden. - -"Oh, yes! so there is. Let's go and get a drink all round; I'm -awfully thirsty too." And Dick scrambles down from the dresser to -the floor, and then pauses, "We've nothing in the world to drink out -of!" he says ruefully. This proves only too true, for though Mrs. -Trent and her cook have had the forethought to pack a few small -plates and knives and forks, anything in the shape of a drinking -vessel has been utterly forgotten. - -"Wouldn't a flower-pot do?" mildly inquires Ted, doubtful as to how -his brilliant suggestion will be received. - -"Why, you muff!" replies Alick scornfully, "what about the hole? But -try it yourself by all means if you like, unless you'd rather have a -sieve." - -But here Honor, who has been roaming about in hopes of finding -something to answer their purpose, rushes into their midst -triumphantly flourishing a tin can above her head. - -"Look!" she cries. "I found this on the copper; it is what old Mrs. -Evans brought her beer in, I expect, and I suppose she forgot to take -it back when she went to her dinner. Will it do, do you think?" - -But to Honor's dismay a chorus of groans greets her. - -"_Honor!_" exclaims Molly indignantly, "a nasty beery thing like -that! And most likely the old woman has been drinking out of it!" - -"Well, and if she has; there's plenty of hot water. We can wash it, -I suppose! At any rate I can't think of anything else," concludes -poor Honor, looking rather sat upon, "but the inkstand in our room -upstairs. Will _that_ do?" - -But Regy is already at work washing and rinsing the tin can, and as -he has heroically promised to take first drink and report thereon, -they all troop out to the pump in a body. While there engaged old -Mrs. Evans, who has been hired to scrub the floors and make herself -generally useful, arrives simultaneously with the furniture. Hugh, -equal to the occasion, gravely hands back the tin can to its owner, -and thanks her so politely, and with such a courtly bow, for the -service she has rendered them in leaving it behind, that the old -woman is thrown into a perfect frenzy of curtsies, accompanied by -assurances of being honoured, and proud, &c. &c. - -Hard work begins in earnest now for all, it being two o'clock, and -everything yet to be done. The men are at first inclined to be -independent, thinking doubtless that with only these young people to -direct matters they can do pretty much as they like. They soon find -out their mistake, however, and are not a little impressed with the -quiet persistence with which Honor asserts her will and gets her own -way in everything from first to last. The men appear to have a -rooted objection to put up the bedsteads until the last thing, but -they are soon overruled by Honor, who stands over them, so to speak, -until every bed is in its place. By six o'clock everything is -brought into the house, and Hugh and Regy, who have packed off the -younger boys by an earlier train, are taking a general look round -after having seen the men safely off the premises. They have tried -all the bolts and bars and put up the shutters outside, and Molly -having declared for the twentieth time that if Honor is afraid she is -not, the two youths take their departure, promising to come again the -next morning to help get things straight before the arrival of Mrs. -Merivale with Doris and Daisy, who are expected the day after. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -A COUNCIL OF WAR. - -The two days have quickly flown, and the family have all settled down -into their places in the new house, which Honor's and Molly's busy -fingers have rendered not only habitable, but almost comfortable. -Mrs. Merivale plaintively approves of all that has been done, but -soon announces her intention of retiring to her room for the rest of -the day, her nerves, she declares, being quite unequal to the ordeal -of going over the house with the girls. They, poor things! have been -looking forward to this pleasure. - -"Never mind," whispers Doris to Honor, "we'll settle mother -comfortably in her room, and then we will all go round together. -What time is tea?" - -"O, any time we like to have it! What time is it now, Doris?" - -"Four o'clock. Well, let us have it at five; that will give us an -hour to look at everything, and to get tea ready. What fun, getting -tea for ourselves!" - -"Yes, all very well at first," says practical Molly, as with hands -clasped behind her she follows her mother and sisters upstairs. -"You'll soon get tired of it, though, and other things too, when it -comes to having to do them whether you like it or not." - -Mrs. Merivale is almost enthusiastic--for her--over the arrangements -of her bed-room, which the girls have fitted up with much loving -forethought and care. There is a tiny dressing-room leading out of -the large airy bed-room, into which all ablutionary arrangements have -been banished; while the room itself is fitted up as half sitting-, -half bed-room. - -The tears came into the poor woman's eyes as, looking round the room, -she recognizes certain little nick-nacks, which, though valueless in -themselves, are from old associations worth much to their owner. -Even Honor thought there could be no possible harm in collecting -these little possessions when packing for her mother; and so there -are a few favourite books, some pretty photograph-frames, a -work-basket, and other little trifles, which give the room a cheery -and home-like appearance. Although the furniture is of the plainest -description, the room is brightened up and made pretty with dainty -muslin draperies; and the really warm carpet and the thick curtains -at the windows give an air of comfort at once. Indeed the room -presents a marked contrast to those of the girls, with their little -strips of carpet and curtainless windows, and only what is absolutely -necessary in the way of furniture. - -Having left their mother comfortably settled in her easy-chair, the -girls and boys all go off on a tour of inspection round the house, -both inside and out, Honor and Molly proudly doing the honours. - -"These are no vagrant fowls, bought anywhere, allow me to inform -you," says Molly as the party approach the hen-house; "they came, -every one of them, from the Mortons' own farm at Oakleigh. Don't you -recognize Mr. Pincher? A rare lot of trouble he gave the boys the -other day; but he has settled down pretty well now, I think." - -Daisy especially is delighted with this addition to the -establishment, and asks anxiously if she may take the fowls into her -own care. She and Doris, indeed, are both enraptured with all the -arrangements. So far from feeling any dismay at the prospect of -living a totally different life from that to which they have been -accustomed from infancy, their spirits rise, and with the hopefulness -and love of change which are invariably found in youth, they all seem -to look forward to their new life with real pleasure, which is only -damped when they think of the kind and dear father, still so sorely -missed by all at times. - -"After all, I think it will be really jolly living in a small house," -remarks Dick, following the girls into the house again. "One won't -be able to roam about wondering which room to go into; which will be -rather a relief, to _my_ mind. There is the dining-room, and the -drawing-room, and if they won't do, why, one can just sit on the -stairs!" - -Unanimous approval of these sentiments is expressed; but as they come -to the end of their peregrinations round the house Doris suddenly -becomes grave, and putting her arm within Honor's as they turn into -the sitting-room for tea, she says: - -"Honor, my girl, we must have a good long talk together very soon. -I've no end of messages from aunt, and if I don't deliver them at -once I shall forget half. Shall we hold a council of war when the -children have gone to bed to-night?" - -Here Dick begs to be informed if he is expected to consider himself -one of "the children" referred to; but being reassured on this point, -renews his attack on the bread-and-butter with unruffled composure, -while his sisters continue their conversation. - -A few hours later Honor looks into the room where Doris is on her -knees before a large trunk, busily unpacking, and says softly, Daisy -being asleep: - -"Let us go down, Doris, dear, and have our chat. The fire is out in -the sitting-room, but there's a splendid one in the kitchen, and Jane -won't be there, for mother, feeling a little nervous, said she would -like her to sit beside her with her work. I left Dick and Molly -roasting apples," she adds, "so if we want to have any we had better -look sharp, I expect." - -In a few minutes the four young people are comfortably settled round -the fire, Honor in state in the only available chair, the second one -being occupied by Timothy. Doris, having extracted from Molly a -solemn assurance that there is no such thing as a beetle (black) in -the house, establishes herself on the corner of the large -kitchen-fender, while Molly occupies the opposite one, and Dick -perches himself on the table, within easy reach of the plate of -apples. - -"Well now, to begin," says Doris, "aunt sent her love, and she was -very glad indeed that you were able to make her cheque do, because, -she says, it shows you _must_ have some ideas of management; and you -know what _that_ means with aunt, and she considers it augurs well -for the future. She says, too, that she thinks we ought to manage -now, with the sum we have yearly, and what we may be able to -earn--for of course I told her, girls, that we should all turn to and -do _something_,--though goodness knows what _I_ am fit for!" Doris -gloomily adds, "However, that's neither here nor there. What was I -saying? Oh yes, about the money! Aunt says--what is, of course, -very true--that she has given us a fair start, and that, unless any -dire calamity should fall upon us, we must not expect her to do -anything more, as she would not like to ask uncle again for a long -time. She wants you to write, Honor, and tell her everything--what -we decide on trying to do, and all that sort of thing, you know; and -she implored me not to forget to ask what wages you are paying Jane; -because, she says, we have no business to keep an expensive servant. -We ought to have some strong girl from the village to do the rough -work, and manage all the rest--cooking and all, mind--among us. -Well, now wait a minute"--for here Molly shows signs of breaking into -the conversation,--"I haven't half finished yet! Aunt has been -talking to me about mother, as well. She has had her own doctor to -see her; and he says that this shock and trouble have really brought -her into a very low and delicate state of health. You know, Honor, -aunt _used_ not to have a spark of patience with mother's nervous -attacks, and headaches, and so on; but she quite astonished me the -other day by suddenly taking hold of my arm and saying: 'Doris, your -mother now is really what she has fancied herself for years past--she -is a delicate woman, and if you and the others are not careful she -will become a confirmed invalid. You are not a child now, and I can -speak openly to both you and Honor, I think." And then aunt went on -to say plainly that it is not in mother's power--she is sure--to take -the management of affairs now; and that _we_ must take all the -trouble and worry on our own shoulders, and not bother her about -money and so on. 'Let her keep quiet, child,' aunt said, 'and give -her little bits of work to do--she likes needle-work, you know; and -you girls must learn to do for yourselves; it will be a good lesson -for you before you get husbands and homes of your own, if you ever -do'" (here Dick laughs softly and derisively), "'and,'" proceeds -Doris with dignity, "'your husbands will thank their stars that they -have got wives who can do something besides eat and sleep, and dress -and make calls!' There--I think I've said everything now; so you can -all talk away as much as you please; I am going to eat apples!" - -A slight scuffle here ensues between Doris and Dick, both of whom -have made a simultaneous dash at the largest apple. - -Order being restored, Honor begins to unfold the plans which she and -Molly have been making--namely, that she herself means to try and -turn her talent for painting to account; while Molly, after many -misgivings as to her competency to do so, has made up her mind to try -and get pupils for music. - -"How do you mean to set about it?" inquires Doris, not without a -certain spice of incredulity in her voice. - -"Oh, we've settled that--Honor and I!" answers Molly, stirring the -fire energetically. "We have the nicest landlords--the dearest old -fellows in the world--and they are most anxious to do anything for us -that we will let them do. In fact," concludes Molly, "they would -jump over the moon, willingly, I am sure, if they thought it would do -us the least little bit of good!" - -"Molly!" exclaims Honor. "But she is right, to a certain extent; -they are the _kindest_ old gentlemen. And they knew father at -school, you know, only as quite a small boy; but they make so much of -this, and have been, oh, so kind to us! We must take Doris and Daisy -to see them, Molly. We promised we would; they are most anxious to -make your acquaintance." - -"When you have quite finished, Honor, I'll go on with what _I_ was -saying," says Molly in an aggrieved tone; adding, "We mean, Doris, to -consult these old gentlemen. They know every one about the place, of -course; and surely there must be some children wanting the very -superior musical education that _I_ can give them--a-hem! Then they -are already tremendous admirers of Honor's drawings; I saw them -nodding their old heads over that little village scene of hers the -other day, and Mr. Ned said, 'Excellent! admirable! so true to -nature--is it not, Brother Ben?' And Brother Ben answered, 'Surely! -surely!' as he always does, you know." - -"It's all very well for you, girls," suddenly breaks in Dick, who, -having finished the last apple, finds leisure now for putting in a -word, "but no one seems to consider _me_ in any way. I suppose _I_ -should like to do something to help also." - -"Well, so you can. There will be heaps of things to do about the -house that you could easily manage; and that would be really a help," -says Doris. - -"I don't mean that sort of thing," answers the boy testily. "If you -girls are going to work and make money, I must say I should like to -do the same. And I would too--only the worst of it is I haven't half -finished my schooling yet;" and Dick breaks off with a sigh. - -"Poor Dick'" says Honor, taking his hand in hers, "I have been -thinking so much about that, and what is best to be done. Bobby's -and Daisy's education we can easily carry on among us, and I shall -keep Molly up to her French, and teach her the little German I know; -but what we are to do about Dick, I don't know, girls. I do know a -good bit of Latin, but I daresay he knows as much as I do. Oh, how I -wish Uncle John had offered to keep him at Marlborough--if only for -another year! he might have done much in that time." - -"Well, don't you worry about me, girls," says the boy, looking up -with a flushed face; "I daresay I shall get along somehow." - -"Well now," says Doris, "I want to know all about the Horton boys. -Were they really of much use in the moving? and is Hugh reading hard -now? Oh, and that reminds me!" she cries, without waiting for -answers to her questions, "Colonel and Mrs. Danvers called while we -were at aunt's to say good-bye; they start for India in a week's -time. The colonel told me to tell you both how sorry he is not to -see you before leaving; and he begged me to say to you especially, -Molly, that if Hugh is ordered to the same part of the country when -he goes out he will keep an eye on him." - -Molly, with a lingering remembrance of "the maiden-all-forlorn" -episode, tosses her head with a slightly heightened colour, but takes -no notice of the message otherwise. There is rather a long pause; -then Doris, clasping her hands behind her head and leaning back -against Honor's knees, says: - -"How good every one has been to us in all this trouble! If it were -not for the loss of dear father, the rest would have been almost -worth going through if only for those proofs of real friendship which -have been shown us--by Sir Peter and others--to say nothing of aunt's -and Uncle John's kindness in starting us afresh." - -"Yes," says Honor musingly, "we have indeed been fortunate. Who -would have thought that the dear old piano would ever he ours again! -and how glad dear father would be if he could know that some of his -favourite pictures were hanging on these walls! That was such a kind -thought of Colonel Danvers." - -"Yes; it touched mother very much; and so did the Hortons' -kindness--I don't know what you girls would have done without them. -It's all very well for people to talk about the world being hard and -cold; but to _my_ thinking it's a very pleasant world, with lots of -kind-hearted people in it." - -Molly shakes her head dubiously. - -"It has certainly been the case so far," she says, "but we don't know -what is in store for us; we are none of us very old yet!" - -"Well, you _are_ a Job's comforter!" cries Doris, getting up and -shaking herself. "I think after that we had all better shut up and -retire to bed--don't you, Honor? We had better get all the sleep and -strength we can before we are all hurled into this sea of trouble -which Molly apparently descries looming in the distance! Hallo! -here's Dick asleep! Wake up, my boy, wake up!--we're all off to -bed!" and Doris administers sundry little sisterly pullings and -pinchings, which eventually arouse Dick sufficiently to enable him -lazily to follow his sisters up the stairs to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -DORIS MAKES A PUDDING. - -"Seventeen pounds ten! seventeen pounds ten!" mutters Honor to -herself, as with paper and pencil in hand and with knitted brows she -makes little notes, seated the while on a corner of the kitchen table. - -"I wish you wouldn't shake so!" says Doris, who, with sleeves rolled -up and in a huge white apron, is in all the agonies of making a -steak-pudding. "If you keep on chattering too," she goes on, "I know -I shall leave out half the things, and then you'll never consider how -you harassed me with those pounds, shillings, and pence; but 'blame -it all on to me,' as Bobby says. Let me see, now: have I got -everything in? Oh, I know! a little pot in the middle to keep the -gravy in. Now, I shall have to move some of the meat again. There! -Oh, goodness me! I do hope the crust will be eatable; but I don't -suppose it will in the least. It seems brick-bat-ified to me. Well, -I've done my best, anyway." And with a prodigious sigh of relief -Doris ties the cloth. "Now," she says, "you can go on, Honor; what -about this horrid money? I really wish we had lived in the time of -the ancient Britons, then we shouldn't have wanted money at all. It -is no doubt a very nice thing when one has plenty of it; but when one -hasn't!--" Words fail to express Doris's horror of such a situation, -and her cast-up eyes and elevated floury hands finish the sentence -for her. - -"We are not quite so badly off as that," Honor says, returning to the -attack. "I was just saying, seventeen pounds ten a quarter. Take -five pounds from that--for rent, you know--and it leaves twelve -pounds ten. That's not much is it, Doris? If we want to live we -shall _have_ to do something to make both ends meet. Hark, there's -the door-bell! Who can it be, I wonder?" - -In a few seconds Jane appears with the intelligence that she has just -ushered the two Mr. Talboys into the drawing-room, having been quite -ignorant of the fact that Molly is there, serenely seated on the -floor, working away at the chintz covers which she and the other -girls are making for some of the shabby old school-room furniture -which now has to do-duty for the drawing-room. Molly is arrayed in -one of Jane's large aprons, to keep her black frock from soiling the -delicate colours of the stuff; and, as usual, when she is busy, her -hair is rumpled up in a fashion which is perhaps more becoming than -tidy. - -"Don't fuss yourself, Honor," says Doris composedly. "Molly will not -mind a bit, and I daresay she will explain the situation in some way -of her own which will amuse the old gentlemen immensely. Here she -comes; now we shall hear." - -"Girls!" cries Molly, dancing into the kitchen, "here are the Mr. -Talboys. They found me sitting on the floor amongst all the work; -and I couldn't get up at first, because my legs were so cramped. So -they came and helped me up, and then we all stood and laughed, till I -remembered my manners and asked them to sit down. I only just saved -Mr. Ben from seating himself on the broken chair, but I rushed up in -time and explained that that was only to be looked at. Then I told -them Doris was making a pudding, and that you were busy about -something, Honor; but that I would come and see if you had finished. -What's the matter? Why do you both look at me as if I had been -committing high treason?" - -"Well, you _have_ in a way," says Doris reprovingly, "talking all -that nonsense. Weren't the old gentlemen surprised?" - -"Not a bit," answers Molly promptly; "they enjoyed the fun, and I -left them chattering away to Daisy and Bobby as if they had known -them all their lives. Now, don't stand there, you two, as if you -were going to preach me a sermon five miles long; come and see the -old gentlemen. They are most anxious to make Doris's acquaintance." - -"Yes, that's all very well," says that young lady as she and Honor -follow Molly; "but you needn't have said anything about the pudding." - -"Well, I must say I don't see anything very extraordinary in either -the making or the eating of a pudding," argues Molly, leading the way -to the drawing-room with her head in the air. - -With that she opens the door, and waving her hand towards her sister, -says: - -"This is Doris, Mr. Talboys. She was dreadfully shocked because I -told you she was making a pudding, which I think very silly." - -"_Molly!_" exclaims Honor, whereupon the young lady lapses into -silence. - -"I am very glad to hear you were so sensibly employed, my dear Miss -Doris," says Mr. Ned, taking the girl's hand and warmly greeting her. -"I am afraid there are not many young ladies in these days who can -boast of such useful knowledge as that of making a pudding; but in -our young days it was considered as necessary for the daughters of a -family to be taught to cook, to bake, to preserve, and so on, as it -was to learn reading and writing and all the rest of it. Was it not, -Brother Ben?" - -"Surely, surely!" answers Mr. Ben, nodding to his brother from the -opposite end of the room. - -In a very short time they are all chatting freely together; and -Honor, thinking it a good opportunity, gathers up her courage, after -a little nervous glance at her sisters, to tell the brothers of their -wish to turn their talents to account in order to increase their -income. The old gentlemen are delighted, and enthusiastically -promise all the help that they can possibly give in the matter. -Indeed, they express profound regret that their age prevents their -becoming pupils of the young ladies themselves. - -"Ben had a decided talent for drawing as a youngster," says Mr. Ned -with a roguish twinkle in his eye. "You remember that wonderful -quadruped you once drew, Ben, about which there were such divided -opinions? My own idea was that it was a sheep of unusual dimensions; -but I believe finally it was settled that it was a horse--possibly an -Arab. They are small animals, you know." - -"I think I intended it for a cow, Brother Ned," remarks Mr. Benjamin -modestly; "but I assure you, young ladies, my talent for drawing was -not to be compared to my brother's--shall we say genius--for music. -He was actually known one day, after many hours of hard study, to -have picked out and played (with one finger) that difficult and -classical work popularly known as 'God Save the Queen.' Now, what do -you think of _that_?" - -Amidst the general laughter which arises at this good-natured -sparring between the two old men, they rise to take their leave; and -while Mr. Ned intrusts to Honor a courteous message to her mother to -the effect that he and his brother will shortly do themselves the -honour of calling upon her, when they shall hope to find her -sufficiently recovered to receive them, Mr. Ben is entreating Doris -to allow Daisy and Bobby to go to tea with them the next day. - -"Master Dick here would consider himself too old to join such a -juvenile party, I expect," says the old man, patting him on the back -kindly; "but we mean to ask you all to come and spend an evening with -us soon, if you can put up with two such old fogies as Brother Ned -and myself for hosts. We must have someone from the town to come and -tune the piano; and then, perhaps, my brother will play his piece to -you--eh, Ned?" - -"Certainly, Ben; but then we must also bring down that wonderful -picture of yours for the young ladies to see. Miss Honor might -perhaps take some very useful hints from it;" and with that parting -shot Mr. Ned gives Mr. Benjamin his arm, and they trot down the steps -together, away down the garden, and into the road. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -TRYING TO MAKE BOTH ENDS MEET. - -Things go on quietly enough for some time, but as each day comes -round it is pretty sure to bring with it some little trial and -vexation; trifling in itself perhaps, but none the less wearying to -the three girls, who with hopeful hearts are striving laboriously to -cut and contrive in order to get the utmost out of every halfpenny. - -Honor has shown from the first an almost dogged determination to have -nothing brought into the house that cannot be paid for at once. - -"We know to a farthing what our income is," she says quietly and -firmly; "and what we cannot afford to have we must learn to do -without." - -Nevertheless it goes to the girl's heart when, having had to draw -perhaps from the little sum set aside for the week's living for some -other incidental expense, she has to say, "No meat to-day, girls and -boys; we must make our dinners from potatoes and bread and butter." - -"And very good fare too," some will say perhaps; but for girls and -boys who have been brought up in the lap of luxury, and who in their -sudden transition from affluence to well-nigh poverty have retained -their usual healthy appetites, it is a little trying it must surely -be allowed. To Doris and Honor the fact of having to deny themselves -meat, and sometimes other things which are almost necessaries, is no -great trial so long as they can somehow or other make both ends meet; -but it does pain them to see that Molly's and Dick's faces are no -longer so round and plump as formerly, and that little Daisy pushes -away her plate of untempting food from before her sometimes, -plaintively saying she is "not hungry to-day." The novelty of the -situation having worn off also to a great extent, the spirits of -Doris and Molly especially flag visibly at times; and while Doris -sighs over her work with a generally listless air, Molly grows -despondent, and even a little cross, as she goes about her daily -duties. Poor Honor makes brave and determined efforts to preserve -both her cheerfulness and her temper for the sake of all, but there -are two little upright lines between her straight brows which tell of -constant care and anxious thought; and many a quiet tear is shed -when, tired in body and anxious in mind, the girl finds herself alone -in her room with no one to witness her giving way to her overwrought -feelings. - -Still, there are gleams of brightness in the new life, and many an -act of kindness is shown to the girls by the neighbouring families; -on all of whom the Merivales have been most thoroughly impressed by -the brothers Talboys. The first to call are the clergyman and his -wife, and they prove to be affable, kindly-disposed people. Then -most of the families round about call on Mrs. Merivale also, and do -their best to cheer the girls with accounts of what goes on during -the summer months, saying kindly that they hope they will look -forward to plenty of games of tennis with their own daughters. - -But although every one promises to remember their wishes to obtain -teaching, and to do his or her best in the matter, no pupils come for -Molly; and although Honor takes up her painting again with renewed -ardour, nobody seems to require lessons in that either. - -The brothers Talboys hold many a serious conversation over the trials -and difficulties of their young friends, as they call them; but -beyond sending them some game from time to time, or something from -their own poultry-yard, dairy, or garden, they do not see their way -to helping them much without running the risk of hurting their -feelings. - -One morning the old gentlemen are leaning over a gate looking -admiringly at their sleek Alderneys grazing in the distance, when -suddenly down the lane behind them come Daisy and Bobby hand in hand. -During the short time that the family has been settled at the -Rookery, these two children, and especially Daisy, have taken a firm -hold on the warm hearts of the two old brothers. Their blind -devotion to the latter would bid fair, indeed, to turn the head of -any less good and demure little maiden than Daisy, for she can hardly -express a wish in their hearing which is not gratified; and when the -children go to tea at the Rosery--which event occurs once a week, if -not oftener--the recklessness of their two frolicsome hosts in the -matter of cakes, jam, cream, &c., defies description. - -The brothers no sooner now see the children approaching than they -pounce upon them instantly, and after duly inquiring after every one -at home, Mr. Ned unfastens the gate, and taking Daisy by the hand -leads her away into the field. - -"I know you would like to come and speak to White-star," he says; -"they are both going to be milked in a few minutes, and if you like -you shall stay and see them, and have a drink of nice new milk too. -What are we to do for a tumbler though, eh?" - -"I'll run and fetch one, sir," pipes up little Bobby, who is -perfectly at home in all the arrangements of the Rosery, both in and -out of the house, "or shall I run to the dairy and ask Susan to bring -something?" - -"Yes, yes, my boy, that would be better, for you might fall down and -cut yourself. Here, wait a minute, Master Bob, a piece of cake would -not come amiss with the milk, I take it, eh? Go and ask Mrs. Edwards -to put some cake, several large slices, into a little basket for you; -and then we will all have lunch out here together." - -[Illustration: DAISY AND THE MR. TALBOYS VISIT WHITESTAR.] - -"And give White-star some," cries Daisy excitedly. - -"Oh, certainly, give White-star some," repeats Mr. Ned approvingly; -"it would be a poor return after giving us her milk not to offer her -any refreshment herself. I am not certain, however, that she would -not prefer some nice fresh grass even to plum-cake if you were to -pluck it and offer it to her. Ah! I thought so!" as the little girl -goes fearlessly up to the placid-looking animal, her hands full of -sweet-smelling grass. White-star stoops her head, gravely inspecting -Daisy at first, then she puts her soft velvety nose into the child's -hands and gently gathers up the contents into her mouth. - -"It seems to me," says Mr. Ben, folding his hands over his stick and -looking at the gentle pair--"it seems to me that White-star has a -great deal to say to this little maid. What say you, Brother Ned? -Now I shouldn't be the least surprised if she is thinking how much -she would like you to have a lot of her good milk every day to fatten -up your cheeks a little, don't you think so, Brother Ned?" - -"I was thinking the very same thing myself," answers Mr. Ned, nodding -approval of his brother's idea. "Oh! here comes Susan with the pail -and the glasses, and here is Master Bob also heavily laden with the -cake and the milking-stool. Now then, the first drink for the lady -of course." - -"And so it is your birthday to-morrow," suddenly remarks Mr. Ned -after a longish pause, during which undivided attention is given to -the milk and cake. - -"Yes," says Daisy gravely nodding; "who told you?" - -"Master Bob there. And he told me, moreover, what present he is -going to give you, and I can assure you it will be--well, to use the -young gentleman's own words--a regular stunner." - -"Oh!" cries Daisy, "_do_ tell me, Mr. Talboys." - -"Oh, I couldn't think of such a thing. And why, bless my soul, it is -getting quite late, Brother Ben; if we are to see these little folks -home I think we had better be starting." - -And so after a time the quartette appears at the Rookery, and the -children are handed over to Honor, who has seen them coming through -the gate. It is an everyday occurrence now this finding of the -children with the two Mr. Talboys. If they are missing for any -length of time, someone says, "Oh, they are up at the Rosery, of -course;" and after a time sure enough they arrive either in charge of -Priscilla, the parlour-maid, or with the old gentlemen themselves. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -DAISY'S BIRTHDAY. - -The next morning every one is on the _qui vive_ for the postman, for -is it not Daisy's birthday! and will there not be mysterious packets, -from the Horton's alone, enough to fill his bag! - -The excitement of receiving the presents from her own family has now -subsided; and Daisy, having seen Bobby's offering, consisting of a -pair of black and white rabbits, duty installed in a separate hutch -improvised for the occasion, and on which is scrawled, in somewhat -doubtful caligraphy, Daisy's own name as proprietress, that young -lady betakes herself to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Merivale is -installed (feeling a trifle stronger to-day), in honour of her little -daughter's birthday. At last the postman appears, and there is a -general rush to the door. - -A packet from Mrs. Horton, one from each of the boys, one from Aunt -Sophia, and another from Miss Denison. There is also a letter for -Honor from the last named, and one for Jane. With these two Bobby is -despatched to the kitchen regions, where Honor and Doris are--the -former making a cake--and where Jane is also. Doris seizes on the -letter, and Honor's hands being floury, opens it and reads it to her, -Jane having retired into the scullery with her missive. - -Miss Denison's letter is like herself--kindness throughout. Not one -little incident with which they have acquainted her is forgotten, and -the whole letter conveys with it such an air of her affectionate -manner that it almost seems to the girls as if she were standing -there and speaking to them in person. She sends good news about the -recovery of her _fiancé_; and in order that she may accompany him in -his prescribed sojourn to the south of France, they are about to be -married almost immediately. Doris and Honor are still chatting over -the contents of the letter, when Jane, deluged in tears, rushes into -the kitchen and startles them both with the announcement that she -must leave at once. - -"Oh, if you please, Miss Honor, mother's been taken ill so sudden, -and my sister Sarah says I sha'n't never see her alive again very -like if I don't hurry off at once." - -"Of course you shall go, Jane," says Honor, suspending the operation -of egg-beating and rubbing her hands upon a cloth. "Of course mother -will let you go by the first train there is. Poor girl!" she adds -kindly, putting her hand on her shoulder, for Jane with her apron to -her eyes has subsided into a chair,--"poor girl! it is indeed sudden; -but doesn't your sister give any hope, Jane? Perhaps your mother may -get over this attack; while there is life there is always hope, you -know." - -"I don't know, I'm sure, miss," returns the girl with alternate sobs -and sniffs. "There's the letter, Miss Honor; perhaps you'd like to -read it." - -Honor does so, and finding the case more serious than she had thought -it might be--being in fact the doctor's own report--she hands the -letter without speaking to Doris, and making her a sign to follow, -quietly leaves the kitchen. - -A fearful thought has just struck Honor, and as Doris comes out to -her in the passage she stares at her blankly, saying: - -"What in the _world_ shall we do for her wages, Doris? She _must_ -have them before she goes." - -"I have got the ten shillings aunt gave me when I left," says poor -Doris dolefully. "I must give that towards them, of course. And I -think mother has a little money by her. We must try and make it up -among us, Honor, and we must borrow again from the house-keeping -money, and dine off puddings and potatoes and such things a little -more often." - -Here Molly comes bounding out into the passage. - -"Why, what is the matter with you two?" she asks. "You look as if -you had discovered a dynamite plot or something." - -Whereupon Honor tells her of the difficulty, and Molly, diving into -the recesses of her pocket, draws forth a jubilee half-crown, which -she has been hoarding up for future emergencies. - -"Take it, Honor," she says, "it will have to go some time or other, -so it may as well go now!" - -And with a sigh of resignation she is turning away again, but Honor -stops her. - -"No, dear," she says, kissing her young sister, "it is like your -generosity to give up all you possess; but with a little management, -and perhaps a little help from mother, we shall be able to arrange, I -am sure; and Doris shall not give up hers either." - -"Well, but _you_ are giving up every farthing of your own little -private income for the good of everybody," exclaims Doris. "And I'm -sure it is only fair that Molly and I should do the little we _can_ -do." - -"Well, you know, Doris, I am only thankful that I have that little -income to devote to us all. It would not give me the very slightest -pleasure to keep it to myself; and, after all, girls, it benefits me -as much as it does anyone. It's share and share alike with us all -now, I think, isn't it?" - -"You're a good old soul, and that's a fact!" cries Molly impulsively, -"and the most unselfish creature that ever breathed." - -"What nonsense, Molly!" says Honor, blushing at this burst of praise. - -"She is quite right, of course," says Doris, "and I only wish I was -half as good." - -"And now," remarks Molly, "after this digression, as the books say, I -suppose you mean to come and consult mother about Jane and all the -rest of it, don't you?" - -"Of course. You run and get the time-table, Molly, and we will look -out a train." - -It is with great difficulty that Jane can be persuaded to take all -the money that is due to her. - -"I'm sure, Miss Honor, I never thought about such a thing as wages," -says the girl with her apron to her eyes. "I would readily have -stayed with you young ladies and the mistress without thinking of -money, miss, except when you pleased to give me a little now and -again. And if you will just give me enough for my journey, Miss -Honor, and so as I have a shilling or two in my pocket when I gets -home, I would rather not take any more, if you please, miss." - -But Honor and Doris together gently overrule the girl's generous -impulses, and insist on her taking what is due to her, Mrs. Merivale -adding a trifling present as a little return for the kindness of -heart which Jane has shown to them all in their days of adversity. - -In little more than an hour's time Jane has departed with all her -belongings, and the girls and Dick are still standing at the door -watching her, as with handkerchief to her eyes she goes down the -road, when their attention is drawn to a novel kind of procession, -consisting of the Mr. Talboys' stable-boy, Joe, bearing something -resembling a pail, with elaborate care, the under-gardener with a -wheel-barrow containing some large and odd-looking packages, and -lastly Priscilla, holding in her arms with as much solicitude as if -it were a baby, a long, mysterious-looking parcel. The party enters -the gate with much gravity and makes for the side entrance. - -"From the Mr. Talboys, Miss Merivale," says Priscilla, the man and -boy bashfully hanging back. "Put the pail inside the door, Joe," she -adds, and then she takes the packages from the barrow, and turning to -Honor says: "Shall I step inside with them, ma'am? The masters told -me I was to be sure and deliver them myself. Oh, and there's a -letter for Miss Daisy as well. And I was to give the masters' -compliments, and ask how Mrs. Merivale finds herself this morning." - -Up to this point the girls have done nothing but stare with mute -astonishment at the oddly-laden trio. But at length, when the -parcels are actually laid down, and the maid stands waiting for her -answer, Honor finds her tongue: - -"Tell your masters, please," she says, "that mother is feeling a -little stronger this morning." - -And before Honor can say another word the maid is out of the house -and through the gate, where the man and the boy--both grinning from -ear to ear--are awaiting her. - -"What _can_ it mean?" cries Doris, beginning to feel the parcels, -while Timothy, the cat, walks gravely up to the pail and commences a -deliberate inspection of the outside. "This is knobby!" Doris goes -on; "and this soft--O, my gracious! what's that?" as a sound like a -rather squeaky voice is heard to issue from the long parcel. - -"Let us read the letter," says prompt Molly; "then we shall -understand it all. No, let Daisy open it--it's her letter. I quite -expect they are birthday presents from the old gentlemen. Now, let -us see!" - -And they all crowd round the child while she carefully opens the -envelope and unfolds the letter. - - -"To Miss Margaret Merivale. - -"My dear Miss Daisy, - -"Brother Ben and I are sending some little presents for your -birthday, with our best love. The young lady herself is from Brother -Ben, whilst her carriage and luggage (including her bed) are from -myself. I believe the young lady is rather particular about her -sleeping arrangements, and has therefore thought it better to take -her own bed with her. White-star is most anxious that we should -deliver a very important message from her. She sends her love, and -hopes you will accept for a birthday present the can of new milk she -is sending you, and that you will let her send you some every day for -the future. White-star thinks it will fatten up your cheeks, and she -would far rather you had her milk than that the pig should. - - "Wishing you many happy returns of the day, - "We are, dear little Miss Daisy, - "Your affectionate friends, - "EDWARD TALBOYS. - "BENJAMIN TALBOYS." - - -"There, didn't I say so!" exclaims Molly. "What dear old boys they -are, and how fond of Daisy! Come along, child, and let us undo the -parcels." - -"O, what a _lovely_ doll!" - -Daisy stands perfectly entranced, and, truth to tell, a little in awe -of the fashionable young lady which emerges from the many wrappings -of soft white paper in which she has been carefully enshrouded. A -young person of most eccentric character she proves to be, for on a -certain spring being touched she walks along for some yards with her -head in the air in a truly martial manner; and when (on her showing -deliberate intention of walking into the coal-scuttle) Honor snatches -her up from the ground, she gives vent to loud cries of "Papa! -Mamma!" which astonish her hearers not a little. Finally, on being -placed in a reclining position in her new owner's arms, she shows -symptoms of faintness, and closing her eyes in a melodramatic manner -lies back quite motionless. Daisy looks anxious at this catastrophe, -but is reassured on finding that the young lady opens her handsome -brown orbs again the moment she is made to sit up. - -Honor and Doris presently suggest that all the presents shall be -taken into the room where Mrs. Merivale is sitting, and a good hour -or more is spent by Doris and the others in unpacking the handsome -perambulator which has arrived with her ladyship, and also her -beautiful bed. This last is completely fitted up, even to a little -eider-down quilt. But the unpacking of the wardrobe--that is the -thing! and Doris, at heart as great a baby over dolls and their -belongings as Daisy herself, sits on the floor surrounded with -walking costumes, dinner dresses, ball dresses, &c., and enjoys -herself with her little sister to her heart's content. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -DR. JOHN SINCLAIR. - -That same afternoon Honor puts on her hat and walks into the village -in search of a girl to take Jane's place, if such an individual can -be found, which she privately doubts. She first goes to old Mrs. -Evans, the charwoman, and makes a few inquiries about the girls in -the village. This lady, however, probably with an eye to "No. 1," -discourages the idea of "keepin' a gal permanent." With regard to -herself she is "willin' to oblige, and don't mind how often she goes -up to the 'ouse, pervided she gets one day in the week to do her own -bit o' washin'." This not being at all Honor's idea, and the old -woman appearing to have no other by which she may benefit, she takes -her departure. - -She next goes to the little grocer's shop and makes inquiries there, -learning that they believe they know of a likely young woman. She -has been living at the butcher's over the way, partly as nurse, they -think, and having left about a week ago is likely to be looking out -for a new place. Flora Smart is the name by which this young person -is known. So Honor thinks she may as well go "over the way" as -anywhere else to pursue her inquiries. - -Mrs. Masters, the butcher's wife, is a brisk and chatty little woman, -who enters into the discussion of possible and impossible girls with -a keen and lively interest. She thinks Mrs. Phips possesses a -granddaughter who, though not calculated to set the Thames on fire -with her cleverness, is a good girl enough as far as honesty, -truthfulness, and cleanliness go. She is greatly desirous of -"bettering herself," whatever that may be; and Mrs. Masters thinks -that if Miss Merivale don't mind the trouble of training her, she may -turn out a handy kind of girl. - -"I have just been recommended a girl called Flora Smart," remarks -Honor presently. "I believe she was with you for a time, Mrs. -Masters." - -"Yes, miss; for a very short time though, I'm thankful to say. I had -her to help with the children, and to give a hand when it was needed -to my own servant that I've had with me for years. She was an idle -hussy though, and didn't care to do anything but take the children -out. Ah, and they nearly met their death, or might have done, with -her wicked carelessness!" she adds with an involuntary shudder. - -"How was that?" asks Honor, impressed with Mrs. Masters' manner. - -"Well, miss, she had taken the two youngest out in the perambulator; -and from what I heard after I suppose that, when she got half-way -down Meadow Lane, there she saw some acquaintance of hers--a young -man it was; and as she thought the perambulator might be seen if she -took it with her, she just left it in the middle of the lane and ran -back round the corner, quite out of sight of the children. Well, -miss, it was market-day; and presently there came along the usual -drove of cattle, the drovers far behind. Fortunately the doctor was -coming along that way too, and recognizing them and seeing their -danger at once, he just took and wheeled them home to me, saying as -he brought them up to the door, 'I think your little ones will be -safer with you, Mrs. Masters, than in the middle of Meadow Lane by -themselves on market-day.' Dear! it did give me such a turn, to be -sure, miss; for he told me after that he quite thinks the -perambulator would have been overturned, some of the cattle were so -wild and unruly. Ah, a kind-hearted gentleman is Dr. Sinclair! He -would do anyone a good turn, from the highest to the lowest." - -"Dr. Sinclair!" repeats Honor. "Is that the name of the doctor here, -Mrs. Masters? I really didn't know there was a doctor here at all; -though I suppose there always is, even in a little village like this." - -"Dear me, now, Miss Merivale, to think that you don't know him even -by sight, and he often rides up your way too!" - -"I am generally too busy to notice many passers-by," says Honor -smiling; "but now I think of it, I believe I have heard the Mr. -Talboys mention him." - -"Ah, to be sure you would, miss; if 'twas only on his father's -account; though I'm not sure if the old gentlemen don't like the son -just as well, if not better. But you see, miss, it was the old -doctor that attended Mr. Benjamin with his broken ankle; I think they -were all boys at school together--so I've heard my husband say. Yes, -it was quite a blow to the old gentlemen when the old doctor died. -There! talk of the angel--why, that's the young doctor himself coming -up the road yonder. Now you can see him for yourself, miss. - -Honor lifts her eyes as a rider comes slowly up the remainder of the -steep hill which leads into the village. She sees a well-made, -broad-shouldered man, who cannot be much under six feet in height, -bestriding a handsome glossy chestnut, which in the matter of -muscular strength and powerfulness of build is as noticeable as his -master. - -Dr. John Sinclair appears to be deep in thought, for his eyes are -raised no higher than his horse's head as he sits flicking its ears -softly with the end of his riding-whip, a performance which the -creature apparently rather enjoys than otherwise, judging by the -tossing of its head, accompanied by little whinnyings of approval. -As he rides past the butcher's shop, though, the doctor raises his -head, and catching sight of Mrs. Masters smiles brightly and -courteously. As he lifts his hat, his eyes rest upon Honor with a -little inquiring expression. - -"Aye, that's just like him," says the woman with a gratified look as -she acknowledges the young man's salutation with a pleased little -bow, "he would lift his hat to a poor beggar woman just as quickly as -to a duchess; and that's what makes every one about here worship him -so. There's no thoughts of class or the like with Dr. John Sinclair, -miss; and one to him is as good as another, where there's help and -kindness needed. But there now, I am wasting your time, Miss -Merivale, as well as my own. My husband always tells me mine is a -terrible tongue to go, especially when any talk of the young doctor -comes up, for then I always feel as if I could never say enough for -him. Besides everything else he has done, he pulled my youngest boy -through with croup, when every one else had given him up; and I have -never forgotten that--no, nor ever shall. Well, miss, I think you -will do well to go to Mrs. Phips. I know her grand-daughter is a -decent sort of girl, though she ain't very bright. But I do think it -would be worth trying her, perhaps. Oh, no thanks needed, I'm sure, -miss," as Honor expresses gratitude for the information. "Good-day -to you, miss; and I hope the girl may suit." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -A VISIT FROM AUNT SOPHIA AND THE HORTON BOYS. - -After a tolerably satisfactory interview with Mrs. Phips and her -granddaughter Becky, Honor at length returns home, where she finds -unusual excitement reigning, all sorts of unexpected things having -happened in her absence. - -The moment her hand touches the latch of the gate Molly comes flying -down the garden to meet her, her eyes sparkling, her hair blown -about, her apron all awry. - -"Such news!" she cries breathlessly. "That nice clergyman has been -here, and he wants his little girl to have music lessons; so now I've -got a real live pupil, Honor! Isn't that _splendid_? To be sure -they can't give very good pay," she adds, a little ruefully, "but it -will all help, won't it?" - -"Of course it will, dear!" says Honor, kissing her. "I am so glad--" - -Molly cuts her short: - -"But that isn't all," she says. "Aunt's here, sitting with her -bonnet on as usual, though we've all had a try to make her take it -off. And mother seems quite cheered up. Well, then Hugh and Regy -arrived by the same train, Hugh nearly bursting with most important -news. Come along in; you can go and talk to them all while Doris and -I finish getting the tea. Oh, and give me the key of the -store-cupboard; I want to get out some of that lovely jam the Mr. -Talboys sent Daisy. The boys wanted to come and help in the kitchen, -but I shut them out and locked the door. I do hope Doris hasn't let -them in in my absence!" - -And being tormented with doubt on this score Molly retires in haste, -and Honor enters the drawing-room, where she finds Daisy, with the -assistance of Miss Celestine Ermyntrude Talboys--as she has persisted -in naming her doll,--gravely doing the honours to Hugh and Regy, -while her mother and aunt are seated close together in earnest -confidential conversation. - -In due course tea is announced, and as Mrs. Merivale expresses her -intention of joining them to-day, there is quite a large party when -Dick and Bobby also arrive home from a long ramble they have been -having in the woods. - -Lady Woodhouse, it appears, has come down with the intention of -having a good long chat with them all, and to see how things are -going generally. - -Hugh's important piece of news is that he, having "worked like a -nigger" for the last few months with a "coach," has sent in his -papers, and is awaiting the result anxiously, but hopefully too, his -"coach" having spoken in the highest praise of his ability when once -he had put his shoulder to the wheel. - -They have a very merry tea, and when it is over and the visitors have -returned to the drawing-room, Doris and Honor remain behind to clear -away and wash up the tea-things, while Molly goes to look after the -poultry. She is engrossed in trying to prevent Mr. Pincher and one -or two of the greediest hens from snapping up the entire supply of -maize and other luxuries, which she is scattering amongst them, -before their more modest companions can get a chance, when she hears -a clear tenor voice not far off ringing out the words-- - - "O, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, - All lonely waiting here for you, - While stars above are brightly shining - Because they've nothing else to do!" - -Molly listens a moment, and then turning the basket upside down, and -shaking out the last grains, she wheels about and faces Hugh as he -comes round the corner and stands before her. - -"It's a pity you have nothing to do but to go about singing such -nonsense," she observes. "It may be all very well for the stars, -perhaps--I don't know their ways and habits--but I should think _you_ -might easily find something else to do." - -"Well, so I can, and _do_ in fact, at least I have done lately," -returns poor Hugh confusedly. "Come now, Molly," he pleads, "don't -be hard on a fellow! I thought you would be so pleased with the news -I brought down to-day." - -"Well, so I am, of course; but," rather unkindly adds Molly, "you -hav'n't passed yet, you know!" - -Hugh looks a trifle hurt for a moment; but then he says quietly -enough: - -"No; you are right there, Molly. But if I fail this time I do think -it will be my misfortune rather than my fault; for ever since you -lectured me so on the subject of my work I _have_ worked with a -vengeance, and chiefly, I believe, for your sake." - -"Why, what nonsense, Hugh! Why in the world for my sake?" - -"Well, it's hardly likely I would want you to think that all your -words were thrown away on me--pearls before swine, you know, and all -that sort of thing. No; but seriously, Molly, I have done my level -best to deserve the little bit--the _very_ little bit, I'm -afraid,--of good opinion you have of me. Though I don't mean to say -that I hav'n't worked for my own sake too, and for mother's. But, -upon my honour, I don't believe I ever saw the matter in a proper -light until you put it so plainly before me, Molly. My mother has -often said a few words to me on the subject, of course, but no one -but you ever had the courage to tell me out to my face that I was -fast drifting into an idle, useless vagabond; and--" - -"I never said such a thing!" exclaims Molly, firing up indignantly. -"How dare you say I said what I didn't!" - -"Well, really, you know, you implied something of the sort. Now, -didn't you? But you won't let a fellow finish what he is saying. I -was going to add that no one had ever tried to show me what I might -have drifted into but you; and I shall always feel that I owe you a -debt of gratitude for it, whatever you may say to the contrary. And -I tell you what, Molly dear, I have felt happier during these few -months of hard work than I have for a long time past. It has roused -me, and given me a taste for work, and made me feel that there is -something worth living for beyond the little everyday pleasures of -life. Ah! I shall often think of my little mentor and the _d-u-s-t_ -she wrote on my books, when I am miles and miles away; that is if I -go," he adds hastily, anticipating any incredulous remark which Molly -may be about to make. - -"Of course you will go away, if it depends on your passing your -exam," says the girl quietly, as they go slowly back together by the -laurel hedge, she pulling off a dead leaf here and there. "I always -said that, if you remember; I mean that it rested with yourself, as -it were. You see, too, what your 'coach' told you." - -"Oh, hang the 'coach!'" exclaims Hugh disrespectfully. "I care a -hundred times more for your opinion than for old Dobson's; though -he's not a bad sort of fellow, and a perfect rattler at cramming." - -"Of course," says Molly demurely, "I know my opinion is of exceeding -great value; but, you see, I haven't been in the habit of _cramming_ -a lot of young men for a good many years past, and therefore his -experience may possibly be wider than mine. Now, come in, and talk -to mother and aunt; your train will be going before long." - -"Stop a minute," cries Hugh, catching her hand and detaining her -before she opens the door; "will you write to me if I _do_ go away, -Molly?" - -"Oh, yes," she replies graciously; "I'll write. And, look here, -Hugh, if you should go _very_ far away, say to China, or New Zealand, -or--or--Kamtchatka--I'll work you a pair of slippers--there!" And -with a grave, emphatic nod, she pushes open the door and runs into -the house. - -In the meantime Lady Woodhouse has been hearing all the news from -Doris and Honor, the former of whom is seated on a footstool at her -aunt's feet, her chin resting in her hands, and with a generally -doleful sort of air about her. - -"No, it's no use, aunt," she is saying. "I hate domesticating, and -that's all about it. I've tried my hand at everything pretty nearly, -and I think each has failed in an equally successful manner. A -beef-steak pudding is a thing to be spoken of with bated breath in -this house, ever since I made one, not long after we settled here. I -believe the whole family suffered from violent indigestion for a week -and more; and now if it is proposed to have a pudding for dinner, -someone--generally Dick or Molly--inquires in a most pointed manner, -'Who's going to make it?' I tried a treacle pudding one day, when -they had well recovered from the other; but I was so flurried with -thinking how in the world I should prevent the treacle from running -out at the ends that I forgot the lard altogether; so no one suffered -from the richness of the paste that day, because it was simply flour -and water. It doesn't seem to matter _what_ it is," poor Doris goes -on after a pause; "I even failed in boiling some potatoes the other -day, for the water all boiled away (I suppose I didn't put enough), -and I found the potatoes all stuck to the bottom of the pot, and -burnt horribly! And it's just the same in other things. If I feed -the chickens in the evening one of them is sure to be found either -dead or dying the next morning. The very milk goes sour if _I_ by -chance put it away!" - -"Hum--that's because you don't put it in the right place, I suspect," -remarks Aunt Sophia grimly. - -"Very likely; but that doesn't alter the fact that it _does_ go sour, -and that everything I have to do with is bound to go wrong in some -way or other. Now, aunt, _do_ take off your bonnet!" - -"I tell you I'm not going to, child," says Lady Woodhouse, holding on -to it with both hands. "You know very well that until my trunk is -unpacked I cannot get a cap, and sit bareheaded I will not. But if -you are so very anxious upon the subject you can take my keys and go -and find one." - -Molly, who has just entered, volunteers to do this, and after this -little interruption Lady Woodhouse says abruptly: - -"Well then, Miss Doris, I take it that you are not of very much use -in this establishment, eh?" - -"No, I am afraid not," answers Doris, looking rather crestfallen. -"The only thing I can do decently is needlework, and I _am_ of use in -that sometimes. Am I not, Honor?" - -"You are lots of use in all sorts of ways, Doris; only you allow -yourself to be so easily discouraged. But she does do plain -needlework beautifully, aunt; and, oh, there has been _such_ a lot of -mending and darning to do in the house linen since we came here. We -only brought what was very old. The best was all included in the -sale." - -"I don't believe it need have been," grumbles Doris in an undertone; -"but you know, aunt, Honor became quite _aggressively_ conscientious -by the time we were actually leaving. I declare I wonder she allowed -us to keep our own hair!" - -"_Doris!_" exclaims Honor, in the midst of a general laugh. - -"Very well, then," resumes Aunt Sophia, quite regardless of the -interruption, "you would not, I suppose, be missed from home so much -as one of the others. Now, how do you think you would like to go -abroad with your uncle and me for a time? Mind you," she adds -quickly, "it would not be a _short_ time probably; our travels might -possibly extend over a year, or even more. Now, the question is, can -your mother and sisters and these boys spare you--and can you spare -them?" - -Doris gasps. Poor girl! to travel is always what she has so greatly -longed to do. And her father had promised her that "he would think -about it one fine day." And now to have the chance after all, when -she had fancied it had gone for ever! No wonder Doris gasps with -delight as she looks eagerly round to read in the others' faces their -ideas on the subject. - -"I don't know yet when we shall be going," continues Lady Woodhouse, -without waiting for anyone to speak. "Your uncle has some law -business on hand, and he can't leave till that is settled; and -goodness knows when that will be. However, you'll want a little time -to get ready, won't you? And I think you might decrease your -mourning now, Honor, or certainly in another month. People don't now -wear the heavy crępe that they used, even for a parent. Oh, my cap? -Thank you, Molly." - -"I hope it is the right one, aunt," says the girl as she stands -waiting for the bonnet. - -"It can't very well be the wrong one, child, since I only brought one -with me. Did you think I would bring a dozen for a visit of two -days?" - -So at length, after a good deal of argument for and against, it is -settled that Doris is to hold herself in readiness to accompany her -uncle and aunt whenever they feel disposed to summon her. - -Honor does not disguise the fact that she will miss her sister not a -little. - -"Of course it is all nonsense Doris saying she is of no use," she -remarks, stroking Vic's soft drooping ears. "She has for one thing -taken Daisy and Bobby regularly to their lessons lately, and even -Dick has joined them sometimes, but somehow he and Doris don't pull -very well together on the subject of study, and I'm afraid just -lately it has been dropped altogether. Of course, when Doris goes -this will fall to me or Molly, but Molly would be as sorry as I -should to let poor Doris miss such an opportunity; and for aunt's -sake too we shall be glad for her to go. It is the least we can do -after all her goodness to us." - -"Tut, child," says Lady Woodhouse, "that is nothing; you are all good -girls, and I am glad to do anything I _can_ for you. But it seems to -me that Doris is the best, taking her altogether, to come with us to -see something of the world; and then, of course, she is the eldest." - -"Yes!" cries Doris, jumping up and clapping her hands; "and, who -knows, I may marry a duke yet!" - -"Marry a fiddlestick!" snaps Lady Woodhouse; and there the subject -drops for the present. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -BECKY. - -Just as Lady Woodhouse is about to take her departure two days later, -the new domestic, Becky Phips, arrives, accompanied by her -"gra'm'ther," who assists in carrying her small box and a mysterious -brown paper bag on which much care is lavished by Becky, and which -afterwards turns out to contain nothing more nor less than that young -person's "best 'at." - -Aunt Sophia, who is standing on the steps peering up and down the -road in search of the fly, now due, which is to convey her to the -station, catches sight of the girl as she goes round to the back -entrance, and raising her hands and eyes at the same time turns to -Honor, exclaiming-- - -"Good gracious, child! Where did you pick up such an -eccentric-looking piece of goods as that? Did anyone ever see such a -remarkable head! My dear Honor, mark my words: that girl will either -turn out extraordinarily clever or surprisingly stupid. She could be -nothing between the two with a head like that, you know. Let me -know, child, which she proves to be. I shall quite look forward to -hearing whether she is an unsurpassable treasure, or whether she -drives you all to despair and madness by her outrageous stupidity. -Ah, here's the fly! That's right. Now, Honor, don't forget. All -right, driver." And away goes Aunt Sophia, nodding her head out of -the window until a bend in the road hides the fly from view, and the -girls go indoors again to interview Becky. Certainly she is a -remarkable-looking young person; and many a grave discussion is held -as to the phrenological meaning of the enormous bumps on either side -of her head. To Becky herself they chiefly mean that not all the -bonnet-pins and hair-pins in the world will keep her cap straight; if -it is not leaning over too much on one side, it is sure to be on the -other. This imparts a rakish sort of air to the girl, which is -trying in the extreme to Mrs. Merivale. - -At last Dick settles the matter off-hand one day, by announcing once -for all that they are the bumps of hunger--the girl proving to have -an insatiable appetite, and the consumption of bread, potatoes, and -anything in the nature of pudding being truly astonishing--not to say -alarming--since her arrival at the Rookery. It does not take Honor -long to make up her mind as to what will be the report to her aunt -regarding the girl's possible cleverness or stupidity, for she -presently developes such an apparently inexhaustible fund of the -latter commodity as often to reduce the entire family to the verge of -frenzy. There are only two things which Becky appears capable of -doing with any regularity or determination, and these are "swilling" -the back-yard and letting the kitchen fire go out. Thus little -scenes are constantly taking place as follows: Mrs. Merivale -expresses a wish to have a cup of tea somewhat earlier than usual. -Honor goes into the kitchen. Kettle ostentatiously placed over what -was once a fire, but is now a depressing collection of black cold -cinders. - -Honor--"I thought I told you, Becky, _always_ to have the kettle -boiling by three o'clock. Just look at it." - -Becky (with cap awry)--"Ain't it boiling, miss? Why, I put it on -nigh two hours ago. I'm _sure_ I did!" - -Honor (desperately)--"What is the use, Becky, of putting the kettle -over a fire that has gone out. Oh, dear! oh, dear! I don't believe -I shall ever be able to teach you anything; I really don't!" - -Becky (resignedly)--"No, miss." - -Then perhaps Doris, in an unusually domestic frame of mind, will come -rushing into the sitting-room one morning, her arms full of the -little light muslin draperies with which, at small cost, she and her -sisters have so smartened up the scantily furnished bedrooms. - -"Now, girls," she cries, "anything in this line that you want washed? -Mother has actually trusted me with her lawn collars and cuffs. She -remarked (in a not very complimentary manner, I think), 'that at -least I could hardly do them _worse_ than old Mrs. What's-her-name -does them.' Yes, do you know, I really think I _shall_ develop a -talent for washing and ironing--so long as it is something light and -pretty--laces or muslins, or something. I feel that it is _in_ me -somehow. Now, don't laugh! I'm going to _dare_ Becky to let the -fire out, on pain of death or instant dismissal." - -All goes well and merrily for some time. The fire burns brightly, -the kettle sings, the boiler hisses; and Doris, also singing, and -attired in a big coarse white apron, stands over a small tub, her -pretty arms plunged up to the elbows in soap-suds. - -In the afternoon, however, loud and wrathful lamentations rend the -air when Doris, having enjoyed a well-merited lounge in the only -comfortable chair in the sitting-room, goes into the kitchen to -commence her ironing, and finds--a plentiful supply of irons indeed, -but carefully arranged before a fire which has been out a good hour -or more! Doris does not take these little _contre-temps_ so quietly -as Honor, so there ensues a stormy torrent of scolding on her side, -and mild protestations and feeble efforts at self-justification on -Becky's, until the latter finally retires in floods of tears into the -scullery, and Doris, being remonstrated with by Honor, rushes up to -their bed-room in a fit of the sulks and locks herself in. - -On the first Sunday that comes round, however, the whole family is -electrified by an unexpected talent, not to say genius, for -boot-cleaning, which Becky suddenly proves herself to possess. - -It has been noticed that from the neighbourhood of the wood-cellar -where she keeps all the paraphernalia of brushes and blacking, sounds -of one of Moody and Sankey's hymns have been issuing, pitched in an -unusually high key, and when, a little later, Becky places all the -boots in a row at the foot of the stairs, saying with pride, "There, -miss; I think I've made them look proper!" the girls feel that the -joyful sounds are accounted for. - -Indeed, as Honor, Molly, Dick, Daisy, and Bobby are all seated -afterwards in the little village church, on a conspicuous bench -without any front, and right under the reading-desk, the eyes of the -eldest girl travel proudly down the row of neat-looking boots and -shoes, till they reach Bobby's little high-lows, when her pride -receives a sudden shock, for right across the left one she notices -for the first time an ugly-looking crack, which will of a surety -develop into a split in a day or two. It is to be feared that poor -Honor's attention wanders from the sermon more than once that -morning, her mind being harassed and distracted with the constantly -recurring thought, that unless Bobby is to go almost barefoot he will -certainly have to be re-shod before that week is out. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -A DISASTROUS VISIT TO A FROG POND. - -But before that day is out Honor finds that there are likely to be -more troubles before her than the want of new boots. For Daisy, who -has been trusted to the care of Dick and Bobby for a long walk in the -fields, comes home with flushed little cheeks, cold feet and hot -hands, and while declining in her quiet, determined way to touch a -morsel of anything to eat, begs, almost with tears in her eyes, for -cup after cup of tea. - -"The child looks really ill," says Mrs. Merivale anxiously. "I can't -think what can have made her feverish so suddenly." - -"What have you been doing with her?" demands Molly of her two -brothers as she cuts bread with an energy almost terrible to behold. - -Bobby mutters something unintelligible about "frogs," his mouth being -full of bread-and-butter at the moment. But at length, after a -cross-examination of both boys, it turns out that Daisy, who is a -lover of anything in the way of an animal from caterpillars upwards, -has been standing for a good half hour and more on the wet, marshy -banks of a large pond, admiring the frogs with which it abounds. - -"I suppose the time passed quicker than we thought," Says Dick -apologetically. "It was such fun, you know; for some of them came -quite close to us. I had a job to keep Daisy from going right into -the shallow water after one old fellow, who was sitting up on a kind -of plank." - -"He was washing his face," explains Daisy in a husky little voice. - -"He wasn't," says Bobby; "he was scratching his ear!" - -"I don't believe they've got any ears to scratch," remarks Dick -placidly. "You'd better pile it on, young Bob, and say he was wiping -his eyes with a fine cambric handkerchief." - -"You should have been more careful, Dick," puts in Mrs. Merivale. -"You know how susceptible Daisy is to cold; and I'm sure we thought -you might be trusted with her." - -The poor boy looks terribly taken down at this mild reproof, for his -devotion to his little sister is great, and there is nothing he would -not do for her sake. He almost gulps, therefore, as he explains -further that he had tried in vain to make the child leave the spot -when once he had remembered how imprudent it was for her to be -standing there in the damp. - -At this point there is an unexpected diversion, caused by Daisy -demanding to be put to bed--a most unprecedented request, it being, -as a rule, her one aim and object to keep _out_ of bed as long as -possible. - -She is taken off, therefore, by Doris and Honor, having first kissed -Dick, and stroked his cheek with her feverish little hand, saying: - -"It wasn't Dick's fault, you know. I wouldn't come away from the -frogs when he wanted me to; so you mustn't scold him, mother, dear." - -As the evening wears on the child seems to grow so much worse that -Honor consults her mother as to the advisability of sending for the -doctor; and in a short time Dick is despatched with a little note -begging him to look in as soon as possible. He soon returns, with -the information that the doctor is expected in soon, and that the -note would be given to him at once. The boy has hardly hung up his -cap in the hall when a firm, brisk step is heard on the gravel path -outside, and in another minute (the front door being open) Honor, who -is crossing the hall, finds herself shaking hands with the young -doctor in as friendly a manner as if she had known him all her life. - -"I was out at rather an important case," he says, making for the -staircase as a matter of course, "when your brother left the note; -but I believe I caught sight of him just as he was leaving my place. -I was only half-way up that dreadful hill, and not near enough to -call to him, or I might have ridden on at once. My horse was tired -though, and when I found there was no immediate hurry I thought I had -better walk up and see the little patient. Is she in bed, Miss -Merivale?" - -"Oh, yes," Honor replies, leading the way upstairs; "and as soon as -we got her into bed she became very feverish. And she is dreadfully -restless, poor child. I hope," stopping abruptly on the landing and -facing the doctor, "I do hope, Dr. Sinclair, there is no scarlet -fever about here. She is so dreadfully flushed, and so thirsty that -Doris--Doris is my eldest sister--and I have been getting quite -nervous." - -"Do not alarm yourself on that score," says the doctor reassuringly. -"I can honestly tell you that there has not been a case of scarlet -fever in this healthy village for years. No; your little sister has -always looked to me a delicate child, and to tell you the truth I -have noticed lately that she has certainly become more fragile than -she seemed to be when you first came here. We doctors notice these -things where others would not, perhaps. Now for my little patient," -and he walks into the room, closely followed by Honor, never noticing -the painful flush which his words have called to the poor girl's face. - -"She has certainly become more fragile since you came here!" - -Yes; these words fall on Honor's heart like lead, and cause it to -feel as heavy; for has it not been her constant and painful -reflection that ever since they left the old life poor little -delicate Daisy, with the exception of White-star's milk, has had very -little of the nourishing, strengthening food to which she has been -accustomed ever since her birth. - -After a brief introduction to Doris, Dr. Sinclair makes a grave and -careful inspection of little Daisy. Presently, with his cool firm -hand resting on the child's forehead, he turns to the girls, and -speaking in a slightly lowered voice he says: - -"There is no danger of its being infectious fever of any kind. She -is suffering from a severe form of low fever; a thing that with so -delicate a child is even more difficult to treat sometimes. Her -constitution has completely run down, and she has no strength to -speak of at all. Has she had no appetite? What have you been giving -her to eat?" - -Honor flushes again painfully as she answers in a low voice: - -"She has had a good deal of milk lately, Dr. Sinclair; and sometimes -a little fowl--and--eggs, of course. And Daisy is fond of -milk-puddings; and--and in fact she has a great many puddings of all -kinds--" and here the poor girl breaks off suddenly, feeling in her -heart that it is not a very extensive list of dainties she has -enumerated. - -"But meat," says the doctor, turning smilingly towards Honor; "what -meat has she had? She wants good steaks and chops and strong -beef-tea, jellies and a little good port, and that sort of thing. -Hasn't she cared for meat lately?" - -The tears fill Honor's eyes and a lump rises in her throat, but she -swallows it down bravely; and turning a little away from the keen -eyes of the doctor, says sadly: - -"My little sister used to have all these things in my father's -lifetime, doctor, but since he--since he died we have not been so -well off, and," with a pitiful little smile, "we have not been able -to afford all these nourishing things which we know dear little Daisy -ought to have." - -Honor's face is almost as white now as it was flushed before, for the -effort to speak thus has been great. She turns towards the window, -but before she can reach it the doctor is at her side with -outstretched hands. - -"Forgive me," he says simply; "I had forgotten all your trouble. -Please forgive my careless, and what must have seemed to you, my -heartless words." - -"Indeed," replies Honor gently, and accepting his proffered hand, -"there is no need of forgiveness. You only spoke the truth, though -it sounded a little cruel at the moment; but it was my fault in being -so silly as to feel it," and she hastily wipes away two obstreperous -tears which have forced their way from beneath her lowered eyelids. - -"It was my unfortunately straight way of speaking," resumes the -doctor moving towards the bed again; "speaking right out what I think -without considering the consequences." - -"Unfortunate," repeats Honor, raising her eyebrows; "I should call it -a very good way of speaking. I think it must be dreadful to lack the -courage to say what one really thinks." - -"Oh, yes, of course," the doctor agrees; "but there are always two -ways of saying a thing, Miss Merivale; and I assure you I often get -myself into hot-water with my bluntness of speech, especially with -touchy old gentlemen whose ideas as to their ailments, either real or -imaginary, do not always agree with mine. Now then, I will tell your -mother what to do for the little patient if you will take me to her, -and I will send round a draught directly I get home." - -"Mother will be very pleased to see you, Dr. Sinclair, but please -give me all the necessary directions about Daisy. Doris and I will -have to nurse her, so it will be better." - -"Certainly. But is your mother ill, then?" - -"No, not _ill_ exactly," replies Honor truthfully; "but she is very -delicate and extremely nervous, and we, my sisters and I, always save -her all the trouble and anxiety that we can. Indeed," she adds -hastily, seeing a slightly incredulous expression pass across the -young man's face, "she would not be strong enough to do _anything_ in -the way of nursing." - -"Hum!" mutters the doctor grimly, and following Honor walks down to -the drawing-room, where Mrs. Merivale, with smelling-bottle close at -hand, is reclining on the sofa. It does not take the clear-sighted -doctor long to sum up this lady's character. - -"Full of fads and fancies," he thinks to himself as he stands, hat in -hand, answering the questions she puts to him concerning the state of -her little daughter. - -So, preferring to make Honor responsible in all matters connected -with the sick-room, he takes his departure as speedily as politeness -will let him, saying as he shakes hands with her that he will look -round early in the morning. By that time poor little Daisy is -considerably worse, the fever having increased greatly during the -night. Dr. Sinclair looks grave, and thinking it better to be open -with his "sensible little friend," as he calls Honor to himself, -tells her plainly that the child will in all probability be seriously -ill. - -"Do not alarm yourself unnecessarily as yet," he says kindly to her -and Molly, who with widely opened eyes is scanning his face -anxiously, "she is very young, of course, and although her strength -is at a very low ebb she will very likely pull through it quite -nicely. It is wonderful what children do go through. So we must all -cheer up and hope for the best." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -DAISY'S ILLNESS. - -About an hour after the doctor has gone that morning the garden gate -is rather hastily opened, and there is a ring at the door-bell. The -Mr. Talboys, in the last stage of anxiety, have arrived to inquire -about their little favourite. - -"Now, my dear Miss Honor," they both cry, each seizing one of her -hands, "is there _nothing_ we can do--either for the poor child or -for yourselves, you know? I am quite sure there must be something, -if we can only think of it. Calves-foot jelly now, for instance. -Mrs. Edwards makes most delicious calves-foot jelly. She shall make -some this very day--eh, Brother Ben? Yes, we'll call at the -butcher's on our way home and see if they have any calves' feet, and -if not, why, they must kill a calf, that's all." - -Then the two old gentlemen explain that they had met Dr. Sinclair in -the village, and he had told them about poor little Daisy--the first -they had heard of it; and so they had come right off to inquire -without delay. - -"And now," says Mr. Benjamin, taking the initiative for once, "you -must remember your promise, Miss Honor, my dear, to let my brother -and myself know at once if you can think of anything--no matter -what--that we can do for you. Now Priscilla, for instance. Don't -you think she would be a help if we sent her over to you for a few -hours every day? I don't mean actually for the nursing, but to give -assistance in a general sort of way in the house, you know. She is a -good-natured, warm-hearted girl, is Priscilla, and I am sure would be -glad to turn her hand to anything--eh, Brother Ned?" - -"Just so, just so," agrees Mr. Edward, planting his stick firmly on -the floor; "a very excellent idea, Brother Ben; but of course it is -to be exactly as Miss Honor thinks herself. And now we must not -waste her time any more. You will give Daisy the flowers, with our -love, and--oh, yes, I remember--the boy will be round by and by with -a few little things that we thought might be useful. Good-bye, -good-bye!" - -And before Honor has a chance of saying a word of thanks off the -brothers trot together, waving their hands smilingly to her as they -look back from the gate. - -It is a long, long time, however, before poor little Daisy can touch -any of the tempting and strengthening things which the kind old -gentlemen are constantly sending up to the house, for she soon -becomes so much worse that a little of White-star's milk, with -soda-water, is almost all she lives upon for some time. It is, -indeed, an anxious fortnight for all while Daisy--the pet and darling -of the household--lies so weak and helpless, and, in the intervals -between the attacks of fever, so patiently on her bed of sickness. -Her little frame is so wasted, and her weakness so great, that to -those watching around her it sometimes seems as if each breath drawn -might free the spirit from the little frail body. - -Through all this period of sadness and trouble Dr. Sinclair proves -himself a most kind and untiring friend. Indeed, before many days -are over the good-hearted young fellow is on perfectly familiar terms -with the whole family, and besides attending to his patient he looks -after each one individually, from Mrs. Merivale, whom he gets -gradually to like and pity, down to young Bobby, whom he finds on his -arrival one day prostrated with a violent bilious attack, an almost -inevitable consequence of his having taken both dinner and tea with -the Mr. Talboys on the previous day. At length there comes a day -when the doctor looks even graver than usual as he stands by the bed -of his little patient, who has become in those weary days of watching -almost as dear to him as a little sister might have been. And his -affection is warmly returned by Daisy, who looks forward with -feverish excitement to his every visit, lying with her great blue -eyes--now seeming so much larger in the thin, pale, little -face--turning ever towards the door, and gleaming with brightness the -moment the step of her "dear old doctor," as she calls him, is heard -outside. Once in the room his presence has a singularly soothing -influence upon the child; and more than once has the sleepless, weary -little body succumbed to the almost magnetic touch of his large, cool -hand, when, resting it firmly but gently upon her forehead, he has -stood and watched the heavy eyelids droop and droop, until, if only -for a few minutes, his little patient sleeps. - -Dr. Sinclair says very little as he makes his examination on this -particular morning. But as Honor follows him downstairs he turns -into the empty sitting-room, and taking up his hat and stick from the -table suddenly faces her. - -"Can you bear to hear the truth?" he asks abruptly. - -Honor feels her heart tighten at these ominous words, but she meets -the doctor's keen inquiring gaze unflinchingly, and answers bravely: - -"I would far rather know the worst than be kept in suspense." - -Then the young man gently and pityingly tells her that the next -four-and-twenty hours will decide whether little Daisy will live or -die, and that almost everything will depend on the care and attention -she receives during that time. - -"Do not be afraid for me," she says a little brokenly. "I am not one -to give way, you know; and I am quite strong, and perfectly able to -sit up for many more nights yet. When will you send the draught?" - -"I shall not send it at all," he answers briefly. "I would far -rather that this exhaustion should end, as I still hope it may, in a -healthy and natural sleep. But sleep the child _must have_ somehow; -so I shall look in about five, and, with your permission, Miss Honor, -I shall remain during the night to help watch my little patient." - -"Oh, how good of you!" exclaims the girl. "It will be such a relief -to feel that I am not responsible, as it were; not that I am -afraid--please, don't think that." - -Having thus arranged, the young man hurries off to get in all the -work he can before returning to the Rookery. He has not got far on -his road, however, when suddenly turning a corner he runs straight -against the brothers Talboys, who are hurrying from the opposite -direction. Before the doctor can open his mouth to speak, one has -seized the lapel of his coat and the other his arm, and -simultaneously they pant out the same question: - -"How is she? How have you left her? My dear Dr. John, we have been -so anxious, and we have been watching for you this hour or more; we -felt we couldn't trouble the family by calling to inquire this -morning." And Mr. Ned, who, it is needless to say, has quickly -out-distanced his brother in speaking, shakes the doctor's arm -roughly in his anxiety. - -"I left the poor child in a very critical state, sir," he replies, -trying to conceal his impatience at being detained thus unexpectedly; -"but I am returning there at the end of the afternoon, and should -there be any change, either for better or worse, I will try and send -you up a message." - -"Not for the worse, Dr. John?" repeats Mr. Ben, while both the kind -old faces express much emotion. "You don't look for a change for the -worse, do you?" - -"No, no, my dear sirs; God forbid that I should look for it. But as -yet I cannot tell, though to-night must decide the case one way or -the other. We will pull her through yet, Mr. Talboys, if it be God's -will; and if not--" - -A lump rises in the young man's throat which prevents his finishing -his sentence, and shaking off Mr. Ben's detaining hand as gently as -he can, he tries to make his escape. But Mr. Ned hurries after him, -and once more seizing his hand cries, with tears in his eyes: - -"Save her, Dr. John! only save the child, and my Brother Ben and I -shall owe you a debt of gratitude that we can never sufficiently -repay." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -DICK'S GOOD NEWS. - -The message which Dr. Sinclair promised the Mr. Talboys is despatched -about ten o'clock the same night by his own errand-boy, whom he has -brought with him to the Rookery and installed in the kitchen, in case -of his wanting anything from his surgery during the night, as also to -make himself useful in any way that he can in the house, all Becky's -energies being concentrated on keeping the kitchen fire in. - -The message is one that brings tears of joy and thankfulness to the -eyes of the soft-hearted old gentlemen, for it tells them that their -little favourite sank into a deep sleep about seven, and that if it -continues, as Dr. Sinclair hopes and thinks it will, all danger will -be at an end. - -The old gentlemen retire to their beds, therefore, in a happier frame -of mind than that in which they had left them the same morning. A -long, anxious night of watching follows, through most of which Dr. -Sinclair sits patiently, his large hand clasped tightly by Daisy's -little thin one, until he becomes too cramped almost to move, though -not all the agony in the world would have induced him to do so at the -risk of rousing his little patient. - -But presently, with the dawn, comes the knowledge that the little -girl will live, for she still sleeps soundly. It is only then that -Honor (on the doctor quietly persisting in her doing so) consents to -give up her place to Molly, and with a thankful heart she goes to -take the rest which, now that the suspense is over, she is obliged to -confess that she sadly needs. As the doctor returns to his own house -that same morning, he looks in at the Rosery, and delights the two -old gentlemen with the good news he has to tell them. Not very long -afterwards the brothers walk up to the Rookery together, but -declining to stir an inch beyond the doorstep, make their inquiries -of Doris--who comes out to see them--in a hushed, low voice, and -having intrusted her with the lovely posy of spring flowers which -they have brought for Daisy, go softly down the steps and gravel-walk -on tiptoe, that no sound may reach the room above, where lies the -little sufferer. - -Daisy, now having taken a turn for the better, makes rapid progress -for a little while; but once having left her bed, an intense weakness -and lassitude set in which take the united strength of the whole -family to battle against. For Daisy will not eat, unless someone -stands over her and compels her to do so. She becomes fretful too; -and being too young herself to see the necessity of trying to take -the strengthening food that is brought to her at intervals, she gets -quite cross, telling them all plainly that it is very unkind to tease -her so, and that if she likes to give the greater part of her dainty -food to Timothy (who is always in close attendance at meal-times), -she doesn't see why she shouldn't. So Mrs. Merivale implores, the -girls coax and persuade, and the doctor scolds a little sometimes, -till finding he must exert his authority, he proceeds to do so in a -manner which astonishes no one so much as the little lady herself. - -The effort once made, Daisy's appetite improves little by little, -until at length she gives very practical illustration of that -sensible French proverb, "_L'appetit vient en mangeant_." - -Every one (with the exception of Timothy, perhaps) is delighted with -this improvement, and it is now that Honor has reason to be so -grateful to the Mr. Talboys; for when once the little invalid is -sufficiently convalescent to take such things, jellies, both sweet -and savoury, strong soups, good old port (a hint as to which, -perhaps, Dr. Sinclair is answerable for), and, indeed, all the -nourishing things that can be thought of, are showered down upon the -household for little Daisy's benefit. - -It is a subject for deep thankfulness to Mrs. Merivale and her elder -daughters that, in their days of adversity, they should have been -thrown amongst such generous, warm-hearted friends; for although no -one actually puts the thought into words, they all know full well in -their secret hearts that were it not for the generosity of their two -kind old landlords, little Daisy would never have thrown off the -terrible weakness which assailed her when the actual illness was a -thing of the past. - -The day of the Messrs. Talboys' first visit to their little favourite -was an occasion to be remembered by all; so overcome with emotion -were they at first, and then so almost boyishly delighted when they -found that Daisy could manage to chat with them a little. Both the -old gentlemen's handkerchiefs did active duty for a few minutes at -first, but they soon recovered their spirits in presenting the child -with the little gifts, with which, as a matter of course, they had -come laden. - -The time allowed for the first visit soon slips away, however; but it -is arranged that directly Daisy is well enough to sit up for any -length of time, the Mr. Talboys shall come to tea with her one day. -They take their departure quite satisfied therefore, looking back and -nodding and smiling so many times that Mr. Ned, who is gradually -backing towards the stairs, is only saved from shooting headlong down -by Doris, who, appearing on the scene just at the critical moment, -grasps his arms and restores his balance before he knows where he is. - -From this time the days go on monotonously enough. The doctor comes -and goes, though not every day now, of course; and the two old -gentlemen trot backwards and forwards, always bringing something for -the little invalid, until her mother and sisters have to tell them -that they are fast doing their best to spoil their pet. - -Household matters also go on very much as before; and now that the -greater trouble is lifted off their shoulders, the same little -everyday annoyances and vexations begin to harass and worry the girls -again. Clothes wear out, especially boots and shoes. Then Becky one -day, with her cap more awry even than usual in the excitement of the -moment, suddenly announces the startling and pleasing intelligence -that "There ain't no more coals in the cellar than what'll light the -kitchen fire to-morrow morning!" - -Honor, too, begins to worry terribly about the entire cessation of -Dick's studies. Daisy (before her illness) and Bobby, she and the -other girls could very well manage between them, but Dick they feel -to be altogether beyond them; and many an hour is spent by Honor at -night, tossing and turning, and wondering what can be done for the -boy. - -One Saturday, when Daisy is promoted to the sofa in the sitting-room, -and, domestic work being over for the day, the others are all seated -delightedly round her with work, books, &c., Dick suddenly bursts -into their midst, wildly waving his cap in the air. - -"Hooray! hoo-ray!" he shouts. "You'll never guess what news I've -brought you, not if you guess for a hundred years! No more bothering -and thinking for you, Miss Honor, as to how you can contrive to get -your reprobate brother a decent education! Hooray!" and up goes his -cap to the ceiling, greatly to the peril of the gas globes. - -When the boy can be persuaded to calm down and talk like a reasonable -being, the good news is gradually extracted from him, and proves to -be as follows:-- - -The night before being Friday, and therefore practice-night at St. -Luke's, Dick had been prowling round the church as usual, in the hope -of having a musical treat from the organ, which in the hands of a -promising young musician (a native of the village), pealed forth -harmonies which flew straight to Dick's music-loving soul. As he -entered the half-lighted church, and made for a secluded corner where -he was in the habit of enjoying the choir-practice unseen, he -suddenly ran full tilt against the vicar, who was emerging from the -vestry. - -"Ah, my lad!" exclaimed Mr. Bolton, with a little gasp at the -collision; "have you come to listen to our practice? Perhaps you -sing yourself, do you?" - -"A little, sir," answered Dick shyly, as they moved more towards the -light together; "but I am _very_ fond of it," he added with -enthusiasm. - -"Why, now I see you better," exclaimed the vicar suddenly, "I am sure -I know your face! Don't you come with your sisters to church every -Sunday and sit just about there?" pointing with his stick. "Ah, I -thought so; and I have noticed how very much you seem to enjoy the -music, and that you have a fine clear voice of your own." - -And then it ended in Mr. Bolton asking him how he would like to join -the choir; and afterwards, greatly to his delight, he was actually -given a stall in the chancel and allowed to follow the choir as best -he could, one of the boys good-naturedly sharing his music-books with -him. All through the practice Mr. Bolton kept a sharp look-out on -Dick, noting with what evident enjoyment the boy joined in anything -that he was familiar with, while listening with rapt attention to all -that he was not. - -After it was all over he came up to the boy, who (the choir having -dispersed) was standing aloof, wondering whether he ought to thank -the vicar for his kindness, and placing his hand on his shoulder -kindly said, "I have asked Mr. St. John to stay behind after the -others have gone, I want him to try your voice;" and motioning to the -boy to wait, he disappeared into the vestry. - -Mr. St. John, the organist, expressed himself delighted with Dick's -voice, and when at last after a little kind encouragement and -pressing on the part of the young man he sang with genuine feeling -and taste Handel's thrilling recitative, "There were shepherds -abiding in the field," the delight of both gentlemen knew no bounds. - -After questioning the boy a little Mr. Bolton closed the interview by -telling him to come and see him on the afternoon of the next day. - -"And now comes the cream of the whole thing!" cries Dick excitedly, -after having given the foregoing information in a series of short, -spasmodic sentences. - -"After I had told Mr. Bolton that I most distinctly _should_ like to -join the choir, he asked me all the questions imaginable about my -education, and, oh, ever so many things that I can't remember now. -But to continue (as the books say), I let out that you were all -worrying about my schooling having to stop, and directly I said that -he quite brightened up, and told me that if I liked he thought he -could be of service to me about that. It seems, you see, that he -generally gives his chief choir-boys about four pounds a year; but -that would not be of very much use to me, he said (I thought to -myself it just _would_, though). And so he proposed that in return -for my services--my _services_, mind--he would carry on my education -with his own boy and the two pupils he has living at the vicarage. -'The more the merrier, my boy,' he said; 'and Mr. Holmes and I can as -well tackle _four_ as three youngsters like you.' Mr. St. John is to -train my voice, of course; and now, which of you girls can make a -surplice? And, oh yes, I forgot, Mr. Bolton is coming to see you -about it all to-morrow, mother. There now! don't you think I have -done a good day's work? _I_ do!" And up goes the cap to the ceiling -once more. "Ah! you little thought," he goes on, suddenly calming -down--"you little thought what I meant some time ago when I said I -had a plan in my head about something; but, honestly, you know, I -didn't expect it would turn out in this stunning fashion. What I -intended doing was to offer myself for the choir, you see, because I -guessed they paid something, though I didn't know what. And that is -the reason I have been going to the practices so much lately, trying -every time to screw up my courage to speak to Mr. Bolton. But now, I -suppose, you girls and mother will all think the education plan the -best, though I must say I think it rather hard on a fellow. But -still," he adds magnanimously, "if it takes a load off all your -shoulders, of course I shall be very glad." - -It need hardly be said with what delight Dick's news is received by -every one, and as she lays her head upon her pillow that night, Honor -thinks of her brother's words, and feels that a "load" is indeed -lifted off her heavily burdened shoulders. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -DORIS'S "KNIGHT OF THE WOODS." - -It is a lovely, warm day at the beginning of June, and Doris, having -made the beds in conjunction with Molly, and afterwards drifted round -the rooms with a duster in a desultory sort of fashion which, had she -seen her, would have driven energetic Honor well-nigh crazy, presents -herself in the kitchen where her sister is engaged in certain -culinary matters. - -"That soup smells good!" she remarks, as Honor, pepper-caster in -hand, gives a final stir round the saucepan over which she is -bending, and turns to confront her sister. - -"There is not much in it besides the pea-flour, and a flavouring of -carrots and onions--oh, and the bacon bone, which has been stewing -ever since the early morning. But it's cheap," Honor winds up with a -sigh; "and really Dick's and Bobby's appetites seem to grow larger -every day, to say nothing of Becky's!" - -"Well, I came to tell you that I can not stay indoors any longer on -such a lovely morning as this. I know it's no use asking you to come -too, because you would be certain to find some very good reason -against it. So, as Molly is going to the vicarage to give Dolly -Bolton her lesson, I shall just take my book and go and sit in Lord -What's-his-name's woods for a time." - -"He is not a lord, I tell you," says Honor rather testily, "any more -than you or I. He is only a baronet.--Sir Something Somebody, I -forget what now. It was only the other day that Mr. Edward Talboys -was pointing out the house (The Court, I think he called it) to me, -and he said that the owner was nearly always abroad, and that it had -been shut up for years in consequence." - -"All the better for us," remarks Doris. "Well, I'm off. Good-bye, -Honor; if I find any flowers worth having, I'll bring you some." - -Walking briskly along, Vic bounding forward in advance, elated at the -idea of a prolonged hunt, Doris and she soon come to the woods, and -climbing over a little stile, strike off down a path to the right -which they both seem to be familiar with. Following this for some -distance, Doris turns suddenly to the left, and in another instant is -in the most lovely little glade imaginable. The girls have named it -their "parlour," for it is carpeted with a rich emerald turf, which -is dotted over at intervals with numberless wild flowers of the -woods. Several trees have been felled at this spot, and the -moss-covered stumps afford capital resting-places, especially one -stump, which has two straggling sort of boughs behind it, thus -forming quite an inviting arm-chair. - -Opposite this is a curiously-shaped tree, which when once climbed -into makes a luxurious lounge for anyone who is lazily inclined. - -There being no one to embarrass Doris on this particular occasion by -watching her ascent into the tree, she is established there in a very -few seconds, and ordering Vic (greatly to the animal's surprise and -indignation) to "lie down," she opens her book and leans back -comfortably in her leafy couch. The minutes fly quickly, and the -book being an interesting one, Doris hardly raises her eyes from it -until a whole hour has sped away. Not till then does she become -aware that Vic has entirely disappeared from view, and is not to be -heard any more than seen. Doris sits up and looks round, with no -satisfactory result, however; and she is just screwing up her mouth -to whistle, when she is startled by a shrill cry away in the -distance, followed by a shout in a man's voice of "Drop it, drop it, -you brute!" - -Then in another moment Vic, with a young rabbit in her strong jaws, -bursts through the thicket to the right, runs across the glade, and -is at once out of sight again. She is closely followed by a tall, -broad-shouldered young fellow, who, while making one last abortive -attempt to rescue the unfortunate rabbit from its captor, catches his -foot in a straggling briar and measures his length on the soft turf, -almost at Doris's feet. - -"Now or never!" thinks the girl to herself, preparing to descend--for -with an exclamation which would doubtless have been suppressed had he -guessed his close proximity to a lady, the young man commences to -pick up first himself and then his hat. - -With a desperate jump Doris alights safely on the stump below; but, -as with a little less caution she prepares to leave that also, an -unkind branch above hitches itself into one of the bows of her hat -and whisks the whole erection off her head, so that when the young -man suddenly turns round he finds himself confronted by a hatless -young lady, who has apparently sprung from nowhere! They both look -up at the hat, then they look at each other, and burst into a merry -laugh. - -Lifting his hat, which he has just replaced on his head, the young -fellow says, "Really I must apologize for my very abrupt appearance. -I had not the least idea that anyone was here. I hope I did not -startle you very much. May I be permitted to inquire if you have -dropped from the clouds?" - -Doris indicates with a wave of her hand the place from which she has -descended, and without paying attention to the words addressed to her -says, "O, I wish you had been a little quicker! Do you think the -poor thing was dead?" - -His manner changes the moment he sees the genuine anxiety in the -young face looking up at him, and he answers gently, "O, yes, I think -so, certainly; and even if not then, I am very sure it must be dead -now. I wish too that I could have been quicker, though for my own -personal comfort I was rather disastrously so. I am afraid it is no -use going after them now. It is a game little dog: does it belong to -you?" - -"Yes, the wretched little creature! Who would have thought of her -going off hunting like that? I told her to lie down too." - -An amused twinkle comes into the young man's eyes. "You could hardly -expect her to do that, I think," he says, "especially in a place like -this. It would not be in dog's nature to do it, you know. Have you -been here long?" - -"Well, yes, I suppose I have," says Doris, glancing furtively at her -hat, which is wholly out of her reach. "My book was interesting, and -I forgot all about time and Vic too. I suppose it _was_ hardly -reasonable to expect her to keep quiet all that time." - -"I think so," says her companion with a smile. "Let me put in a word -for her and intreat your pardon on her behalf. But dear me, how -thoughtlessly I am behaving! allowing you to stand bareheaded in the -sun and never making an attempt to recover your hat for you." - -"It _is_ rather hot," remarks Doris somewhat reproachfully. "The sun -penetrates even this shady nook after a time;" and then she watches -with keen interest the jumps and snatches which are being made at the -refractory hat. "We call this our 'parlour,'" the girl goes on. -"Isn't it pretty here? But I really think you had better get up on -one of those stumps. I don't think you will ever get it down with -your stick." - -This advice being followed, the hat is captured in due course of time -and handed to its owner. Then jumping down he says, "O, your -'parlour' you call it? Well, I am sure it is a very lovely one. How -beautiful those shadows are! Do you know these woods well? do you -often come here?" - -"Yes, pretty often," replies the girl briskly. "Have _you_ ever been -here before?" - -"O yes, I know the place well; in fact I spent a good part of my -boyhood here. Will you think me very unpardonably curious if I ask -your name, and how long you have been living in Edendale? I know Sir -Charles Ferrars, and I don't remember his having ever spoken of any -new arrivals; and he generally keeps himself _au courant_ with the -affairs of the neighbourhood, though he seldom honours it with his -presence. That is why I ask." - -"No, I don't suppose he _would_ have spoken of us even if he had been -at the Court when we came here," says Doris a little bitterly. "We -didn't arrive here with a flourish of trumpets exactly. But I am not -paying attention to your questions. My name is Doris Merivale, and -we have been here, let me see, rather more than four months, or -_about_ four, I think. Now, I think you ought to tell me _your_ -name. One good turn deserves another, you know." - -"Exactly. My name is Ferrars--Lancelot Ferrars," he says carelessly -and a little absently. "In fact I am a distant relation of Sir -Charles." - -"Oh," says Doris, and subsides into silence. - -"Merivale!" repeats Mr. Ferrars softly to himself. "Have you an aunt -living in London, Miss Merivale, by name Lady Woodhouse? I am sure I -have seen your face somewhere before, and I can only think that it -was in a frame on one of her tables." - -"Very likely," remarks the girl sadly. "She used to be rather fond -of talking about her eldest niece, who was to have been presented at -the first drawing-room this season. Yes, she is our aunt. And so -you know her? Did she tell you of our come-down in the world?" - -"She told me," says Mr. Ferrars, looking kindly at the flushed face, -which showed the girl's bitter thoughts and emotions, "of the sudden -misfortunes of a sister and her family--not of any _come-down_, as -you express it. One need not necessarily come down with adversity, -you know." - -Doris looks gratefully at him, then swallowing the lump in her throat -she says, trying to smile, "No, perhaps not; but it makes one very -cross and discontented, I think." - -"Does it? You do not look either the one or the other, so far as I -can see." - -"O, you don't know what I am at home," says the girl shaking her head -gloomily. "Now, although I have certainly enjoyed my morning out -here, I have an uncomfortable sort of feeling (conscience, I suppose) -that I ought to be at home domesticating. But I am not above -confessing that I cordially _hate_ anything of the kind; and so I was -wicked and played truant and left poor Honor to do all the work by -herself." - -"Honor!--what a pretty name!" says Mr. Ferrars, while he -industriously peels off the bark from a little stick. "Is she your -domestic?" - -Doris breaks into a rippling laugh. "Honor is my sister," she says, -"and the dearest old girl in the world." - -"Is she much older than you?" - -"Older?---she is _younger_ than I am!" exclaims Doris, fairly -laughing out this time. - -"I beg your pardon," begins Mr. Ferrars, looking a little vexed, "but -I thought I understood you to say 'old girl' in reference to your -sister just now." - -"O, yes, I daresay I did," replies Doris checking her laughter; "but -that is a way we all have of speaking of her. She seems like a -little mother to us all, and appears to take a delight in all those -things which _I_ hate. Honor has always been the industrious one of -the family, and it was just the same in the school-room. Miss Denny -(our late governess) used to complain dreadfully of my laziness over -my lessons; and although I was supposed to be 'finished,' and was -going up to town for my first season, I am _sure_ I couldn't speak a -whole sentence in French without at least two mistakes. I used to -tell them all not to bother about me, because I had made up my mind -to marry a duke after I was presented and had 'come out;' then, you -see, I could have done just as I liked, and should always have had -everything done for me." - -"You couldn't have had French spoken for you though," objects Mr. -Ferrars smiling up at the girl, who is seated in state in the -arm-chair; "and I fancy even a duchess would sometimes be called upon -to speak another language than her own. Would _nothing_ less than a -duke do?" - -Doris shakes her head solemnly. - -"I had _quite_ made up mind to be a duchess, nothing more nor less. -But that is all at an end now," she adds with a little sigh. "I -suppose I shall remain plain Doris Merivale to the end of my days." - -"O, I don't know; why should you?" - -"Well, you see, all chance of a duke or anybody of that sort is quite -at an end now, and no ordinary person would care to have me." - -"Why not?" - -"Because I am such a useless sort of girl. Now, Honor, and even -Molly (Molly is another of my sisters), would I think make good wives -for poor men, because they seem to be able to turn their hands to -anything, whereas every single thing I undertake, no matter what it -is, is bound to fail. No, it's no use. I must make a good marriage -or live and die an old maid. Aunt says that is all I am fit for, and -she ought to know." - -"Which, a good marriage or an old maid?" the young man inquires -mischievously. - -Doris suddenly stops and laughs. - -"What dreadful nonsense I am talking!" she says half apologetically, -and blushing a little. "I never can stop myself when I once begin, -and I get dreadfully scolded at home for it. It is really quite an -event to have someone to talk to though, out of the family I mean; -and we are so horribly dull at home. I hope you don't think me -dreadfully silly?" - -"Silly! why should I?" says Mr. Ferrars kindly. "On the contrary I -like to hear anyone talking naturally, and I assure you I have been -very much interested in all that you have told me. Are you fond of -pictures?" - -"Yes; that is, I like looking at them _very_ much, but I don't -understand them in the least. Honor is the one for that sort of -thing." - -"Does your sister paint, then?" - -"Yes, she really paints well, I believe; and just before poor father -died, and we became so horribly poor, she was going to have lessons -from some good artist. But of course it all came to nothing. Poor -Honor was bitterly disappointed." - -"I am _sure_ she must have been," says Mr. Ferrars feelingly. "I -know what I would have felt under the circumstances." - -"Why, do _you_ paint, then?" inquires Doris, opening wide her bright -blue eyes. - -"Yes, oh yes; I paint a little," he answers smiling. - -"Then you are an artist, I am sure!" exclaims the girl eagerly. "I -was trying to settle in my own mind whether you were in the army or -an artist. I was sure it was one of the two. Ah, you wretched -little creature, here you are at last!" - -This last remark is addressed to Vic, who with depressed tail and -ears has suddenly appeared before them, looking guilty to the last -degree. - -"Don't scold her now, poor creature!" says Mr. Ferrars, stroking the -dog's head encouragingly. "You promised to let her off, don't you -remember?" - -"Very well," says Doris, "I'll forgive her this time. Good -gracious!" she exclaims after a little pause, "just look where the -sun has got to. Why it must be one o'clock or more!" - -"It is a quarter past," says Mr. Ferrars consulting his watch; "and -that reminds me if I don't put my best foot foremost I'll not catch -my train." - -"Are you leaving Edendale then?" - -"Yes, I am only passing through the place; but I could not resist -taking a walk in the woods on this lovely morning. Are you in a -hurry too?" - -"My goodness, yes!" exclaims Doris excitedly, "I ought to have been -home ages ago." - -"I am so sorry," says Mr. Ferrars holding out his hand, "that I -cannot accompany you home; but I fear it is impossible. I shall hope -to meet you, however, some day at your aunt's. Good-bye, and thank -you for the pleasant hour's talk we have had, and which I have -thoroughly enjoyed." And first stooping to pick up Doris's book from -the grass, on which it has been lying unnoticed ever since it fell -there, he lifts his hat and walks away at a brisk pace, looking back -once, before he turns off the path, to smile and wave his hand to her. - -"A nice unaffected little girl," thinks Lancelot Ferrars to himself -as he walks quickly towards the station. "I hope I shall see her -again some day, poor child!" - -And Doris, as she calls Vic to follow her, says softly to herself, -"Lancelot! Lancelot Ferrars! What a pretty name! And what a nice, -gentlemanly fellow he seems. Just the sort of man poor father would -have liked, I think. I wonder if I shall ever see him again. I -suppose not." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -HONOR ANSWERS AN ADVERTISEMENT. - -When Doris gets home she finds them all seated at dinner, partaking -of the pea-soup, which appears to be popular. Honor and Molly seem -to be rather elated about something concerning themselves, and Doris -is inclined to be put out at the scant attention they give to the -account of her adventure in the wood. - -Only Dick and Mrs. Merivale appear at all interested in her story; -the former beginning without loss of time to tease his sister about -her "knight of the woods." When there is once more a little quiet, -it transpires that the postman has arrived in Doris's absence, and -besides bringing letters for Mrs. Merivale and Molly, from Hugh -Horton, telling them of his having obtained his commission, and of -the probability of his leaving soon for Ireland after all, there is -one for Doris from her aunt, and also a newspaper with an -advertisement marked with a large cross in red ink, to which Lady -Woodhouse begs Honor will give her particular attention. - -This is to the effect that persons with any knowledge of painting can -easily earn a pound weekly, by painting on tin--the latest novelty in -art, and greatly in demand. Then the advertisement goes on to say -that by applying at a certain place in the town, those desirous of -taking up this very remunerative employment can be instructed in this -branch of art in two lessons, at one-and-six each. - -"So you see I have made up my mind to go and inquire about it all -this very afternoon if I can get away," says Honor folding up the -paper. "Just think, if I can earn a pound a week, what a difference -it will make to us! With that and what Molly makes by her teaching, -we shall really be getting along quite famously. O, and that reminds -me: have you told Doris about your probable new pupil, Molly?" - -"No, but I was just going to. It seems that some new people have -taken the house opposite the Vicarage, and Mr. Bolton has spoken to -them about me. There are several children, I believe, and he seems -to think that if I get the eldest girl on well (if I have her at all, -that is) I may have the others when they are old enough. I fancy -they are not very aristocratic sort of people: retired bakers or -something, but they have lots of money, so I shall hope to get good -terms. I shall have to bring all the dignity I can muster to the -fore, I expect, for Mr. Bolton said in his quaint, quiet way that he -was 'afraid they were not very good children from all he heard;' so -if he confesses to that much you may depend upon it they are pretty -bad. I am going to call on Mrs. Hallam, that is the bakeress's name" -("_Molly!_" exclaims her mother), "to-morrow," continues that young -lady unmoved, "so then I shall know all about them. O, by the by, -Hugh says he shall very likely run down to-morrow afternoon. What -does aunt say, Doris?" - -"Aunt?" says Doris, who has been absently looking out of the window. -"Oh, she tells me she may want me to join her next week; but uncle's -business is still a little uncertain, so it may not be till the week -after. She has sent me five pounds to get myself a few new things. -Kind of her, isn't it?" - -"O, you lucky girl!" exclaims Molly. "How I wish someone would give -me five pounds to rig myself out with!" - -"You will be _earning_ as many soon, Molly, and that will be better," -says Doris with a little flush. "If I were not such a poor useless -creature I might be at home doing something too, instead of going -away from everybody for ages!" and to everyone's surprise the girl -suddenly bursts into tears. - -The general consternation caused by this unexpected end to the -conversation does not prevent plenty of loving sympathy being shown -towards Doris. Poor little light-hearted Doris! who, though -overwhelmed with joy at first at the prospect of travelling, now -discovers down in the depths of her soft little heart a feeling which -amounts to nothing less than dismay, now that she is brought face to -face with the fact that before many more days have passed over her -head she will have to say good-bye to the mother, sisters, and -brothers from whom she has never before been separated beyond a week -or two. - -Molly comes to the rescue presently with one of her short, practical -remarks, having first suppressed Dick, whom she--not Doris -fortunately--has heard to mutter something to the effect that his -sister "is fretting because she will never see her 'knight' again." - -"Well now, cheer up, my girl," she says briskly. "Eighteen months or -even a couple of years will slip round and carry you with them before -you have time to look about; and just think what an awfully jolly -time we shall all have when you come home again! Now," proceeding -coolly to tuck up her frock and pin it behind her, "who's coming with -me to help Becky clear away the dinner things and prevent her -smashing them all? O, dear me, Dick, how you do worry! _Do_ go out; -there's a good boy. Now, Honor, if you want to catch that next train -you had better be off to dress. We will leave mother and Daisy to -rest quietly together, and Doris will come with me, won't you?" - -Thus running on she carries her sister off with her, and it is not -long before plenty of laughter is heard from the regions of the -kitchen, Becky having retired into the depths of the wood-cellar to -black Honor's boots. - -No. 3 Prospect Road, which is the address given in the advertisement, -does not look a very flourishing sort of place in Honor's idea. -There are a few little insignificant pictures in the window, chiefly -water-colour and crayon drawings, very indifferently executed; a -portrait of a severe-looking lady, half of it very dark, half -restored presumably to its former state; some frames, looking rather -the worse for wear; and a few artists' colours scattered about -indiscriminately. Behind these a dirty-red curtain is drawn, giving -a sort of private air to the interior of the shop. - -Honor had expected to see some imposing studio, where perhaps -photography was carried on also, and it is with a feeling of -disappointment that she turns the handle of the door, after having -looked once more at the advertisement to make sure she has made no -mistake. - -As the girl enters the shop, a fat little man emerges from behind -some lumber which is piled up at the other end, and coming forward -and rubbing his hands begins to talk very quickly, with a strong -German accent. Gesticulating and chattering the whole time, Mr. -Nathan (that being this gentleman's name) proceeds to show Honor some -specimens of the painting on tin, which are certainly very pretty. -Some, about a foot square, representing charming little winter -scenes, consisting merely of a foreground of snow, innumerable firs, -a frozen stream with a rustic bridge, a church, through the windows -of which a comfortable-looking red light streams, and a background of -peaky snow-clad hills. Others represent waterfalls, with the usual -surroundings, and others are simple rustic scenes. - -Now, Honor is quick enough to see that beyond the knowledge of -preparing the tin for the application of the colours, there is no -instruction needed at all; at least for herself, and in the course of -conversation she is more than once led to suspect that she knows more -about painting than Mr. Nathan himself. So she plainly tells the man -that the two lessons mentioned in the advertisement will not be -required in her case, and that if he will supply her with the tin, -and tell her the secret of the preparation, that will be all she -needs, finishing up with the inquiry of how many little pictures he -expects her to do for the stated pound a week. - -"I have everything else that I require," says Honor, anxious to -conclude the bargain. "You will see by these that I know something -about painting;" and with very pardonable pride she places before the -astonished little man several sketches which her former master, who -was no mean artist, had pronounced "excellent." - -Mr. Nathan looks with supreme and undisguised astonishment first at -the sketches and then at Honor. Then he pulls himself together, and -with many "hums" and "haws" and waves of the hands he says, "But -pardon me, my dear young lady, will you be so obliging as to look -once again at my advertisement, which I fear you do not rightly -comprehend?--or stay, I have a paper here;" and running his dirty, -fat forefinger down one of the columns he at length stops and points -out to Honor the words, "One pound a week may be earned," &c. &c. -"You see, mees, it does not say I myself will give one pound. I give -two lessons, one-and-six each; then my pupils paint the views, four, -six, what they please, and I put them in my window and on my counter, -so; then customers will come, and one will say 'I will buy this,' and -another 'I will buy that.' And sometimes many are sold, and -sometimes also _none_. It depends much"--with a little shrug--"on -the merit of the painting, without doubt; and therefore, my dear -young lady, yours would sell well, _ve-ry_ well, I should say. The -commission I charge is not much, and--" But here Honor, who begins -to see through the old impostor, interrupts him, and moving towards -the door says, "Thank you, I think it is useless to continue the -conversation. I understood from your advertisement that you could -offer employment for which you would give certain payment. But it -seems to me," she adds with justifiable warmth, "that the only -_certain_ part in the matter is the fact that your possible pupils -would be paying _you_ for the two lessons, which I notice are made -rather a point of in the advertisement. Good-afternoon!" And poor -Honor, trembling with suppressed indignation and disappointment, -hurries out of the shop and is out of sight before the old man can -recover from his astonishment. Thoroughly disgusted and discouraged -by the result of her expedition to the town, poor Honor gets back to -the station with all possible speed, and before long is safely -ensconced in a corner of a third-class carriage, where, finding -herself alone, she indulges in a good cry, which somewhat relieves -her feelings; though she cannot, poor girl, forget the dreadful fact -that the three shillings expended on her fare there and back have -been utterly wasted and thrown away. She has dried her eyes again, -and is trying, with her usual common sense, to reconcile herself to -the loss, which cannot now be helped, when suddenly, just as the -train is about to start, the door of the compartment is flung wide -open, and a stout little elderly gentleman shoots past her right to -the end of the seat opposite, while a good-natured-looking porter, -who is standing on the step closing the door, says, touching his cap, -"There weren't no time for the 'firsts,' sir; they be right at the -other end." "Thank you, thank you," gasps the old gentleman, sitting -up and straightening his hat, "this will do very nicely, very nicely -indeed. Dear me, now, what a fortunate, I may say providential -thing, that my brother was not with me! Why, bless my soul, if it's -not Miss Honor!" And leaning forward Mr. Edward Talboys, for he it -is, seizes the girl's two hands and shakes them up and down in such a -kind, affectionate manner that Honor, still feeling a little -hysterical, has hard work to keep her tears from rising again. "And -now," says Mr. Ned, who, though he appears not to do so, notices the -girl's pale cheeks and swollen eyelids--"now, you must tell me where -you have been and what you have been doing. Wait a minute, I mean to -have a guess. You have been, perhaps, to see your kind old friend -Mrs. Horton? or perhaps that very excellent old gentleman Mr. -Dobson--no, Hobson, who came down with you when you paid your first -visit to the Rookery?" Honor smiles and shakes her head. "Then -perhaps," says the old gentleman, with his head on one side, "you -have been doing a little shopping?" - -"No, not shopping, Mr. Talboys," says the girl with a tremulous -voice; and then, longing for a little sympathy, she tells the whole -history of the advertisement from beginning to end. - -Mr. Ned works himself into a regular heat over the story, and for -some time Honor scarcely knows which predominates--indignation at the -man or pity for herself. First he is for taking the next train back -again and giving Mr. Nathan "a good round piece of his mind," as he -expresses it. Then he calms down a little, and shaking his head -solemnly, says, "A hoax, my dear--nothing but a rascally hoax to -extort money. You may see the advertisements every day in some form -or another. The paper is full of them. Now, if only you had come -and asked our advice about it. But dear me, how should a young girl -like you know that there are such cheating rogues in the world!" -Then, after a few more remarks of a similar character, Mr. Talboys -leans back in his seat for a while quite lost in thought, and it is -not until they are nearing the little station of Edendale that he -rouses himself again. - -He startles Honor, who has also been wrapped up in her own thoughts, -by suddenly leaning forward and saying, "Now, can you find time, my -dear, to run up to us to-morrow morning--any time, any time after -breakfast that is convenient to yourself, you know? I am inclined to -be interested in this painting on tin of which you have been telling -me, and I should like to know more about it. I should like my -brother Ben to hear something about it too. With his artistic taste, -I am sure he will be deeply interested in the subject. Now, what -time would you like to fix, Miss Honor,--shall we say eleven? Are -you _quite_ sure that will be convenient?" Honor satisfying Mr. -Talboys on this point, they part outside the station gates; and while -the old gentleman trots off to the village on some -suddenly-remembered business, Honor, with a heart lightened and -cheered by his kindness and sympathy, goes her way towards home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -THE MR. TALBOYS RESORT TO STRATEGY. - -On arriving at the Rosery the next morning Honor finds the two old -gentlemen waiting in the garden to receive her, both in an unwonted -state of excitement. For they have been arranging a little plot -together, which they are burning to disclose (partially) when the -right moment shall arrive. - -Mr. Edward had gone home the evening before with his thoughts running -on the tin painting, and pinning his brother Ben by the button-hole -without loss of time he told him of a plan which he had thought of -for Honor's benefit, and which only required discussion with him, Mr. -Benjamin, to be carried into instant effect. - -"And although I should still like to break Mr. Nathan's head with -this stick," says Mr. Edward to his brother, and shaking the said -stick menacingly, "I cannot help feeling grateful to the rogue, Ben, -for having, as it were, paved the way for our helping Miss Honor, -poor child, in a manner which cannot possibly hurt her feelings. -That was a good thought of yours, Ben, a capital thought, about -Spaull the picture-dealer. If this tin painting is to come into -vogue for a time--and I suppose it will from what Miss Honor said--he -will be just the man to place the paintings with; and of course we -must bind him over to strict secrecy as to our part in the business, -eh, Ben?" and Mr. Ned nudges his brother playfully with his stick. - -"Yes," answers Mr. Benjamin, nodding and smiling. - -"Why, bless me," adds Mr. Ned, "we shall have to do quite a nice -little piece of acting. But here comes Miss Honor. Now we shall see -what she says to our plan. Mind you must be very careful, Ben, not -to let the cat out of the bag--you run on at such a rate sometimes, -you know; and it would never do for her to think we were paying for -the paintings in the first instance, though of course it will be -quite the same to us when Spaull refunds the money." And here they -trot forward to open the gate for Honor, who has just reached it. - -After inquiring rather breathlessly as to the welfare of the roses at -the Rookery, and Molly's real, honest opinion about them, they dash -straight into the subject of the painting. - -"We have been talking it all over, Brother Ben and I, and it seems to -us that with your gift for painting, my dear, you might make a very -nice thing of this. Now, we happen to know a man in the -picture-dealing trade, a Mr. Spaull, a most respectable man, who -would be just the very person to suit our purpose; and what we -propose--" - -"Yes, what we propose," repeats Mr. Ben, nodding at Honor. - -"Is," resumes Mr. Ned, "that you shall paint so many pictures, -varying in size and style perhaps, for a fixed price, which will be -paid--be paid by--by--" - -"By the _party_," says Mr. Ben, frowning a little at his brother. - -"Exactly--by the party," repeats Mr. Ned. - -"Mr. Spaull," quietly suggests Honor with a smile. - -"Just so, just so--Mr. Spaull, of course!" cry both the brothers -together. "Dear me, how very warm it is this morning!" continues Mr. -Ned. "Did I say that this--er, this _person_ would pay for the -pictures at once, on completion, you know? and sell them at his, that -is to say, Mr. Spaull's convenience?" And Mr. Ned, concluding rather -abruptly, looks helplessly towards his brother for encouragement. - -"The fact is," remarks Mr. Ben, coming nobly to the rescue, "my -brother is apt to become a little confused when speaking of this -firm. There are partners--" - -"Yes, yes; partners!" cries Mr. Ned delightedly. "Two partners!" - -"_Three_," corrects Mr. Ben; "although only the one name, that of -Spaull, appears. I think my brother wants you to go up to the town -with him to-morrow, to the proper art shop there, where, he says, you -can provide yourself with the necessary materials, and get what -information you require respecting the preparation of the tin at the -same time." - -"Yes, that is exactly what I mean, my dear Miss Honor," says Mr. Ned, -nodding approvingly at his brother. "And while you are seeing to -_your_ business, _I_ will go and have a talk with Mr. Spaull. You -see, I think it will be so much more pleasant if you transact your -business with him _through_ me, as it were. So what do you say to -going with me to-morrow? When I say 'me,' of course I mean _us_. -Brother Ben will like to give his opinion as well, I am sure, and we -all know what a valuable one it is on a subject like this. Don't we, -Ben?" - -It is useless to try to describe poor Honor's delight and gratitude -at this kind thought of her old friends. As they all go down the -little drive together, she tries to say a few words of thanks, first -to one, and then to the other; but the brothers have so much to say -on their own account that she cannot get a word in edge-ways. When -they reach the gate, Mr. Benjamin takes Honor's hand, and tapping Mr. -Edward on the shoulder with his walking-stick, says: - -"My brother here is taking such an active part in the management of -this little affair, that I hope, my dear, you will allow _me_ to -purchase for you all the materials which you are likely to require; -merely as a set off against his part in the business, you know," he -adds hastily, "for I can see plainly that he will become quite -conceited if he has _everything_ his own way." - -Honor, with her almost over-scrupulous objection to accepting -anything which actually costs money, hesitates a moment, but she sees -such a look of disappointment creeping over the old man's countenance -that she quickly changes her mind, and thanks him for his kindness -with such a beaming face as to effectually set at rest any fears he -may have had at first of having offended her. - -As Honor walks home she takes herself to task about what some people -have called her _fault_ of independence. - -"I wonder whether I _do_ carry it too far sometimes," she says to -herself. "Mother and Molly say I do, and Molly at any rate has a -very fair amount of independence in _her_ composition. I suppose if -shown too much it amounts to ungraciousness, as I know it did with -dear Mr. Ben just now, though I do hope I made up for it afterwards. -Yes, I suppose I overdo it sometimes; and I know Dr. Sinclair thought -so the other day, when he spoke so kindly of there being plenty of -time for sending in his bill. I _know_ I answered him ungratefully, -and as if we had ten thousand a year at least, when he knows just as -well as I do, I daresay, that ten thousand pence is much nearer the -mark. I felt what an idiot I had made of myself, with my nasty, -false pride; for where in the world the poor man is to get his money -from at all _I_ can't see, unless anything really comes of this -painting and I can save up. Yes, it is all very well; but where, I -wonder, would I have got the money for the tin and things, if good -old Mr. Ben had not taken it upon himself to buy them. I am sure I -am thankful enough now that he told me he would, especially after -wasting those three shillings yesterday. O, dear me, I hope the Mr. -Talboys know how grateful I am to them! I wonder what would have -become of us all since we came here if it hadn't been for them. Ah, -well! I must try and remember in future that real, proper -independence is a perfectly different thing from the feeling which I -know has been growing on me lately, and which I am _sure_ now is -false pride. Aunt was quite right in what she said to me the other -day; I am afraid I do not consider the feelings of others enough -sometimes." - -Therefore it comes about that Honor has a softened manner with her -from this time. Not that it is in the girl's nature ever to be -anything but gentle and kind to every one around her. But, -nevertheless, there is a _something_ different now which causes her -mother to say, "Ah, poor girl! anyone can see what a load is lifted -from her shoulders, now that she has the prospect of making a little -money." - -And Doris says to Molly one day, "Honor is not so excruciatingly -particular in the spending of a penny or so as she used to be, is she -Molly? Poor old girl! I'm afraid the struggle to make the best of -our poverty has been a hard one for her---harder than we think, I -expect, for she is not one to _say_ much, you know. She never talks -openly about what she feels, as some people do." - -"No," says Molly. "Honor's a little brick, there's no doubt about -that; and it is plain to see that this painting, for which she is -sure to be properly paid, is an immense relief to her mind." - -It is now that the attic which the Horton boys had taken such pains -to fit up, comes to be thoroughly appreciated. - -Honor and the Mr. Talboys have paid their visits respectively to the -ironmonger's (where Mr. Benjamin was with difficulty prevented from -purchasing a whole roll of tin), to the art material shop, and to Mr. -Spaull's the picture-dealer. To this last, however, Mr. Edward -preferred going alone, telling his brother with a very palpable nod -and wink that he is sure Miss Honor will like to have a look at the -shops, and that it will save time, therefore, if they separate for a -while. - -Well supplied with everything she can possibly need, Honor now -snatches every spare moment and spends it in the "studio," painting -away with an energy which Doris and Molly declare takes their breath -away. Sometimes Daisy sits up there, cosily curled up in the most -comfortable arm-chair. But this does not happen very often, as the -smell of the oils and turpentine turn the child faint. - -Molly, however, who has taken to "reading herself up," as she calls -it, is often up there, and may be found in her favourite attitude -when particularly absorbed in anything--her elbows planted on the -table, and her fingers buried in her hair. - -Doris at this time is much taken up with needlework, her five pounds -having been expended chiefly in materials for underclothing, boots -and shoes, and other really necessary things for a prolonged visit -abroad. - -"I would far rather your aunt found you a little badly off as regards -dresses or hats, than in linen and such things," said Mrs. Merivale -sensibly. "Your aunt is a generous woman, and if she finds that her -present has been wisely spent, I do not suppose she will let you -suffer in the matter of dresses." - -So between them all they had managed to cut out these garments, and -Mrs. Merivale and Doris are busily engaged in making them, with -occasional assistance from the others. - -Doris, therefore, is often to be found upstairs also; and Honor and -Molly, having suddenly awakened to the necessity of their sister -being able upon her arrival on foreign shores to say a sentence or -two in French without utterly disgracing herself, they form a sort of -class, which Doris (under protest) is made to join. - -"And for one whole mortal hour," said Doris, complaining to Hugh -Horton afterwards, "did we sit like three noodles, hammering away at -French conversation, Molly with a huge dictionary at her elbow, and -both she and Honor pretending they liked it. You may imagine that -_my_ remarks were few and far between. They call it 'rubbing up' my -French, you know; and I'm sure it is all labour thrown away, for all -the rubbing up in the world, even with the best French polish, would -never make me express myself decently in any language but my own. -And to tell you the truth, Hugh," lowering her voice, "I am not -always so _very_ confident of doing that. It's dreadfully shocking, -of course, but none the less true." - -And so there is often quite an industrious party to be found up in -the attic studio, with the windows wide open, letting in the sweet -soft air, laden with the scent of the rich grass (so soon to fall -beneath the scythe), and the multitudes of early summer flowers; and -the girls feel that they are happier in their busy useful life, even -though there are still crosses and trials for all to bear at times, -than in former days, when living a life of luxury and ease. There is -one never-to-be-forgotten sorrow which all share, however, and though -some time has elapsed now since their kind and indulgent father -passed away, his memory is still as fresh as ever in their young -minds. It is, indeed, a common thing with them all, even still, to -study what probably would have been his wishes in settling little -matters concerning their own affairs, saying to themselves, "I wonder -if father would have approved," or "I think that would have pleased -father," showing, therefore, that the good influence of his gentle -though firm training still remains with them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -TWO DEPARTURES. - -The month of June goes on auspiciously both out-of-doors and in at -the Rookery. Besides having brought the rose-trees to a state of -perfection, which charms and delights the Mr. Talboys beyond measure, -Molly has secured not only one, but two of the retired baker's -daughters for music pupils. Indeed, Mrs. Hallam is so charmed with -the progress that Violet and Lilian (who are really musical by -nature) are making in the hands of their clever little instructress, -that she, Molly, is promised the whole family (which is numerous) in -succession so soon as each one becomes old enough. - -To be sure, Violet and Lilian Hallam give poor Molly a good deal of -trouble between them, their tempers being anything but sweet; but she -is not a girl to brook the slightest disrespect or impertinence from -anyone, much less from a child who is under her own control for the -time being. The consequence is, that having found this out for -themselves in their very first lesson, and discovered that their -usual method of treating their governess is not practicable in Miss -Merivale's case, they take it out of each other. On duet days -especially they often actually come to blows, and on these occasions -the music, it is to be feared, sometimes obtains scant attention; -Molly's whole time being taken up in preventing the sisters from -doing one another an injury. - -Their mother they rule with a rod of iron. The head nurse, who has -been with Mrs. Hallam since the birth of her first child, is in a -chronic state of giving notice, though she is generally persuaded -into staying on by her master and mistress, and yet the young rebels, -though such termagants in a general way, have at heart warm and -affectionate natures. Not one governess has ever been known to stay -beyond the first quarter, so that Mrs. Hallam, coming suddenly into -the room one day and seeing her daughters hanging round Molly, to -whom they have taken an immense fancy, throws up her hands in -amazement. - -"I cannot think how you manage them so well, Miss Merivale! You -never give way to them, and yet they always seem as docile as lambs -with you, and they are so fond of you too! I never can get them to -attend to a word _I_ say. Their father is the only one in the house -that can manage them." - -Molly smiles, and while pinning on her hat mutters something about -their mother being "too indulgent perhaps." She does not say what is -really in her mind, however, that the very fact of her not giving way -to her obstreperous pupils is probably the reason that they are -better behaved with her than anyone else. - -Besides the Hallams, Molly has one or two other pupils in prospect, -so that before long she hopes to help very considerably with the -household expenses. As it is, indeed, she contributes a nice little -sum from time to time, her pride and delight being unbounded when, -having completed her first course of lessons to Dolly Bolton, she -brings home her first earnings and pours the little pile of money -into Honor's lap. - -Honor also is now making a steady little income every week by her -painting on tin, which has become most popular, especially in the -immediate neighbourhood. Besides the stipulated number of landscapes -for Mr. Spaull, which are taken up at stated intervals by Mr. Edward -Talboys with most elaborate care, Honor has a good many odd orders; -for the old gentlemen were so charmed and delighted with the effect -of the pretty little scenes that they immediately made a round of -calls, with a view to showing their specimen to all their friends and -perhaps getting some pupils for their _protégé_. - -The time is now rapidly drawing near when Doris is to join her aunt -in town, previous to their departure for the Continent. - -The weather having taken a capricious fancy to be extremely hot, in -fact more like late July or August than June, the girls sit -out-of-doors a great deal with their work and their books. - -Although no one speaks openly of it, there is a feeling with them all -that Doris cannot be made too much of in these last few days before -her long separation from them. Doris's pillow is often wet with the -tears which she quietly sheds at night, when she thinks Honor is -asleep, at the thought that to-morrow will bring her one day nearer -to the parting she so much dreads. - -Time marches on, however, in his inexorable fashion, and the last day -having really come, all go about their work with an elaborately -indifferent air, each one making heroic efforts to keep up for the -others' sake. The whole family (with the exception of Mrs. Merivale, -who has taken leave of her daughter at home quietly) is now standing -by the door of a third-class compartment in the London train, in -which Doris, surrounded by small packages, is standing up, with -tear-bestreamed face, a large smut on her forehead, and a general -limpness which extends itself to the handkerchief in her hand, which -just now is doing double duty as it were, as are those of all the -others. - -Doris has been kissed by each one in turn several times, and the -usual last questions have been asked and answered, and now the guard -comes along with his key, and having locked the door quietly moves -them all back a little; with no lasting result, however, for they are -all crowding round again the moment he is gone. - -"Are you _sure_," says Honor with a trembling voice, "that you have -got everything?" - -"O yes, _everything_!" answers Doris with a gasp of despair. - -Honor looks round incredulously, for each one has been carrying to -the station a bag, basket, or something belonging to her sister, and -as her careful eye travels round she suddenly pounces on Molly, who -is discovered still clinging desperately to Doris's umbrella, her -thoughts being entirely taken up with the direful fact that the -dreaded moment has indeed arrived at last! The umbrella is handed in -through the window, and kissing being now rather a daring thing to -attempt after the stentorian "Stand away there!" of the guard, Honor -and Molly are reaching up their hands for a final squeeze, when -Doris, first feeling wildly in the little pocket of her jacket, then -diving after her purse, exclaims: - -"Good gracious! my ticket; who's got it? I haven't!" - -In the excitement of the search Doris overturns her little luncheon -basket, and, oblivious of the fact that the cork of her travelling -flask has come out, and the milk it contains is quietly spreading -itself out on the cushion until it comes to a little ridge in the -leather, where it collects in a nice little pool, she leans -distractedly out of the window to see the result of the hurried -search which they are all making in all sorts of impossible places. - -But at this critical moment, and just as the guard is about to blow -his whistle, Dick, who has strolled off to look at the -advertisements, appears on the scene, and Honor, suddenly remembering -that she had intrusted him with the money for the ticket when first -they arrived at the station, rushes at him and grasps his arm wildly. - -"The ticket!" she gasps; "you've forgotten to take the ticket!" - -"I haven't," returns Dick, much injured. "I thought I gave it to -you. Oh, here it is; better late than never!" and with supreme -indifference at the anxiety depicted on every face he hands it up to -Doris, and at the same moment the train moves. - -They all run along beside it for a second or two, but its pace soon -gets beyond theirs, and they are left disconsolately on the platform, -waving their hands to a white handkerchief which is fluttering from -one of the windows, and is literally all of Doris that is now to be -seen. - -* * * * * * * * * - -That same afternoon Hugh Horton runs down to bid them all farewell -before leaving for Ireland the next day. He is naturally not in the -best of spirits, and looks so gloomy and melancholy while reminding -Molly of her promise regarding the slippers, that that young lady -tells him plainly that if he cannot look a little more cheerful over -it he shall not have them at all. - -"Don't be unkind, Molly," remonstrates Honor. - -"I'm not," replies the girl, reddening; "besides he is not going to -Kamtchatka. I said I would make them if he went there, or to some -other outlandish place." - -"It does not matter, Molly, _where_ one goes particularly, when -leaving all one loves behind;" and Hugh sighs heavily. "It would be -just as painful to me to take up my quarters in the next village -merely, if I knew for certain that I should not see my mother or--or -any of you for some long time to come." - -Molly looks a little abashed. - -"But you will have leave," she says. - -"O yes, of course I shall have leave; but not very often, I suppose." - -"You must write to us as often as you can," says Mrs. Merivale -kindly. "You know I take just as much interest in all you boys as if -you were my own." - -Molly strolls down to the gate with Hugh when he has taken leave of -all the others; but he is very silent, and she, thinking that perhaps -she has hurt his sensitive feelings with some of her random talk, is -silent also. - -In a minute or two Hugh rouses himself, however, and says: - -"Molly, I have never told you how awfully glad I am that you are all -getting on so much better now, as to funds and all that sort of -thing, you know. I do think you have all shown yourselves such good -girls in having met your misfortunes so bravely; and I cannot tell -you how glad I feel that you have all had your reward, and have a -little more peace and comfort now than you had. Mother is always -talking about you all, and saying how much she admires the spirit and -unselfishness with which you turned to and made the best of -everything." - -"_I'm_ not unselfish!" cries Molly, looking surprised. "Why, I'd -take a footstool or an easy-chair from anybody! It's no use saying I -don't care about being comfortable, because I _do_!" - -Hugh takes no notice of this interruption, but goes on as if nothing -had been said. - -"Yes, we were talking about you last night, mother and I, and what do -you think she said about you, Molly, particularly?" - -Molly shakes her head. - -"I don't know," she says. - -"She told me she considered that you had had quite as much to do with -influencing me for good as she had. I told her of some of your -lectures too, and she says you are a right-minded, good girl, and she -admires you for what she calls your 'spirit' in taking me to task as -you did." - -Molly blushes up to the roots of her chestnut curls at this praise -from one whose opinion is to be valued. - -"Did you tell her about the _dust_?" she inquires. - -"Of course I did!" replies Hugh, laughing, "and she enjoyed the story -immensely. And now, Molly, you will write to me while I'm away, -won't you? You can lecture and blow me up as much as you like, only -let me go away thinking that my little mentor will still take the -same interest in scapegrace Hugh that she has hitherto." - -"Yes, I will, Hugh; here's my hand upon it. Of course it is all -nonsense," she adds suddenly; "but if--if I have really been of any -use in--in urging you on, you know, I am _very_ glad. And now, would -you like me to tell you a secret? Well, the slippers are more than -half done already! Good-bye; be a good boy!" and without waiting for -another word she runs back to the house, never stopping till she has -reached the steps, when she turns round and waves her hand with -rather a feeble smile. - -She is not _quite_ sure whether it is Hugh still standing where she -left him, or whether it is only the gate-post, for there are two -large tears trickling down the now saddened and softened face of -plain-speaking little Molly, which seriously obstruct her vision. - -There is quite a feeling of desolation all through the house after -this second departure, for although not actually one of themselves, -Hugh and his brothers have so often been down to see them that he is -missed as much as if he were almost. - -In a few days Doris's first letter arrives, and they are all relieved -to find that she is less home-sick than might have been expected. -Their own spirits rise in proportion therefore. - -Part of Doris's letter runs thus:-- - - -"We had a bad passage across, at least so aunt says. I didn't feel -it a bit though. Uncle disappeared mysteriously, and as he looked -rather pale when he reappeared on our reaching Calais, I strongly -suspected he was not very flourishing either. I have made a grand -discovery, however, through this bad weather. Nothing more nor less -than the reason why aunt will never take off her bonnet unless she -has a cap at hand to put on immediately. Aunt, I must tell you, very -soon expressed her intention of going down into the cabin, so I went -with her and made her as comfortable as circumstances would permit. -It was such a dreadfully close, stuffy atmosphere that I was thankful -to get up into the air again. After a time I thought I ought to go -down and see how poor aunty was getting on; so after a good deal of -stumbling and floundering (for the boat was rolling very much) I at -last managed to get down, and there I found her in a truly pitiable -state. She had been dreadfully ill, but so it seems had been nearly -all the other people, and I suppose the stewardess could not pay much -attention to so many, for I found aunt in a miserable state, half on -and half off the sofa, and looking as pale as death. 'O, Doris -child!' she gasped faintly, 'if ever I get out of this boat alive I -will never go into another, if I have to live all my life in France!' -Well, I raised her up and placed her a little more comfortably, and -in doing this her bonnet fell off, and--you girls won't believe me, -perhaps, but I daresay mother knows--there, as plain to see as -anything, was a little bald patch, about as big as half-a-crown, on -the top of her head! Poor aunt! she was in far too great misery to -think about such trifles then, and only told me to put her feet a -little higher and to bring her smelling-bottle. But I shall _always_ -think of it whenever anyone asks her to take her bonnet off! By the -by, aunt says she knows Mr. Ferrars quite well. She calls him 'A -very estimable young man!' How _dreadful_! She says, too, we may -meet him somewhere or other abroad. He told her he was going to -'knock about a little' on the Continent. The expression did not come -spontaneously from aunt; I dragged it out of her, under protest! I -wonder if we _shall_ see him!" - - -Mrs. Merivale folds up the letter. "I wonder if they will!" she says. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -BRIGHTER DAYS. - -Two years have sped quickly, and it is once more a warm, lovely day -in June. The French windows of the Rookery sitting-room are wide -open, letting in the still, summer air, and Mrs. Merivale and Honor, -both with their work, are seated just inside, so as to get full -benefit of any little fitful breeze which may spring up, without -exposing themselves to the glare of the sunlit garden. - -Yes, two years have flown since Doris left home to go abroad with her -aunt, and her mother and sister are talking over a letter which they -have received from her that morning, and which, with two others, is -lying in the former's lap. - -Honor is a little taller than when we last saw her, though not much; -but her figure has filled out, making her look more womanly, though -still small and slight altogether. She has still the same quaint -little oval face, and the same steadfast, earnest look in her soft -brown eyes; but, with the exception of the two little straight lines -between her brows, the anxious, care-worn look has gone from it, and -in its place there is a happy, contented expression, which her mother -looks upon with thankfulness. The two years have also changed Mrs. -Merivale, though not perhaps so much in appearance as character. - -She has to a great extent lost that fretful nervousness and -selfishness which, before her husband's death, and, indeed, for some -time after, had seemed to be growing upon her. Though still feeble -in health her disposition has grown more cheerful, and she has become -more self-reliant than of old. Honor has unconsciously taken to -consulting her more in the management of their household affairs, and -although she still takes all the active part upon herself, she often -finds her mother's advice of great value now. - -To such matters as banging doors, creaking boots, loud voices, &c., -which used formerly to "jar" upon her nerves, she has become almost -impervious, whilst to be "completely prostrated" is a calamity of -rare occurrence, excepting on occasions of real and genuine nervous -headaches. - -The two years have been quiet, uneventful ones enough to the -inhabitants of Edendale. The most exciting thing that has taken -place, perhaps, being the sudden and unexpected death, while in -Africa somewhere, of Sir Charles Ferrars of Ferrars Court. But as he -had never lived at the Court for long together, and latterly not at -all, his death was not an event to stir the sympathies of the -surrounding neighbourhood greatly. Of course every one said, "How -very sad--so sudden, you know!" and then they began to speculate as -to what the heir would be like, and whether he would take possession -soon, &c. &c. But in a few days the whole affair was forgotten; and -as no heir arrived on the scene to satisfy their curiosity, they soon -forgot that there was one to speculate about. - -Dr. John Sinclair is constantly to be seen at the Rookery; indeed, he -has fallen into the habit of going there, at one hour or another, -almost every day. - -With the first really hot weather of the year before, Daisy's health -had flagged rather alarmingly, and the young doctor began to fear -that her illness of the previous spring had left a permanent mark -upon her. Thus had he become a constant visitor in order to watch -the child closely. - -At the present time Daisy is, for her, in comparatively robust -health, but every one knows how difficult it is to get out of any -habit once taken to, whether it be good or bad, and young Dr. -Sinclair is to be seen at the Rookery almost as frequently as ever, -although there is now no special need for looking after his little -patient from a medical point of view. - -Dick, now a strapping lad of fifteen, has pleased the Rev. Mr. Bolton -beyond measure during the two years he has been with him, and the -good old vicar does not know which to be most delighted with--his -beautiful voice, or the industry and perseverance which he has -displayed regarding his own studies. - -Molly's pupils have so increased in number that she has for some time -past been making a nice steady little income, and she has even felt -justified in affording herself some finishing lessons from a good -master. - -Mrs. Horton, always ready to do the girls any kind service now that -their mother cannot go about with them, and more especially since -their aunt left England, has taken both Honor and Molly up to London -for a few weeks' visit at different times; and the former also, -considering that it would be money well spent, has given herself the -benefit of a little "brushing up," as she calls it, in her art. Both -the girls, therefore, are able to take a better stand in their -teaching (for Honor has pupils now in addition to her own painting), -and Molly often finds herself correcting, encouraging, or -remonstrating, as the case may be, with girls a good deal older than -herself; for her fame as a musicianly teacher has spread far and -wide, and she has as many grown-up girls as pupils, who are anxious -to keep up their practice, as younger ones. Molly has three of the -Hallam children now, and a fourth is nearly ready to begin, Indeed, -were it feasible, Mrs. Hallam would like to include the baby still in -arms in her list of pupils, so anxious is she that they shall all -commence early enough and get all the benefit they can from what she -is constantly quoting to her friends as "first-class teaching, my -dear." - -The Mr. Talboys look if anything younger than they did a couple of -years back. They have residing in the stables of the Rosery a -pretty, knowing-looking pony rejoicing in the name of Puck, the pet -and property of Miss Margaret Merivale. At the time previously -spoken of, when little Daisy had drooped so with the heat of the -summer, and Dr. Sinclair had been racking his brains to think what -could be done to revive the feeble strength, which at times seemed -ready to ebb away altogether, a bright idea struck him one day. -Riding!--the very thing. But how in the world could such a thing be -managed? Although the Merivales were in a very different position -now to that which they were in when they first came to the village, -they were not, he was sure, well enough off to buy and keep a pony. - -"Now, if only she could ride Jack," thought the doctor to himself, -"he would, I know, be as gentle as a lamb with a child upon his back. -But, bless me! his back would be far too broad for little Daisy! -Besides, who would there be to ride with her? I don't think Jack -would care to consent to a leading rein at his age!" - -But nevertheless the doctor goes on thinking and thinking (for during -the long time he has now attended the child she has become very dear -to him), until he suddenly becomes possessed of a still brighter -idea. He will go to the Mr. Talboys and talk it over with them. - -One would certainly have thought, from the almost childish delight -which the generous old men expressed at this brilliant idea of their -young friend's, that it was one which would benefit themselves -greatly. But so indeed it was, for they could know no higher -privilege than to do good to others. - -"My _dear_ Dr. John," they had both cried, "you could not have done -us a greater kindness than by coming to consult us about this capital -plan of yours. I think," continues Mr. Ned, "I may with truth say -that Brother Ben and myself have been worrying as to what could be -done to pick up the child's strength as much as you have, my dear -boy, and we _know_ how it has troubled you, do we not, brother?" - -And so there had been no rest for anybody until a desirable animal -had been found and purchased. The old gentlemen were somewhat -particular in making their choice, and a trifle difficult to please. -Of course it was to be pretty. Not too tall, nor too small. Neither -too old nor too young. It was to be a thoroughly respectable pony, -and reliable as to temper; but while wishing it to possess a "spice -of spirit," as they expressed it, it was to be steady and -sober-minded at heart! It must be confessed that to find all these -excellent qualities possessed by one ordinary pony was rather -difficult, and, perhaps, more than ought to have been expected. But -the brothers did not want an ordinary pony! On the contrary they had -made up their minds to have an extraordinary one; and it is to be -feared that more than one horse-dealer lost his temper when, having -trotted out his best ponies before the two exacting old gentlemen, -who stood watching their paces with heads on one side, it turned out -that not one of them came up to their ideas of what a pony _ought_ to -be. - -Indeed one man was overheard to say to his ostler (taking it for -granted that the Mr. Talboys were deaf as well as old) that he -"should think the old gents had better get one made to order!" which -caused Mr. Ned to wish him "good-morning." - -At length, however, a desirable pony was found, and having been -presented to Daisy in due form, was installed in the comfortable -stable at the Rosery. - -There being no one at home who could take out Daisy for her airings -on Puck--for the doctor said _walking_ would be of no use; she must -have a good canter every day--the young man begged that he might be -allowed to take her under his charge. He could give her a good run, -he said, every day, when going his distant rounds on Jack, and the -Rosery lying between his own house and the Rookery, he could always -call for Puck on his way for Daisy. - -This arrangement met with the little girl's entire approval, in fact -she very soon confided to her dear Doctor John that there was _no -one_ else she would have trusted herself to in her first attempts at -riding. - -Ere long, however, the young doctor had made a very fair little -horsewoman of Daisy, and the pair were constantly to be seen -cantering over the country together, with Rufus, the doctor's red -setter, and Vic (who condescended to be friendly under the -circumstances) at their heels. - -The letters mentioned at the beginning of this chapter are, besides -the one from Doris, from Lady Woodhouse and Mr. Lancelot Ferrars, the -latter containing a formal proposal of marriage for Doris. - -The two have been thrown together a great deal abroad, and Lady -Woodhouse has smiled with grim approval whenever the young fellow has -appeared, quite by accident as it were, at the same place in which -they are staying. - -"Your uncle and Mr. Ferrars seem to have taken quite a fancy to each -other lately," judicially remarked Aunt Sophia, with a little, almost -imperceptible sniff, which always accompanied any attempt at acting -on her part. - -"You see, Doris, it must be lonely work for a man to be travelling by -himself; though, of course, Mr. Ferrars has his profession as an -artist to attend to. But your uncle has only you and me to talk to, -so I am very glad Mr. Ferrars seeks his society for that reason; for -people may say what they like, child, but men do like talking to each -other when they get the chance better than to us women. I suppose -they think they have more brains than we," with a slight toss of her -head, "though all I can say is that if they have, they don't always -know how to use them." - -So, although Lady Woodhouse saw plainly that this constant visitor -was becoming attached to her niece, she prided herself immensely on -her diplomacy and tact in not allowing the girl to get what she -called any nonsensical ideas into her head, at any rate for the -present. - -She has written to her sister now on the subject in high spirits, and -though certain parts of the letter are for Mrs. Merivale's own -private perusal only, she is reading out most of it to Honor. - - -"Doris seems genuinely fond of the young man now," writes Lady -Woodhouse. "At first, I tell you candidly, I thought I would have -some trouble with her, for she seemed to have a fixed idea in her -silly head that by making some great match she might retrieve the -fortunes of the whole family. She told me plainly one day that she -would see plenty of people during the two years that she was -travelling about, and that if she got a good chance she would -certainly take it. But all this, I am bound to acknowledge, was -before Mr. Ferrars began to pay her any attention. As ill luck would -have it, however, a wretched little elderly French count, with false -teeth and dyed hair and moustache, began to pay her attention also -just at the same time (Doris is certainly a pretty girl, Mary), and -for a little while I shook in my shoes; for common report set him -down as being enormously rich. Well, I saw at last that the child -was getting worried over it all. So was Mr. Ferrars, naturally. And -so one fine day I gave my lady a talking to. 'You can do as you -like,' I said, 'subject to your mother, of course, but don't say -afterwards you were not warned. You can accept this made-up old fop -with his million of francs (mind _francs_, not pounds) and be a -miserable woman for the rest of your life if you like. On the other -hand here is a young, good-looking fellow who is sincerely attached -to you, and though he may have only his few hundreds, he is not the -man to take a wife unless he can keep her comfortably.' I think my -words came just at the right time. Anyhow, it all came right; and -when Doris came to me and told me she would rather be the wife of -Lancelot Ferrars with only one hundred a year than marry the richest -duke in the world, I knew, my dear Mary, that the child's heart was -in the right place after all. I can congratulate you heartily, for -young Ferrars is one of the nicest young men I know, and will be just -the right sort of husband for Doris. Then, of course, his good -position--" - - -"Good position!" echo both Dick (who has just entered the room) and -Honor, pricking up their ears. - -"Position as a painter," remarks Mrs. Merivale, folding up her letter -with dignity. "That is all I need read to you. The rest is all upon -business matters." - -"Then we may expect to see Mr. Ferrars some time this week, I -suppose," says Honor presently. For in his short courteous note he -has begged leave to call on Mrs. Merivale, previous to his departure -for some distant part of the world where he has some important -business to transact. - -"I do hope he will let us know beforehand," says Honor, already -tormenting herself as to culinary matters, "or else he will be quite -certain to choose a day when we have nothing but cold mutton for -dinner--and none too much of that, very likely." - -"Hooray!" shouts Dick, tossing up his cap. "Fancy little Doris being -engaged! Good gracious! the house won't hold her when she comes -back!" - -"She seems to be very happy," says Honor, who is reading her sister's -letter for about the sixth time. "She little thought what would come -of her adventure in the wood that day. Dear little Doris, I hope she -has a happy life before her." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -"WHAT A TEASE YOU ARE, MOLLY!" - -In the meantime a conversation of quite a different character is -going on in the garden, under the drooping boughs of a fine old -weeping-ash, the welcome shade of which is much sought by the girls -in hot weather. - -Molly is seated on a garden chair, working away industriously at -something in the dress line, her work-basket on another chair by her -side. - -Seated just opposite to her is Dr. John Sinclair, his hat lying on -the grass at his feet, and his head resting on his arms, which are -folded behind it. - -"And so this is what you have dropped in for," remarks Molly, shaking -out her work. - -"Yes," he says, gazing up into the sky. "We were on our way back, -and just passing the Rosery gate when Mr. Ned ran out and stopped us. -I represented that you would all be expecting Daisy home, that she -had only her habit on, that she might be tired. All to no purpose, -as I have told you. She must stop to tea, and surely someone could -call for her later; and if not, why, Priscilla could take her home. -And so," he concludes rather slowly, "I said I would call about eight -o'clock. I--I thought perhaps Miss Honor would like to walk up with -me in the cool of the evening, you know." - -"O!" says Molly, shooting a little glance at him over her work. - -"Do you think she would care to?" asks the doctor, bringing his arms -forward and stooping to pick up his stick, which is also on the grass. - -"I don't know really," replies Molly carelessly; "you had better ask -her. I am not sure, though, that I shall not go myself. I suppose I -should do as well? Dick wanted one of us to walk over to the mere -this evening with him and Jack Bolton, and--yes, I think he said -Ernest Hildyard was to be one of the party. Why, what in the world -are you getting so red about? Don't, it makes one hotter than ever!" -and Molly, biting her thread, takes another little look at her -companion. - -"Better stick to his reading," she hears him mutter to himself, and -then he begins hitting at the turf with his stick. - -"Well, he is a bit lazy, I suppose; but then so are lots of other -people, and I don't see why he should be expected to stay in on such -a lovely evening as this will be. Oh, _please_ take care! You'll -hit my foot in a minute; besides, you are spoiling the turf." - -"I'm sure I beg your pardon," says Dr. John, now stooping for his hat -also. "I think I had better be going. I will call for Daisy alone, -then." - -"What has made you so cross?" inquires teasing Molly, searching -amongst her cottons. "I really think it is most ungracious of you to -say you 'will go _alone_ to fetch Daisy' when I have only this moment -offered myself as a companion. Now, don't go--sit down again, and I -will tell you something." - -"Pooh!" mutters the young man crossly, "what's the use?" - -"It _isn't_ pooh," says Molly severely; "and it is a great deal of -use, if you choose to listen. _I_ am going on this expedition with -the boys this evening, and Honor, as far as I know, is going to stay -at home; unless," she wickedly adds, "you should care to ask _her_ -instead of _me_ to walk up to the Rosery with you. If you do, and -she does go, I advise you to be a little more amiable. Now, _please_ -leave that silk alone: you are getting it into a frightful tangle!" - -"What a tease you are, Molly!" says Dr. Sinclair, looking, however, -more cheerful on the whole. - -"I? Why? What have I said or done?" - -"You said Honor was going for a walk with that young idiot, Hildyard." - -"Well, why shouldn't she? But, as it happens, I did _not_ say -anything of the kind. I said the boys wanted _one_ of us to go, and -Honor never dreamed of going any more than _you_ did. You shouldn't -jump at conclusions so quickly. Now, tell me, what do you think of -this news about Doris?" - -"O, I am awfully glad. I think from what you have all told me that -Ferrars must be a nice fellow. We shall have you going off next, -Molly." - -"Me?--oh, dear no! Besides, it is Honor's turn before mine, you -know." - -"Is it true this that I hear about young Horton, or rather his -regiment, being ordered off to the Soudan?" - -"Yes," says Molly quietly, bending over her work. "It is quite true." - -"When does he arrive from Ireland?" - -"Mrs. Horton wrote us word that she expected him to-morrow." - -"And _you_ will expect him the day after, I suppose?" - -"I daresay he will come to see us soon," says Molly simply; "his time -will be very short before he leaves altogether." - -"Poor fellow!" says the doctor musingly. "It is a pity he is being -sent so far away. Well, I must really be off now--by Jove, it's -later than I thought! Good-bye for the present, Molly. Perhaps you -would not mind asking Miss Honor if she will stroll up for Daisy with -me? I'd no idea it was so late, or I would have run in and asked her -myself." - -"All right," says Molly reassuringly. "I'll see that she goes." - -The girl looks after him as he goes swinging down the road. - -"He's a nice fellow," she says to herself. "I shouldn't at all mind -having him for a brother. I wonder, now, whether Honor likes him as -much as he does her. Anyone can see with half an eye that it is not -Daisy alone that he comes here to see. He's dreadfully jealous, -though. He makes himself quite ridiculous over that young Hildyard, -just because he stares at Honor so in church. Such a _child_, too, -as Ernest is; and I don't believe Honor has ever spoken to him more -than two or three times at the outside. It really is absurd. I -can't help teasing Dr. John about it. All right, coming!" she cries, -in answer to a summons to tea from Honor; and gathering up her work, -she goes slowly back to the house. - -There is perhaps more alteration in Molly's appearance than in any of -the others in these two past years. She is now turned seventeen, and -tall for her age. She carries herself gracefully, and her slight -though rounded figure is shown to advantage to-day in the light, -simply-made dress which she is wearing on account of the heat. - -Molly's hair has been turned up for some time now, ever since she -took to teaching, in fact. "You cannot expect me to command respect -from my pupils with my hair hanging down my back," she had said when -the others had been inclined to remonstrate. It is all gathered up, -therefore, in a pretty top-knot of bright, sunny, chestnut curls, -which, notwithstanding the number of pins she uses, do their best to -escape and tumble, as of old, about her forehead, ears, and neck. -She is not, perhaps, what most people would call strictly pretty; but -she is _very_ charming, and her deep blue eyes, with their long -lashes, are really beautiful. Her complexion though brilliant is at -the same time delicate, and one of her greatest charms is in the -ever-varying expression of her face. Her nose is not strictly -aquiline, but her pretty sensitive mouth and firm little chin make up -for its deficiencies; and last, but not least, there is the pretty -way in which her hair grows about her forehead and temples. - -Altogether Mrs. Merivale has reason to feel proud of her three now -grown-up daughters, and she often turns away with a heavy sigh when -she thinks with what fond pride their dead father would look upon -them could he see them now. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -HUGH'S PARTING GIFT. - -A few afternoons later Honor and Molly are both seated at work under -the weeping ash, but the weather being hotter than ever they have -retired to the very back of the natural arbour which the drooping -boughs form. Of course they have the advantage of being able to see -all that goes on outside, while quite invisible themselves. - -They are talking on the usual inexhaustible subject of the present -time, namely, their future brother-in-law, Mr. Lancelot Ferrars, who -has been down, and having had a mysterious talk with Mrs. Merivale in -the drawing-room, has taken early dinner (not cold mutton) with them -in quite a brotherly sort of fashion. After dinner he had been -introduced to the studio, as being a place likely to interest him. -Then after a stroll round the garden, and an early cup of tea -insisted upon by Molly, he had gone off to the station to catch the -next train back to town. - -Altogether they are very pleased with their new relative in -perspective, and are never tired of discussing his merits, either -real or imaginary. - -"He looks as if he had a little spice of temper in his composition," -says Molly, while hunting for her scissors. "I saw it in his eyes." - -"Well, I don't like him any the less for that," replies Honor, "so -long as he knows how to control it. He looks as if he was accustomed -to having his own way too, and--well, as if he wouldn't stand any -nonsense from anybody." - -"All the better for Doris," says Molly sagely. "She wants keeping in -order, you know, and he will do it. I don't mean to imply that he -will beat her, or anything of that sort, Honor; but, it is as you -say, I am sure he would stand no nonsense from anyone. And quite -right, too. I hate people without a will of their own. Why, there's -a man going up the drive to the front door!" - -"Dear me, you don't say so. Probably it is the baker," and Honor -goes on with her work serenely. - -"Nonsense, Honor!" cries Molly, peering excitedly through the close -branches. "The baker goes to the backdoor, too. It's a gentleman--a -_gentleman_, I tell you. Come here and look!" - -At this startling announcement Honor rises and looks over Molly's -shoulder. - -"I believe it is Hugh," she says; "only somehow he looks so much -older. How long is it since we have seen him, Molly?" - -"I saw him about a year ago; but I expect it is longer since you did. -It was while I was in London with Mrs. Horton. Good gracious, Honor, -it _is_ Hugh, and he's got a moustache!" - -This remark is called forth by the fact of the visitor having turned -round on reaching the steps, and given an inquiring glance round the -garden, as if in search of someone. - -"O, thank goodness, Mary is answering the bell; not but what Hugh is -used to Becky's shortcomings. Now he will be shown into the -drawing-room in style. I hope mother isn't asleep on the sofa." - -"Come along, Molly," cries Honor, preparing to leave the arbour. "We -need not wait to have his name brought to us." - -But Molly shows distinct signs of cowardice as they approach the -drawing-room together, and as Honor actually opens the door and -enters, she hangs back, and peeps curiously at Hugh from behind her -sister. - -"Why, Molly, have you forgotten me? Don't you know me?" he says, -taking her two hands in his, and looking down into her fair flushed -face. - -Molly laughs. - -"You _have_ changed," she says a little shyly, "and if we hadn't -watched you all the time you were walking up to the door, I don't -know that I _should_ have known you in this half light." - -"Ah," says Honor, "you little thought we were in our 'leafy retreat,' -as we used to call it. I expect you would have found your way to us -there if you had." - -"I am very sure I should," answers Hugh, going over to the window. -"Shall I draw up the blinds, Mrs. Merivale? the sun is off the room -now." - -"O, _don't_!" cries Molly, who seems to be seized with an -unaccountable fit of shyness. "I do hate a light room; so does -mother." - -Mrs. Merivale, however, happens to prefer a little light on this -occasion, now that the sun is going down, and says in the same breath -with Molly, "Yes, do please, Hugh." - -So, with a little deprecating look towards Molly, up go the blinds -and in comes the light. - -Molly ensconces herself in a corner behind her mother, and allowing -nearly all the conversation to fall on the others, sits very still, -making silent observations of the alterations in her old playmate. - -It turns out that Hugh is under orders to sail for Egypt a good deal -sooner than he expected, and as his time is much taken up in dodging -about at the Horse-guards, he finds he will not probably have the -opportunity of coming down again before leaving for good. He has -come, therefore, with the intention of staying the evening, if they -will have him. - -Honor, on hearing this, immediately becomes exercised in her mind as -to the state of the larder, and making a sign to Molly to follow her, -she quietly leaves the room. - -So Mrs. Merivale and Hugh sit chatting together while the two girls -consult with Mary about the arrangement of a nice little supper. It -must here be explained that with their improved position the -Merivales have engaged a more capable servant, it being necessary to -have someone who can do without the perpetual looking after and -directing which Becky, even in her brightest moments, always -required--both Honor's and Molly's time being taken up now with other -than domestic matters. Becky, however, still remains, greatly to her -delight, she having become much attached to "missus" and the young -ladies. She is useful in the rougher work of the house, all rights -as to swilling the backyard and blacking boots being reserved by her. -Thus the delinquency of the fire, and, indeed, others which have been -almost beyond endurance sometimes, are not so constantly brought -before the family now. Mary is a good-natured girl, and as a rule -the two get on very well, unless the kitchen fire is let out. Then, -her face is a sight to see. - -Presently Hugh comes out, and finding his way to the kitchen as of -old, tells the girls he is going to run up to see the Mr. Talboys -between tea and supper. Perhaps Molly will go with him? - -But Molly, perverse to the last, remembers some most important -business she has to do, and says "no." - -Hugh turns away, looking hurt, as well he may, and Honor, after -frowning her displeasure at her younger sister, follows him out. - -"I would go with you myself, Hugh, but I have a little bit of -painting which I really _must_ do before the light goes. I didn't -know," she adds, "that Molly had anything very important to do; but I -suppose she knows her own business best." - -But Molly, who does not wait to hear her sister's opinions on the -subject, beats a retreat out to the back-yard, nominally to look -after the fowls. - -When Hugh has gone to the Rosery, and she joins her mother and Honor -in the drawing-room, they both fall upon her, metaphorically -speaking, and scold her roundly for what they call her unkindness and -vanity. Hard words these for poor Molly to hear as she stands -abashed before them, especially coming from either her mother or -Honor, who are both so gentle with her always. - -"It is not as if you were a child now," says Mrs. Merivale in a vexed -tone of voice. "What might have passed for fun two or three years -ago amounts to rudeness in a girl of your age. And how you can like -to be unkind--yes, unkind, Molly,--I really do not know. What made -you refuse to walk up to the Rosery with Hugh? You are certainly his -favourite of all the girls" (here she tries to speak carelessly), -"and when he is going away, goodness knows how far and for how long, -you must needs be almost uncivil to him. Now, I must beg, Molly, -that you do your best to make Hugh's last evening here a happy one. -I don't suppose he is in very good spirits, poor fellow! and we don't -want to put him into worse. Do you hear me? Very well. Come here -and give me a kiss. Now, you can run away if you like." - -Molly, who is almost on the verge of tears, is glad to avail herself -of this permission. Catching up her large white garden hat she -returns to the ash, with the intention of getting her work, which she -has left there in a state of chaos. - -Sitting down, however, she begins thinking, and presently a tear -drops on her hands, which are lying loosely clasped in her lap. -Others seeming likely to follow, she is just raising her hand to -brush them away, when at a little distance she, hears, in Hugh's fine -tenor, the old familiar song he is so fond of singing: - - "O, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, - All lonely waiting here for you, - While stars above are brightly shining, - Because they've nothing else to do!" - -In another moment he has caught sight of her white dress through the -branches of the tree, and going quickly round to the entrance, he -goes in and sits down by her side. - -"Why, Molly! In the dumps?" he says kindly. - -Molly shakes her head, but says nothing, and there is a long pause. - -"I wish you could have found time to go up to the Rosery with me, -Molly," Hugh says at length. "It was so cool and pleasant. I think -it would have done you good after the hot day." - -A little gasping kind of sigh, then, "I _could_ have gone if I had -chosen," says truthful Molly. "It was all humbug about the business." - -Hugh looks at her a little curiously. - -"Why didn't you come then?" he asks. - -"I don't know," says Molly, and again there is silence. - -"And so you think I have changed so much?" queries Hugh presently. - -"Yes, that is just it," replies Molly more briskly. "You _do_ seem -to have become so--so _different_ somehow." - -"In what lies the difference, Molly?" - -"Well, I hardly know, Hugh--and yet I _do_ know; only I don't like to -say." - -"Say away," he says, leaning back in his chair and laughing. "_I_ -won't mind." - -"O, it is nothing disparaging," and Molly takes her hat off and -swings it round. "The fact is you seem so--so dreadfully _old_ now -to what you were. Do you know," she adds, sinking her voice and -nodding in her old way, "I felt quite afraid of you when I came into -the drawing-room and peeped at you from behind Honor; I did indeed. -Then there was your moustache, too. It makes you look quite severe, -and I could not help wondering how I ever had the face to lecture and -blow you up as I did in the old days. But you seemed so boyish then -to what you do now. The alteration quite startled me at first." - -Hugh laughs. - -"I am awfully sorry, Molly. But you didn't expect me to go on being -boyish to the end of my days, did you? You see, I have knocked about -the world a little now: I don't mean as to distance; that has to -come," he adds with a little sigh. "But since I joined my regiment I -have, of course, been thrown much more into the society of men--men -much older than myself mostly, and I suppose the life altogether does -change a fellow. My mother says the same as you, Molly. But -notwithstanding the ferocious appearance that my moustache gives me -generally," he goes on after a pause, "I assure you I am just the -same in heart as ever. Just the same old playmate and companion if -you will let me be, and as ready and anxious for lectures and -scoldings from my little mentor as ever; so I hope she will not throw -me over as a bad job, now that I am no longer a _boy_. Now, do you -know, I think _I_ have more reason to complain of the change in -_you_, Molly, of the two. What with your long frocks and your -turned-up hair, and--oh, lots of things, really you are quite -alarming to contemplate. You have grown so tall, too; why, I don't -believe I am a head taller than you now, and I was a good deal more, -you know." - -"I am _sure_ you are not," returns Molly promptly, "Stand up and let -us see." - -Standing back to back, it is somewhat difficult to decide, so it is -agreed that Honor shall settle the point later. - -When they have done laughing they sit down again, Hugh remarking, -"'Fair play is a jewel,' you know, and if you grow up, as you call -it, I don't see why I should not too. What pretty work that is, -Molly! Do you know, my slippers are beginning to wear out." - -"Are they? Well, I'll see if I can find an old pair of somebody's -for you. Do you think mine would fit you?" and Molly holds out her -foot with a neat little morocco slipper on it. - -"Too large, by a long way!" he mutters, shaking his head. Then there -is silence for a few minutes, and Molly puts exactly five stitches -into her work. - -"Will you wear this as a little keepsake, Molly, and think of me -sometimes when you look at it?" - -"This" is a beautiful though simple pearl ring, which Hugh has put -into her lap. - -"O, how beautiful!" exclaims the girl, her eyes lighting with -pleasure. "But--I don't know whether mother would care for me to -wear it, Hugh." - -"I have asked her, Molly, and she has no objection at all. It is -only a keepsake, you know." - -Hugh does not add that he has been asking Mrs. Merivale's permission -to place a more important ring on her daughter's finger on his return -from Egypt, provided that young lady raises no objections herself. -Molly knows naught of this, however, and proceeds to place the ring -on the third finger of her right hand with elaborate propriety, -turning it round, and looking admiringly on the shimmering pearls, -for they are fine ones, and being set with diamond dust, are shown to -advantage. - -"It is kind of you, Hugh; but I did not want anything to remember you -by. I don't think I should have forgotten you. They are _lovely_ -pearls, and I am so fond of pearls, too." - -The young fellow looks pleased. - -"Don't you think it would look nicer on the other hand, Molly? I -think rings look awkward somehow on the right." - -"Well, it hurts awfully if anyone squeezes one's hand when shaking -it. Now, who was it who used to make me scream nearly, rings or no -rings? Oh, I know! poor old Sir Peter Beresford. You know, I -suppose, that he died last year?" - -"Yes, poor old fellow! What a nice old man he was. Here, let me put -it on for you, Molly. There! it looks ever so much nicer on that -finger. You _will_ think of me and write regularly too, won't you, -dear?" - -"Yes," says Molly hastily; but she looks rather frightened, and Hugh -hastens to change the subject. - -"We are quits now," he says. "I have still got the ring you gave me!" - -"The ring I gave you!" exclaims Molly staring. - -"Yes, the ring you gave me. It is no use your pretending that you -hav'n't given me one, because here it is!" and from a compartment of -his pocketbook, in which he has been industriously hunting, he takes -out and holds up a gorgeous arrangement of blue and white beads, -strung on horse-hair--a present which Molly now remembers having made -him with great solemnity when she was about ten years old. - -"You can't say another word now, Molly," he says laughing. - -"Diamonds and sapphires!" says Molly taking this valuable ring in her -hand, "my favourite mixture; but how very absurd of you to keep it -all this time, Hugh." - -"Not at all. I assure you I value it very much," and he returns it -to his pocket-book with great care. - -"I call it highly ridiculous. But now I am going round to my roses, -and you may come too if you like. I want to cut some for the table." - -"I am glad you are getting over some of your terror of me," laughs -Hugh following her. - -"The brothers Talboys tell me you are quite a little witch with your -roses; they say you have brought them to such perfection." - -"I believe I _do_ know something about them," answers Molly. - -"Becky!" she calls, catching sight of that damsel through the kitchen -window, "bring out the large blue china bowl and put it on the front -steps. Where no one will step into it; _not_ in the middle. And -fill it with water, please. Do you know," she says as she catches up -Hugh again, "that Becky is perfectly overcome by the sight of your -moustache. I do hope she won't smash the bowl in consequence. She -is a great admirer of yours, you know," she runs on, snipping a rose -off here and there. "When you went away last time she confided to me -that you were 'the nicest gentleman as she ever see!' There's a -pretty compliment for you. This afternoon she said to me, 'Mr. Hugh -_has haltered_!' I wondered for the moment if you had ridden down -and 'tethered your roan to a tree.'" - -Hugh laughs heartily. - -"I am sure I feel immensely flattered. What a lovely bud that is you -are cutting now, Molly!" - -"It is for you, Hugh. Stand still a moment and I will pin it in your -button-hole." - -Hugh's pleased and gratified look defies description as he obeys -orders, and stands looking down at the busy little fingers while they -deftly fasten the bud in his coat. - -"I shall never--" he is beginning to say, when Molly cuts his remark -short. - -"There is Honor!" she cries; "she shall help us to put all these in -water," and running down the path she leaves him to follow. - -In the evening, after supper, there is a little music. Molly plays, -and Hugh sings one or two songs with a voice that trembles a little -sometimes, Molly, after a slight skirmish on the subject, -accompanying him. - -Then Honor nobly struggles through a pianoforte duet with her younger -sister by way of a change, her modest bass sounding rather feeble in -comparison with Molly's spirited treble. It is only Schulhoff's -"Grand Waltz" they are playing; nevertheless, Honor quakes when they -come to the last two or three pages; but she centres all her hopes on -Molly, and, amidst plenty of laughter (for Hugh and Dick are both in -attendance to turn over), she is landed safely by her at the last -chord. Then Dick sings, but notwithstanding the efforts made by -every one to be cheerful their spirits seem to go down lower and -lower as the evening advances; and when, after a long unbroken -silence, Hugh suddenly seats himself at the piano, and sings with -simple expression and pathos Hatton's "Good-bye, Sweetheart," tears -rise to the eyes of nearly every one in the room. - -It is a relief almost when Hugh rises and says he must be leaving. -Mrs. Merivale having suggested that Honor and Molly shall walk down -to the gate with him, and sent them on before, takes an affectionate -leave of the young fellow, saying as she does so, "We will not let -her forget you, dear Hugh." He is too much overcome to speak, but -the look of gratitude upon his face as he stoops and kisses her is -understood and appreciated by Mrs. Merivale. - -The two girls are standing quietly by the gate when Hugh reaches it, -and for a moment he stands beside them, silent also. Then he turns -to the elder girl: - -"Good-bye, Honor," he says gently. "You will let me hear everything -that goes on, won't you?--all about Doris too; and tell her, with my -love, how sorry I was not to see her again. I will write pretty -often; as often as I can that is, unless I am knocked over by the -Arabs one day." Then he kisses her and moves towards Molly, who, a -little pale and very quiet, is leaning against the gate-post. He -takes her two hands in his, and looks earnestly into her face for a -moment. Then-- - -"God bless you, Molly!" he says brokenly. "Don't forget me!" and -stooping he presses a lingering kiss almost reverently upon her -forehead, and--the gate swings back and he is gone. - -Honor is just wondering whether Molly is crying or what, so quietly -is she standing, just where Hugh left her, when suddenly a figure -rushes past them in hot haste. - -"I'm going to walk to the station with him!" cries Dick's voice. -"Great dolt that I was not to think of it before!" and away he dashes -through the gate. - -After this little diversion the girls walk slowly back to the house, -and joining their mother they stand talking together, or rather she -and Honor do. After a few minutes Molly, still very quiet, says she -is tired and will go to bed. - -"Poor child!" says Mrs. Merivale as the door closes, "I think she -feels his going. I wonder if she _does_ care for him, and is just -finding it out? I think we were right, though, Hugh and I--don't -you, Honor?" - -"What about, mother?" - -"Why, I told you. Where is your memory, child? When he asked if he -might give her that ring, he told me of his attachment to Molly. But -he said it should be just as I wished whether he said anything to her -or not. He said she was still so young in many ways that he did not -want to frighten her, and perhaps destroy his chances later. He -said, very sensibly I thought, that there is plenty of time; that -they are both young, and he would rather that Molly grew to care for -him on her own account as it were, than by its being suggested, so to -speak. _Don't_ walk up and down so, Honor! You fidget me to death, -child, and I am expressing myself anyhow!" - -Honor seats herself, and her mother goes on: - -"Well, that was the gist of what he said, and I think it was a very -right way of looking at things. What do you say?" - -"Yes, I think so, certainly," replies Honor warmly. "I always liked -Hugh, and I only hope Molly will be as fond of him one day as he is -of her." - -"He says," resumes Mrs. Merivale, paying no heed to this remark, -"that if he does not come back in the ordinary course of things, he -shall get short leave if he finds the time running on. There's Dick! -Mind, not a _word_ to him, Honor; he would tease the child out of her -senses. I think the safest way will be for only you and me to know -it. Doris will be so taken up with her own affairs that she will not -give any thought to the matter. Of course his mother knows. She has -always hoped for this, it seems. Ah, Molly is a good girl! You are -_all_ good girls, Honor. Now, good-night, dear; you look tired too, -and I am sure _I_ am." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -PREPARATIONS FOR A BALL. - -About a week after this Doris comes home, arriving in such wild -spirits that the household, which has lately become a little dull, -does not seem the same. Since Hugh's departure Molly has certainly -been more quiet and subdued than of old, often sitting lost in -thought, till Dick one day was reduced to telling her she seemed -always "wool-gathering" now, and asked was "it a paying business?" -The fact of the case was, that Hugh's manner and gift on the evening -of his last visit had set Molly thinking. No one can resist the -influence of Doris's happy gaiety, however; and though still disposed -to be a little thoughtful at times, Molly is soon roused into her own -bright self again. - -For some days after her arrival home, Doris's tongue hardly ever -ceases going. - -"Aunt was awfully kind to me, and I can tell you she is as pleased as -Punch about my engagement. Only she will call Lancelot (a little -blush) 'an estimable young man,' which does sound so dreadful, -doesn't it? And so poor Hugh has gone," she runs on. "Yes, it's a -pretty ring, Molly, very simple"--and here she glances rather -complacently at her own half-hoop of fine diamonds--"but good taste; -oh, yes, very. I always thought there would be something between you -two; but I suppose I was mistaken," she says airily. - -"Yes, aunt was very kind. Uncle is _much_ better, and looks quite -ten years younger. It was such fun! Aunt, I suppose, thought I -should be conceited if I thought Lancelot was coming so much for my -sake, so she told me that uncle and he had struck up a wonderful -affection for each other, and that amused uncle immensely. He used -to wink at me openly whenever Mr. Ferrars was announced. - -"Uncle and I are regular chums; and when he said good-bye he patted -my face, and told me I was a good girl, and that he was going to send -me a cheque when I begin to get my 'fal-lals and furbelows' together -for my marriage." - -The wedding has been fixed for about six months later, but Doris does -not consider it a bit too soon to commence the all-important business -of her trousseau, and soon the house is a perfect sea of long-cloth, -cambric, and lace. For it is settled that all the under-linen shall -be made at home, with the assistance of the girls at the schools, -perhaps, in which both Honor and Molly have for some time held -classes on Sunday. - -"Plenty of time for dresses and such things later on," said Mrs. -Merivale; and Doris agreed with her. Lancelot Ferrars was now in -London, Mrs. Merivale and Doris had heard, and up to his eyes in -business. He would run down to see them soon, however, he said. - -Some few weeks after this, when they are all settled down quietly -once more, a startling piece of intelligence is spread through -Edendale, which throws every one, from the highest to the lowest, -into an unwonted state of surprise and expectation. - -The new heir to the Court is said to be about to return from "foreign -parts," and intends coming down in about a fortnight's time to take -formal possession of his inheritance. - -There is to be first a tenants' dinner, and then a ball, to which -every one for miles round is to be invited. Of course the whole -neighbourhood is in a tremendous state of excitement over this -unexpected news, more especially as it is reported that the new -baronet intends living at the Court a good deal. There is much -speculation on many points, and mothers who have unmarried daughters -on their hands still, nod approvingly at all they hear of the -preparations in connection with the proposed gaieties--all hoping for -the best. For some declare that he is as yet a bachelor, though -others are equally certain that he has been married for years. - -Sir Edward Ferrars does not, it appears, feel disposed to gratify -their curiosity on this point any more than any other. For he does -not attempt to come near the place, leaving all arrangements as to -the entertainment entirely in the hands of those appointed to carry -it through, calmly announcing that he does not intend putting in an -appearance himself until absolutely necessary. People are obliged -perforce to be content, and they can only look forward to the day of -the ball with redoubled zest. - -In course of time cards of invitation are sent out for July 10th, the -Merivale's being for "Mrs. and the Miss Merivales." Doris goes up to -town soon after this to stay for a few days with her aunt, and -Lancelot coming in one day she shows him the invitation. - -"I brought it up to show aunt," she says. - -Mr. Ferrars laughs a little. - -"Sir Edward thought it best to say 'the Miss Merivales,' I suppose. -I did say there were three of you, but I daresay he forgot. He's a -queer sort of fellow, I believe. His predecessor was also rather -eccentric, you know. Of course you are all going, Doris?" he says -presently. "I shall be there. One of my aunts is going to play -hostess for Sir Edward, and I have promised to go and help them. -It's an awful bore, though." - -"Honor and I are going," says Doris, referring to the first remark. -"I am not quite sure about Molly." - -"O, let little Molly go! Besides," cries Lancelot with energy, "she -must, as my future bride's sister, you know." - -Doris stares a little. - -"How in the world are people to know that you and I are engaged; and -even if they did, what would they care about either me or Molly? We -are nothing to Sir Edward." - -"Ah, true, I forgot that. But you know what country places are, -Doris; and I wouldn't mind betting five pounds that before you have -been in the room half an hour the fact of our engagement will have -leaked out." - -"Do you know much of this Sir Edward?" inquires Doris after a pause. -"Is he married? Some say he is, some say he isn't." - -"I don't _think_ he is," says Lancelot slowly. "I fancy I heard -something about his being engaged, though." - -"O, _what_ a pity!" - -"Why, Doris?" - -"Because I thought he would have done nicely for Honor, or Molly -perhaps." - -"It strikes me there are two people who would strongly object to such -an arrangement," says Mr. Ferrars, leaning back in his chair and -smiling at Doris. "I don't think Dr. Sinclair would care about it, -nor young Horton." - -Doris opens her eyes. - -"Hugh!" she says with astonishment in her voice. "Why, nothing has -been said about these two, Lancelot." - -"Perhaps not," he answers lazily; "but there will be, sooner or -later, you will see, my dear. Don't say anything to Molly, though; I -don't think your mother wishes it. As for Sinclair, anyone can see -he is fond of Honor." - -"O yes, of course, I know that. But fancy Molly! My goodness, it -seems only yesterday that she was in short frocks!" And Doris falls -to musing. - -It is finally decided that Molly _shall_ go to the ball with her -sisters, and now an important question comes up. What are they all -to wear? - -"I would rather not go at all than go badly dressed," says Doris with -a suspicion of a pout. "How _horrid_ it is to be poor! There will -be all the Trevelyan family there: they are _sure_ to be, because -even Lancelot knows them quite intimately, and so also of course Sir -Edward must, to some extent; and they are the greatest people about -this part of the world, I suppose. I can just imagine how Lady Anne -will put up her eye-glass and examine us from top to toe." - -"I don't care if she does," says Molly promptly. "You can afford to -be looked at, Doris, for you are a hundred times better looking than -she is, and you are sure to get a lot more partners, notwithstanding -her title." - -But here Mrs. Merivale suddenly becomes possessed of an idea, and -intimates that such is the case by holding up her hand and saying -"Hush!" - -She then reminds Honor of the trunks of dresses belonging to her, -which, it will be remembered, there had been some little argument -about keeping at the time of the sale. - -"Were they kept, Honor?" - -"Yes, mother. Aunt insisted that it was more than anyone would -expect or even think of (I mean to leave them), so she had her own -way, and they are up in the second attic now in those big boxes." - -"Quite right, too," remarks Doris, referring to her aunt's having -come off victorious in the matter. - -So then and there a tremendous turn out takes place; and Mrs. -Merivale's bed-room, where the foregoing conversation has taken -place, is the scene of trying on and taking off for a good hour. - -Doris and Molly turn out their own particular hoards also, though the -latter's, in the matter of evening apparel, is somewhat scanty. -Still it is found that their white silks, which were their winter -party dresses, and only new shortly before the death of their father, -are in perfectly good condition still, and with judicious management -the two together can be made into one very presentable dress for -Molly. - -Doris's few evening dresses provided by her aunt when abroad, and -modest enough in themselves, prove to be a little shabby when seen by -daylight, and the girl's spirits begin to sink accordingly. - -"That pale pink of mother's is lovely," she says, looking at one -which Honor is in the act of shaking out, "but Lancelot insists on my -being in white. Such nonsense! I declare I would spend my last few -shillings in having a new white net or something; but it would look -absurd for Molly to be in silk and me not. What about Honor, too?" - -At this critical moment Becky appears staggering under the weight of -a large milliner's box, her cap a little more awry than usual. - -"For you, miss," she says, planting it on the floor close before -Doris. "There ain't nothing to pay;" and looking very much as if she -would like to stay, she slowly leaves the room. - -"For me? Good gracious! what can it be?" and Doris pounces on the -box, and tearing off both paper and string she very soon gets at the -contents. A new dead, white silk is then triumphantly displayed, -made with artistic simplicity, the only trimming being a little good -lace. - -Off comes Doris's dress in a trice, and in almost less time than it -takes to tell she is in the new one, pulling here and patting there -until it is all fastened (Doris gasping a little, but striving to -conceal that fact), and pronounced by one and all to "do" charmingly. - -"My stars," says Dick, appearing suddenly on the scene, "you _do_ -look stunning! What a pity our knight is not here to gaze upon his -future bride in this--shall I say, regal attire," and the boy falls -into an attitude of admiration and devotion. Doris bows her -acknowledgments of these graceful compliments with a heightened -colour; but whether the colour is due to the undeniable tightness of -the bodice or the mention of the "knight" we will leave an open -question; Dick inclining to the latter opinion, Doris (privately) to -the former. - -"You ungrateful girl!" suddenly cries Honor, who is engaged in -smoothing out the many sheets of crumpled tissue paper strewn about -the box and on the floor. "Here is a letter from aunt; how came you -not to see it?" - -It appears that the present is from Sir John. He wishes Doris to -look well at the coming ball, Lady Woodhouse goes on to say, young -Ferrars being of the same family as Sir Edward. - -"Well, that is kind of uncle, isn't it? Now I shall not care two -straws for Lady Anne Trevelyan or anyone else." - -On further examination of the hoards another white silk (one of Mrs. -Merivale's) is discovered, which will do nicely for Honor if altered -and renovated. - -"I want you all to be dressed alike in that respect," says Mrs. -Merivale. "You know, girls, I always liked white silk for you in the -old days before your poor father died," and she sighs heavily. - -And so the weighty subject of the ball dresses is settled, and a -young woman in the village, whom the girls have found to be possessed -of some ideas as to style and so on, is engaged to come into the -house to alter those destined for Honor and Molly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -JOHN SINCLAIR'S FAIRY TALE. - -All this time Daisy and Dr. John Sinclair continue to take their -almost daily rides, greatly to the delight of the former if not the -latter. Not that the young man feels one whit less the pleasure of -having his little favourite intrusted to his care, and of watching -her slow but steady return to health and spirits. - -But of late he has become dull and spiritless, going about his work -in a listless sort of way which is quite foreign to him as a rule, -and which cannot fail to be noticed by anyone who knows him well. - -It will have been gathered from some foregoing hints that ever since -the young doctor had been called in to attend Daisy in her illness, -he had been gradually becoming attached to her sister Honor. - -At first he had been amused, afterwards attracted, by all her quiet -little motherly ways when nursing Daisy, and when he came to be a -daily visitor at the house he soon learned to appreciate and admire -the girl who, for the sake of all around her, was making such brave -and heroic efforts against an adverse fate. - -It was not difficult for the doctor's keen eyes to see that Honor, -young as she was, was the guide and mainstay of the whole household, -nothing, not even the merest trifle being ever settled or arranged -without consultation with her first. - -And all this was done with graceful cheerfulness and sweetness of -temper; for it was very seldom, sorely tried though she was at times, -that Honor allowed herself to become ruffled or cross, even with poor -Becky in her most stupid fits; and no one but the girl herself knew -what a weary, tired-out little frame it often was she stretched upon -her bed at night with a sigh of thankfulness for her well-earned -rest. Then when better times came, and cares and anxieties lessened, -the young doctor saw a new side to her character; for whereas she had -before been almost unnaturally sober-minded for one so young, she was -now like a bright sunbeam in the house. - -No wonder Dr. Sinclair began to think how cheerless his house (which -hitherto had appeared to be all that was desirable) looked on his -arrival home, and how different it would all be if there was someone -always waiting to receive him. In summer-time he would picture this -person sitting in the porch, perhaps, with needlework, and when -winter came, in a cozy sitting-room all aglow with firelight, with -possibly a pair of slippers warming near the fender. O, yes, it was -a charming picture! In truth the young doctor, hitherto so matter of -fact and prosaic, had taken to painting many such pictures in his -mind's eye, and the centre figure always bore, strange to say, a -strong resemblance to Honor Merivale. But John Sinclair had got his -way to make in the world, for although he had stepped into his -father's practice on the latter's death, the list of well-to-do -patients was not a very extensive one, there being but few -(comparatively) large houses round about the neighbourhood; and the -young fellow being kind-hearted and lenient in such matters, fees -came in but slowly from his poorer patients, often not at all. - -This had been of no consequence to the old gentleman during his -lifetime, for he had money of his own which made him independent of -his profession. In later years, however, he had speculated largely -and unsuccessfully, and when on his death-bed he was obliged to tell -his son that all he had to leave him was his house and just the bare -practice. This intelligence had in no way disconcerted John -Sinclair, however. He said he had his brains and his hands, and with -those useful commodities had no fears for the future. - -He had soon worked the practice up into something very much better -than it had been formerly, and, what was more encouraging, he was -beginning to be looked upon with favour by his brother practitioners, -it being now no uncommon thing for him to be sent for to neighbouring -towns to hold consultations with men of long standing and experience. - -Still his fortune was not made, and in his castle-building moments he -now became painfully conscious of many defects in his bachelor home. - -The carpets, which a little while back had appeared quite handsome in -his eyes, now look threadbare and worn. The curtains are all of them -old-fashioned and dingy. The leather of the dining-room furniture -has suddenly become shabby and scratched, whilst the coverings of all -the drawing-room chairs and sofas, &c., are faded to the last degree. - -No, he could not ask Honor to share his home as it is. He must wait -until he shall have the means to brighten up the old house with -modern furniture, and to make it both pretty and comfortable. He -must wait, too, until he has a certain income (how much, he has not -quite decided even to himself) to depend upon yearly. - -"She has slaved and laboured enough, poor child!" he says to himself -sighing, "and she shall never have to do it again through any -rashness of mine." - -So altogether John Sinclair is not in the best of spirits just now, -for while he is waiting might not someone else step in and secure the -prize. - -Mrs. Merivale sees the change, and guesses pretty accurately the -reason of it. But while she pities him from her heart she feels -rightly that nothing she can do will mend matters. - -Daisy does not find her companion nearly so amusing and cheerful now -as she used to, and one morning, feeling in extra good spirits -herself, and only getting mono-syllabic answers to all her childish -flow of chatter, she plainly informs him of that fact without the -slightest regard to his feelings. - -"Am I not?" says Sinclair, laughing a little and pulling himself -together; for he had been leaning forward in his saddle wrapped in -gloomy thoughts, until the child's abrupt remark roused him. - -"Well, I am very sorry, Daisy. I'll try to be a little more lively -in future. Shall I tell you a new story?" - -Daisy looks at him, and then shakes her head. - -"I like the old one best," she says, "about the princess, you know, -and the wood-cutter. But I don't like the way it finishes up. You -must make it end differently, Dr. John." - -"Why, how did it end?--I almost forget now;" and he passes his hand -over his eyes and strives to take his memory back to please his -exacting little patient. - -"Why, I believe _I_ know it all better than you!" remarks the child -with some contempt. "Don't you remember? The princess had a lot of -brothers and sisters; but, you know, she can only have been a -princess in disguise, because she was a kind of Cinderella at home. -Then the wood-cutter, just because he _was_ a wood-cutter, would not -ask the princess to marry him, although he was _dreadfully_ fond of -her; and _I_ think that was silly, you know, because it was quite -likely that some fairy would have made him a prince when they were -married, and then, you see, it would have been all right. You must -make up a new ending," concludes Daisy authoritatively, "and make the -wood-cutter ask the princess to marry him, and then they will both be -happy ever after." - -"Do you think they really would be?" asks Dr. John anxiously. - -"Of _course_ they would--they always are!" replies Daisy, with firm -conviction that the approved manner of winding up fairy tales in -general cannot fail to be successful in this case also. - -"You can arrange it all nicely when you are at home to-night," -continues the child, "and mind you make it very long." - -"To be sure," says the young man as he lifts his little charge off -her pony and stands her by the gate. "Yards long, if you like, -Daisy; and we will take an extra long ride so as to get it all in -comfortably." - -As he stops at the Rosery stables to leave Puck, the old gentlemen at -work in the garden catch sight of their young favourite; and nothing -will do but he must go in and take a glass of ale and some cake with -them, the brothers being devoted to cake themselves, and thinking of -necessity that every one else must be likewise. So Jack is taken in -company with Puck to the nice cool stable, where he is entertained -with a fresh drink and a few oats, while his master goes into the -shady, old-fashioned dining-room with his old hosts. It soon becomes -apparent that they have lured him in with some special object, for -after a humming and hawing from both gentlemen in turn Mr. Edward at -length says: - -"The fact is, my dear Dr. John, we have been wanting to speak to you -for some time past on a little matter of business; and I do not see -that we could have a better opportunity than now." - -Mr. Benjamin nods approvingly, and saying "exactly," looks at his -brother expectantly. - -"You see, my dear boy," resumes the elder brother slowly, "if you -will pardon us for saying so, we do think it is time you were -thinking of getting married. Hush! pray let me finish what I was -about to say. Of course Mrs. Mildew, though a truly excellent woman -in her way, is, it cannot be denied, advancing in years; and we fear -that she does not always make you as comfortable as--as, well, as she -might. Now, Brother Ben and I, you must remember, have known you -ever since you were a little chap--so high, and have looked upon you -as a son almost. Naturally, therefore, we have put you down in our -will for a trifle. But we have lately been thinking that the wiser -plan would be to let you have the benefit of this little sum during -our lifetime--in fact, at once. It will bring you in about a hundred -a year, and with your own practice, we think you might make a -sufficient income to keep a wife very comfortably. - -"Of course," says Mr. Ned, holding up his hand again for silence--"of -course _this_ is a matter in which we cannot advise you, and which -must be left entirely to yourself. I daresay, however, you know -plenty of young ladies in the different towns about;" and he nods and -smiles archly at the young fellow. - -"You see, my dear boy, it looks so much better for a doctor to be a -married man," suddenly puts in Mr. Benjamin; "and should you be so -fortunate as to meet with anyone in the future whom you would like -to--to make Mrs. John, you know, you would naturally want to furbish -up the old place a bit--now, wouldn't you?" - -"Another thing," strikes in Mr. Edward, both brothers seeming equally -determined that John shall not have an opportunity of getting in a -single word edgeways until they have said all their say, "it would be -an immense relief to both Brother Ben and myself to feel that we -still had you at hand to fly to in any case of emergency. We have -always had the fear that you might perhaps be running away to set up -in some more prosperous place than this." - -Here the old gentleman pauses, and John Sinclair, seizing his -opportunity, speaks at last--not that he is allowed to say much, -however, for the old fellows have not half finished yet, and they -will not listen to a single word of thanks. - -When John once brings in the word "obligation" they are both down -upon him at once. - -"There is no obligation in the matter at all, my dear boy, unless it -is on our side. As I said to Brother Ben this morning, 'It is pure -selfishness on our part, Ben, nothing more nor less. Because, you -see, we like to see with our own eyes that what we intend doing is -really done, and without any haggling with lawyers and executors.' -Why, bless me, if every one acted on this principle there would be a -little more justice and comfort in the world, I'm thinking." - -After a little more brisk conversation and some chaffing on the -subject of the future "Mrs. John" (Mr. Ben having declared that his -young friend was blushing, and that he believed he already had his -eye on some charming young lady, though whom it could be he couldn't -tell), the young doctor is allowed to take his departure. - -Riding slowly down the cool, green lanes, Jack rather enjoying the -unusual pace, Sinclair repeats over and over to himself Daisy's -words, "The wood-cutter must ask the princess to marry him," till at -last, giving the saddle a sounding smack with the handle of his -riding-whip, he exclaims to himself, "He shall ask her, and that this -very day! Only," his face falling a little, "will she raise any -objections to leaving all her brothers and sisters, I wonder?" He is -put to the test sooner than he expects, for as he comes out of the -lane at the crossroads, a little way down one of which his own house -stands, whom should he see seated on the stile, a small basket by her -side, but Honor Merivale! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -THE WOOD-CUTTER AND THE PRINCESS. - -In a moment John Sinclair is off his horse, and drawing his arm -through the reins he approaches Honor. - -"Now I am fortunate," he says, putting one foot up on the lower plank -of the stile. "I was just wishing for someone to communicate a piece -of good news to; and lo! here is someone ready and waiting, as it -were." - -"I was waiting for a fresh stock of breath after climbing up that -hill, Dr. Sinclair, not for you." - -"Possibly," he returns, smiling; "but now you are here you will let -me tell my news, won't you?" - -Then in a few words he tells her of the conversation that has been -held that morning by the Mr. Talboys and himself. - -"I am so glad!" exclaims Honor, holding out her hand in the impulse -of the moment, "and they will be so delighted at home too! You work -so hard and are so good to every one, I am sure you thoroughly -deserve this good fortune." - -"The brothers find serious fault with me for one thing, however," -resumes the doctor after a short pause. "They think it is high time -I thought of getting married." - -"Oh!" says Honor, and suddenly discovering that her hand is still -resting in that of Sinclair, she gently draws it away and strokes -Jack's velvet nose. - -"Yes, they say a doctor ought to be a married man. I think so too. -What do _you_ say, Miss Honor?" - -"O, I daresay it may be well in some cases, but you have got on very -well so far." - -"Yes, so far perhaps," and letting the reins drop, that Jack may -graze at will, Sinclair seats himself on the stile, a plank below -Honor. - -"By the by," he says, looking up suddenly, "you remember that story I -have often told Daisy, about the wood-cutter and the princess? You -must have heard it, because I am sure I have told it some hundreds of -times altogether. Well, I have to revise it, to suit her little -ladyship's taste. She no longer approves of it as it was. I -thought, perhaps, you might help me. First of all the princess, so -far as I remember, had no name. I don't think I ever troubled myself -about giving her one. Now, what do you think of 'Honoria'--Princess -Honoria? I think it sounds well; do you?" - -"O yes," replies the girl, laughing a little. "That would do very -well, I daresay." - -"Well then, do you think 'John' too commonplace a name for the -wood-cutter?" - -Honor starts a little. - -"I think you might find one better suited to a fairy tale," she says -quietly. - -"Do you? Oh, I think it would do so well. O yes, certainly; his -name must be John. You can settle the next question for me. Daisy -says the wood-cutter is to ask the princess to marry him. Shall he -do so, Honor?" - -Poor Honor! She cannot get off the stile, because there sits the -doctor below, making her descent practically impossible until he -chooses to move; and her broad-brimmed hat, though effectually -shading her eyes from the sun, cannot shield her from the earnest -eyes looking up so anxiously into her face. She cannot put up her -sun-shade either, for both her hands are now imprisoned, and while -flushing painfully she tries to withdraw them, she looks away across -the fields and says nothing. - -"Won't you answer me, Honor?" he says after a minute. - -"I--I think it would be a pity for him to ask her," she says in a low -voice. - -"Why?" - -Honor brings her face round again, and with a great effort continues -speaking in the light manner in which they began, notwithstanding -that her hands are still held tightly. - -"Why," she says with a little smile. "Don't you remember that the -princess had a lot of brothers and sisters, and--and they might not -like her to go away, and she might not think it right to leave them, -you know." - -"They might marry too," mutters Sinclair gloomily. Then suddenly -bending forward again, he says with trembling voice, "Honor, dear -child, do not trifle with me. You know that I have loved you for a -long, long time, almost ever since I first knew you. But I have been -waiting--oh, such a weary waiting!--until I should have something -else to offer you besides my worthless self. And now that I _can_ do -it, you are not going to disappoint me, dear? Say you will be my -wife, Honor." - -[Illustration: "YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DISAPPOINT ME, HONOR?"] - -"O don't, please don't!" cries the girl, trying distractedly to get -possession of her own hands again. "O, Dr. Sinclair, I _wish_ you -had not asked me!" - -"Why?" he asks again quietly. - -"Because--because, I cannot bear to seem ungrateful or unkind, and -yet I must. O, will you please let me go?" - -"I will let you go when you have answered me two questions, Honor," -he says, dropping her hands and drawing back. "Will you first tell -me why you are obliged to disappoint me?" - -Honor struggles bravely to keep back her tears, while she says in a -low voice: "I could not leave them, Dr. Sinclair. My mother and -sisters and the boys, I mean. Somehow I have never thought of such a -thing as marrying for myself." - -"Not lately, Honor?" - -Honor looks down, but does not answer. - -"I promised father, only a little while before he died," she goes on, -"that I would always do all I could to help the others." - -"But you did not promise him never to marry? Your father would not -have exacted such a promise, I am sure. Now, Honor dear, be -reasonable. Doris is going to be married, and Molly will follow -before very long." - -"Molly?" repeats Honor, looking up. - -"Yes, of course she will, as soon as young Horton comes home again. -Well, there are two off the list. You would not consider the boys so -much in the matter, I suppose; and your mother could divide her time -between Doris and ourselves. Daisy I have always looked forward to -having to live with us. Ah! what would poor little Daisy say if she -knew that the princess was refusing to marry the wood-cutter, and to -give her that big brother she so much covets! Ah, Honor, dear child, -think before you speak again. Don't decide hurriedly, I beseech you. -Take a day to consider--two or three, if you will; but remember, that -if your final answer is again 'no,' you give me a lifelong sorrow to -live down. - -"No!" he suddenly adds with an energy that startles Honor and Jack -both, "not a _life_-long sorrow, for I shall still hope, even if I -have to wait for years. There is only one thing that will rob me of -all hope. If you tell me that you cannot care for me, then will I -leave you here at once, and I will never open my lips on the subject -again." - -But Honor, who would rather die than tell an untruth, cannot tell him -anything of the kind, and so she turns a little reproachful look upon -him, shaking her head sadly, and as it droops lower and lower two -great tears fall upon the hands which are now again holding hers in a -firm grasp. - -At the sight of her tears the doctor has instant remorse. - -"Forgive me, Honor," he says gently. "I have been too hard on you; I -am a selfish fellow, and now I have distressed you." - -But Honor, who is still crying quietly, again shakes her head, and in -a whisper that he can hardly hear she says: - -"No, no, you have not. Please, do not think that. I--I am crying -for, for happiness, I think. But oh, I am so sorry too! _Please_, -let me get my handkerchief!" - -What would have been the result of this somewhat contradictory -statement, it would be perhaps rash to speculate upon, judging by the -look of happiness which suddenly overspreads the doctor's face. But -at this critical moment a small urchin turns the corner of the lane -and slowly comes into sight. He holds a tin-can in one hand and -something tied up in a red-cotton handkerchief in the -other--presumably his dinner. The fact of coming upon the party at -the stile so suddenly and unexpectedly appears to embarrass him -exceedingly, for he stands as if rooted to the spot, gaping and -staring, first at the horse, then at Sinclair, then at Honor; his -eyes travelling back again in reversed order, and finally resting on -Jack, with whom he seems struck with admiration. All chance of -private conversation being apparently at an end, John Sinclair rises, -and first possessing himself of Honor's basket, holds out his hand -and helps her down from the stile with elaborate politeness. Then -once more slipping the reins over his arm, he retraces his steps -(Jack meekly following, though it is the opposite direction from -home), and walks slowly along by Honor's side until they reach the -gate of the Rookery. - -When Honor enters the house it is with a confused sense of having -conceded so far as to make three distinct promises to Dr. John -Sinclair. One is that should Molly marry some day in the far distant -future, she, Honor, shall consider herself pledged to become Mrs. -Sinclair, at a moment's notice. The second is that she shall -straightway inform her mother of what has passed between them, as he -intends calling that evening to speak to Mrs. Merivale on the subject -himself. - -The third concession (and Honor blushes when she thinks of it) is -that "Dr. Sinclair" is to be dropped from that time forth, and that -she is to call him simply "John" for the future. Honor, however, -privately resolves to call him nothing, if she can avoid doing -otherwise, as a way out of the difficulty. - -They are all seated at the dinner-table when she enters the room, -Doris at the head carving, for which Honor is devoutly thankful, -feeling possibly that in her present state of confusion she would not -know a shoulder of mutton from a round of beef. Mrs. Merivale is at -the other end of the table. - -"You _are_ late," says Doris, brandishing the carving-knife. "Which -will you have, Honor, hashed mutton or cold beef?" - -"Cold mutton, please," replies Honor, and Doris, staring a little, -begins to carve her some beef, thinking to herself that the hot sun -has turned her sister's head a little. - -Dick presently pushes the salad over. - -"No, thanks," says Honor absently; and at that Dick arrests the -progress of the fork which is half-way to his mouth, and laying it -down again exclaims: - -"Why, what is the matter with Honor? She is as red as a poppy; she -calls beef mutton and refuses salad in the same breath!" - -"Mind your own business and don't tease!" says Molly, who had caught -sight of the doctor with Honor at the gate, and has her own private -opinion as to her sister's embarrassment. "Eat your dinner, Dick, -and get back to your lessons. That's the best thing you can do. -Can't you see," leaning over and helping herself to more salad, "that -Honor is done up with the heat? I really thought I should have -collapsed with it myself this morning when I was coming home, down -that hot, glaring, dusty road. What did Lancelot say in his letter -this morning, Doris?" - -Honor looks gratefully at her younger sister, and having had time to -recover herself, she tries to talk and to make a pretence of eating, -though the chief part of her meat is surreptitiously received by -Timothy under the table. - -The conversation at length becomes general, and is chiefly about the -ball, which is no further off now than the next evening. - -Later on in the day Lady Woodhouse is to arrive, she having promised -to chaperone her three nieces to the ball. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -"I AM LANCELOT," SAYS SIR EDWARD. - -The dresses for the ball have all been finished off satisfactorily, -and now that the evening of the 10th has really arrived, the three -girls are standing in the drawing-room, preparatory to starting with -their aunt for the Court. - -They make a pretty group in their simple, white silk gowns and -natural flowers. Doris is perhaps a little the most important -looking, as being the eldest of the three. Standing with a handsome -posy of choice hothouse flowers (sent down from London that morning -by Mr. Ferrars) in her hand, she looks, as she certainly is, a very -pretty and graceful girl. - -Honor, with an opposition posy, which had arrived with some mystery -that afternoon, and is explained with great persistency by Dick as -being an offering from Ernest Hildyard, looks almost equally pretty -to-night, with a soft flush upon her cheeks and a happy light in her -eyes, which seems lately to have become habitual to them. But it is -Molly who carries off the palm for beauty on this occasion, though -not, perhaps, looking in the same ecstatic spirits as her two -sisters; and her mother as she looks at her feels a little pardonable -pride in the thought that probably her three daughters will be the -best-looking girls in the ball-room. - -"She is looking lovely to-night!" whispers the delighted mother to -Honor. "I do wish Hugh were here to see her, poor fellow!" - -Lady Woodhouse and Molly are also provided with posies of choice -flowers, Priscilla having left them at the Rookery that evening about -six, with her masters' compliments, a card being tied on each, one -for "Lady Woodhouse," the other "Miss Mary Merivale." - -Evidently some little bird had whispered to the old gentlemen that it -would be quite unnecessary to send a similar offering to either Doris -or Honor. - -"We must take care what we are about, Ben," remarked Mr. Edward to -his brother, "or we shall have these two young fellows getting -jealous of us." - -When the only available fly in the village is at length announced by -Dick and Bobby, who have both been on the tiptoe of expectation for -some time, Lady Woodhouse gathers up her skirts, and followed by her -three nieces walks down the gravel path, Dick being in attendance to -receive her goloshes, which, though there has not been a drop of rain -for weeks, she insists on wearing over her evening shoes until she -shall be safely seated in the aforesaid fly. - -As the boy hands Honor in, he charges her to be sure to ask Sinclair -how he likes the flowers Mr. Hildyard has sent her, but on receiving -a smart rap on his head with a fan from Molly, who is close behind -him, he wisely retires into the background. - -"Bless me! what a rattle-trap kind of conveyance," says Lady -Woodhouse to Honor, who is seated opposite, "and _how_ it smells of -straw! You girls had better hold up your gowns off the floor; I -don't suppose it is any too clean. And, dear me, there is a piece of -glass out of the pane behind Molly! You had better pull the window -up on your side, child, or you will be getting a stiff neck or an -ear-ache." - -* * * * * * * * - -It is certainly not to be denied that those whose business it has -been to make all the arrangements for the ball have achieved wonders, -for the stately, gloomy-looking old place, which until now had been -shut up for so many years, is scarcely to be recognized in the -brilliantly-lighted and flower-bedecked mansion, at whose wide-thrown -doors the guests are being set down from carriage after carriage. - -The garden is so arranged as to look like a continuation of the -beautiful conservatories, and the trees and bushes all being hung -with coloured lamps, the whole scene is like a miniature fairy-land. -There is a large marquee at one end, with light refreshments, and -this arrangement is appreciated not a little by the guests, who are -thankful on this hot summer night to have the excuse of a stroll in -the open air in order to obtain their ices and claret-cup between the -dances. - -Just inside the great drawing-room stands an aristocratic-looking, -silver-haired lady, who, with the assistance of three gentlemen -(Lancelot and two younger-looking men), is receiving the guests. The -dancing is to be in the great hall, so when most of the visitors have -arrived they are conducted thither without delay. - -"I wonder which is Sir Edward?" whispers Doris to Honor; "they are -neither of them half so good-looking as Lancelot." For Mr. Ferrars -has merely said "my cousins" in introducing them to the girls. - -But at this moment there is a little stir near the door, and the next -moment the Earl and Countess of Castleton, with their daughters, Lady -Anne and Lady Margaret Trevelyan, enter the room. - -As the host and hostess have been waiting for the arrival of this -party before giving the signal for the dancing to commence, Lancelot -immediately leads the way to the hall with Lady Castleton. The rest -of the guests follow, Lord Castleton, rather to Doris's surprise, -begging the honour of the first dance with her, while the two -"cousins" bear off the Ladies Anne and Margaret. - -Doris, though appearing pleased enough, nevertheless feels rather put -out. As she had looked forward to dancing the first dance with -Lancelot, she cannot help wondering why _he_ should be opening the -ball with Lady Castleton, instead of his cousin Sir Edward. Lord -Castleton does not mend matters in her opinion by planting himself -and her immediately opposite to Lancelot and his partner, thus giving -her precedence of Lady Anne and Lady Margaret. - -The girl is so confused with this (to her) odd arrangement that her -conversational powers are seriously affected, and she thinks to -herself what a stupid little thing she must appear to his lordship. -She sees in the distance, in another set, Honor with John Sinclair, -and Molly with Lord Hinton, a friend and college chum of Lancelot's, -who has come down with him, and she finds herself privately thinking -that if her partner were any other than Lord Castleton she would -insist on leaving this very select set and joining the other. - -She makes the best of it, however, and meeting a little affectionate -and encouraging glance from her vis-ŕ-vis just as the band plays the -opening bars of the quadrille, she brightens up, and chats to her -elderly partner while gracefully moving through the figures in a -manner which quite charms his lordship. - -Doris is once more standing by her aunt's side when Lancelot hurries -up. "I must have this one waltz before I do any more duty dances, -Doris. Come along!" and in another instant they are gliding round -the room together. After several turns Mr. Ferrars guides her to the -end of the hall, where some heavy curtains are hung. He lifts one, -and Doris, looking a little surprised, passes through. They are now -in a sort of inner hall, and hurrying Doris down it he throws open -one of the doors and stands aside for her to enter. It is a -cosy-looking study which they are now standing in, the windows, like -those of nearly all the rooms on that side, leading straight to the -garden. The only thing, however, that Doris notices particularly in -the room itself is a nearly full-length portrait of Lancelot over the -mantel-piece. - -"Are you tired?" he asks, putting her into a comfortable -lounging-chair, and taking his stand by the fireplace, one elbow -resting on the mantel-piece. - -"Tired!--after only two dances? Why, I shouldn't expect to be tired -if I danced all night long, Lancelot." - -"And now, tell me, Doris," he says after a short pause, "how do you -like Sir Edward?" - -"Sir Edward?" repeats Doris staring a little. "Why, I don't even -know who he is yet. You only said 'my cousin' when you introduced -them both to us. How can I possibly tell?" - -"And yet you have been dancing with him," says Lancelot with a little -smile. - -"I!--with Sir Edward?" says Doris evidently thinking that her -companion is wandering in his mind a little. - -"Yes, _you_, with Sir Edward. Look here, Doris," taking her arm and -raising her from the chair, "that is Sir Edward Ferrars up there!" -and he points to the portrait of himself. - -"_Lancelot!_" gasps Doris, and she turns her wonder-stricken face -towards him, while a little pained look comes into her eyes. "Why -have you called yourself Lancelot, then?" she inquires, her voice -sounding a little hurt and constrained. - -"Because I _am_ Lancelot," Sir Edward says gently, and taking her -hands into his. "But I am Edward too, Doris; the other is only my -second name, though I have always been called by it since my infancy. -You see, I never expected to come into this property, Doris. It came -almost like a blow to me. There was another man, a distant cousin, -who was the direct heir; but, poor fellow! he was a black sheep, I am -afraid, and he came to an untimely end. It was all hushed up at the -time, and I knew no more of it than anyone else. You may imagine, -then, how surprised I was when I found myself the happy possessor of -this property. Happy, because I have found someone to share it with -me, Doris. I should not have cared two straws about it otherwise." - -"But--but _why_ did you deceive me, Lancelot?" says Doris, with the -threatening of a pout on her fair face. - -"I did not deceive you, dear. I simply let things take their own -course, with you that is, and I was as much Lancelot Ferrars then as -now, now as then. The only two people I told of my accession to this -property were your aunt and your mother. I was bound to tell them, -of course." - -"And why," says Doris, still looking and feeling a little hurt, -"_why_ couldn't you tell _me_ too?" - -"You must forgive me, Doris. Do you remember what you said to me -over and over again about making some great match? I remember you -tossing your little head one day when we were sitting in the balcony -of the hotel at Venice and saying 'What was love compared to riches!'" - -Doris blushes and hangs her head. - -"Then there appeared this rich old French count--" - -"He wasn't _very_ old," interrupts Doris. - -"Older than I am at any rate. And I thought at first you were a -little bit dazzled with the prospect of horses and carriages and -diamonds and so forth, so, although I knew even then that I was in a -position to give them to you also, I made up my mind I would be sure -that you were accepting me for myself, even as the artist who could -only give you a very different position to that which the old (I beg -pardon, the middle-aged) count could, and I suppose _did_, offer you. -Am I forgiven, Doris? I must be hastening back to my duties now; but -you must tell me first, dear, if you care any less for Sir Edward -than for the Lancelot you have known so long?" - -Doris lifts her face, a little paler than when they entered the room -at first, and with unshed tears standing in her large blue eyes she -says: - -"Dear Lancelot, I care for you no less, no more than at first. I do -not think I could ever be fonder of you than I was when I promised to -become your wife. But I am glad now that you tried me, and that I -accepted you in ignorance of your real position. O," she adds a -little archly, "it was horribly mean of you, but I am very, very glad -now!" - -Sir Edward (for we may as well give him his title now) folds Doris in -his arms for one brief moment, then he hurries her out of the room. -As they are approaching the hall once more, he whispers, "Give me -your programme, Lady Ferrars! I must squeeze in every dance that I -can with your ladyship; but oh, these duty dances! I _must_ have one -with Honor, and Molly too. Now you understand, I suppose, why I -opened the proceedings with Lady Castleton, and why the Earl was -_your_ partner?" - -"But he doesn't know, does he?" says Doris, looking frightened. - -"Yes, I gave him a hint. We are old friends; my father and he were -very intimate in days gone by. Lord Castleton has just told me that -he thinks Miss Merivale is a very charming girl. I shouldn't be a -bit surprised if he proposes your health at supper to-night. There -will have to be a little speechifying, worse luck, because of the -occasion." - -"O, good gracious, I hope he won't!" exclaims Doris excitedly. "If -he does, I shall fall straight under the table with nervousness!" - -"Never mind," says Sir Edward calmly. "If you do I can fish you up -again." - -Presently the Mr. Talboys come up to Doris full of hearty -congratulations, as do also most of the guests in the room that -night, who have not known the true state of affairs any more than -Doris herself. Molly, indeed, is reduced to such a state of surprise -and wonder, that Honor thinks it well to whisper that her present -partner, a youth of tender age, will be frightened if she continues -to stare in that vacant manner. - -The Mr. Talboys, who, after their usual custom had been amongst the -first arrivals, have been immensely gratified and pleased by all the -attention their three favourites have been receiving. The little -surprise of Lancelot turning out to be Sir Edward, they take quite as -a matter of course. - -"Doubtless he had very excellent reasons, my dear Ben," observed Mr. -Ned. "You see, no one knew him down here, not a soul, excepting the -Merivales and ourselves, and I should say Mr. Ferrars--I mean Sir -Edward--is an unobtrusive sort of man. O yes, very, I should think." - -To Lady Woodhouse Doris is at the same moment saying, "Aunt, how -could you and mother play me such a trick? It was too bad of you -both." - -"Tut, child!" says Aunt Sophia with a little toss of her head, "it -was for your own good. If young Ferrars had really been a pauper and -was pretending to be a prince, I might have thought twice about it, -perhaps. Here he comes for you. Dear me, how tired I am getting!" -and the poor lady tries to stifle a yawn behind her fan. - -By and by, in one of the pauses in their waltz, Sir Edward suddenly -says, "You will have to call me 'Edward' now, you know. You can't go -on with Lancelot: no one would know whom you were talking about. Of -course it must be Edward." - -"Well, I suppose it must," says Doris, taking little sniffs at her -flowers. "But I don't like it half so well. It is so formal too. I -shall have to call you 'Ned' for short, shall I?" - -"You can't do that, because Mr. Talboys will always think you are -speaking to him when he is present. _Ted_ might do, though. It -sounds so romantic and pretty, doesn't it? Honor and Molly are -getting lots of attention, aren't they? Poor Horton, I wish he was -here. Shall we have another turn, Doris?" - -Not long after this there is a general move amongst the guests who -are still left, and while Lady Woodhouse and her three nieces are -waiting together in a little group, Sir Edward, his cousins, Lord -Hinton, and John Sinclair being in close attendance, Mrs. Cunnyngham, -Sir Edward's aunt, says a few kind, courteous words to her nephew's -promised bride, finally kissing her affectionately when saying -"good-night." - -Sir Edward takes Lady Woodhouse out to the carriage, Lord Hinton -following with Doris. - -Mr. Ernest Hildyard, who has been leaning against the wall consumed -with jealousy of his successful rival John Sinclair for the best part -of the evening, on seeing this move rushes forward, inspired by one -last glimmer of hope, and is about to offer his arm to Honor, when -Sinclair with a little triumphant smile strides forward and quietly -takes possession of her. - -The disappointed youth falls back to Molly's side just as one of Mrs. -Cunnyngham's sons also reaches her; but with a little smile at the -latter Molly puts her hand on young Hildyard's arm, and Cunnyngham, -understanding her smile, steps back, liking her all the better for -the little kind-hearted act. - -Both brothers, however, accompany her as well, and there is quite a -merry leave-taking amongst them all as the gentlemen stand -congregated on the lowest step, after having seen their fair charges -stowed away in the fly. The first rosy streaks of dawn are appearing -in the east as they drive away from the Court, and poor Lady -Woodhouse, tired and shivery, throws herself back in her seat -exclaiming: - -"There! thank goodness _that_ is over. I would not go through it all -again, no, not if I were paid for it!" Mary is in attendance with -the goloshes as the fly draws up at the gate, and they all go as -quietly and softly into the house and up the stairs as if, as Doris -says, they were housebreakers. - -The girls follow their aunt into her room and help her out of her -finery, as she calls it. - -"Why, dear me," says the good lady, sinking into a chair, "you girls -look as fresh as larks even now--excepting Molly perhaps: the child -looks pale. Get me my night-cap somebody, I am dying to get this -lace arrangement off. That diamond pin has been running into my head -the best part of the evening." - -"Poor Aunt!" says Doris. "Take off your cap and I'll have the other -ready in a minute." And the naughty girl winks at Honor as she turns -away to look for it. - -Molly, however, too tired for jokes, is before her, and is already -standing by her aunt with the night-cap in her hands. - -"That's a good girl," says Lady Woodhouse, drawing her face down and -kissing it. "And now be off, all of you. You have already lost -several hours of beauty-sleep, and you will be looking as haggard as -old women to-morrow!" And kissing them all affectionately, she -dismisses her three maids for the night, or more correctly speaking, -morning. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -DORIS'S WEDDING. - -Breakfast is considerably later than usual the next morning, in -consequence of the gaieties of the previous night. Mrs. Merivale has -therefore made an effort to be present on this occasion in order to -hear full accounts of the ball. - -Lady Woodhouse has now somewhat recovered from her fatigue, but the -girls all look pale and heavy-eyed, being altogether unaccustomed to -such late hours. Molly sits in a hopeless state of yawning, hardly -eating any breakfast, and leaving all the others to do the talking, -only throwing in a word here and there. Doris has been scolding her -mother for her part in what she calls the _trick_ played upon her as -to the real position of her _fiancé_, and Mrs. Merivale has more than -once been obliged to appeal laughingly to her sister for support in -what she holds out as her _reasons_ against her daughter's arguments. - -That young lady at length clinches the matter by emphatically -declaring it to be all "fudge," whatever that may be, and that she is -quite surprised at Lancelot having behaved so badly. - -"Yes," presently remarks Lady Woodhouse, chipping the top off an egg, -"I will say this for your girls, Mary,--a more lady-like, refined -trio you could not see. If they were not here," she continues with -an inconsistency worthy of the Emerald Isle itself, "I should go on -to say what is perfectly true, that they were the admiration of the -greater part of the guests, and the envy of the rest. Why, if their -programmes had been as long as my arm, they could have filled them -over and over. O, yes, I certainly feel well repaid for those long, -weary hours of sitting there, pretending I liked it, when I would -_far_ rather have been in my bed. Well, as I said before, the girls -do you credit, Mary. You and that excellent Miss Denison that was; -you would have brought them up to be refined even had they had to go -out charing. Good gracious! here's that cat of yours playing with my -shoe-strings. Take him away, Molly, do! And now, Doris, what is -this you are telling us about Sir Edward? If he wants you to marry -him in three weeks' time instead of several months, why in the world -shouldn't you do so?" - -"It is so quick, aunt," objects Doris. - -"Quick? What nonsense, child! And now, let me tell you this, Doris, -and I am sure your mother will agree with me. Considering that you -are going to your husband without so much as a sixpence of your own, -I think it is your duty--do you hear?--your _duty_ to consider his -wishes. Goodness knows, the property has been neglected long enough; -and if Sir Edward wishes to settle down on his estate as quickly as -he can, I don't see why _you_ should raise objections. _Do_ leave -off twirling that knife round, Dick. It fidgets me to death." - -After a good deal of argument on the subject, it is settled that -Doris (in her aunt's wording) shall behave herself like a sensible -young woman, and inform Sir Edward, who is to call at twelve o'clock -that morning, that she is ready to be borne off to the altar at any -moment he shall think desirable; and Molly, suddenly looking up at -the clock and remembering that she is due at the Hallams at half-past -ten, darts away from the table to put on her hat. - -And so it comes to pass that the wedding is fixed for that day three -weeks. - -Much as Sir Edward would have wished for a quiet wedding--just simply -the Merivale party and a few of his own relatives--it is found to be -impossible, under all the circumstances. So Doris finds (not -entirely to her chagrin) that she is, after all, to have the grand -wedding which she has always promised herself on the occasion of her -union with the much-talked-of duke. Although the house for the next -three weeks is in a perfect uproar of preparation regarding -everything appertaining to the bride's trousseau, much trouble, and -expense too, is taken off their hands by the Mr. Talboys, who insist, -taking no denial, on giving the breakfast at their own house. - -Grave and long, therefore, are the consultations held by the old -gentlemen with Mrs. Edwards, their cook and housekeeper, and anxious -the discussions with Priscilla, the parlour-maid, on the subject of -certain valuable silver and china, which are stored away in the -depths of a capacious closet, and have not seen the light of day for -years. - -Nearly all Doris's time is taken up in trying on and being fitted, -until she hardly knows what dresses she does possess. Many are the -notes of thanks, too, which she has to write for the really nice -presents she receives, conspicuous amongst which are a beautiful set -of amethysts from Mr. Edward, and another of fine pearls from Mr. -Benjamin Talboys. - -Sir John and Lady Woodhouse have come forward most generously in the -matter of the trousseau, the former having said to his wife: "We must -see that little Doris is well set up for gowns and bonnets and so -forth, my dear. I should not like her to step into such a position -scantily supplied. You see it is our duty, as it were, to see the -affair all through satisfactorily, the young people having met so -often while Doris was under our charge." - -And so the rich silk embroidered with seed pearls in which Doris now -stands, waiting for her carriage, has been the gift of her kind -uncle, as well as most of the other dresses; and while, before -starting for the church, he clasps upon the girl's wrist a slender -band of pearls (his wedding present), he whispers to her, "You must -never forget, my dear, that _I_ was the attraction, and that Sir -Edward always came to see _me_, not _you_, you know!" and laughingly -patting her cheek, he trots away after his wife. - -No less a personage than the Earl of Castleton has solicited the -honour of giving away the bride, partly on account of his friendship -with Sir Edward, but quite as much for the real liking he has taken -to "little Miss Doris," as he calls her. - -Lord Castleton seems every bit as nervous as Doris herself on this -occasion, for he fusses about the room, first to the window then to -the mantel-piece, taking little sniffs here and there at the flowers, -then back again to the window. He can think of nothing particular to -say either, excepting every now and then expatiating on the beauty of -the day, which has certainly turned out lovely, and also begging -Doris not to be nervous. - -He is just admiring the beautiful diamond necklace (Sir Edward's -gift) which Doris wears, when the carriage is announced, and the -earl, with a dignity which fills the stragglers at the gate with awe, -proudly conducts the bride to it. - -Lord Hinton acts as best-man to his friend, Sir Edward, and the -ceremony once over, he of course takes Honor into his charge as first -bridesmaid, Dr. John Sinclair accepting the inevitable with a fairly -good grace, remarking as he follows the rest of the party down the -aisle with Molly on his arm: - -"You and I must console each other, Molly; we both seem rather out of -it to-day, though your turn will come as surely as mine yet." - -The moment has now come when Doris must take leave of all her family -and the kind friends standing around her. She is looking lovely in -her plainly-made dress of dark green cloth and tan Sučde waistcoat -and facings, with bonnet and gloves to match. Though when bidding -her adieux the tears are standing in her soft blue eyes, she wisely -keeps them from falling (for after all it is not a compliment to -one's bridegroom to start on the wedding tour in floods of tears); -and as she takes her husband's arm and goes down the steps, she turns -before entering the carriage and throws a beaming glance back to them -all. - -In another moment, amidst a perfect storm of rice, the Mr. Talboys -actually struggling with Dick and John Sinclair for the largest -quantities, Sir Edward and Lady Ferrars are off, _en route_ to -Seaforth Abbey, one of Lord Castleton's seats in the neighbourhood of -the English lakes, which he has placed at their disposal for the -honeymoon. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -THE END OF A FAIRY TALE. - -Another year has passed, and on a hot lazy afternoon in August a -group may be seen lounging on the lawn of the Rookery, under the -shade of one or two fine old trees. - -Mrs. Merivale and Lady Woodhouse are seated close together in earnest -conversation over some matter which is of importance to themselves -only. - -Sir Edward and Lady Ferrars, who have now been settled at the Court -for some long time, have dropped in at the Rookery, as they are fond -of doing, and are seated with Honor a little distance off. - -Presently Doris rises and joins her mother and aunt, and after a -little pause, during which Sir Edward rolls up and lights a -cigarette, he turns to his sister-in-law and says: - -"Do you know, Honor, I have come here this afternoon with the -deliberate intention of giving you a good talking to. I told Doris I -should this morning, and she quite agreed." - -"Why, what have I done?" inquires Honor laughing. - -"It is not what you _have_ done, but what you seem determined _not_ -to do, young lady," returns Sir Edward. "To speak plainly, I do not -think you are treating Sinclair fairly. That is what I want to tell -you." - -Honor is opening her mouth to speak, a little surprise on her face at -this accusation, when Sir Edward continues: - -"No, I really don't, Honor. Here is this letter, which came more -than a week ago, telling us of young Horton already being on his way -home, poor fellow! and you know very well what will take place when -once he does come, for Molly certainly returns his affection now. I -am sure of it. And yet you go on, putting off Sinclair still; and -for no reason at all as far as I can see." - -Honor looks a little abashed, but Sir Edward goes on again, first -sending a cloud of smoke up into the tree above. - -"You know what I intend doing for Bobby and Dick, Honor. Of course -it is high time now in any case that Bob went to a good -boarding-school, and he can divide his holidays amongst us when they -come round. Dick cannot do better than remain where he is for a -little while linger; but I have told the lad that when the right time -comes he shall have his heart's desire, and go to Oxford. Now, -Honor, be reasonable. What is there to prevent your marrying -Sinclair now? There are only your mother and Daisy left, and I am -sure the former would be very happy living with us, taking turns, I -mean, with you and ourselves. And as for Daisy, Sinclair has often -spoken of his great wish to have the child to live entirely with -himself and you in the future. Now, I don't think you can say -another word. I consider I have blown away all your scruples as -completely as I am blowing away this smoke. So now, Miss Honor, we -shall both, Doris and I, expect cards for your wedding shortly;" and -before the girl can say a word in reply Sir Edward gets up and joins -the other group, feeling doubtless that it will do more good if she -is left to digest his remarks at her own leisure. - -The Mr. Talboys are coming to tea this afternoon, bringing with them -two guests of their own--Daisy and Bobby. So, after sitting a moment -or two, Honor gets up and goes into the house to give a look to the -preparations for tea, which is to be in the garden on this occasion. - -While this conversation is going on, Molly is seated in a swing which -is suspended to a tree near a small arbour, at the back of which is a -little gate in the hedge, much used by the servants, it being a short -way to the back of the house. - -Often the girls use this way of entrance too, especially when they -want to get in quickly. - -To-day, on her return home from some of her pupils, Molly turns in -this way, and seating herself in the swing throws her hat down on the -grass before her. - -It is not because she is tired that Molly stays here instead of going -straight into the house, but because she wants to be quiet for a few -moments, in order to read again for about the twentieth time that -letter spoken of by Sir Edward to Honor, which is from Col. Danvers, -and is in her pocket at the present moment. Gently swinging to and -fro, one hand steadying the rope, the other holding the letter down -in her lap, Molly reads the words which she could now almost say off -by heart. - -The first portion of the letter is taken up with inquiries for all at -home, and a brief explanation of his having been ordered to the -Soudan some little time back. There, greatly to his surprise, he had -come across Hugh Horton, the two from that time being thrown much -together. Then comes the description of a small skirmish with the -Arabs one day when they were both out together, in which Hugh was -badly wounded in nobly going to the rescue of one of his own men. - -Having been cut off somehow from the rest of the party, this man -suddenly found himself face to face with three Arabs, who, promptly -attacking him, would soon have made short work of the matter, had not -Hugh, seeing the state of affairs from a distance, galloped up to his -assistance. Even then the two had a hard fight for it, and it is -doubtful whether either would have lived to tell the tale had not -others of the party ridden up to their rescue; for while the Arabs at -the sight of them took instant refuge in flight, Hugh at the same -moment rolled forward in his saddle and fell heavily to the ground, -close to where Private Williams had fallen a few seconds previously. - -Altogether the letter is a long one, but a little further on--after -describing the dangerous state in which Hugh (now Captain Horton) had -lain for weeks, the surgeon having in fact given up all hope of his -recovery--there are some words which Molly is never tired of reading. - - -"I nursed him through it all myself," the colonel goes on, "with the -assistance of his own servant, and altogether, when not raving in -delirium, he was as patient as a man with a broken arm, a deep sabre -gash across his forehead, and quite a nice little collection of -bullets in his body altogether, could be expected to be, I think. -Through all his delirium, and even when quietly sleeping sometimes, -the name of 'Molly Bawn' was constantly on his lips. I mention this -in case you should happen to know anything of the young lady in -question! Well, a truce to joking. I am sending poor Horton home to -you all a complete wreck of his former self. Take care of him, and -be kind to him, Molly. He needs it sadly. I think you may expect -him almost any time after you receive this letter, for I want to -start him off the moment I can." - - -A few more words and the letter ends. Not so the motion of the -swing. For Molly still sits, reading a little bit here and there -over again, until the tears slowly gather in her eyes, and fall one -by one with a little splash on to the paper in her lap. - -"Dear Hugh!" she says softly to herself, "I hope he will come soon." - -The words are hardly spoken when her heart tightens, and for a second -or two almost ceases to beat. For hark! A tenor voice somewhere in -the neighbourhood of the road is singing, or to speak more correctly, -humming, the first verse of "Molly Bawn." - -Molly arrests the motion of the swing and listens; her heart now -beating to suffocation almost, while a flush rises to her fair young -face. It dies away again suddenly, however, for in another instant a -tall figure stands beside her with pale haggard face, on which the -dark and now sweeping moustache looks fiercer than ever. - -There is the same soft light in the eyes as of old though, as Hugh, -with a little smothered cry of "Molly, darling!" throws his one -available arm round the startled girl, just in time to prevent her -from falling. - -"Hugh!" she cries. And in those three words all is said, all told; -and the next moment Molly is leaning her head upon his shoulder, -shedding tears of thankfulness for his safe return. - -A little later on, when (regardless of spiders and other innumerable -creeping things) they are seated in the arbour, Hugh having begged -earnestly for a few minutes' quiet talk before joining the others, -Molly suddenly looks up. - -"Poor fellow! you do indeed look as if you need to be taken care of. -Is your poor arm really getting stronger now?" and she gently strokes -the right arm, which he still wears in a sling. - -"O, that will soon be all right," he says, capturing the little hand -and holding it fast. "It was the knock on the head which nearly did -for me. Look here, Molly!" and lifting a lock of hair which falls a -little over one side of his forehead, he shows her a wound which -extends pretty far back. Not an ugly-looking scar, but a deep and -dangerous cut at the time. - -"Yes," he says, "I did not know much after getting that, Molly; but I -should have known still less if it had not been for _you_." - -"For me?" says the girl looking up inquiringly. - -"Yes, for you, dear. Here, help me to get into my breast-pocket, -Molly I have something to show you." - -With a little struggling Hugh's pocket-book is at length extracted -from his pocket, and after some fumbling among its contents he -presently produces a little flat silver box of oriental-looking -workmanship, which looks a good deal dented and a little bent. - -He gives it into Molly's hands. - -"Open it," he says, and the girl, wondering a little, does so. - -A faded white rose lies within it, a faint, sweet fragrance clinging -to it still. - -"My rose!" says Molly softly, her eyes filling with tears. - -"_Mine_," returns Hugh gently, and taking it out of her hand he puts -it away again carefully. - -"Yes, if it had not been for this rose, Molly, I should not be -sitting here beside you now. The bullet which would have been buried -in my heart struck this (touching the box), and glanced aside. So -you see, Molly, it was _you_ who saved my life!--a worthless one -enough until you took me in hand, dear. Well, now I suppose we must -go and join the others. What a start I shall give them!" - -When they reach the lawn they find the Mr. Talboys have arrived with -Daisy and Bobby; and when they have all got over their first -astonishment at the sight of the haggard-looking personage walking by -Molly's side, there is a general rush, and hearty congratulations are -showered on Hugh by every one upon his safe arrival home again. -Although nothing is actually said upon the subject, it is not -difficult to guess at the true state of affairs when they glance from -Hugh's speaking face to Molly, where she stands a little apart, with -downcast eyes and heightened colour; and there is extra warmth thrown -into the welcome to the returned wanderer on this account perhaps. - -"But where is Daisy?--not ill, I hope;" and Hugh looks inquiringly -towards Molly. - -"O no," says Mrs. Merivale rising. "I am thankful to say that she is -quite a little Samson to what she was formerly. But she and Bobby -have been dining with the Mr. Talboys to-day, and Daisy seems a -little done up with the heat. She complained of headache, so Honor -insisted on her lying on the sofa in the drawing-room for a little -while. I will take you to see her myself, Hugh;" and putting her arm -within his they turn towards the house together. - -"The fact is," remarks Honor, shaking her head gravely at the -brothers Talboys, "Mr. Ned and Mr. Ben have been giving the children -too many good things. Bobby already begins to look as if a powder -might be desirable sooner or later." - -"_Honor!_" exclaims that young gentleman indignantly, while Mr. Ned, -much concerned at the charge brought against himself and his brother, -says emphatically: - -"I _assure_ you, my dear, we have been most judicious in that -respect, and I am sure that Daisy at least had nothing richer than -apricot-tart and cream. To be sure," he adds after a minute, "I have -some slight recollection of my brother Ben and Daisy having finished -up the tart between them, but I _don't_ think it was a very large -one. Master Bob and I preferred something more substantial--didn't -we, young man?" - -"Yes," replies Bobby promptly. "We had a roly-poly jam-pudding, Mr. -Ned and I. And we had the jam-pot up as well, because we thought -Mrs. Edwards had not put enough in--didn't we, Mr. Ned?" - -"Hush--sh--sh!" says Mr. Edward, shaking his finger at the boy; "you -mustn't tell tales out of school, young Bob, or we shall have Miss -Honor after us with the cane!" - -When Mrs. Merivale a little later comes out of the drawing-room, -leaving Hugh still chatting to Daisy, Molly is just descending the -stairs, having been up to her room to take her hat off. She waits -for her, therefore, and tenderly folding her daughter in her arms she -whispers, "I am so glad, dear child! Now go into the drawing-room -and sit with him and Daisy in the cool for a little while. We will -call you out when tea is ready. I will tell the others and make it -all easy for you, dear. See if Hugh would like anything after his -dusty walk. Poor fellow, what a wreck he is indeed!" and opening the -door again Mrs. Merivale gently pushes her daughter into the room. - -Sitting there in the welcome shade of the darkened room, with one -hand in Hugh's strong grasp and the other clasped by Daisy's little -sympathetic fingers, Molly listens quietly to all that Hugh is -telling her little sister of his experiences and adventures abroad; -and presently he turns to her and tells her of the devotion and -kindness with which Colonel Danvers tended him while on his bed of -sickness, and indeed up to the time he had left Egypt. - -"He told me afterwards," Hugh adds, "that he was determined to pull -me through 'for little Molly's sake.'" - -At this moment Becky opens the door, and with a frightened glance at -the "capting" announces that tea is ready and waiting. So they leave -Daisy to herself, promising to send some tea in to her. - -There is such a large party on the lawn altogether that Honor and -Molly divide the labour between them and have opposition tables, -Honor with tea, Molly with coffee. Hugh is seated in a comfortable -wicker chair near Molly's table (he preferring coffee to tea), and is -being made much of by everybody. There is a beautiful sapphire and -diamond ring on the third finger of Molly's left hand now, the pearls -playing number two; and as Hugh watches the little hands moving about -the cups, the flashes emitted by the fine stones cause him much -inward satisfaction, as proving some really tangible arrangement _at -last_! - -Presently John Sinclair strolls in, and being a tea-drinker, -naturally comes to anchor beside Honor's table. He is very soon, as -usual, plunged in some scientific discussion with Sir Edward Ferrars, -a great liking for each other having sprung up between the two young -men. But notwithstanding the rapt attention he is apparently -bestowing on the subject, Doctor Sinclair reads the "signs of the -times" as quickly as anyone, and the sight of Hugh seated by Molly -and the flashing of the latter's diamonds and sapphires afford him -every bit as much satisfaction as they do Hugh. - -"I have come to the end of my cream!" suddenly exclaims Molly. "Who -will fetch me some more?" - -"I will," cries Honor, jumping up. "I can lay my hand on it at once. -Don't let Dick eat all the sugar while I am gone." - -In another moment John Sinclair rises quickly from his chair. - -"I will go and see how Daisy is getting on," he remarks, and, quite -oblivious of the fact that Sir Edward has just asked him some -abstruse question, the answer to which he is eagerly waiting for, off -he starts with rapid strides towards the house. Sir Edward, however, -looks at Doris and laughs, well pleased. After waiting patiently for -some considerable time Molly at length exclaims: - -"Good gracious! what a time she is fetching that cream! O, here they -all come together." - -"Daisy feels better," remarks Honor with some confusion in her -manner, "so we have brought her out with us." - -"Exactly," says Brother Ben, his eyes twinkling meanwhile. Molly -looks at her sister a moment, then with a little smile at Hugh she -says: - -"Yes, Honor, but where is my cream?" - -There is a general smile, and then Dick offers his services. - -"I _may_ perhaps manage to remember what I am going for," he says; -"but it is a long, _long_ walk to the house, and I fear it is -doubtful, as Honor has already shown. However, I'll try." - -"And don't drink half of it before you get back!" cries Sinclair -after him. - -While Dick is absent there is rather an awkward silence, which Sir -Edward suddenly breaks by bursting into a hearty laugh. - -"You must really forgive me," he says to Honor and Sinclair, "but it -is so very absurd to see you two sitting there trying to look as if -nothing at all particular has happened. Of course every one of us -here," and he looks round, "has long known of the tacit understanding -as to Honor's possible marriage in the future (I say 'possible' -because of her noble and generous scruples in the matter), and I am -sure, therefore, that she will forgive me for speaking thus openly -before this family party, and our old and valued friends, the Mr. -Talboys." The brothers bow delightedly. - -"So now, Sinclair," and Sir Edward holds out his hand, "may I -congratulate you and Honor on your formal engagement?" Of course -every one flocks round them, and the general excitement is at high -pitch for a few minutes, it being presently increased by Bobby -contriving to upset a milk jug. For this catastrophe Honor is -devoutly thankful, since it takes every one's attention away from -herself for a time. Moreover, it benefits Vic and Timothy, who -generally grace the tea-board with their presence. The former has -been industriously shaking Honor's dress for the last few minutes, -being under the impression that all the handshaking and kissing are -some new kind of game. But they both rush forward now with one -accord to the little pond of milk, which is rapidly sinking into the -thirsty turf, and lap energetically until it is gone. - -Presently, when they have all settled down again quietly, Mr. Edward -Talboys plants his stick firmly on the grass in front of him and says: - -"Now, there is one thing, my dear friends, that my brother Ben and I -have set our hearts upon, and in case of any little misunderstanding -in the future, we think it is best, perhaps, to mention it at once." - -"Just so, just so," says Mr. Ben nodding. - -"We wish very much to have the honour of giving away the two brides -when the time for the wedding (which will be a double one, I suppose) -shall come. We had looked forward, you know, to performing this -little ceremony for Doris on the occasion of her becoming Lady -Ferrars, but although we were obliged to make the best of it then, we -much hope there will be no similar disappointment in store for us -_this_ time." - -"My dear sirs, I am sure that nothing would please my sisters -better," answers Sir Edward for the two girls. "I had intended -taking that duty on myself, but you have a far superior claim; and so -with your leave we will consider that matter settled. I shall devote -myself exclusively to your mother, Doris, for the whole day, so you -must look out for someone else." - -"O, I shall find someone, never fear," retorts Lady Ferrars, tossing -her fair little head at her lord. - -"And what is to become of me, pray?" inquires Lady Woodhouse, looking -round at every one in turn. - -"O, I am going to be your cavalier, aunt," says Dick with a courtly -bow. "Just you wait until you see me. I mean to get myself up to -the nines, _I_ can tell you, and you will be able to congratulate -yourself on having the best-looking fellow in the church as your -escort, _not_ excepting the two bridegrooms." - -"Dick!" cries every one together, and Lady Woodhouse, giving him a -rap with the handle of her sunshade, says: - -"Go along with you, do! As if I should consent to having a young -jack-a-napes like you for a cavalier." - -Here Daisy, who had run after Dick when he went for the cream, and -has been absent ever since, reappears amongst them all with some -little sketches which she has been doing under Honor's supervision in -Hugh's absence, and which she is anxious to show to him. - -After they have been duly examined and admired, Sir Edward calls her -over to him. - -"I fancy your friend Dr. John can finish your story for you now, -Daisy," he whispers. "Go and tell him I say so." - -Nothing loth, the child goes across to where he is sitting, and -demands his instant and undivided attention. - -So John Sinclair, with one arm round the child as she stands close -beside him, begins briefly narrating the old fairy tale in a low -voice, hurrying over it until he comes to the part in which he has -made the required alterations. - -"Wait a minute!" cries Daisy excitedly; "you must speak out loud now, -because I don't believe any of the others know the new ending. Now -then." - -"So," resumes John, "the woodcutter asked the princess to marry him--" - -"He was a prince really, you know," puts in Daisy parenthetically, -for the benefit of the company generally. - -"And," continues John, "as all her sisters were married excepting -one--" - -"She said she would!" cries the child, clapping her hands and beaming -round upon everybody. Then there is a short pause, during which John -glances at Honor. - -"And--" at length queries Daisy, looking up into her favourite's face. - -"And--er--" says John. "Let me see. O yes, the princess took the -wood-cutter by the hand and led him up to her little sister, saying: - -"'Buttercup, I have brought you a new brother. Will you come and -live with him and me far away in the wood, in a little hut which is -covered with roses?'" - -"And what did Buttercup say?" inquires Daisy, who is listening with -breathless interest to this entirely new part of the story. - -"I don't know," says John rather lamely; "what would _you_ have said?" - -"O, _I_ would have said 'yes,'" she replies promptly. - -"Well, I think you had better finish the story, Daisy. You know it -quite as well as I do, if not better." - -"Well," says Daisy gravely, "Buttercup said she _would_ like to live -with them in the hut covered with roses. And then the wood-cutter -and the princess were married very soon, and they all lived happily -ever after." - - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Three Bright Girls, by Annie E. Armstrong - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE BRIGHT GIRLS *** - -***** This file should be named 62631-8.txt or 62631-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/6/3/62631/ - -Produced by Al Haines -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Armstrong - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Three Bright Girls - A Story of Chance and Mischance - -Author: Annie E. Armstrong - -Illustrator: W. Parkinson - -Release Date: July 13, 2020 [EBook #62631] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE BRIGHT GIRLS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-front"></a> -<br /> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-front.jpg" alt="MOLLY READS A LETTER FROM HUGH." /> -<br /> -MOLLY READS A LETTER FROM HUGH. -</p> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - Three Bright Girls<br /> -</h1> - -<p class="t2"> - A Story of Chance and Mischance<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - BY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t2"> - ANNIE E. ARMSTRONG<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t4"> - Author of "Madge's Mistake" "A Very Odd Girl"<br /> - "Violet Yereker's Vanity" &c.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>WITH SIX PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. PARKINSON</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED<br /> - LONDON GLASGOW AND DUBLIN<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - CONTENTS.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - CHAP.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - I. <a href="#chap01">Hot Chestnuts</a><br /> - II. <a href="#chap02">Doris's First Dinner-party</a><br /> - III. <a href="#chap03">Shopping and a Rehearsal</a><br /> - IV. <a href="#chap04">Hugh's Mentor</a><br /> - V. <a href="#chap05">Husband and Wife</a><br /> - VI. <a href="#chap06">Tableaux Vivants</a><br /> - VII. <a href="#chap07">Startling News</a><br /> - VIII. <a href="#chap08">Gone!</a><br /> - IX. <a href="#chap09">A House of Mourning</a><br /> - X. <a href="#chap10">Facing the Future</a><br /> - XI. <a href="#chap11">The Brothers Talboys</a><br /> - XII. <a href="#chap12">A New Home</a><br /> - XIII. <a href="#chap13">The Horton Boys distinguish Themselves</a><br /> - XIV. <a href="#chap14">A Council of War</a><br /> - XV. <a href="#chap15">Doris makes a Pudding</a><br /> - XVI. <a href="#chap16">Trying to make both Ends meet</a><br /> - XVII. <a href="#chap17">Daisy's Birthday</a><br /> - XVIII. <a href="#chap18">Dr. John Sinclair</a><br /> - XIX. <a href="#chap19">A Visit from Aunt Sophia and the Horton Boys</a><br /> - XX. <a href="#chap20">Becky</a><br /> - XXI. <a href="#chap21">A Disastrous Visit to a Frog Pond</a><br /> - XXII. <a href="#chap22">Daisy's Illness</a><br /> - XXIII. <a href="#chap23">Dick's Good News</a><br /> - XXIV. <a href="#chap24">Doris's "Knight of the Woods"</a><br /> - XXV. <a href="#chap25">Honor answers an Advertisement</a><br /> - XXVI. <a href="#chap26">The Mr. Talboys resort to Strategy</a><br /> - XXVII. <a href="#chap27">Two Departures</a><br /> - XXVIII. <a href="#chap28">Brighter Days</a><br /> - XXIX. <a href="#chap29">"What a Tease you are, Molly!"</a><br /> - XXX. <a href="#chap30">Hugh's Parting Gift</a><br /> - XXXI. <a href="#chap31">Preparations for a Ball</a><br /> - XXXII. <a href="#chap32">John Sinclair's Fairy Tale</a><br /> - XXXIII. <a href="#chap33">The Wood-Cutter and the Princess</a><br /> - XXXIV. <a href="#chap34">"I am Lancelot," says Sir Edward</a><br /> - XXXV. <a href="#chap35">Doris's Wedding</a><br /> - XXXVI. <a href="#chap36">The End of a Fairy Tale</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -ILLUSTRATIONS. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#img-front">Molly reads a Letter from Hugh</a> .... <i>Frontis.</i> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#img-017">Honor assists Doris to dress for Dinner</a> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#img-033">Doris sings "The Sands of Dee"</a> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#img-107">"Listen!" said Molly, "there is the Ghost again"</a> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#img-135">Daisy and the Mr. Talboys visit Whitestar</a> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#img-257">"You are not going to disappoint me, Honor?"</a> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<p class="t2"> -THREE BRIGHT GIRLS: -</p> - -<p class="t3b"> -A STORY OF CHANCE AND MISCHANCE. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER I. -<br /><br /> -HOT CHESTNUTS. -</h3> - -<p> -Pop! -</p> - -<p> -"There's one!" cries an excited voice. -</p> - -<p> -Pop! bang! -</p> - -<p> -"There's another! look, two! and both on -my side," exclaims an equally eager though older -voice. -</p> - -<p> -"Here, Doris, you just sheer off to your own side -and pick up your own, if you've got the pluck to risk -burning those white fingers of yours;" and casting -contemptuous glances at the hands in question, the -speaker, a bright, handsome boy of about thirteen, -dives down upon the rug and commences making -sundry ineffectual snatches at several chestnuts which -are lying smoking and gleaming amongst the cinders. -</p> - -<p> -"Not so fast, good sir," cries the owner of the white -hands, following her brother's example and, despite -her seventeen years, prostrating herself beside him. -"White or black, I bet you twopence I pick them up -quicker than you. Here, Molly, hold the plate. Now, -Dick, start fair, you know. Oh! there's another!" And -thereupon commences a hot skirmish, in every -sense, over the nuts, which by this time are besprinkling -the hearth pretty freely: so hot and energetic, in -fact, that the other occupants of the room wisely retire -from the contest, contenting themselves with looking -on, and exploding with laughter now and again at the -suppressed exclamations indicative of the warm nature -of the undertaking. -</p> - -<p> -A breathless silence for at least two minutes, then, -flushed with victory, Doris rises from the floor and is -about to lay her plate on the table, when, lo! another -loud pop. Whereupon Dick rushes over with great -violence to the spot where his sister is standing, and -knocking against her in his efforts to reach the prize -first, Doris loses her balance, and clutching wildly at -the back of a chair which Daisy is sitting on and -tilting back comfortably, down come Daisy, chair, Doris, -and nuts, all in an indiscriminate heap on the floor. -Loud exclamations arise on all sides, and a pitiful -howl is wrung from Daisy, who has planted her hand, -in falling, on an almost red-hot chestnut. Doris does -not attempt to get up, but, still sitting where she has -arrived in such summary fashion, she rates Dick -soundly for his ungallant behaviour, her voice -subsiding into a sort of wail as she concludes with the -remark, "And now I suppose I shall have to do my -hair again, you <i>wretched</i> boy. I can't appear -before every one like this. Look here!" and giving her -head a shake forward, down comes the pretty erection -of golden curls which half an hour ago had crowned -so becomingly the small neat head. -</p> - -<p> -"Bless me!" exclaims the incorrigible boy, "I quite -forgot my lady is to grace the festive board -downstairs to-night. But don't you tell me, Miss Doris, -that you wouldn't have done your hair again anyhow! -<i>I</i> know what a time girls take dressing, and my name -is not Dick Merivale if you don't spend a good hour -this evening pranking and prinking before the glass." -</p> - -<p> -"Help me up, Dick, and don't talk so much," says -Doris, quietly ignoring this tirade; "and now, if you -have <i>quite</i> finished and will be kind enough to let -Honor speak, I shall be glad. To my certain -knowledge she has been trying to make herself heard for -the last five minutes." -</p> - -<p> -The noise having now subsided, a clear, gentle voice -is heard from the neighbourhood of the fireplace, where -Honor is kneeling beside the afflicted Daisy and -examining the small burn caused by the hot chestnut. -</p> - -<p> -"I was only saying, Doris, that if Lane is too busy -with mother to help you I will turn lady's-maid and -do your hair and dress you. Molly, do put down that -poker." -</p> - -<p> -"You're a dear!" exclaims impetuous Doris throwing -her arms round Honor's neck. "I would ever so much -rather you helped me than Lane. She's so prim and -fussy. Where is Lucy, though?—mother will not want -them both." -</p> - -<p> -"O, I meant to tell you. Her sister is worse again, -so mother let her go home to see her. Now let us -have these chestnuts if we're going to. Pull your -chairs up to the fire again and let us be cosy. Good -gracious, what an untidy rug you've made! What would -Miss Denison say if she saw it? Dick, my boy, you -will have to mend your manners before she returns, -or she will be looking every hour of the day in that -quiet way of hers which speaks such volumes. Really -I am glad she is coming back to-morrow, for I have -had about enough of keeping order, or trying to, since -she left." -</p> - -<p> -"Why didn't she appoint <i>me</i> commander-in-chief?" -says Doris, pouting over the skinning of a still-hot -nut. "I am the eldest, though no one ever seems to -think so." -</p> - -<p> -"Because you are such a scatter-brained piece of -goods," puts in her polite brother. "No one with a -grain of sense would ever credit your being the elder -by twelve, nay, thirteen months. Why, Honor looks a -hundred compared to you!" -</p> - -<p> -"Thanks, Dick. You are monstrously polite this -afternoon," said Honor quietly. "In what consists my -antiquity, pray?—has my hair turned white? or have -I lost all my front teeth?" -</p> - -<p> -"O, I meant nothing about your appearance," replies -the boy, looking rather sheepish; "I mean as to sense -and cleverness and—and all that sort of thing, you -know. Of course Doris is considered the beauty of the -family, with her light fluffy hair and her great blue -eyes, but to my thinking old Honor is every bit as -good-looking. What say you, Molly?" -</p> - -<p> -"She's a dear old Honor, that's what she is," says -Molly, looking up and patting her elder sister's hand -affectionately. To be sure the effect of this statement -is somewhat marred by the fact of the speaker's mouth -being full of chestnuts. The sentiment is the same, -however, and Dick, banging his hand down on the -table, cries triumphantly, "There you are, you -see—<i>old</i> again! <i>Now</i> what have you got to say, Miss -Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"That you are a goose and that Molly is another, -for if she will persist in tilting her chair like that she -will follow Daisy's example and come to the ground." -</p> - -<p> -Molly brings her chair on to its fore-legs with a -bang, then proceeds to announce solemnly, "We don't -seem to be getting a bit nearer to settling these -theatricals. Here's Miss Denison coming back to-morrow -expecting us to have arranged everything and to have -been rehearsing our parts, and—" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Parts!</i>" echoes Dick; "how can you call it a part -when you have nothing to do but to sit or stand still?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it <i>is</i> a part all the same," cries Molly, not to -be put down. "Each one is a part of the whole picture, -I suppose; so if you can't allow it in one sense -you can in another." -</p> - -<p> -"Hum, especially when there is only one person in -the picture!" mutters Dick. But here Honor's voice is -heard saying, "Well, children, no disputing or we shall -never settle anything. Now, who has got the list of -the subjects that we made out last night?" -</p> - -<p> -"Here it is," says Doris, who has had it spread out -on her knees studying for some time. "Now, first of -all, is it quite settled that we are only to have nursery -rhymes; or do you think people will think it silly?" -</p> - -<p> -"We <i>might</i> have one or two historical scenes, -perhaps," says Honor reflectively. -</p> - -<p> -"Or one or two Shakespearian or Tennysonian," -suggests Dick, who has rather high-flown ideas. "Let -us do the 'play scene' in Hamlet. <i>I'll</i> be Hamlet, -and—I—suppose Doris would have to be Ophelia." -</p> - -<p> -"How absurd you are, Dick!" exclaims that damsel -satirically. "Where would you get all the people from? -Do for goodness' sake bring the picture before your -mind's eye for a moment. Why, besides Hamlet and -Ophelia there are the king and queen, all their ladies -and gentlemen, and then all the players. Why, we -couldn't do it, not with <i>all</i> the boys next door even; -and just think what a bother the scene would be to -arrange. We should want a double stage, and all sorts -of regal appendages which I am sure we could not -find anywhere. You Hamlet, too!" she finishes up -with scorn. -</p> - -<p> -"All right! Don't excite yourself," says Dick calmly. -</p> - -<p> -"I think," says Honor, "we shall be wiser to keep -to the nursery rhymes, because we can take any -amount of license with them, and use our own discretion -about the dressing of them. But if we take a scene -that everybody knows we <i>must be</i> careful to have -everything perfectly correct; and though I should be sorry -to underrate the talent of such celebrities in the art -of acting as ourselves, I <i>don't think</i> we are up to it. -Now, Doris, read your list." -</p> - -<p> -"Mother Hubbard," reads Doris; "verse where she -looks in the cupboard. Vic will do the dog capitally. -Molly will coach her up in her part and—" -</p> - -<p> -"There, you hear!" exclaims that young lady. -"Doris calls them parts too, and so they are, of course!" -and looking at her brother defiantly she attacks the -chestnuts with renewed ardour. -</p> - -<p> -"What shall we do for the cupboard?" inquires -Daisy with wide-open eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"We can get Mrs. Mason to let us have one of her -portable safes up, and if there are a few plates and -dishes left inside, with anything in the eatable way on -them, Vic is sure to sit up and beg." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, that one will do," says Molly, getting up and -hanging over her sister's shoulder; "but read on, Doris. -Look! the time is going on awfully fast; in another -hour you'll have to dress." -</p> - -<p> -So Doris reads the list, which gives general satisfaction. -Then laying it down, she says, "If only father -helps us, we shall <i>do</i>. He only wants a little petting -and coaxing, and I am sure he will. Hark! that's -the carriage now, isn't it? Run and look, Dick; is it -father?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, and it's snowing like anything. I declare he -has got quite white while standing a minute to speak -to Rawlings. We must give him time to get off his -coat and speak to mother, and then we'll fetch him up -here, and not let him go until he promises all we want." -</p> - -<p> -"Hey! what's that I hear?" cries a cheery voice at -the door. "Come now, that is what one might call a -very moderate request, ladies and gentlemen. Why, -where is Bobby? Oh, gone to tea next door; a -common occurrence, eh? Now, come and kiss me, girls. -Bless my heart, one at a time, one at a time; there are -plenty of kisses for all. And here's mother, looking -jealous, I declare!" -</p> - -<p> -"I shouldn't wonder," says Mrs. Merivale, who, almost -unobserved in the midst of all the tumult, has quietly -entered the room behind her husband. "Enough to -make anyone jealous, I should think. Honor, dear," -her tone changing to one of anxiety, "I hope you -haven't been letting Daisy eat many of those nasty -indigestible nuts." -</p> - -<p> -"O, no, mother!" replies Daisy herself promptly, "I -wanted heaps more, but Honor said 'No.'" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, and with a capital N too," remarks Molly. -</p> - -<p> -"I came up with your father because I want to -speak to you two girls," resumes Mrs. Merivale. -"Lucy has not come back yet, so I don't think she will -now, that is in time to dress Doris. So I thought -you would help her, Honor, for I want her to look nice. -You know what dress; the new plain white silk. And, -mind, not a single ornament, not one!" -</p> - -<p> -"O, mother!" exclaims Doris, pouting; "not my pearl -cross that father gave me on my last birthday?" -</p> - -<p> -"Tut, my dear!" puts in Mr. Merivale, who has -overheard this touching appeal, "let her wear it. What's -the use of having things if they are never to see the -light?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, as it is only pearl, I don't mind. I will -send Lane to see that all is right," continues -Mrs. Merivale, "and to give any finishing touches that -may be wanted; and now I must go downstairs again. -There are several things I want to see to before I dress. -Don't be late in the drawing-room, Doris, that is all -I beg. And, James, don't stay long up here. They -will be trapping and inveigling you into all sorts of -rash promises if you do;" and Mrs. Merivale leaves the -room, putting her head in again, however, to say to -Honor, "Let Jane come up and sit with the children -whilst you are with Doris, and <i>don't</i> let them be up -late. If Lucy is not back, Jane can call for Bobby; -William will be too busy to-night. <i>Please</i> see, Honor, -that Daisy and Bobby go up to nurse punctually at -half-past seven. Molly and Dick, I trust to you both -to go up at nine." -</p> - -<p> -There is a chorus of "All right, mother!" and as the -door closes they all five flock round their father; -questioning, demanding, coaxing and wheedling, until, -becoming confused amongst them all, he begs to be -allowed to sit down and take the questions in turn. -</p> - -<p> -"Have I been to the carpenter's?—Yes, I have, and -he is going to look in to-morrow morning to take a -look at the room. Have I been to the costumier's?—No, -I haven't, for I don't know what you do want and -what you don't. Moreover, I think if you can do -without anything from there, all the better. I can't -say I like the idea of your wearing hired costumes. -Anything like swords, sceptres, helmets, or such like -you may order, or I will for you; but anything in the -way of gowns, I'd rather you bought the stuff for -them and have them made. You will then be better -able to please your own tastes. Get your mother to -let you have Mrs. Needles-and-pins, or whatever her -name may be, here for a day or two, and if you like to -put down all that you are likely to want, I will -undertake that you have the money for it. Now, I can't say -more than that, can I?" -</p> - -<p> -General approbation of this plan is expressed, and -Mr. Merivale is about to escape, muttering something -about "Mother fidgeting herself into fiddle-strings," -when he is once more seized upon, and Molly, who is -generally to the fore where speaking is concerned, asks -in a stage-whisper, "What about the music for the -dancing, father?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, bless my soul, there's plenty of time for that, -surely! Now, let me see, what evening is fixed?—the -27th, isn't it? Very well, then, this is only the 13th; so -you have a clear fortnight before you." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, father, I know," says persevering Molly; "but -you see, dear old Dad, we want to feel that it is <i>all</i> -settled, and nothing left on our minds, you know!" -</p> - -<p> -"O, <i>do</i> you, now?" says Mr. Merivale, pinching his -daughter's rosy cheek. "Well, I wish <i>I</i> could get -everything in my business settled off so satisfactorily, -and nothing left on <i>my</i> mind. Well, well, we will see; -I will go and look up someone to play in a few days—don't -you fuss about it, I won't forget. Now, really, -children, I <i>must</i> go down. Let me go, there's good -girls." -</p> - -<p> -"And make mother promise to give us a real <i>good</i> -supper, not sandwiches and sweets only!" they scream -after him down the passage. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes, I'll see to it all," calls back the victimized -parent, only too thankful to escape at any price, and -never stopping to consider what extra responsibilities -he is taking upon himself. -</p> - -<p> -Having settled down quietly once more, there is an -animated consultation on the important subject of the -dresses, and the respective prices of chintz, velveteen, -silk, lace, &c. &c., are discussed with interest. -</p> - -<p> -"It is so difficult to tell what sum we really shall -want," says Doris, leaning her chin on her hand and -staring absently into the fire. "However, I propose -that you and I, Honor, go to Miss Renny to-morrow -morning and just consult her as to quantities and so -on, and then we could arrange about her coming to -work at the same time." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I think that will be the best plan. Good -gracious, Doris! look at the clock! What time is -dinner to-night?" -</p> - -<p> -"Eight," replied Doris, "and mother said I was to -be in the drawing-room not a moment later than -half-past seven;" and starting up, the girls dart out of -the room and up the stairs like a lightning flash into -Doris's room, where, on the bed, is carefully arranged -the toilette she is to wear on this the occasion of her -first dinner-party. -</p> - -<p> -"And now come and help me with my hair, there's -a good girl," cries Doris presently; "and <i>do</i> you think -you could curl it at the back without burning me -<i>very</i> terribly? You did horribly last time you undertook -it, you know. My gracious! there's the second -gong! Why, Lane will be up in a moment, and sha'n't -I catch it if I am not nearly ready!" -</p> - -<p> -"My dear Doris, if you would only sit down in this -chair and not fuss so, we should get on much faster. -Now give me the hair-pins as I want them, and keep -quiet for a few minutes if you can." -</p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-017"></a> -<br /> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-017.jpg" alt="HONOR ASSISTS DORIS TO DRESS FOR DINNER." /> -<br /> -HONOR ASSISTS DORIS TO DRESS FOR DINNER. -</p> - -<p> -After having brushed the long silky hair through, -Honor with a few skilful twirls and twists raises a -becoming erection which (as Doris says) would do -credit to a court hair-dresser. -</p> - -<p> -"And now for the awful moment!" exclaims Honor, -grasping the curling-tongs and thrusting them ferociously -into the fire. "Now sit still, dear, if you can, -and it shall not be <i>my</i> fault if you are burnt. There, -I think I have really made you look lovely!" and she -steps back gazing admiringly at her sister, who, with -cheeks slightly flushed, and eyes almost preternaturally -bright, looks in her soft white dressing-gown as pretty -a picture as one would wish to see. -</p> - -<p> -"Now tell me who is coming to-night, and all about -it? Anyone from next door?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, there is only one of them old enough—Hugh; -and he is only nineteen," says Doris with all -the conscious superiority of a seventeen-and-a-half-year-old -girl. "I believe he <i>is</i> coming, though; with -his mother, of course. I wish mother would let me go -in to dinner with him; it will be so dreadfully slow and -dull if I have to sit through two whole mortal hours -with some stupid old fogy who thinks of nothing but -his dinner. Well, then, let me see if I can remember -the rest. Oh, <i>Honor</i>, don't squeeze so; I can't bear that -hook. Good gracious! how tight Madame Cecile has -made the waist!" -</p> - -<p> -"You'll <i>have</i> to bear it," says Honor, gasping, and -remorselessly pulling and tugging at the refractory -hooks and eyes. "I heard Madame Cecile mutter to -herself the other day that she must make your waist -smaller, so I suppose she means to systematically -pull in an inch or so every time she makes you a -new dress. Ah—there it is at last! How do you -feel?" -</p> - -<p> -"O dreadfully tight and wretched. Now if I have -any breath left I will go on telling you who is asked -for to-night. Aunt is coming for one, with the Pagets, -you know. That means a party of three at once. -Then the rector and Mrs. Benson. Now, let me see, -with father, mother, and myself that is eight; and I -am sure we are to be fourteen. O, I know—Colonel -and Mrs. Danvers, Captain Hall, that's eleven: -Mrs. Horton and Hugh, thirteen—now <i>who</i> is fourteen?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, Molly's old friend, Sir Peter Beresford," -chimes in Honor. "I know he is coming, because I -heard mother telling Rankin that he must be put up -near the end of the table out of all the draughts. O, -here comes Lane. I wonder what she will have to -say to the capabilities of the new maid." -</p> - -<p> -"Now, young ladies, sharp's the word. Turn yourself -round, Miss Doris, and let me see if all's right;" and -the woman proceeds to turn and twist her young -mistress about with the scant ceremony of an old and -privileged servant who, as she is fond of saying, -"dressed and waited on your ma before ever you -were born or thought of, my dears." Giving a pull -here, and a twist there, Lane at length is pleased to -announce that all is satisfactory. -</p> - -<p> -At this moment Mrs. Merivale glides into the room, -a floating ensemble of velvet, silk, lace, bugles, feathers, -and what not; one of those costumes in which you -can accuse nothing of being predominant, and as a -whole is perfect. -</p> - -<p> -"Mother!" gasp both the girls. "What a <i>lovely</i> -dress, and how nicely Lane has done your hair!" -</p> - -<p> -Lane sniffs gracious approval of this compliment, -and turning to her mistress says, "I think Miss Doris -will do, ma'am?" -</p> - -<p> -Holding her double eye-glass up by its beautiful -mother-of-pearl handle, the mother makes a critical -survey of her daughter from head to foot, then dropping -it languidly to her side she nods encouragingly. -"Yes, very nice. Nothing like white <i>silk</i> for very young -girls. Satin is too old looking. Honor, your dressing -does you credit, dear; you have done her hair -charmingly. Now you may as well come down at once with -me, Doris. Have you everything—fan, handkerchief, -gloves? Oh, I see you have those on! wise girl to get -them nicely arranged before you leave your room." -</p> - -<p> -"O! that was Honor's doing, not mine," says Doris -promptly. "She would have me rigged out all -complete, as Dick would say." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Doris!</i>" exclaims Mrs. Merivale as she sails out -of the room followed by that young lady, "<i>pray</i> do -not always be using those expressions which Dick -seems to delight in,—troublesome boy! You are always -down upon him for these Americanisms which he has -picked up (at school, I suppose), but it seems to me -you are ready enough to make use of them too. I do -hope you will be careful to behave nicely altogether -to-night, and not like a hoydenish school-girl as you -do more often, I fear, especially when Miss Denison -is not by." -</p> - -<p> -"O don't be anxious about me, mother; <i>I</i> shall pull -through somehow, and conduct myself with such -propriety as even to satisfy Aunt Sophia. If you <i>should</i> -see me doing anything dreadful at the dinner-table, -and I am too far away for a stage-whisper, you might -'hail' like Mary Ann the scholar in <i>Our Mutual -Friend</i>, you know, then I shall understand and pull -myself together." -</p> - -<p> -"You incorrigible girl," says Mrs. Merivale with -something between a laugh and a sigh; "but now run -back, dear, and get my fan off the dressing-table in -my room. O, and look in and tell Honor that she can -come down for an hour or so to-night if she likes. -Tell her to wear her white nun's veiling with the -moiré sash and ribbons." -</p> - -<p> -Charmed with this message Doris is soon back in -her own room, where she finds Honor still helping -Lane to put things a little straight, in Lucy's prolonged -absence, which is irritating the older maid not a little. -</p> - -<p> -"Honor, my girl, you are to come down into the -drawing-room to-night; mother says so. O, and you -are to wear your nun's veiling, &c. Now <i>don't</i> say you -don't want to!" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't, truly," says Honor, looking from Doris to -Lane and back again. "I am tired and sleepy now, -and it is a bother to have to change one's dress just for -an hour, when I'd <i>far</i> rather be in bed." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I call it downright spiteful of you, Honor. -Just the evening of all others that I want you. I was -looking forward to telling you all about the dinner, -and we could have had a jolly time in a secluded corner -with Hugh. And oh, I forgot, Regy is coming in after -dinner; so we four might have some rare fun. <i>Do</i> -come, there's a dear!" And Doris looks at Honor so -beseechingly that she sacrifices her own feelings in the -matter and says, "Very well, dear, I'll come. Now -run away, there's mother calling you." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER II. -<br /><br /> -DORIS'S FIRST DINNER-PARTY. -</h3> - -<p> -That quarter of an hour before dinner, which to -people who are used to it is generally rather a -bore than otherwise, is quite an amusement to Doris, -whose only experience of dinner-parties hitherto has -been a bird's-eye view, obtained by hanging over the -balustrade, of the guests filing into the dining-room. -To-night the girl feels all the importance of being -for the first time an actual participant in the -entertainment; and flushed with the consciousness of her -own dignity in having to assist her mother in receiving -their friends, and the proud knowledge that she is -wearing a properly-made dress, she feels there is at -last some advantage in being the eldest girl of the -family. A long peal at the bell, and Doris rushes -hastily across to her mother. -</p> - -<p> -"Do you <i>really</i> wish me to talk to every one, mother, -and divide my attentions between them all, as I have -seen you doing?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, dear, of course. You will soon take it up and -get accustomed to the ways of society. I want you to -see a little in your own home before coming out next -season, so that you may gain a little experience; -otherwise I should not let you dine with us at your age. -I don't know, I am sure, what your aunt will say to -what I suppose she will call my injudicious haste in -bringing you forward. She considers eighteen quite -the correct age for introducing girls, but six months -the other side—" -</p> - -<p> -"Dr. and Mrs. Benson," announces Rankin; and -Mrs. Merivale, followed by her daughter, goes forward to -receive the first guests. The rector takes immediate -possession of his host, and getting him on to the rug -before the fire enters into an animated discussion with -him on the prime minister's speech of the previous -night; dashing into it so suddenly that Doris, who is -standing by, is inspired with the idea that they must -have begun this conversation some time during the -same day somewhere, and having perhaps been interrupted, -have now taken it up again at the exact point -at which they left off. Mrs. Merivale and the rector's -wife being seated together on a sofa talking softly -about their respective families, Doris roams about the -room a little until another loud peal at the bell causes -her to retire a little behind her mother's chair, in order -to be in readiness when the next visitors are announced. -This time it is Colonel and Mrs. Danvers and almost close -upon them are ushered in Mrs. and Mr. Hugh Horton -and Captain Hall, as if they had all come together. There -is quite a buzz of conversation in the room now, and -Doris finds herself seated by Mrs. Danvers, with -Captain Hall and Hugh standing before them, laughing and -chatting as if she had been accustomed to this sort of -thing all her days. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, how do you think you will like your first -dinner-party, Doris?" inquires Hugh, going round and -leaning over her chair. -</p> - -<p> -"O, I think it will be jolly. I am enjoying it all so -far; only if mother sends me down with one of the -old fogies the dinner part of the performance will be -awfully dull. You take me down, Hugh, <i>do</i>; then we -can discuss the tableaux and the party, you know. -We have got a lot settled to-night, and the carpenter -is coming to-morrow to see about arranging the -room. It only remains to be decided which we shall -choose." -</p> - -<p> -"All serene!" replies the young fellow. "I'll take -you down if I can, Doris; but your mother may have -other views for me, you know. Ah! here come some -more. I say, Doris, is Honor coming down to-night?" -</p> - -<p> -"No—that is, yes," hurriedly answers Doris, rising -as the door is thrown open, and "Mr. and Mrs. Paget" -and "Lady Woodhouse" are announced. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, bless my heart, child, what does this mean?" -exclaims the latter lady, bearing down upon her niece, -and lifting her eye-glass. -</p> - -<p> -"What does <i>what</i> mean, aunt?" inquires Doris demurely, -and meeting the astonished stare of her aunt -with unmoved gravity. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, your being down here, dressed up in a gown -which I am quite sure Miss Renny was never guilty -of making. You are never going to dine?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I am, aunt, of course, or I shouldn't be down -here at all. Mother says she means me to appear a -little at home before really coming out. She wants me -to get a little into the ways of society." -</p> - -<p> -"Ways of fiddle-sticks, <i>I</i> should say!" rejoins Lady -Woodhouse tartly. "In my young days one was never -seen or heard of until properly introduced. Let me -see, how old are you, child—seventeen, eighteen?" -</p> - -<p> -"Seventeen and a half, aunt." -</p> - -<p> -Lady Woodhouse holds up her hands in horror. -"Not even eighteen! What is the world coming to? -But there, your mother is one of the most injudicious -women I know, and always will be, I suppose. Well, -Mr. Hugh Horton, and how are you? I suppose you -two young people are going down together, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"No such luck, I'm afraid. I believe I'm to take -one of the other ladies—Mrs. Danvers, in fact." -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing of the sort!" exclaims this energetic lady. -"I have made up my mind you shall take me, young -man. Go over and tell your mother, Doris, that I -insist upon going down with Mr. Hugh Horton. Then we -will see if we can't contrive to sit next to you and your -escort. Mind now, child, when you see me leaving the -room, you follow; then we shall manage, I daresay. -Ah! here comes Sir Peter—last, as usual. Now I -suppose the party is complete. Run, Doris, or you will be -too late." -</p> - -<p> -Almost before Sir Peter has greeted his host and -hostess, the door is once more thrown wide, and the -announcement "Dinner is served" brings the assembled -guests to their feet. Doris is standing obedient, close -by her aunt, who has already taken forcible possession -of Hugh, when a cheery, manly voice from behind -says "Now, Miss Doris, your mother tells me I am to -have the honour of taking you in to dinner on this -auspicious occasion of your first appearance in public;" -and Colonel Danvers stands before her with smiling -face and outstretched hand. -</p> - -<p> -"I couldn't come and speak to you before," he -explains, "for your father and the rector pinned me at -the other end of the room and dragged me into a -political discussion." -</p> - -<p> -"O, I am so glad I am to sit beside you!" exclaims -Doris with genuine pleasure. "I was dreadfully afraid -it would be Captain Hall; and he is so stupid, you know. -It takes him about five minutes to get out the most -ordinary remarks with his silly affected drawl." -</p> - -<p> -"Now, Doris;" and Lady Woodhouse turns to leave -the room, closely followed by Colonel Danvers and her -niece, Mrs. Merivale and Sir Peter Beresford bringing -up the rear. As Doris and the colonel turn the corner -of the stairs a smart wrap on the former's head causes -them to look up to the flight above, where they descry -Molly, armed with a battledore, hanging over the -balustrade. "Hush! don't say anything. How is Doris -behaving?" she says with breathless inconsistency. -Colonel Danvers looks up laughingly and nods a greeting. -"O, pretty well, considering;" and Doris adds, "Do -go away, Molly. Did you actually dare to rap my head -with that thing?" But Molly, seeing that her mother -is close at hand, disappears mysteriously, and there is -much scuffling and giggling heard on the next landing, -where evidently the others are collected also. -</p> - -<p> -Although Doris finds herself seated between Hugh -and her favourite the colonel, she is so dazzled and -confused with the brightness of the scene and the -incessant flow of talk that she at first sits perfectly -silent. -</p> - -<p> -With the assistance of Colonel Danvers she gravely -studies her <i>ménu</i>, he explaining the meaning of some -of the elaborate names of the dishes, which to her, -fresh from the school-room, are as Greek. -</p> - -<p> -Presently Mrs. Benson, who is on the other side of -the colonel, takes up his attention for a time; and as -Hugh and Lady Woodhouse are now carrying on a -spirited conversation on her right, Doris quietly takes -a look all round the table. -</p> - -<p> -There is old Mr. Paget sitting next to Mrs. Horton, -with his table-napkin tucked up over his shirt-front, -looking as if he had not tasted food for the last month, -such undivided attention is he giving to his soup; -Mrs. Danvers is carrying on a rather one-sided -flirtation with Captain Hall; and good-natured Mrs. Paget -is talking with all her might to old Sir Peter, who is -looking worried to the last degree by the palpable -exertions of the good lady to make herself agreeable -and entertaining. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, how quiet we are!" suddenly remarks the -colonel, looking down at the bright face beside him. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I should think so," says Doris laughing. "It's -a terrible ordeal, the responsibility of having to keep -one's self in order, you know, and do all that is right -and nothing that is wrong. Do you remember your -first dinner-party?" she continues. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I remember it only too well; I have reason -to, I assure you." -</p> - -<p> -"Why? Did anything dreadful happen?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, yes; I thought it dreadful. What! no champagne?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know that mother would like me to have -it; I told her to 'hail' when anything important was -likely to happen, but she is so taken up with Sir Peter -that I believe she has forgotten all about me. Never -mind, I'll telegraph to father." -</p> - -<p> -"No, you need not do that!" exclaims the colonel, -as well as he can for laughing. "Say 'yes' the next -time it comes round, and I will take the responsibility. -There, I see Rankin looking this way, I'll beckon him. -Some champagne for Miss Doris, please," he says, and -in another moment her glass is filled with the sparkling, -foaming wine, at which she looks half frightened -however. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, now, what were you going to tell me about -your first dinner-party?" she asks. "What dreadful -thing was it that happened?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I must tell you that I had to take a severe-looking -old dowager in to dinner that evening. She -was very rich, I suppose, for I remember that the -flashing of her diamonds made me quite nervous, -especially as she had a sharp way of suddenly -turning round to speak to one with a kind of jerk, which -made me jump, and more than, once I nearly dropped -my spoon or fork, or whatever it chanced to be. I -must also mention that this good lady was also very -fat and very ugly. Well, matters went on pretty -well altogether until dessert. I had just had my glass -filled with port, when suddenly a voice on my right -said, 'Mr. Danvers, may I trouble you to crack these -filberts for me?' I turned so suddenly, that before I -saw what I was doing my elbow had overturned the -glass of port, and away it went in one remorseless -stream down the old lady's gown. I was so horrified -at the awful catastrophe that I sat helpless, as if -stunned, and the old lady was just about to pour forth -a torrent of wrathful reproaches on to my defenceless -head, her eyes meanwhile flashing as much as her -diamonds, when a man sitting on the other side of -her (a fellow of about my own age now) suddenly -jumped up, seized a decanter of sherry, and saying -hastily, 'Allow me, madam,' he quietly and deliberately -poured a good half of its contents upon the gown -where the darker wine had left a deep red stain." -</p> - -<p> -"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris with wide-open -eyes, "was that to take the old lady's attention from -off you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, yes and no," says Colonel Danvers taking -up a pear and slowly peeling it with great nicety; -"but the fact is I didn't wait to see, for the much -ill-used lady, on receiving what she thought to be an -insult added to the injury she had sustained, flew, so -to speak, at this gentleman, one Major Carpenter; and -seeing that for the moment my very existence was -forgotten, I must confess that I was cowardly enough -to slip out of my place unperceived and into the hall, -where a good-natured young footman, who had seen -the whole thing, I suppose, opened the library door, -remarking as he did so, 'There's a nice fire in here, -sir.' You see, I couldn't go into the drawing-room -when even the ladies had not left the table." -</p> - -<p> -"Poor old lady!" says Doris, cracking nuts perseveringly; -"she <i>must</i> have been put out with such outrageous -behaviour on the part of <i>two</i> gentlemen. Now, -don't you think so?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I don't know. You say 'poor old lady,' but -you never give a thought to the agonies of mind which -<i>I</i> suffered. You are rather hard on <i>me</i>, I think." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, but you <i>were</i> rather cowardly, by your own -confession you were, to run off and leave Major -Carpenter to bear the full brunt of the old lady's -displeasure. O yes, it certainly was <i>very</i> bad of you!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! yes, I suppose it was," says the colonel, leaning -back in his chair; "and yet, Doris, since that time -I have stood before a cannon's mouth without flinching. -I have ridden across an open plain with, not -cannon, but shot of all description 'to right of me' -and 'to left of me,' without so much as a friendly -shrub to protect me from the sight of the enemy. -Oh! I assure you, that was a very warm position in more -senses than one. However, here I am still, safe and -sound; but I verily believe if I spilt a glass of port -upon another old lady's dress I should feel just as -inclined to turn coward and run away as ever, for the -truth must be told, Doris, ever since that eventful -night I have felt a mortal antipathy, not unmixed -with fear, in the company of fat, cross old ladies." -</p> - -<p> -Doris sits silent for a few seconds, giving her -attention to the pear which Colonel Danvers has just put -upon her plate. Then she says, "You haven't told me -yet what your friend threw the sherry upon the dress -for?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, neither I have. Well, the sherry it seems, if -poured over a ready-made stain of port-wine, takes -it out, only leaving a sort of ring round the place, -which, I suppose, can be easily removed with a -little ordinary cleaning. Somebody explained -afterwards to the old lady why Major Carpenter had done -it, and in a few days he received a note from her, -thanking him for the service he had rendered her on -the occasion of Mrs. Mordant's dinner-party, and -begging to apologize for any little annoyance she -might possibly have shown when the accident occurred. -Ever after that evening she designated me as 'that -young man, Mr. Danvers,' whilst my friend was 'that -charming Major Carpenter.' There's your mother, Doris, -signalling for the ladies' departure. You must tell me -all about these theatricals in the drawing-room -afterwards, will you?" -</p> - -<p> -Arrived upstairs, Doris makes at once for a secluded -niche draped with curtains in one of the windows, -wherein she knows she will find Honor ensconced, -probably with a book. -</p> - -<p> -The book is at a discount this evening, for Regy -Horton, a fair, delicate-looking boy of seventeen, has -already arrived, and he and Honor are deep in a -discussion about some picture they have lately seen, -painting being an art of which they are both -passionately fond. -</p> - -<p> -"Now this is really delightful!" exclaims Doris, -throwing herself on the wide window-seat beside her -sister. "We will just keep here by ourselves until the -gentlemen come up, and then I will fetch Hugh and -Colonel Danvers, and we will all talk over the 27th." -</p> - -<p> -"That's all very well, Doris, but you can't do just -as you like to-night, you know. You will have to talk -to people; bless you, your duties are not <i>half</i> over yet. -Here comes mother now to fetch you. There, didn't -I say so?" -</p> - -<p> -"Doris, you must not hide yourself in a corner," -remonstrates Mrs. Merivale, coming up to the little -group; "you must come and do your share of talking. -And have you brought any of your songs down? I -shall expect you to sing by and by." -</p> - -<p> -"O, mother, I <i>can't</i>—I can't really! I should sink -through the floor. Besides, Molly is not here to -accompany me; and she is the only one who can, decently. -Honor's a goose at accompaniments." -</p> - -<p> -"Never mind, dear, we will see," says Mrs. Merivale -vaguely. "Come, Honor, and you too, Regy; we can't -have any more whisperings behind curtains when as -yet there is no one to amuse the ladies." -</p> - -<p> -So Doris and Honor are both dragged out of their -corner, much to their chagrin, and there is a suspicion -of a pout on the rosy lips of the former as the three -advance into the middle of the room. -</p> - -<p> -Later on, when the gentlemen have come up, and -tea and coffee have been served, Doris, with much -mystery, beckons Colonel Danvers over to the little -group consisting of herself, Honor, and the two Horton -boys. -</p> - -<p> -"You <i>will</i> be the 'old woman,' won't you?" gasps -Doris excitedly. "You would do it so beautifully. And -you <i>promised</i>, you know, to do anything we wanted; -now, didn't you?" -</p> - -<p> -"A very rash promise apparently. May I be -permitted to inquire to what 'old woman' you are -referring?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, the 'old woman' who lived in a shoe, to be -sure. Honor and I have talked it all over, and if we -dress you up in one of nurse's gowns, with an apron -and cap, you will look <i>lovely</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"Upon my word, I feel highly complimented. I -hope I shall not be considered inquisitive if I ask -whether this old woman was considered handsome or -not? By the by," adds the colonel with a crestfallen -look, and stroking his moustache, "how shall I dispose -of this commodity? You will never be so despotic as -to command me to cut it off, will you?" -</p> - -<p> -Both the girls cry simultaneously "Oh, no, of <i>course</i> -not!" and Hugh adds reassuringly, "Oh, that's nothing; -you can flatten it down easily with a little cosmetic, -and it won't show at all if you powder your face after." -</p> - -<p> -"Very well, then. I will undertake to promise anything -in that line if one of you girls will consent to -be in my custody with a view to receiving the first -whipping. Really," adds the colonel laughing, "I don't -think the picture will be half bad if there are plenty -of children forthcoming and the shoe is well managed. -What are your plans concerning it, Hugh?" and the -two proceed to enter into a deep discussion relative to -the height, depth, and width thereof, when suddenly -Honor and Doris are electrified by the sight of Molly -entering the room, arrayed in a white frock matching -that which Honor wears. Molly has a roll of music -under her arm, and with the greatest self-possession in -the world she marches up to the grand piano and lays -it down. She then stands as if awaiting further orders, -with flushed face, bright sparkling eyes, and hair -tumbling over her forehead and ears and curling down -upon her neck in rather wild but pretty confusion. -</p> - -<p> -"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris aside to Honor, -"what can it mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"It is very plain to <i>me</i> what it means," replied -Honor. "Didn't you see the music she brought in -with her? That music is <i>yours</i>, my dear,—your songs; -and mother has sent for Molly to play the accompaniments. -So now you can't escape." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I really call that <i>mean</i> of mother!" exclaims -Doris. "Molly, why weren't you in bed and asleep, -you wretched child, like any other reasonable being? -then you <i>couldn't</i> have come down, you know." -</p> - -<p> -"Mother sent me a message not long ago," replies -Molly promptly, "to say I was to get dressed and to -look out some of your nicest songs, and come down -when I was sent for. So of course I was arrayed in -my white frock, with more speed than elegance, I'm -afraid, for my sash is all awry, and I can't reach round -to do it for myself; and," she adds, lowering her voice -mysteriously, "I have actually come down in odd -shoes. Look!" holding out first one foot and then the -other. "One rosette is nearly twice as large as the other, -and I verily believe one shoe is kid and the other -patent leather! It <i>is</i>—look! Then it is your shoe I -caught up, Honor, and that accounts for it pinching so -horribly; why <i>will</i> you persist in having such small -feet? Well, I must take care not to show both feet at -once, and then it will be all right—they're both nice -shoes of their kind." -</p> - -<p> -"Why didn't you go back and change them?" -inquires Doris turning over the songs. -</p> - -<p> -"I never knew they were odd until I was on the -landing outside the door, and Rankin, as soon as he -saw me, threw the door wide open, so I couldn't do -anything but walk in and make the best of it." -</p> - -<p> -"Doris, will you sing us something, dear?" says -Mrs. Merivale from the distance; and Doris, somewhat -reassured by her feeling of complete confidence -in her young accompanist, resigns herself to her fate -with a tolerably good grace. Gounod's graceful little -chanson 'Au Printemps' is the first the girls select -from the goodly pile which Molly has brought down, -and the effective accompaniment with the fresh young -voice soon draw an appreciative group round the -piano. 'The Sands of Dee' is next placed upon the -stand by Colonel Danvers, and Molly, nothing loth, -starts off at once with the prelude without ever -consulting Doris's inclination in the matter. -</p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-033"></a> -<br /> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-033.jpg" alt="DORIS SINGS "THE SANDS OF DEE."" /> -<br /> -DORIS SINGS "THE SANDS OF DEE." -</p> - -<p> -One or two other songs quickly follow, and then -some of the guests take their leave, while one or two, -Colonel Danvers and old Sir Peter being amongst the -number, go up and speak kindly to Molly, who, now -that her duties are over, is standing a little -abstractedly by the piano, running her fingers noiselessly -up and down the keys. -</p> - -<p> -"What a pity the Hortons had to leave so early," -says the colonel to Molly. "With you here to -accompany so well we might have prevailed on Hugh to -sing. I do so like of all things to hear his tenor voice -in 'Molly Bawn,' and also the immortal 'Sally in our -Alley.'" -</p> - -<p> -"One would think he could sing nothing else," -remarks Molly, "by the way in which he persists in -dosing us with those two, and especially the former. -I am always wanting him to learn others—there are -such heaps of pretty tenor songs—but it's no use; he -will keep on with those and other old ones. He says -none of the new songs can hold a candle to them, but -I don't know—I believe it is laziness, really." -</p> - -<p> -The example of the first departures being quickly -followed by others, the room is soon cleared of all the -guests, save Sir Peter Beresford, who being passionately -fond of music, begs his hostess to allow Molly to -sit up five minutes longer that she may play him one -more piece. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale looks doubtfully from Molly to the -clock and then back again. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, sit down, Molly, and play something to Sir -Peter—you know which are his favourites,—then you -must all three run away off to bed instantly. Here -is Doris yawning behind her fan, and Honor looks -whiter than her frock, if anything. I don't know -what father will say, I am sure." -</p> - -<p> -"O, let them stay a bit longer," says indulgent -Mr. Merivale, and crossing over to the piano he seats -himself beside his three girls, and listens with no little -pride to Molly's musicianly playing. The piece ended, -Mrs. Merivale keeps to her word, and hardly allowing -Sir Peter time to thank Doris and Molly for the -musical treat which he declares they have given him, -she bids her daughters say "good-night," and with a -kiss to each, dismisses them. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER III. -<br /><br /> -SHOPPING AND A REHEARSAL. -</h3> - -<p> -The next morning breaks dismally enough outside. -The streets are thickly carpeted with snow, which -has fallen plenteously and almost without cessation -during the previous night. There is a deadened, -muffled sound of occasional traffic only in the usually -busy streets, and even this is soon drowned in the -scrape, scrape of shovels with which armies of small -boys parade the quieter streets and terraces, wherein -are the houses of the rich and prosperous men of the -large, smoke-begrimed manufacturing town, whilst -the fortunate occupants of these large fashionable -mansions, who are still curled up comfortably under -warm eider-down quilts, are unpleasantly roused to a -consciousness of what awaits them by the loud -persistent cries of "Sweep yer doorway, ma'am,—doorway -ma'am?" -</p> - -<p> -Indoors things look somewhat more cheerful, especially -at the Merivales, who are an early-rising family. -It still wants a few minutes to eight, but Doris and -Honor, true to habit, are already kneeling on the rug -before the bright fire, spreading their hands as near -as they dare over the glowing coals, and carrying on -a spirited talk, which proves that the few hours' sleep -of which they have been deprived has not done them -much harm. The door opens, and enter Molly—yawning -hopelessly, and it must be confessed looking haggard -and pale, with dark rings round her large blue -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Hallo, Moll! late hours don't evidently suit you, -my dear. You <i>do</i> look an object of pity, upon my -word. Here, come to the fire and stop chattering your -teeth, for goodness' sake!" -</p> - -<p> -Molly accepts the invitation and joins her sisters, -and after a few minutes Mr. Merivale comes in -rubbing his hands briskly. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, girls, let the old man see a bit of the fire! -Ah! just eight," taking out his watch and comparing -it with the clock on the mantel-piece. "Good girls, to -be punctual after your late hours. Ring the bell, -Honor; it's no use waiting for your mother this morning. -She has one of her bad headaches, and I shouldn't -wonder if she does not come down at all. She said -she would send word by Lane after prayers, so we -need not wait now." -</p> - -<p> -By this time the servants have filed into the room -and taken their places; and the old nurse having also -appeared with her two particular charges, Daisy and -Bobby, Mr. Merivale takes his place at a side-table, -and morning prayers are commenced. Before leaving -the room again nurse places the two children in their -usual places at the breakfast-table, and at the same -moment Lane steps forward from the row of servants, -and going up to Honor says, "If you please, Miss -Honor, your ma says will you make breakfast this -morning, for her head is that bad she can't raise it -from her pillow?" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Honor</i>, of course!" and with a pout and a flounce -Doris takes her usual seat at the table, while Honor -moves to the end opposite her father, who is busily -occupied in sorting the letters. -</p> - -<p> -Breakfast is generally a quiet meal at No. 4 -Lancaster Terrace, for Mr. Merivale leaves the house at -half-past nine punctually every morning in order to -be at the bank before it is opened to the public. -</p> - -<p> -There is little or no conversation therefore this -morning, the mother being absent, and the six girls -and boys take their breakfast in almost complete -silence, speaking, if at all, in low subdued voices which -will not disturb their father over his newspapers and -letters. -</p> - -<p> -Presently he puts these aside, however, and as he -passes his cup up to be refilled by Honor says, "Didn't -I hear mother say Miss Denison was to return to-day?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, father," answers Doris. "Mother heard from -her yesterday, and she is to arrive by the 12.45 train." -</p> - -<p> -"O, I wonder if mother will let us meet her," says -Honor, looking up. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, why not ask her?" says Mr. Merivale, rising -from the table. "I don't suppose she will be going -out herself this morning, so you might take the -carriage in that case." -</p> - -<p> -"O, that <i>would</i> be jolly!" cries Doris, jumping up -and clapping her hands; "and I tell you what, Honor, -we'll try and get mother to let us have it all the -morning, then we shall get through no end of business. -Father will ask her—won't you, dear?" -</p> - -<p> -"Not I, indeed; go and ask her yourself. Besides, -it is time I was off—there will be no one to open the -safe, and then what will they do, eh?" and so saying -Mr. Merivale bustles into the hall, where William is -standing waiting to help his master into his overcoat, -and snatching the <i>Times</i> from Honor's hand, who, -with Doris and Molly in her wake, has pursued him -out on to the steps, he makes his escape into the -brougham which is waiting at the door. -</p> - -<p> -Doris and Honor hold a consultation on their way -back to the dining-room as to the pros and cons of -their getting permission to use the carriage, and on -Doris promising to be spokeswoman, they both run up -to their mother's room. -</p> - -<p> -"Mother, we want the carriage, Honor and I, to do -our shopping, you know. And father says if we are -out we may as well take it on to the station and meet -Miss Denny; so we can, can't we, mother?" And Doris -takes up one of the slender white hands lying upon -the coverlet, and softly pats and strokes it between -her own. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale shrinkingly turns her head away -from her anxious young daughter's appealing gaze, -and closing her eyes says, "My <i>dear</i> Doris, you might -have a little more consideration for my nerves, I think. -Here I am, completely prostrated, and you rush into -the room like an earthquake, thinking of nothing but -yourself. Do <i>pray</i> leave me alone, and, oh yes! you -can have <i>both</i> the carriages if you like, only leave me -in peace; and Honor, give me the Cologne, and then -find Lane and send her to me. And <i>do</i>, all of you, -try to walk a little less like elephants than you -generally do. Oh! pray shut the door quietly." -</p> - -<p> -The girls are quenched, and leave the room much -more quietly than they entered it. -</p> - -<p> -"I hope to goodness <i>I</i> shall never have any nerves," -says Doris pouting, as she links her arm in Honor's. -"Mother is fussy and cross this morning. I believe she -would like us all to sit perfectly mute through the -livelong day whenever she has one of her headaches. -Now don't look shocked, Honor, my girl! You know -in your own heart of hearts you think so too, only -you are too good to say it, even to yourself. I often -wonder what mother would do if father were a poor -man, and she had to make her own dresses, and do -her own hair, and we had the washing done at home. -Ah! that would just suit mother, wouldn't it? Fancy -how delicious—a perpetual smell of washing!" -</p> - -<p> -"Hush, dear!" says Honor gently, "you must not -talk like that about mother; she is delicate, of course, -and you know what Miss Denison says about the back -being fitted to the burden." -</p> - -<p> -"O, that's all very well! but you know there are -burdens clapped on people's backs when they least -expect it sometimes, at least so I've read in books, so -I don't altogether believe in <i>that</i> statement." -</p> - -<p> -In half an hour's time the two girls, radiant and -comfortable, with rugs, foot-warmers, and muffs, are -being whisked through the now slushy streets by a pair -of fresh young horses. A very delightful morning of -shopping follows, until Honor, looking at her watch, -is startled to find that they have only just time to get -to the station to meet the train by which their governess -is travelling. -</p> - -<p> -"Be quick, dear," she says to Doris, who is divided -between the conflicting beauties of two delicate chintzes, -one of which is destined to adorn the person of "Mary," -of the perverse character, "or we shall not be there -before the train comes in, and then poor Miss Denny -will think there's no one there to meet her." -</p> - -<p> -Honor's fears of being late are not without some -foundation, they find, for as they step on to the -platform the train is already gliding into the station. A -hand is seen waving a recognition from one of the -carriage windows, and as Doris and Honor rush up to -the door, a tall pleasant-looking woman steps down, -and is quickly being nearly stifled and smothered in -the embraces of her impetuous pupils. -</p> - -<p> -"And now, girls," straightening her bonnet and then -giving a hand to each, "how are all at home?" -</p> - -<p> -"O, all right!" replies Doris, promptly dismissing the -subject; "and we have no end to talk to you about. -The theatricals will be a <i>tre-men</i>-dous success. Honor -and I have been shopping this morning; that's how it -is we have got the carriage. Mother had one of her -headaches, you know, so she couldn't come and meet -you herself; and oh, isn't it <i>splendid</i>?—Colonel Danvers -is really going to be the old woman!" -</p> - -<p> -"My <i>dear</i> Doris, how you do run on!" says Miss -Denison, smiling down at the bright face by her side. -"A few moments ago you said all were well at home, -and now you say your mother has a bad headache. -Now do let Honor speak too, dear," she adds laughing, -as Doris shows signs of starting off on a fresh subject. -</p> - -<p> -All chatting pleasantly together the drive home -seems to be accomplished in about half the usual time, -and as soon as Miss Denison has been extricated from -the carriage, which, in addition to the three occupants, -is filled almost to overflowing with packages, she has -to undergo a warm reception from Molly and Dick, -who are dancing a sort of Highland fling of expectation -on the door-step as the carriage drives up. -</p> - -<p> -Then they all follow Miss Denison up to Mrs. Merivale's -boudoir, where, now almost recovered, she is -languidly looking over her letters of the morning. -</p> - -<p> -"My <i>dear</i> Miss Denison," she says, holding out both -hands as the governess approaches her, "you can have -no conception what an unspeakable relief your return -is to me. I thought I should have <i>died</i> sometimes -with the terrible racket these children have made. -Their father doesn't seem to mind it—indeed I really -believe he <i>likes</i> it rather than otherwise; but oh, what -my poor nerves have gone through!" and Mrs. Merivale -shudders and looks round for her smelling-salts. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>What</i> we shall do without you when you leave us -for good I really <i>don't know</i>," she continues. "Honor -and Molly will have to go to school, I think. Doris -must stay at home, of course, if she is to come out -next season. O, how I wish Honor was the eldest!—she -is so quiet and sensible compared to that child -there. It is all very well when I am quite well myself, -but these headaches completely prostrate me, and when -they are all at home together it is almost <i>more</i> than I -can stand. Molly, <i>do</i> stop shuffling your feet!" -</p> - -<p> -"I am sure, dear Mrs. Merivale, I would willingly -have made my engagement a longer one still," says -Miss Denison sitting down close to her, while Doris -squeezes up to her side, Honor sits on a stool at their -feet, and Molly and Dick take up their position behind -the sofa; "but Frank declares he will wait no longer, -saying—which is quite true, of course—that I have put -him off twice already. I should like to have finished -Honor as well as Doris, especially as I fear that young -lady has not done me as much credit as she might -have done. Now, Honor is more studiously inclined, -and so I <i>think</i> is Molly." -</p> - -<p> -"Now, I call it mean talking like that!" cries Doris -pouting. "If I haven't a natural taste for study it -isn't <i>my</i> fault, and it's twice and three times as easy -for people to learn when they really <i>like</i> it, and not -half so praiseworthy in <i>my</i> opinion. Never mind," she -adds, tossing her head, "I shall marry a duke; and it -won't matter then whether or not I can speak French, -German, or Italian!" -</p> - -<p> -"O my stars, hark to that, Miss Denison!" exclaims -Dick. "Why, my good Doris, if you marry a duke -you will have to go to court, you know; and supposing -the queen invited you to dinner, and she took it into -her head suddenly to have nothing but Chinese, or—or -Fi-ji-an spoken all the time, where would you be -<i>then</i>, my girl?" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be absurd!" retorts Doris loftily; "and do let -Miss Denny go on with what she was saying." -</p> - -<p> -But at this moment the gong sounds and there is a -general move. A merry and noisy meal is the luncheon -to-day; Mr. Merivale, who has come home unexpectedly, -being himself one of the merriest of the party. -</p> - -<p> -After much discussion and a few passages-at-arms -between Doris, Molly, and Dick, which are promptly -suppressed, however, by Miss Denison, a rehearsal is -called for half-past six o'clock, after the school-room -tea. A note, in a somewhat sprawling masculine hand, -is written and despatched by Molly to command the -presence of the five Horton boys at that hour; and as -the carpenter has pronounced the school-room to be -most suitable for the erection of a stage, the time before -tea is devoted chiefly to the clearing of all superfluous -articles (of which there are not a few) away into -cupboards and ottomans, &c. Presently Hugh, Regy, -Alick, Ted, and Joey Horton arrive, and hard, steady -rehearsal is the order of the evening until bed-time. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IV. -<br /><br /> -HUGH'S MENTOR. -</h3> - -<p> -The time soon flies past, every one being in a whirl -of excitement which passes Mrs. Merivale's -comprehension. But at last the day before that fixed for -the party arrives, and the house is in a perfect uproar -from attic to basement. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale has struck a bargain with the girls -that, so long as they undertake to keep everything in -connection with the theatricals out of her sight and -hearing, she will promise to eschew all aches and pains, -and take into her own hands the entire management -of the rest of the entertainment. This is more in her -line; and from little things the girls overhear from -time to time they feel satisfied as to their Christmas -party being a success. -</p> - -<p> -On the day in question the general excitement -reaches a pitch which defies description. Downstairs -the cook has lately been reduced to a pitch of frenzy -by the constant demand for paste, glue-pots to be -heated, flat-irons, &c. To-day, however, she has struck -against this, for has she not the supper of the next -night to prepare? So she has shut her kitchen doors, -and announced emphatically that under no pretext -whatever will she open them to any of the young -ladies or gentlemen until the party is over. Mr. Merivale -is heard to declare that "there is not a place -whereon to rest the sole of my foot," for even his -bedroom is not exempt (on this the last day) from litter of -various kinds. On one occasion, when sitting down -for a few minutes' chat with his wife, Doris, looking -in to ask a question, suddenly rushes across the room, -and seizing her astonished parent by the lapels of his -coat exclaims, "O, <i>father</i>, you're sitting on my Queen -of Hearts dress! and you <i>must</i> have smashed the crown -flat! O, how <i>could</i> you?" -</p> - -<p> -There is to be a dress rehearsal this evening at -half-past seven, and Colonel and Mrs. Danvers are coming -to dine quietly, so that the former can enter upon his -duties as stage-manager as well as practise his part -of the "old woman." -</p> - -<p> -It is about five o'clock, and Miss Denison and the -young people are seated at tea in the school-room, -when Jane enters, and addressing herself to Molly says -rather mysteriously, "O, if you please, Miss Molly, -Mr. Hugh is down in the hall, and he wants to speak to -you most particular for a minute. I asked him to -step into the drawing-room, but he said 'no,' nor he -wouldn't come up here neither." -</p> - -<p> -"What can he want?" says Molly, rising from her -chair; "may I go, Miss Denny?" -</p> - -<p> -Permission granted, down she runs and finds Hugh -sitting disconsolately on one of the hall chairs, his -hands in his pockets, and his eyes fixed moodily upon -the ceiling. -</p> - -<p> -"What are you sitting there for like a hall-porter?" -she cries with scant ceremony; "and why couldn't you -come upstairs like a reasonable being? Why, <i>what</i> -is the matter? You look as doleful as a crocodile!" And -copying the expression of his face to a nicety, she -plants herself before the young fellow and thrusts her -hands into imaginary pockets. Then she suddenly -bursts into irrepressible laughter. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you needn't laugh at a fellow! <i>You</i> would -look gloomy if after days and days of work you found -yourself in the same quandary as I am. It's the shoe, -that's what it is!" -</p> - -<p> -"O, it's the <i>shoe</i> that pinches, is it?" and teasing -Molly goes off into fresh fits of laughter. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you needn't laugh! as I said before. The -fact is I don't know how to get it here: it is so large, -you see. It's really a beautiful shoe, and will hold a -lot of youngsters, but the fact remains that I can't even -get it out of the door of my own room! What's to -be done?" A pause. Then Hugh goes on, "You see -I want to get it in here while it is dark, because if -anyone saw it being taken in they would think we -were all lunatics, naturally." -</p> - -<p> -Molly rests her chin upon her hand and ponders -deeply. "How many pieces is it in?" she asks. -</p> - -<p> -"Only three," mutters Hugh despondently. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, now," says Molly, "why can't you take it to -pieces again? I will help you, and it will be such fun -lacing it all up again. We ought to have had it made -<i>here</i>, in the house; then there would have been no -bother at all. As it is, to take it to pieces is the only -thing I can suggest. Shall I run and ask Miss Denny -if I may go in now with you, and then we shall get it -put together again in time for the rehearsal to-night?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, do, and I will wait here. What a clever girl -you are, Molly! I knew you would think of a way out -of the difficulty." -</p> - -<p> -"Pooh!" says Molly. "That's nothing. It's you boys -who are so <i>helpless</i> without us girls to manage for -you! I won't be a second;" and away she bounds up -the staircase. -</p> - -<p> -In two or three minutes she reappears with a large -piece of cake in one hand. Tucking the other through -Hugh's arm she remarks (rather unintelligibly, her -mouth being full of cake), "Miss Denny said I might, -so I drank my tea standing, and—oh, have a bit of -cake, do! I have only begun it on this side." Hugh -with great gravity accepts the offer, Molly breaking -off a good-sized piece of the great slice; and this -matter being satisfactorily arranged, they quickly slip -out of one door and in at the other. As they pass -through the hall a door opens, and a refined, -gentle-looking woman of about four or five and forty pauses -on the threshold in surprise at the unexpected sight -of Molly under the escort of her son at that time of -the evening. -</p> - -<p> -"My dear boy," she says, "what <i>are</i> you doing with -Molly? Why, do you know that the child has no hat -on, nor even a wrap of any kind?" -</p> - -<p> -"I <i>had</i> a wrap, Mrs. Horton, but I have just thrown -it off, and it was not worth while to put anything on -my head." -</p> - -<p> -"O, if you have only just come from next door -that is a different matter," says Mrs. Horton, reassured. -"What has Hugh dragged you in here for now?" she -continues kindly while she puts one arm affectionately -round the girl's shoulders. "It is surely your tea-time -now, dear, and it is too bad if he has taken you away -from that." -</p> - -<p> -Hugh looks guilty, but Molly comes to the rescue -for the second time. -</p> - -<p> -"O, I didn't mind, indeed, Mrs. Horton," she says. -"Hugh was so dreadfully put out about the shoe, you -know, so I thought it best to come in and see what -we could do about it. He didn't ask me to come at -all; I offered to myself." -</p> - -<p> -"I shouldn't have bothered Molly about it at all, -mother," the young fellow puts in; "but you see it is -your 'at home' day, and I didn't know whether every -one had gone. And what to do about this blessed shoe -I didn't know, with the time running on so fast too; -and I had <i>promised</i> to have it ready for to-night's -rehearsal. Molly's a dear good-natured girl, and I -knew she would find some way of managing." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, Hugh, you know I would gladly have done -anything I could for you about it; but of course, -as you say, I couldn't very well leave my guests. -Now, shall we go up and see what this tyrannical shoe -requires?" -</p> - -<p> -On reaching the large room upstairs which is devoted -exclusively to the use of the boys, they find all -the other four engaged in different occupations, more -or less noisy. The babel of tongues ceases, however, -at the sight of the trio looking in upon them, and -there is a general rush towards the door. While Ted -and Joey seize upon their mother, Regy and Alick -dart at Molly, and dragging her across the room to -where a funereal-looking object is reclining against -the wall, they proceed to describe noisily the -difficulties of the case. -</p> - -<p> -"I wanted it lowered out of the window!" cries -Alick, determined to be heard, "and hauled up again -into yours. That would have been <i>quite easy</i>, you -know, and not half the fuss in my opinion." -</p> - -<p> -"Who cares for <i>your</i> opinion, Alick?" says Regy -contemptuously. -</p> - -<p> -"No, but really," goes on the boy, not to be -suppressed, "it will be an awful shame to take it all to -pieces. Why, I declare I never knew Hugh to work -at anything so hard before." -</p> - -<p> -"Nor I," mutters Regy, glancing at his brother, who -is leaning up against the mantel-piece staring gloomily -at the object of discussion. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, Molly knows best," he remarks decidedly, -"so it's no use discussing it any longer. Who's got a -pair of sharp scissors or a knife or something? Mother, -you will help us take it to pieces, won't you?" -</p> - -<p> -"And you and I and Colonel Danvers will soon have -it together again when once we get it in there," says -Molly, jerking her head in the direction of the next -house. "O, good gracious, what's this?" she exclaims, -as she trips up over some hard object sticking out -from under the shoe. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, it's one of the supports—<i>wood</i>, you know," -explains Ted, nodding solemnly at Molly. "You -weren't such a goose as to think cardboard would -stand up in that way alone, were you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Where are your manners, Ted?" puts in Hugh. -"Molly, did you hurt yourself? Come round, and let -me show you the whole concern." -</p> - -<p> -The "whole concern" having been duly admired, -and all its points of beauty expatiated on, they all -set to work, and in a very short time the shoe is once -more in three distinct pieces; and while the boys are -busily taking the laces out with elaborate care, Molly, -thoroughly at home in the house, as indeed are all the -girls, strolls out of the room and down the passage to -a little room at the end—Hugh's private sanctum and -study. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Study</i>, indeed!" thinks Molly to herself as she -stands looking scornfully round; for the room, it must -be confessed, does not suggest the idea of any very -violent mental work going on within its four walls. -Books there are in plenty, certainly: good, substantial, -solid reading too; but there they are, comfortably -reposing on their shelves, "looking," as Molly says to -herself, "as if they had not been touched for the last -six weeks." She has just marched up to the books in -question, and is in the act of drawing her finger along -their dusty backs, when Hugh puts his head in at the -door. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, Miss Molly, what are you doing in my -study?" he demands, "and what are you turning up -that elegant little nose about? Come, what's wrong, -eh?" And crossing over hastily, he reaches the girl's -side just in time to see her finish writing with her -finger the word "dust" in large capital letters. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>That</i> is what is wrong," she says, turning round -slowly and facing the young fellow; "d-u-s-t, <i>dust</i>! -A fine study indeed!" she continues, glancing round -contemptuously. "Look how painfully tidy the rest -of the room is! My goodness, you should just see our -school-room when we are in the thick of our lessons -and really mean business! Doris and I get covered -with ink, and our hair gets all rumpled up, and -sometimes we stick pens into it without knowing. Honor -knits her brows and frowns away like anything, -and Miss Denison's voice is several degrees more severe -than usual. Oh, I assure you we look <i>tragic</i> when -we really <i>are</i> working! I should like to know, now, -what use it is your going to Sandhurst," she continues -severely, "when you never so much as open a book at -home? Ah! you are a lazy fellow, Hugh; and I don't -believe you will ever pass all your exams. If you -ever do get into the army (which I very much doubt) -it will be by the backdoor, I verily believe." -</p> - -<p> -"Why, what do <i>you</i> know about the backdoor, -Molly?" exclaims Hugh, bursting into uncontrollable -laughter. -</p> - -<p> -"O, I know all about it," replies Molly, nodding -gravely. "I heard father talking about it to Colonel -Danvers the other evening. Father was saying he -wondered how Cyril Harcourt got into the army. -And Colonel Danvers said, 'Oh, <i>he</i> got in by the -backdoor, you know.' So I asked father afterwards what -it meant, and he told me by getting into the militia -first; and I thought to myself, 'Ah! that's what Hugh -will have to do.' And so you will, you know, if you -ever do get in, which, as I said before, I very much—" -</p> - -<p> -"No, don't say it again," says the young fellow, -putting his hand over Molly's mouth. "I'll do anything -in the world to please you, Molly, and I'll work -like—like fury, only don't pitch into me any more. -Encourage me a bit sometimes, and I shall do wonders -yet. I daresay you could even help me sometimes if -you only would. I don't mean in the actual way of -studying, you know, though I believe you are a hundred -times more clever than I am; but I mean as to keeping -me up to the mark, and all that sort of thing." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that's all very well," says Molly, shaking her -head. "I do try to do that, I'm sure; but if you won't -help yourself, <i>I</i> can't help you. And look here, Hugh, -it is all very well to say you will do it to please <i>me</i>; -but what about your mother, who I know worries -<i>dreadfully</i> about you? It's downright wicked of you, -when you come to think of it. Upon my word it is." -</p> - -<p> -"So it is, Molly. You are quite right, and I deserve -every word you are saying," says Hugh dejectedly. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, will you make me a promise, like a dear, -good boy?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that I will!" he cries with energy. "And -what is more, I will keep it, my wise little mentor." -</p> - -<p> -"That is right, Hugh. Well, I won't say anything -about to-morrow, of course, because until that has -come and gone I don't suppose we shall any of us -know whether we are on our heads or our heels. But -will you promise me that the next day you will really -set to work—real <i>hard</i> work, such as other young -men do? Then you will soon make up for lost time, -with your talents, which it is perfectly <i>sinful</i> to throw -away. You will very soon get used to it, and after a -bit it won't seem such a trouble to you to work. And -look here, Hugh," she adds, suddenly growing grave, -and speaking in a whisper, "'Help yourself, and God -will help you,' you know. Now, will you promise -me?" And looking anxiously up into her companion's -face, Molly holds out her hand. -</p> - -<p> -"I will, Molly; upon my word I will," replies Hugh -earnestly. And taking the girl's hand in both his own, -he adds, "What a dear, good girl you are, Molly, and -how I wish I had a sister like you! Ah! never fear, -I shall fire away now and pass all my exams, in less -than no time; and then you shall see what I can do -afterwards, Miss Molly!" -</p> - -<p> -"O, yes!" says the girl, moving towards the door, -"I have no fear for you when once the studying is -over; it is <i>that</i> which is the stumbling-block, eh? But -thanks so very, very much for your promise, dear -Hugh. I consider your exams, all as good as passed, -now that I have that. Hark! there they are calling -us. All right—coming!" And away she darts down -the passage, all life and fun again. -</p> - -<p> -Hugh follows, in time to see her pounced upon by -all the four boys, who, it seems, are in the midst of a -violent dispute as to who shall have the honour of -carrying in the several portions of the shoe next door. -At last the question is settled, and the parts are carried -with much caution and solemnity out of the Hortons' -house and into the Merivales' by the three elder boys, -Molly, escorted by Ted and little Joey bringing up the -rear with the laces, &c. -</p> - -<p> -"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris, whom they meet -half-way up the staircase, "what a <i>time</i> you have -been! We are all ready; and Miss Denny, and nurse, -and Honor have been dressing up Colonel Danvers, -and he looks splendid!" -</p> - -<p> -"Does he? All right! we shall not be two minutes -in putting the shoe together again; come along, boys!" And -away scampers Molly up to the school-room, closely -followed by all the Hortons. -</p> - -<p> -At last it is ready, and Colonel Danvers and -Mr. Merivale, assisted by most of the boys, hoist it up -satisfactorily into its place. -</p> - -<p> -As the colonel is looking somewhat embarrassed in -his petticoats, shawl, and big poke-bonnet, it is decided -that the "old woman who lived in a shoe" shall be -rehearsed next. It is also settled that this picture shall -be placed first in the programme, instead of third as -originally intended. This is partly because Colonel -Danvers declares he shall be consumed with nervousness -until his part is over, and he can once more -appear in his own proper attire. -</p> - -<p> -"You see, I am not used to petticoats and long -gowns," he remarks plaintively; "so <i>please</i> let us get -that tableau over as early as possible!" -</p> - -<p> -It being necessary to have everything in working -order, the curtain is let down, and in the first trial -rests itself triumphantly at one end on a part of the -shoe, leaving a startling array of ankles and feet -plainly visible to those looking on. -</p> - -<p> -This being remedied, great consternation is caused -by the sudden mysterious disappearance of Bobby. -On search being made it is discovered that the curtain -in its first descent has knocked him over into the -interior of the shoe, from which strange, unearthly -sounds are issuing. He is speedily rescued, however, -apparently none the worse for his sudden collapse, -except that his mouth, eyes, and hair are pretty freely -filled with dust. Having, however, been once more -set upon his legs, he soon recovers from his sneezing -fit and joins in the laugh with the rest. -</p> - -<p> -In the second trial all goes well, and the other -pictures are duly rehearsed according to their order on -the programme. After a few hours' steady practising -they are one and all pronounced to be satisfactory by -the audience, which, though limited (consisting only of -Mrs. Merivale, Mrs. Danvers, and Mrs. Horton), is -decidedly critical; and after a little light refreshment, -for which they all betake themselves to the dining-room, -the party is dispersed, the colonel in a devout -state of thankfulness at feeling himself, as he expresses -it, a man once more. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER V. -<br /><br /> -HUSBAND AND WIFE. -</h3> - -<p> -Mr. and Mrs. Merivale are still seated at the -breakfast-table on the morning of the 27th, the former -deep in his newspaper, the latter taking another glance -through her letters. The children have already taken -themselves off some time, and with Miss Denison are -busy upstairs putting finishing touches to some of the -costumes for the evening. -</p> - -<p> -"Here is a letter from Sophia," presently remarks -Mrs. Merivale to her husband. "She proposes coming -to us for a few days on her way back to town when -she leaves the Pagets; would you like— Why, James, -what is the matter?" and rising quickly from her chair -she hurries round to his side, startled by the ashy -paleness which has suddenly overspread his face. -</p> - -<p> -"No—no, it is—nothing!" gasps Mr. Merivale; but -at the same moment he drops the paper and presses -his hand against his side with a little smothered moan. -Mrs. Merivale snatches up her salts (which are always -at hand) and holds them under her husband's nostrils, -then hastily unscrewing the other end of the pretty -toy she deluges her handkerchief with <i>eau de Cologne</i>, -and bathes his forehead and temples until there is once -more a little colour in his face. "Thanks, dear," he -says at last feebly. "I am all right again now—it was -only—a stitch—that's all! You need not look so -frightened, Mary, my dear. The pain was sharp while -it lasted, but I am quite myself now, indeed I am. -Give me a little strong coffee, Mary; and perhaps I had -better have a spoonful of brandy in it." -</p> - -<p> -"You must call and see Dr. Newton," says Mrs. Merivale -as she busies herself with the coffee; "and -now <i>do</i> try and get home an hour or two earlier -to-day. I am sure there is no reason why you should -not." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but there is!" says Mr. Merivale, sipping his -coffee. "That's just it. Waymark has gone away for -a few days, and I shall have double work until he -comes back, instead of being able to take things easily." -</p> - -<p> -"How very provoking! What could he want to take -a holiday for just now? Surely it is an unheard-of -time for a holiday." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, so it would be. But this is no holiday, I fancy, -for I believe he said something about an aunt being -very ill and being summoned to see her; but really I -was so busy at the time I hardly noticed what he did -say. I had called him into my private room to show -him a letter from Clayton & Co., who have a large -account with us, you know. It was merely advising -us as a matter of form that they would be withdrawing -the bulk of their deposit on the 30th instant, and as -Waymark sees to all the books and that sort of thing, -I wanted him to have the letter of course; then it was -that he told me he must leave for a few days, said he -was just coming in to tell me about it." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, and what about the letter? didn't he see that -this would give you extra trouble?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, he didn't seem to concern himself much about -that; which after his bad news was natural, I suppose. -But he said Mr. Hobson knew as much about the books -as himself, and that I need have no trouble about the -matter, as I could leave it all to him. He only looked -in a moment after that to say good-bye, and that very -possibly he would be back himself by the 30th, in -time to give a look to the affair. So now you see, Mary, -instead of sitting here I ought to be hurrying off. Of -course I shall get home as soon as ever I can, for the -children's sake as well as my own; but as to seeing the -doctor to-day, I can't promise. It will do very well in -a day or two when I have more time. It seems quite -ridiculous to have made such a fuss about nothing, for -I feel as right as a trivet now." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Nothing!</i>" repeats Mrs. Merivale testily. "If you -could have seen your face as <i>I</i> saw it, James, you -would not talk of 'nothing' in that manner. Besides, -you have had these <i>stitches</i>, as you call them, more than -once lately, and you <i>ought</i> to have advice. But -there! you won't, of course. I never knew any man so -care-less about himself—<i>never</i>; and I might just as well -talk to the wind for any notice you take of what <i>I</i> -say. O, dear me! was ever any woman in this wide -world tried and worried as I am?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, there, there, Mary; don't worry yourself -about me," and Mr. Merivale comes up to his wife and -kisses her affectionately. "I promise you I will go, -only I <i>cannot</i> spare time for the next day or two. -But the moment Waymark comes back, we will go -together if you like. Now, I can't say more than -that, can I?" -</p> - -<p> -His wife looks somewhat consoled, and for her husband's -sake she shakes off the anxiety she really feels. -With a once-more smiling face she helps him on with -his overcoat herself, and stands at the street door until -the brougham has driven away. There is not much -time for thinking when she gets back into the dining-room, -for with a rush like a whirlwind the girls run -down the staircase and quickly surround her, each -one proffering a different request. Poor Mrs. Merivale! her -hands go distractedly to her head at last, and -sinking into a chair she cries, "Oh, my <i>dear</i> girls, do run -away and leave me now! You <i>promised</i> not to worry -me about the tableaux, and if you <i>will</i> persist in doing -so I shall be completely prostrated before the evening -comes, and then what will you do? You have got poor -Miss Denison up there slaving for you, and I am sure -she is a host in herself. That's right, run away! Oh, -<i>don't</i> slam the door! Now, cook, what is it?" and with -a sigh of resignation the unfortunate lady gives her -attention to the final arrangements for the supper. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VI. -<br /><br /> -TABLEAUX VIVANTS. -</h3> - -<p> -After a day of rush and bustle for every one in -the house alike, the hour of eight, at which the -guests have been invited, at length arrives, and whilst -Mrs. Merivale receives them herself on the first -staircase landing, a man-servant conducts them to the -school-room, where they are placed in their seats by -two maids dressed in neat black dresses and dainty -little lace caps and aprons. These damsels present -each guest with the prettiest of programmes, which sets -forth a sufficiently attractive list of <i>Tableaux Vivants</i>, -finishing up with the information, "At the piano, Miss -Denison and Miss Mary Merivale." -</p> - -<p> -These two are already seated at the piano, waiting -with exemplary patience for the signal to begin the -overture. There have been extensive practisings going -on for some time between the two, and now the "ballet -music" from Gounod's "Faust" is spread open before -them, and Molly is leaning back in her chair gazing -abstractedly at the curtain, while Miss Denison is -making futile efforts to shield one of the candles which -shows a disposition to gutter. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly the little bell is rung, rousing Molly from -her reverie, and the sweet strains of the above-mentioned -music soon reduce the audience to a state of -quietude and attention. -</p> - -<p> -Molly, thorough musician that she is, plays on with -such rapt attention to the music and naught else -that a gradually increasing agitation of the curtain at -the nearest wing is entirely lost upon her. Quite -forgetful of the fact that she is bound to make a -precipitate retreat the moment the final chord is struck, in -order to swell the number of the children belonging to -the lady who resided in the shoe, she plays on until -she becomes aware of Miss Denison's voice whispering -in her ear "They are <i>ready, Molly</i>, and we must hurry -the end of this." -</p> - -<p> -Still Molly only half catches the words, till suddenly -Dick, reduced to desperation, puts his head out from -behind the curtain, and after making frantic signs to -cease, says in an audible whisper, "That's enough, -Molly, we're all ready and waiting for you." -</p> - -<p> -This peremptory summons recalls the girl to the -business of the evening, and giving a quick nod of -comprehension to her governess, they both hurry -through the few remaining bars, and finishing up with -two or three banging, crashing chords, as Molly puts it, -she pushes back her chair and promptly disappears. -</p> - -<p> -There is only a delay of a few seconds before the -little bell tinkles again, and while Miss Denison plays -a soft melody the curtain rises on the first tableau. -</p> - -<p> -Certainly "There was an old woman who lived in -a shoe" was a great success. -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Danvers, arrayed in one of the nurse's cotton -gowns, with a little shawl pinned over his shoulders -and a large poke-bonnet, looks the character of the -"old woman" to perfection, as with one hand he grasps -Honor's arm with a firm grip, whilst a formidable-looking -birch is raised threateningly over her with the -other. The rest of the children are all seated round -and about the shoe in various attitudes; some half in -and half out of it. All are supplied with basins, -popularly supposed to contain broth, and Molly, well -to the fore, with bare feet and rumpled head, is pausing -in the act of carrying her spoon to her mouth, with a -distinct expression of "Will it be <i>my</i> turn next?" in -her wide-open blue eyes. -</p> - -<p> -The curtain goes down amidst a storm of applause; -and it being arranged that no encores will be accepted, -there is instantly a rush of pattering feet across the -stage, accompanied by much giggling and whispering, -and then a mysterious sound of pushing and dragging, -which duly announces the removal of the shoe. -</p> - -<p> -Honor's "Mother Hubbard" comes next, and Molly -once more takes her place at the piano, her presence -not being required again on the stage until the end of -the first part of the programme, where her -much-dreaded part of the "Maiden all forlorn" comes on. -Molly is anything but happy in her mind about this -part of the programme, she having grave misgivings -as to Hugh's intentions in the matter. -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, Hugh," she says, when his services not -being in request elsewhere he strolls into the room and -hangs over the piano, nominally to turn over the music, -"I shall ask Colonel Danvers to make our picture -awfully short. I don't know, I'm sure, how you mean -to manage about that stupid kiss; but it is very -certain you can't keep on kissing me all the time; and -another thing is, if you have your face so close to mine -I <i>know</i> I shall be tempted to bite you. I shouldn't -be able to help it, I am sure." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I suppose I must risk that," laughs Hugh -good-naturedly; "and I don't suppose you would bite -very hard either." -</p> - -<p> -"O, wouldn't I though! my teeth are as sharp as -anything. You have no idea what they can do when -they give their mind to a thing. Hush! here is Doris's -'Mary, Mary.' Doesn't she look pretty?" -</p> - -<p> -And so she does. A chintz with a green ground has -carried the day,—green being, Doris had declared, the -colour best suited to Mary's contrariness of nature. -So green it is, even to the neat little high-heel shoes of -which Doris is not a little proud. -</p> - -<p> -A miniature garden has been quickly improvised -for this picture; and the girl standing in the middle of -it, with finger on pouting lip and a general air of -discontent and vexation, looks natural and well. Truth -to tell, the pouting expression is not altogether foreign -to Doris's face; and while the audience is thinking how -well she has assumed the contrariness, Dick whispers -to his sister, "I say, Honor, Doris's pouting propensities -have come in useful at last, haven't they?" -</p> - -<p> -There is only one more picture now before the end -of the first part, so Molly once more disappears, and is -in time to help in placing Daisy in position as "Miss -Muffit," with her companion the spider, of which she -feels rather a wholesome dread. Unfortunately for -her feelings, Regy, who has manufactured it, has made -one of the creature's legs a shade shorter than the rest. -The consequence is that, when the spider is standing, -this short leg dangles loosely and suggestively, -inspiring poor Daisy with genuine terror. The best side is, -of course, turned towards the audience, and when the -curtain goes up the little girl is discovered in a very -natural attitude of fright, as she shrinks away from -the monster, with her cup of curds-and-whey in one -hand and her spoon in the other. Molly emerges -from the dressing-room just as a storm of vociferous -applause informs her that the curtain has descended -on the much-appreciated picture of "Little Miss -Muffit." As she passes into the school-room behind the -huge screen which hides the actors and actresses from -view as they enter, she meets Hugh, who is evidently -feeling as forlorn as the "maiden" herself in his ragged -and tattered garb. He is keeping well in the shadow -at present, and only steps forward as Molly comes -up. -</p> - -<p> -"You don't look very handsome," she remarks -laconically; "and—yes, I verily believe your face is -dirty." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," says Hugh guiltily, "I'm afraid it is. The -fact is, I smudged it with a bit of burnt cork. I was -going to wash it—I was indeed," he adds hastily, "but -we heard the applause beginning for 'Miss Muffit,' and -Colonel Danvers said there wasn't time, and declared -it was not the least likely that the 'Man all tattered -and torn' would have a clean face. I can go and -wash it now," he says humbly, "if you think it will -do to keep everybody waiting." -</p> - -<p> -"O, no!" says Molly hastily, "we can't do that, of -course; but do for goodness' sake give it a rub with -your handkerchief. Have you got one?" she adds, -looking doubtfully at him; "perhaps you haven't even -got a pocket in that tattered old coat. Well, here's -mine;" and diving into the depths of the capacious -pocket which is hidden away in the folds of the -still-room maid's cotton dress which she is wearing, she -produces a small dainty cambric affair, which Hugh, -with a mixture of amusement and awe, accepts -gratefully. At this moment Colonel Danvers hurries up. -</p> - -<p> -"Come, you two," he says, "they will be tired of -waiting. Now, you sit here on this stool, Molly. -That's right—capital! Show your face a <i>little</i> more to -the audience; now lean it on your hand—so, and twist -up your apron with the other. I'll see to the -'man'—don't you move on any account now, there's a good -girl. Now, Hugh, just here. All right! you'll remember -the sign, and don't fall over the pail;" and before Molly -has time to ascertain his whereabouts the bell tinkles, -and up goes the curtain. -</p> - -<p> -It is a pretty picture enough; for a neat little rustic -scene has been painted for the back of the stage, in -which the refractory cow may be seen grazing, rather -peaceably perhaps considering its reputation for bad -temper. A sun-bonnet is lying on the green baize in -front of Molly, and at her side is a genuine milking-pail -borrowed from the dairy. Molly herself is staring -straight before her in a truly dejected manner, while -Hugh has the appearance of having crept up stealthily -till within about half a yard of her. The seconds creep -on, and as Hugh has not moved an inch Molly reassures -herself with the thought that after all it was only his -nonsense about being obliged to give the kiss. She -congratulates herself too soon, however, for as the bell -rings for the curtain to descend, Hugh suddenly darts -forward and kisses her lightly on the cheek just as it -is about half-way down. -</p> - -<p> -The peals of laughter which, with the applause, ring -through the room testify to the audience's thorough -appreciation of the joke; but Molly as she rises -expresses extreme indignation at what she called Hugh's -"horrid meanness," throwing dark hints over her -shoulder as she marches from the room as to all favours -being discontinued for the remainder of the evening. -Hugh looks so disconsolate that Colonel Danvers slaps -him on the shoulder, saying with a hearty laugh, -"Come, cheer up, man! the fun of the picture was in -the kiss, you know, and Molly doesn't mean what she -says. You leave her little ladyship to me and I'll see -that it's all right; she is only put out for the moment. -Now clear the stage for the first scene of 'The queen -was in the parlour.' Where is the queen? Oh, here -you are, Doris! Yes, you will do very well; but your -crown is all on one side, and the effect is rakish in the -extreme. Come here, and let me straighten it." -</p> - -<p> -"O, for goodness' sake mind the honey!" cries Doris -excitedly. "It's trickling down the sides now, I do -believe!" and she holds up the pot down the side of -which a thin stream of the sticky substance is steadily -making its way. "I found Teddy and Dick at it, you -know," she continues, deliberately drawing one finger -up the side of the pot to stay the stream; "and in -the scuffle it got knocked over, and before I could rescue -it of course some must needs run over. I have stuck -to it ever since though!" she adds triumphantly. -</p> - -<p> -"It seems to me that it has stuck to <i>you</i>," says the -colonel dryly. "How in the world can you endure to -have such sticky fingers?" -</p> - -<p> -"O, I don't mind," says Doris carelessly. "I shall -require to have some of it spread upon bread by and -by, you know, and I shall be sure to smear myself then. -I always do with honey or jam or anything of that -kind. Besides, having once got the pot I don't -intend to put it down again. Oh, good gracious, Bobby, -you're standing on my train! <i>Do</i> pull him off, Colonel -Danvers!" The stage-manager does as he is desired, -and Master Bob is led off by the ear mildly protesting -at the indignity offered him. -</p> - -<p> -Molly has long ago returned to her duties at the -piano, for during the "interval of ten minutes" the -audience must, of course, be sufficiently amused. -</p> - -<p> -That over, the three pictures of "The queen was in -the parlour, eating bread and honey," "The king was in -his counting-house, counting out his money," and "The -maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes," -rapidly follow, with Doris as queen, Regy Horton as -king, and Honor as the maid, a stuffed magpie having -been engaged for the role of the blackbird. -</p> - -<p> -Directly the curtain descends on the last of these -three Molly once more leaves Miss Denison at the -piano, it being imperative that she shall increase the -number of domestics appertaining to the kitchen in -which the Queen of Hearts is discovered making tarts. -</p> - -<p> -Honor is the queen on this occasion, and Dick -personates the knave in the second scene. Great care -and thought have been expended on the dressing of -this set of pictures, and in the last, when a goodly -crowd, all representing the suit of hearts, is collected -on the stage, the effect is really good. Hugh manages -to get up the bland, vacant kind of expression in which -the kings of a pack of cards generally rejoice, and -Honor, after the manner of cardboard queens, looks -decidedly cross, presumably at the abduction of her -tarts; while Dick has the debonair, impudent manner -peculiar to the knaves. If anything mars the effect of -this last tableau it is the painful fact that the knave -of hearts, as he stands with his arms folded, scornfully -glancing down at the dish of tarts, shows distinct signs -of having tasted as well as purloined those dainties; -for his flushed countenance is embellished here and -there with little streaks of jam, which if not becoming -are at least highly suggestive. -</p> - -<p> -This last picture brings the dramatic portion of the -evening to a close, and the actors and actresses dash -madly from the room, regardless of the dire confusion -left behind them; for in another moment the audience -will be making their exit by the same door on their -way to the study, where light refreshments are being -served before the next business of the evening, namely -the dancing, begins. Honor and Doris are soon ready -to join the throng below, for it has been arranged that -they shall keep to their last dresses in the tableaux for -the remainder of the evening. Molly, however, is to -wear the new white silk which is to do duty for the -round of Christmas parties which the girls are generally -in request for. It is some time, therefore, before -she makes her appearance in the drawing-room. The -dancing has already commenced, but Doris and Honor -are still standing, the centre of a congratulatory group, -and it is only when their respective partners come -forward to claim them that a truce is given to the -compliments which might have turned the heads of -any less sensible girls than they. -</p> - -<p> -When Molly at length appears she feels, to use her -own expression, rather "out of it," for during her -absence engagements have of course been made for the -first one or two dances, so she leans rather -disconsolately against a doorway from which the door has -been removed, and half hidden by a curtain she looks -on at the gay scene before her. She is just answering -some energetic signs from Alick Horton, and telegraphing -back her willingness to finish the dance with -him if he can safely pilot himself round to her retreat -without being run down by the many couples now -whirling round the room, when her shoulder is touched -from behind, and Colonel Danvers puts back the curtain, -saying as he does so, "Now, Miss Molly, I have brought -a penitent sinner with me who is desirous of having -the honour of dancing with you." -</p> - -<p> -Molly glances up, and seeing Hugh standing beside -the colonel with a crestfallen and guilty appearance, -looks down again saying, "I am not going to dance -this time, thank you; or if I do," she adds hastily, -seeing Alick approaching slowly and surely, "it will -be with Alick; I have promised him." -</p> - -<p> -The mention of his brother's name appears to have -an irritating effect on Hugh, for he says hastily, and -not without some temper, "O, Alick is nobody! he can -wait. Come now, Molly, you promised me, you know." -</p> - -<p> -But Molly shakes her head. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, but you know, Molly, that kiss could not be -helped," puts in the colonel at this juncture; "and for -my part I think Hugh managed it in a highly -commendable manner. Besides, poor boy, he is really -dreadfully put out at having been compelled, as it were, -to annoy you, and I am sure he will never dream of -doing such a thing again; will you, Hugh?" and he -turns towards the young man with a roguish twinkle -in his eye. -</p> - -<p> -Hugh does not respond, but he looks pleadingly -towards his little favourite, and holding out his hand -says, "Come, Molly, won't you?" -</p> - -<p> -Molly considers a moment, then slowly moving -towards Hugh she says, "Just this one dance then, -Hugh, as Colonel Danvers wishes it." -</p> - -<p> -"And plenty more when that one's done!" calls the -Colonel after them, as he goes off with Alick to find -another partner for him. -</p> - -<p> -The evening goes on merrily and fast, and Molly's -programme is speedily filled up, the initials H. H. figuring -pretty often in it notwithstanding her previous -displeasure. Doris and Honor are heard to confess -more than once during the evening that they are sorry -they were tempted by feelings of vanity to keep on -their regal attire, the trains thereof constantly tripping -them up and embarrassing them generally, to say -nothing of an unfortunate habit, which their respective -crowns possess, of tumbling off on the slightest -provocation. Thus they are seen to look envyingly -from time to time at Molly, who in all the independence -of short skirts and crownless head, is enjoying -herself thoroughly. -</p> - -<p> -Most of the guests have departed, and only a few -familiar friends are still standing about the staircase -and hall when Hugh goes up to Molly, who, now -completely tired out, is sitting on one of the hall chairs, -gazing abstractedly into the dining-room opposite. -</p> - -<p> -"Good-night, Molly," he whispers, "and I wanted -to tell you that to-morrow will be the first day of my -hard work: <i>real hard</i> work, you know, that even <i>you</i> -would approve of. I haven't very much more time at -home now, but I mean to make the most of it, and -when once I get back to Sandhurst I shall work like -a nigger if I can feel that you are trusting me." -</p> - -<p> -"O, I am so glad, Hugh!" says the girl, looking up -brightly at the handsome, earnest face above her; -"because I know you will do so well if you only give -yourself a fair chance, and do not give way to that -wicked laziness. I do so want you to be famous and -distinguished and all that sort of thing when you go -out to India, if you do go." -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know exactly what I am to distinguish -myself in, unless it is pig-sticking or some other -pursuit of that character," laughs Hugh; "but seriously, -if I do get on well out there, or anywhere else indeed, -I know whom I shall have to thank for it. And now -good-night again, Molly; sleep well, and if it is still -fine and frosty to-morrow, I'll come and take you for -a spin on the ice." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VII. -<br /><br /> -STARTLING NEWS. -</h3> - -<p> -It is ten o'clock in the morning, and Mr. Merivale, -senior partner of Merivale, Waymark, & Co., -bankers, is seated at the table in his own private room, -meditating an attack upon the formidable pile of -letters which lies before him. He is looking pale and -depressed on this, the morning after his children's -party, and is saying to himself that if only Waymark -were back, he really would take a few days' rest. He -is just about to open one of the letters when a tap -comes to the door, and the head and confidential clerk, -Mr. Hobson, enters the room. He starts back, -however, as Mr. Merivale raises his head from the still -unopened letter in his hand, and muttering to himself -"God bless my soul!" hurries to the mantel-piece, where -a glass jug of cold water stands, and quickly pouring -out a glassful he takes it to his principal, saying, -"You look a little faint and tired this morning, sir; -will you drink some water, and then I will ring for the -sherry? Dear, dear, how very pale you are, to be -sure!" and the kind old man bustles over to the -bell, which he pulls vigorously. Then hastening to -the door, and at the same time keeping one eye on -Mr. Merivale, he opens it, and pouncing on a young -clerk who is leisurely strolling down the passage with -his hands in his pockets, gives him a sharp peremptory -order, which astonishes that young gentleman not a -little. -</p> - -<p> -On turning back into the room the old man is -immensely relieved to see a little colour once more in -the face of Mr. Merivale; but he will not allow him to -speak as yet, and the housekeeper at the bank entering -at this moment with the sherry, he seizes the decanter -from the tray, and pours out a glass. Then Hobson -stands by his elbow, waiting patiently until the short -gasps of breath become longer and more regular, and -the spasm, which had frightened him very considerably, -has passed off. Then he quietly insists on -Mr. Merivale taking the sherry, and in a few minutes -has the satisfaction of seeing him sit upright in his -chair, apparently himself again, though with a face -still pale and drawn-looking. -</p> - -<p> -"Thanks, Hobson, thanks!" he says, passing his -hand over his forehead. "Don't look so anxious, old -friend; I have had these little attacks once or twice -before, but I assure you it is nothing serious. My -wife was telling me only a day or two since that -I ought to have advice; but I know just what the -doctor would say—'General debility and want of -tone,' &c. &c., and then he would suggest rest, and -change of air and scene, and all the rest of it, which -you know, as well as I do, I cannot get while -Waymark is away. Take some sherry, Hobson, and do -sit down." -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, that's just where it is," replies the old man -slowly. "This is really what I came to speak to you -about, sir. Is it your wish that I should attend to -this matter of Clayton & Co." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, by all means, Hobson. I shall be really -grateful if you will take it all off my shoulders; and, -of course, if there is any little thing you want to talk -over, why, you will know where to find me if I am not -here." -</p> - -<p> -"Just so, just so," replies the old man, getting up. -"And now, sir, if you will take my advice you will go -straight home and rest for the remainder of the day. -You trust me, sir, to see that all's right, and if -anything particular should take place during the day, -I might perhaps step round in the evening. Now, -shall I send for a cab for you?—the brougham has -gone off long ago, of course." -</p> - -<p> -A cab being procured, Mr. Merivale gets into his -overcoat, and, accompanied by Mr. Hobson, goes down -the steps of the bank. As the cab drives away, the -old man, who is still watching it, shakes his head, and -says mournfully to himself, "No, no, I don't like it -at all. I have never seen such pallor but once before, -and then— Oh, a telegram—answer prepaid, eh? -All right! I'm coming;" and the old man goes back to -his desk with a heavy heart, and opening the yellow -envelope returns to the business of the day. -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -* * * * * * * * -</p> - -<p> -Miss Denison and her pupils are all seated round -the school-room fire, in various stages of fatigue and -sleepiness. There has been a sociable high-tea at -seven o'clock instead of the usual late dinner, at which -all the family, from Mr. Merivale down to Bobby, -have been present. -</p> - -<p> -Conversation is being carried on in rather a desultory -sort of fashion, the only variety being Dick's -persistence in asking riddles, which are invariably -proved to have no answers. -</p> - -<p> -Discussion waxes warm presently on the subject of -that beautiful poem on the letter H, often attributed -to Lord Byron, but written by Catherine Fanshawe. -Dick protests loudly that it is Shelley's, while Honor -and Doris are equally sure it is Byron's. -</p> - -<p> -"What do <i>you</i> say, Miss Denny?" asked Doris raising -herself on to her elbow and looking up from her -place on the hearth-rug. "You know everything, so -surely you can settle the question." -</p> - -<p> -"I was not aware that I am such a walking encyclopćdia -as you seem to imagine," replies Miss Denison -laughing, and shaking out a skein of wool preparatory -to placing it on Molly's hands; "and, to tell you the -truth, Doris, my own personal experience is that the -more one learns, the more one finds there is to learn. -At the present moment I cannot recollect the author -of that enigma, but my impression is that you are -both wrong, though I could not say so for certain. -Now, who can recite it without a mistake? If someone -can, very likely I shall call to mind the name of -the author. But first ring the bell, Dick; Daisy and -Bobby must go to bed." -</p> - -<p> -"A capital idea!" cries Dick, referring to the -suggestion about the poem, "and I'll give anyone who says -it through without a single hitch a whole packet of -butterscotch. There!" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't believe you have got the money to buy it," -says Molly crushingly; "for I heard you only this -morning bewailing the fact that you had only three -halfpence left in the wide world." -</p> - -<p> -"You can get penny packets," mutters Dick; but he -is promptly suppressed, for Honor in a clear melodious -voice is already beginning— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell,<br /> - And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;<br /> - On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest,<br /> - And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed.<br /> - 'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder,<br /> - Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder.<br /> - 'Twas allotted to man in his earliest breath,<br /> - Attends at his birth, and awaits him at death.<br /> - It presides o'er his happiness, honour, and health,<br /> - Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth.<br /> - Without it the soldier and seaman may roam,<br /> - But woe to the wretch who expels it from home.<br /> - In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found,<br /> - Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion be drowned.<br /> - 'Twill not soften the heart, and though deaf to the ear,<br /> - 'Twill make it acutely and instantly hear.<br /> - But in shade let it rest, like a delicate flower—<br /> - Oh, breathe on it softly—it dies in an hour.'"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -A burst of applause greets Honor as she steps down -from the footstool upon which Molly has previously -handed her with much ceremony. No one, however, -seems any nearer settling the author than before. -</p> - -<p> -"Most annoying, to be sure," says Miss Denison, -tapping the fender impatiently with her foot; "I do -dislike to be baffled like this. I'll tell you what, we will -send down and ask your father to let us have both -Byron and Shelley from the study. After all I think -it <i>must</i> be one of those two—anyway, we will search -until we <i>do</i> find it. Now, who will be my ambassador?" -</p> - -<p> -All start up at the same moment, each signifying -his or her willingness to undertake the commission. -But Miss Denison singles out Doris, as being most -accustomed to putting in an appearance downstairs -at that time of the evening, and Doris accordingly -leaves the room with a look of calm superiority at the -others. The interval is spent in hot argument as -before, and Dick is just offering Molly a bet consisting -of a new book of travels against her recently purchased -tennis racquet when the door opens, and Doris -with a white, scared face re-enters the room. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Doris!</i>" exclaim all the voices in a breath, "what is -the matter?" -</p> - -<p> -The girl comes slowly towards the table, and resting -one hand upon it she pushes back her ruffled fair hair -with the other. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I hardly know—" she gasps, "but something -is wrong. I don't know what—only old Mr. Hobson -is shut up with father in the study, and mother said I -must not go in. Then father came rushing into the room -and asked mother for his keys which he had left on the -dining-table, and oh, it was his face that frightened -me so—it was so white, and drawn, and old-looking!" -and with a smothered sob Doris's head falls on the -shoulder of the kind governess, who has risen and is -standing with her arm round her pupil's waist. -</p> - -<p> -"Courage, dear!" she whispers, gently stroking the -bowed head. "This trouble, whatever it is, may not -be so serious after all. Come, dry your eyes and wait -here with the others whilst I go down to your mother -and see if there is anything I can do;" and Miss -Denison leaves the little group, with the exception of -Doris, who is still crying quietly, standing staring at -each other in blank dismay. -</p> - -<p> -Before many minutes have elapsed Miss Denison -returns, and though her face looks grave and anxious, -she makes an effort to speak cheerfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Your father has had some bad news in connection -with his business, girls; but I do not know yet to -what extent. We must all hope for the best, therefore, -until we know more; and in the meantime, every one -must do his and her best not to increase the trouble -by showing grief which, after all, may prove to be -quite uncalled for. It is already after nine, so Molly -and Dick had better go to bed. I want you, Doris, to -go down to your mother. You will find her in the -drawing-room; and your father wants you to go to him -in the study, Honor. I heard the hall door shut just -now, so I expect Mr. Hobson has gone: he was just -leaving as I came up. Now, dears, I will run up and -say just a word to nurse, and then I will go down again -to your mother. Honor, you will know where to find -me. Your father may want to send some telegrams, -and I may be able to help you." -</p> - -<p> -When Doris enters the drawing-room she looks -with a little surprise at her mother, who with closed -eyes, handkerchief pressed to her delicate nose, and -smelling-salts well within reach, is now gracefully -reclining on the sofa. -</p> - -<p> -Advancing further into the room she says softly, -"Miss Denny sent me to you, mother, and she is -coming down again herself after she has spoken to -nurse. Honor is with father in the study." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, very well," says Mrs. Merivale languidly. -"And now lower the lamps, Doris; and oh! do move -about quietly. Now bring a chair and come and sit -here, close to the sofa. I suppose you have heard -the wretched news that old Mr. Hobson has brought -to-night? It seems that your father's partner has -embezzled immense sums from the bank, and when -he heard of the probability of something occurring -which would expose the whole thing, he quietly -decamped, taking care to get a sufficiently good start -to do away with any chance of his capture." Mrs. Merivale -pauses a moment to give a vicious little pull -to the sofa cushion, then she goes on impatiently, -"I don't suppose it would have gone on to such an -extent in any other case; but your father is the most -unsuspecting man that ever breathed. He would -allow himself to be cheated by anyone, under his very -nose. I always disliked that man, and I told your -father so; but of course I might just as well talk to -the chairs and tables for all the attention there is paid -to anything I say. Oh, good gracious! here is that -dreadful dog! <i>Do</i>, for goodness' sake, take the creature -away!" -</p> - -<p> -Doris is just in time to catch up Vic as she bounds -on to the sofa with a view to settling herself for a -comfortable nap on the end of Mrs. Merivale's dress. -Being put on the floor and told to lie down, she does -so under protest, and with a "whoofa" of indignation. -But presently discrying an attraction in the shape of -a misguided fly, that with reckless confidence has -emerged from some safe nook and is flying feebly -towards one of the lamps, she starts up, and making -snap after snap, careers madly after it round the room. -Suddenly catching sight of her own stumpy tail, however, -which in the excitement of the hunt bids fair to -wag its owner's body off its legs, she pulls up suddenly, -then whirls round and round, teetotum fashion, in pursuit -of the offending object. Mrs. Merivale is in a state -of frenzy. -</p> - -<p> -"Doris!" she exclaims angrily, "do catch the dog -and put it out of the room. I call it downright cruel -of you to encourage it as you do. But there, I must -say you are all alike in that respect; no one ever -considers <i>me</i>! Even in this tiresome upset (and I am -sure I don't clearly understand <i>what</i> it is or <i>why</i> it is) -your father's one thought seems to be 'the children,' -and what will be done about this, that, and the other -concerning them." -</p> - -<p> -"O <i>mother</i>! I'm sure you do father an injustice -in saying that!" cries Doris indignantly. "You <i>must</i> -know that you are always his first thought in -everything." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I don't know. And what," continues Mrs. Merivale, -giving another little impatient pull to the -sofa cushion—"what am I to understand when your -father talks of ruin? I suppose we shall have to -give up one of the carriages, perhaps; though which -I don't know. It will be <i>too</i> dreadful to think of -stifling in a brougham during the day, and yet if we -kept the victoria, how in the world could I go out at -night?" -</p> - -<p> -A brief pause, in which Doris reads for about the -twentieth time the advertisement which is staring her -in the face from the back of a periodical which lies -uncut upon the table. -</p> - -<p> -Then Mrs. Merivale sighs rather than says, "I -suppose too we shall have to do with a servant or two -less. I do really think"—a bright idea suddenly -striking her—"that you could very well do without a -maid in the school-room now; and perhaps we could -manage with only one housemaid, though I should -dread proposing such a thing to Louisa, and of course I -could not think of letting <i>her</i> go. It is equally impossible -too that I could spare Lane, after having her with -me such a number of years. I don't really see what -else I can do. We need not give so many dinner-parties, -perhaps; a light supper costs less than a dinner, -and one need not be so particular about the wines. -You, Doris, will have to come out at one of the county -balls, instead of being presented in London; and -Honor will have to take painting lessons from some -cheaper master than Signor Visetti. I daresay, after -all, we would only have been paying for his -name." Another short pause, and then "I suppose if things -are really so serious as your father makes them out -to be, Dick, poor boy, will have to make up his mind -to give up Oxford in the future. Oh, thank goodness, -here is Miss Denison! Now, Doris, you can go; -and do hurry Lane with that cup of tea she is getting—and, -Doris," as the girl, only too glad to escape, nears -the door, "<i>pray</i> shut that dog up; and if it cannot be -quiet <i>in</i> the house, let it go to the stables. It is what -most other dogs have to do." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VIII. -<br /><br /> -GONE! -</h3> - -<p> -In the meantime a very different conversation is -being carried on in the study, whither Honor has -gone to her father. Although Mr. Merivale has had -some difficulty in making his wife understand the -extent of the trouble which has come upon them, he -finds it quite another matter with his daughter. In a -very few minutes Honor's clear head has completely -taken in the situation; and it is an unspeakable relief -to Mr. Merivale to feel that there is one in the family -at all events upon whose aid he can rely in that hard -and difficult task which now lies before him, that of -beginning life over again. The girl's loving sympathy -also goes far towards softening the blow which has -fallen with such cruel force, and though still haggard -and wan-looking it is with a little smile that he at -length looks up and says, "So we must all make the -best of it, Honor; and after a time, I daresay, we -shall manage very well. If only your mother understood -a little better; but you see, dear, she has always -from her birth upwards lived in affluence and luxury, -and it will come very hard upon her, poor thing, to -have to live such an utterly different kind of life." -</p> - -<p> -Honor, who with her chin resting upon her hand is -staring abstractedly into the fire, merely nods -acquiescence to her father's remarks, until after a brief -silence she looks up. -</p> - -<p> -"And will there be absolutely nothing left for us, -father? Will all mother's fortune have to go too?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, all of hers, my dear, except a trifling sum -which, thank God, is safely invested in something else. -I don't know what she will say, poor thing, when she -comes to learn this. No, Honor, we must make up our -minds to face the worst; for even with the cursory -glance I have taken into the bank affairs to-night -with Hobson, I can see that when we have given up -every farthing that we possess there will still be a -deficiency which is perfectly frightful to contemplate. -Ah! Honor, if we were the only sufferers I could -begin again with a comparatively light heart; but -when I think of the numbers who are ruined by the -dishonesty of one scoundrel—of the hardly-earned -savings of many an honest, hard-working man, all -swamped, all swamped—I feel that to sit here, powerless -to alleviate the sufferings of all the victims of this -gigantic fraud, is enough to drive me out of my senses. -Oh, if only I had known, if only I could have guessed! -But for some time past Waymark has taken more and -more upon himself, saying always that it was to save -me trouble as my health became uncertain; and how -could I tell? <i>how</i> could I tell?" And with a smothered -sob poor Mr. Merivale's head falls forward on his arms. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't, father,—don't!" says Honor, putting her -arms lovingly round him and drawing his head down -upon her shoulder. "The thought that no blame can -possibly rest on you should be a comfort to you; and -you cannot do more than you are going to do, dear -father, in giving up everything you possess." -</p> - -<p> -"No, dear; alas! that is all I <i>can</i> do. But do that I -will to the uttermost farthing; and if it would only -mend matters I would give the very coat from off my -back only too gladly." -</p> - -<p> -"Will they try to overtake Mr. Waymark, father?" -presently asks Honor. -</p> - -<p> -"They will try, dear, but with little hope of success, -for he has too good a start to be easily found. Now, -are you sure you have got those telegrams worded -exactly as I dictated? Very well, then, let William -take them off to the station at once. I am anxious -your aunt should have hers, because I am sure she -will come over and see your mother at once, and I -think she will very likely be able to explain matters -to her better than I can. And now, dear, leave me, -and at ten o'clock bring me a cup of strong coffee with -your own hands; and don't let me be disturbed by -anyone until then, for I have papers to look through -and writing to do which may keep me up half the -night. Tell your mother this, Honor, and beg her not -to be anxious about me, but to go to bed soon. Poor -thing! this will be a terrible blow to her. But you -must help her to bear it—you and Doris. Ah, poor -little Doris!—send her to me for a minute, Honor. I -should like to say a few words to her too. Molly and -the others have gone to bed, I suppose?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, some little time ago. I will bring your coffee -punctually, father; and after Doris has left you I will -see that no one disturbs you." -</p> - -<p> -As Honor a few minutes later mounts the staircase, -lost in thought, she comes suddenly upon a white-robed -figure which is standing with rumpled hair and -wide-open blue eyes gazing anxiously down into the -hall below. -</p> - -<p> -"Hush! don't say anything, Honor!" whispers the -figure excitedly; "I can't stay in bed—it's no use, so I -have just slipped on my dressing-gown, and here I am. -O, <i>don't</i> send me back, Honor!" the girl adds imploringly -as she sees symptoms of nervousness as to cold, -&c., pass over her sister's face. "Let me go into the -school-room, do. I'll be as still as a mouse, <i>really</i> I -will, only <i>don't</i> ask me to go back to bed!" -</p> - -<p> -"Poor Molly!" says Honor, putting an arm round -her sister. Then relenting she turns down the passage -towards the school-room, and pushing open the door -leads her in and ensconces her in a big arm-chair by -the still-smouldering fire. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! that's better," sighs Molly as Honor seizes the -poker and stirs the embers into a cheerful blaze; "and -now <i>do</i> tell me, Honor dear, what this trouble is, and -all about it." -</p> - -<p> -"It is soon told, Molly," says the girl, and seating -herself in a low chair opposite her sister she tells her -of the dishonesty of their father's partner. Then there -is a brief pause, during which Honor, poker still in hand, -knocks a "stranger" off the second bar, and Molly drops -a slipper. "So now, dear," continues Honor, "you will -know what father means when he speaks of ruin; for -ruined we are, Molly, as to fortune, though, thank -God, father still bears an unstained name and can hold -his head as high as ever he did." -</p> - -<p> -That Molly at length grasps the situation is evinced -by the way she sits staring at her sister with eyes wide -open and full of trouble. She does not speak for a -few minutes, but at last she leans forward, and taking -Honor's face between her two hands she says slowly and -with a little painful sort of gasp, "When you speak of -father giving up all he possesses you mean his own -fortune, I suppose, all his <i>money</i>, I mean, and perhaps -mother's too—eh, Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, dear," says the elder sister gently, and taking -one of Molly's hands between her own. "We shall not -only lose that, but everything! The houses will be -sold, both this and Sunnymeade; all the furniture, -pictures, and plate; the horses and carriages; and, in -fact, as I said, Molly, <i>everything</i>. Poor father says he -must begin life over again, and that we shall all have -to help him." -</p> - -<p> -"Poor mother!" says Molly presently, after another -pause. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, poor mother!" repeats Honor, rising and kissing -her young sister. "We shall have to take care of -her now, dear, and do all we can to prevent her feeling -the great change that is coming into all our lives. -And now, dear, you <i>must</i> go to bed again; you will feel -happier now that you really know the worst, so you -must try and not think about it now, but go to sleep." -</p> - -<p> -Having seen Molly comfortably tucked up once -more, Honor wanders downstairs, and is just turning -into the drawing-room in an aimless sort of way when -she meets Miss Denison coming out. -</p> - -<p> -"I was just looking for you, Honor," she says, -putting her arm through her pupil's and turning back -with her into the room. "Your mother seems so -poorly that Doris and Lane have been seeing her to -bed; she had one of her hysterical attacks, but she is -better now, and I think it will be best to leave her -quiet." And Miss Denison sighs as she tries to stir the -fire into some little semblance of life. "Your father -has sent for Mr. Trent, has he not, dear?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, and for Aunt Sophia too," replies Honor, -sinking into a chair opposite her governess; "though I -don't know exactly what good <i>she</i> can do." -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know about that," says Miss Denison -quickly. "Your aunt is a very sensible, clear-sighted -woman, and I daresay he thought she would be a -comfort to your mother, and that she may be able to -explain things better to her than he can." -</p> - -<p> -And so governess and pupil sit talking, until the -little French clock on the mantel-piece striking ten, -Honor jumps up, remembering her promise to take her -father's coffee to him at that hour. As she lays her -hand upon the bell, the door opens, and Rankin appears -with a little tray which Honor takes from him. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall not be many minutes, Miss Denny," she -says as she leaves the room. "Father is busy writing, -so he is sure not to keep me." -</p> - -<p> -Arrived at the study, Honor opens the door softly -and goes into the room. Her father is still seated -where she left him, his head a little bent forward over -the papers spread open on the table. He appears so -engrossed in looking at these that Honor's entrance -does not even disturb him, and she carries the cup to -the table and places it within reach, quietly waiting -by her father's side until he shall speak to her. -</p> - -<p> -The girl's eyes wander to the fireplace. The fire is -out, and with the exception of the ticking of the large -clock on the mantel-piece, which sounds louder than -usual, there is an unnatural stillness in the room which -oppresses her. -</p> - -<p> -She glances down at the quiet figure by her side, -which still seems unconscious of her presence. Then -she notices for the first time that the pen in her father's -hand, although resting on the paper, is not moving. -She leans forward quickly and lays her warm hand -upon the motionless one near her; she shudders and -draws back, then moves rapidly to the other side of -the chair, and with tender hands raises the drooping -head. With one glance at the dearly loved face, now -so ashen and white, Honor learns the fearful truth, -and with a shriek of anguish which rings from cellar -to attic she falls senseless to the ground. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IX. -<br /><br /> -A HOUSE OF MOURNING. -</h3> - -<p> -When Honor opens her eyes again it is to find -herself on her own bed, with kind Miss Denison -leaning over her, bathing her forehead and temples -with <i>eau de Cologne</i>. Molly stands on one side of the -bed at a little distance looking pale and frightened; -and an elderly gentleman is standing by the other side -with his finger on Honor's pulse. He nods across the -bed to Miss Denison as the girl looks round and then -tries to sit up. -</p> - -<p> -"She will do now," he says quietly, "so I will go -down to Mrs. Merivale again;" and he quietly slips out -of the room, beckoning Molly to follow him. -</p> - -<p> -Honor lies quite still for a few minutes; then, slowly -turning her eyes towards her governess, she asks the -question which Miss Denison has been so dreading. -Then gently and kindly she breaks the sad news to -her: tells her how Dr. Newton had said that her poor -father had been dead for more than an hour when he -was called in; that it was disease of the heart, and the -shock of the bank failure had been too much for him. -</p> - -<p> -"And mother? Poor mother!" says Honor at length, -when, a long and violent fit of crying over, she leans -back against her pillows, calm, though pale and exhausted. -</p> - -<p> -"She is better now, dear. We had great trouble -with her at first—or rather Lane and Doris and the -doctor had, for I was with you, dear. She went from -one fit of hysterics into another; and now, of course, -she is utterly worn out. Your Aunt Sophia took her -in hand directly she came (it is really most providential -that she was so near); and then kind Mrs. Horton -has been such a comfort to her. I sent in to her, you -know, and she came herself the moment she got my -message." -</p> - -<p> -"But how came aunt here to-night?" asks Honor, -putting her hand to her head and knitting her straight -little brows. "I can't remember clearly, but surely -I spoke of <i>to-morrow</i> morning in my telegram." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, dear; so you did. But when this happened I -got Doris to write a hasty line which I sent off with -the brougham to the Pagets', and your aunt came back -in the brougham. She will be a great help to you all -till your mother has got a little over the shock; she -always had great influence over her, you know. And -now, dear Honor, I shall give you the little draught -the doctor ordered for you, and then I will leave you -to sleep, for that will bring you strength to bear your -trouble better than anything else. I shall be within -call, for I have promised Doris to sleep with her -to-night; so we will put the door ajar between your -rooms. Now, dear, God bless you! And you must -promise me, Honor, to be brave, and not to fret any -more to-night. You know you told me your dear -father's last words to you were of thankfulness for the -comfort and help he was sure you would be to him. -And now, more than ever, you must prove that you are -worthy of the trust he placed in you—for a trust it is, -dear Honor—and one, I know, that with God's help -you will faithfully discharge. Your poor mother will -need a long time to recover from so severe a shock. -And although Doris is older than you, she is younger -in ideas and character, and has not, I fear, so much -common sense as my little Honor. But now, dear -child, good-night once more. I shall not let anyone -else come near you, as I am most anxious you should -get to sleep." And kissing the girl most affectionately, -Miss Denison softly leaves the room. -</p> - -<p> -A little later and the house which but a short time -since was the scene of so much happiness and rejoicing -is wrapped in silent gloom; and as nature asserts its -rights with the younger members of the family, giving -them temporary relief from their sorrow in blessed -sleep, older heads are resting on their pillows with -wide-open, sleepless eyes, looking vaguely into the -future which has changed so quickly from sunshine -into shadow. -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -* * * * * * * * -</p> - -<p> -Three days have passed since Mr. Merivale's death -and Honor has already taken most of the cares and -responsibilities of the family and household upon her -young shoulders with a quiet dignity and gentle -patience which amaze her mother completely. The -old family solicitor, Mr. Trent, has already called -several times and had long and serious talks with -Honor—Mrs. Merivale having sent down a message to -the effect that she was too completely prostrated to -see <i>anyone</i>, and would he say anything he had to say -to Honor, as it would be quite the same thing. It was -doubtful whether Mr. Trent entertained the same idea -on this subject, for whereas he had before quaked in -his shoes at the bare idea of the task which lay before -him of trying to make his late client's widow understand -certain facts which he felt morally certain she -was incapable of grasping, he now found that he had -a very different sort of person to deal with—one, in -fact, to use his own expression, "with her head screwed -on the right way." With a kindness and delicacy -which went straight to poor Honor's heart, he took all -the arrangements for the funeral upon himself, and -proved indeed a most kind and valuable friend in more -ways than one. -</p> - -<p> -"You and your aunt, my dear Miss Honor," the -kind little gentleman had said, "will have to put -things clearly, so to speak, before your mother, since -she cannot see me. It will, I fear, be very difficult to -make her understand that all—literally <i>all</i>—she has -now to depend upon is Ł50 a year; and that is only -owing to a fortunate chance, the money having been -invested in some other concern; of course had it been -placed in the bank it would have gone with the rest. -To be sure there is your own little bit of money left -you by your godmother, but that only amounts to -about Ł20 a year. Dear me, dear me! it is terrible; a -paltry sum of Ł70 a year to bring up a large family -upon, and without a stick or a stone to start with!" -</p> - -<p> -And now Honor is standing just where the old -lawyer has left her after the foregoing conversation, -gazing dreamily into the fire. "You and your aunt -must make her understand"—those are the words which -keep repeating themselves over and over; but to a girl -of Honor's sensitive nature the task of doing so is no -light one. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah me!" sighs the girl as she leaves the room and -slowly mounts the stairs, "I wish Aunt Sophia were -here!" -</p> - -<p> -But Aunt Sophia is not there, so Honor has to open -the door and go in alone. Mrs. Merivale is seated at -a little writing-table, which is strewn with deep -black-edged paper and envelopes. She is not writing, -however, but leaning back in her chair looking drearily -before her. As Honor enters she rouses herself, and -wiping away the tears which stand in her eyes she -motions the girl to come and sit beside her. -</p> - -<p> -"I wanted to speak to you, dear," she says, taking -Honor's hand in her own, "and I was just going to send -Lane for you. Now that I am better you must tell -me a little of what has been done. How have you -managed about the mourning?" -</p> - -<p> -"Miss Renny has been here, mother, ever since—ever -since it happened, and all our dresses are nearly -finished now, and I expect yours from Mrs. Carey will -be home to-night. We couldn't disturb you the other -morning about it, so aunt and I together chose a style -we thought you would like. Ours are all alike—cashmere -and crępe made quite plainly; and yours, -dear mother, will be of crępe cloth, and of course -heavily trimmed with crępe." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, dear; that is all quite right. Only I wish -Mrs. Carey had made all your dresses as well. Miss -Renny would have made you others for common wear -afterwards, you know. But now, dear, this is what I -wanted to consult you about, you are so much more -clear-headed and sensible than Doris. About my -better dresses, dear,—I mean those that Madame Cecile -will have the making of. I shall not have any dinner -dresses made at present, because I shall not be going -out or receiving for some time to come, but I was just -going to write to Cecile to ask for patterns." -</p> - -<p> -"Dear mother," says Honor gently, "I am so glad -you spoke to me about this first, because it would have -been so awkward if you had already sent." -</p> - -<p> -"Why awkward, dear? What do you mean, Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't you remember, dear mother, the sad news -poor, dear father had before this other dreadful trouble -came upon us?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, of course I do," Mrs. Merivale answers -rather testily; "but I don't really see why you should -take this time to remind me of it, and I must say, -Honor, I think it very inconsiderate and unfeeling of -you to come and worry me like this, and your poor, -dear father not yet laid in his grave. I should think -I have gone through grief and trouble enough," -continues Mrs. Merivale, weeping, "without my children -making things harder for me!" -</p> - -<p> -"Dear mother," cries poor Honor, sobbing in concert, -"pray, pray do not think I mean to be unkind; but -Mr. Trent has been talking to aunt and to me, and it -seems, dear mother, as if we shall hardly have enough -to live upon when everything is settled up." -</p> - -<p> -"Hardly enough to live upon!" repeats Mrs. Merivale, -sitting up and drying her eyes. "My dear child, -don't talk nonsense. As if I did not know more about -these things than you do. I know we shall have to -cut down our expenses, and diminish our household -probably; do with a servant or two less, I mean. But -as for being <i>poor</i>, Honor, you are talking ridiculous -nonsense, child, as I said before. Why, even if your -father's money were all lost—which I should say is -very unlikely, people do exaggerate so,—but even if -that were all gone, there is my fortune, which if -necessary we could very well manage with somehow." -</p> - -<p> -Poor Honor sighs at the hopelessness of the situation; -but with a feeling of desperation she is just -about to speak when the door opens, and to her great -relief Lady Woodhouse enters the room. -</p> - -<p> -"O, Sophia!" exclaims Mrs. Merivale with a little -hysterical gasp, "I <i>am</i> so glad you have come in, my -dear. Here is Honor talking the most outrageous -nonsense; trying to make out that all our property is -gone, and—well, in fact that we are as poor as church -mice!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, and so you are," remarks Lady Woodhouse, -sitting down and untying her bonnet-strings with a -jerk, "the child has said nothing but the truth. I am -sorry," she adds, softening a little on seeing the -cambric handkerchief drawn from her sister's pocket -preparatory to a fresh burst of grief—"I'm sorry to have -to speak so plainly; but it seems to me that poor -James did his best to make you understand the state -of affairs in his conversation with you the night of his -death; and considering all he said to you then, I must -say it passes my comprehension that you can still be -ignorant of your true position. Mr. Trent begged me -to speak to you on the subject, and that is why I -have come now, because I think it is so much better -than putting it off until after the funeral; for I am -sure there will be little or no time to arrange anything -then. Now, Mary, be sensible, my dear, and let us -talk quietly over a comfortable cup of tea." -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale, however, is not in a humour to do -anything quietly, and Lady Woodhouse on her way -to ring the bell for tea is suddenly electrified by a -sound behind her, partaking of the nature of a scream, -a gasp, and a convulsive laugh all at once. In plain -words, the trying nature of the past conversation has -reduced Mrs. Merivale to a violent fit of hysterics; -and Lady Woodhouse, deeming it advisable that she -should be left alone with her sister for a time, takes -the smelling-salts from Honor's hand, and whispering -"Leave her to me, child, and I will bring her round," -signs to the girl to leave the room. -</p> - -<p> -On going downstairs Honor sees Hugh Horton -standing in a hesitating sort of manner on the -door-mat; a wreath of rare white flowers in one hand, and -a note in the other. -</p> - -<p> -"I told William I wouldn't see anyone, Honor," he -whispers, coming forward and laying the wreath on -the hall table, "but he would go off to see if there -was anyone about, and as I wanted to leave a message -from mother I was obliged to wait till he came back. -How are you all, Honor dear? No, I won't come -in," he adds, as the girl silently motions him towards -the dining-room; "I won't really. I only wanted to -give you that (nodding towards the wreath), with -love from us all. And I was to tell you, Honor, that -mother will come in to-night after dinner to have a -talk with Mrs. Merivale and Lady Woodhouse about a -suggestion she wants to make." -</p> - -<p> -"It is very kind of her," says Honor simply. "She -has been such a comfort to us all;" and with a little -stifled sob she buries her face in the wreath which -she has taken up. "White violets, how beautiful! and -the flower that father loved best. How good of -you, Hugh!" -</p> - -<p> -"I remembered that when mother and I were giving -orders for it this morning, and I knew you would like -them. How is Molly, Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"She is a little better now, I think; but her grief -has been something terrible. Poor girl! She idolized -father almost, and the shock has been almost too much -for her. She is so highly sensitive, and she feels the loss -so much, never having seen him alive again after dinner -on that dreadful evening. Doris and I were both with -him, you know; and of course it was just chance that -Molly was not there too. At first she was nearly wild -with grief, then she sank into a sort of dull apathy, -taking notice of nothing and of nobody. Miss Denny -has been kindness itself to her, as she has to us all, -indeed; and to-day Molly seems more like her old -self." -</p> - -<p> -"I am so glad," Hugh says feelingly, "Good-bye, -Honor, for the present; let me know, mind, if there -is <i>anything</i> I can do for any of you;" and hastily -pressing the girl's hand the young man runs down -the steps and out of sight. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER X. -<br /><br /> -FACING THE FUTURE. -</h3> - -<p> -The day of the funeral has come and gone. The -last fond look has been taken, and the last kiss -given to the calm, placid face, so soon to be hidden -from sight. And now the mortal remains of the fond -husband, loving father, and kind master have been -carried from the once happy home, and, followed by -a large number of sympathetic friends and acquaintances, -in addition to the little train of mourners, are -laid in their last resting-place. -</p> - -<p> -The blinds are once more drawn up, and the winter -sunlight streams into the dining-room, where are -assembled Lady Woodhouse, Miss Denison, Doris, and -Honor, with Mr. Trent and the old head clerk, -Mr. Hobson, who is visibly overcome by the sadness of the -occasion. -</p> - -<p> -"It is no use," remarks Mr. Trent, moving some -papers about, and seeming chiefly to address himself -to the old man seated opposite him. "It will be no -use going through my late client's will, although it -was properly drawn up and witnessed only a few -months back." -</p> - -<p> -"Not the least in the world," asserts Mr. Hobson, -taking off his spectacles and carefully polishing them -up. -</p> - -<p> -"Therefore," continues Mr. Trent slowly, "we may -dispense with the usual forms and give our attention, -Mr. Hobson, to settling the future affairs of -Mrs. Merivale and these poor young ladies here. I have -looked through Mr. Merivale's papers, and I find that -there will be absolutely nothing but your own little -property, Miss Honor, and the small portion of your -mother's fortune, which is safely invested. The two -together will amount to Ł70 per annum, and that, I -regret to say, is absolutely all." With that the old -gentleman looks kindly, and with eyes not altogether -free from dimness, at the two orphan daughters of his -late client, and for a few moments there is a dead -silence in the room, broken by Honor, who presently asks: -</p> - -<p> -"But, Mr. Trent, ought we to keep this—I mean, -ought we not to give up <i>everything</i> in such a case as -this?" -</p> - -<p> -Lady Woodhouse gasps, and is about to pour forth -a torrent of remonstrances, when Mr. Trent, also -looking slightly taken aback, replies: -</p> - -<p> -"My dear young lady, just consider a moment. -You have a perfect right to this money, and, pardon -me if I ask, what would you propose to do without it? -You cannot even realize what a paltry sum it is when -house-rent, food, and clothing, to say nothing if any -other expenses have to come out of it. You are doing -as much as it is possible to do; indeed more than some -persons would do; and I can assure you, Miss Honor, -that there is not one among the unfortunate sufferers -in this collapse who will not be satisfied with the -course that is being taken." -</p> - -<p> -Honor sighs and brushes away a tear. "I was -thinking," she says, "of some of the last words my -dear father ever spoke. He said he would give the -very coat from off his back if that would be of any use." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>If</i> it would be of any use," repeated the old -gentleman kindly; "but would it, my dear? would it? You -must not allow your proper judgment to be run away -with by your feeling—through an exaggerated -feeling—of justice." -</p> - -<p> -"Exactly what I was going to observe," says Lady -Woodhouse with a jerk of her bonnet-strings. "You -are your father's child all over, Honor; and I will say -this of you: you are conscientious almost to a fault, -and so was he, poor man. You can, I am sure, take -the Ł70 a year with a clear conscience; so for goodness' -sake let us hear no more about it. You have yet to -learn what a mere drop in the ocean it will be when -you come to try living on it—and that at once. -Now do, girls, let us be plain and business-like, -and give up talking nonsense. I have only an hour -before I must return to the Pagets', and I have -promised to have a cup of tea with your mother before -I go, so that we can make our final arrangements for -the journey to-morrow. Now, I understand that there -is a certain amount of furniture in the house which -belongs to your mother. I'm afraid it's not much; -but still it is better than nothing. Where is it?" -</p> - -<p> -"There is some in the school-room," answer the -girls together, "and the rest is in the nurseries." And -Honor adds despondently: -</p> - -<p> -"I'm afraid there are not more than two beds." -</p> - -<p> -"Well—now this is what I want you to do, Honor. -Mr. Trent, I understand, has most kindly invited you -and Miss Denison, while she is with you, to go and -stay with him and Mrs. Trent for a little while. Now -I want you while you are there to make out a list of -what else is absolutely necessary in the way of -furniture and send it to me. Mr. Hobson, it appears, has -very kindly been looking at the advertisements of -houses, and he tells me he has brought one or two to -show you, which might, perhaps, be worth answering. -He will, I feel sure, give you all the advice and help -that he can in this matter. I am thankful, too, that -good Miss Denison will be with you a little while -longer, for I know what a comfort she will be to you; -and if you are in any doubt or perplexity on any -point you must go to her, Honor; she will give you -the best and wisest advice." -</p> - -<p> -"I shall indeed look forward to being of some use to -Honor while I am with her," says Miss Denison; "and -you may rest assured, dear Lady Woodhouse, that -I shall do all in my power to help her and the rest of -my young charges in settling and arranging all that -has to be done." -</p> - -<p> -"You are a good, kind creature," exclaims Lady -Woodhouse impulsively, "and these girls ought to be -grateful to you for the way in which you have brought -them up. I always told my sister that if any of them -turned out well she would have you to thank for it. -Now, Honor, I must go. See that your mother and -the two girls are ready when I call in the morning. -You know Mr. Paget cannot bear to have his horses -kept waiting a moment; and I'm sure <i>I</i> don't want to -be the cause of their taking cold. You will have all -the rest of the packing to see to with Lane after we -have gone." -</p> - -<p> -"O, our packing will not take long," replies Honor, -"with Miss Denny and Lane to help us." -</p> - -<p> -"Not take long, child! Why, what can you be -thinking about? Your mother's wardrobe will be -something to get together and pack." -</p> - -<p> -"O, I didn't think of packing anything of mother's -excepting what she will be requiring now. I mean," -adds Honor with a little tightening of her lips, "that -I do not think it would be right to keep any of -mother's handsome dresses, and certainly not her jewels. -Doris and I have, of course, very little in that way; -but," with a little threatening look at her sister, -"I shall expect her to do as I do, and give up -<i>everything</i> that is of value." -</p> - -<p> -Doris does not look highly pleased at this -proposition, but she says: -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, Honor," meekly enough, though she is -immensely relieved at her aunt's next words: -</p> - -<p> -"What you say about the jewels is quite right, -Honor,—that is to say, your mother's; in fact we have -already talked over the subject together. Little -personal gifts, and indeed any jewellery your mother -had before she was married, she will, however, keep," -adds Aunt Sophia rather decidedly. "And Doris and -you must keep the little trinkets you have; which are, -I suppose, most of them birthday presents. You say -yourself they are not worth speaking of. As to the -dresses, you are really quite quixotic, Honor; no one -would expect such a sacrifice; and when you all go out -of mourning it is more than probable that you will feel -very thankful that you have taken my advice. Now -I really must go, or I shall be late." And shaking -hands with Miss Denison and the two gentlemen, Lady -Woodhouse leaves the room. -</p> - -<p> -Those left behind immediately enter on a discussion -touching the question of the new house. Mr. Hobson -has cut out one or two advertisements which on -consideration are not found to be particularly <i>un</i>suitable, -which, perhaps, is something, in the matter of -house-hunting! One of them states that there is a -nine-roomed house to let—good drainage, large garden, -hen-house, and pig-sty. Low rent to careful -tenant.—Apply to Messrs. E. & B. Talboys, care of -Messrs. Gilmore, solicitors, High Street, Edendale -Village, &c. -</p> - -<p> -Taking it altogether, this sounds hopeful. So Honor -sits down, and with Mr. Hobson's assistance answers -the advertisement, while Doris and Miss Denison leave -the room with Mr. Trent, whom Mrs. Merivale is now -equal to seeing "just for a few minutes," prior to her -departure with her sister next day for London. For -the rest of that day and all the morning of the next -Honor and Miss Denison are engaged in packing and -directing all that is theirs to take, and with the -assistance of Lane and of the school-room maid (who has -begged with tears to be allowed to remain with the -family, at any rate until they are settled in the new -house) they get through a great deal. And when at -last they have watched the departure of the carriage -containing Mrs. Merivale, Lady Woodhouse, Doris, and -Daisy to the station, they enter the house again, to see -if all is in order for the sale which is so soon to follow -their own departure, with that feeling of blank melancholy -attendant on that much-to-be-pitied condition of -having "nothing to do." Dick and Bobby are already -established next door with their good friends the -Hortons—Molly to follow later, according to the kind -suggestion made a few days before by Mrs. Horton; -and there they are to remain until the family plans -shall be more settled. -</p> - -<p> -While Miss Denison and Honor are making a last -pilgrimage round the house, Molly stands disconsolately -at the dining-room window pressing her little <i>retroussé</i> -nose against the pane. Suddenly she sees a telegraph-boy -running up the steps, and her nerves being all -unstrung by recent grief and sorrow Molly rushes -with pale affrighted face to the door, fearful of more -trouble to come perhaps, to take the message from the -boy. She gives a little sigh of relief, however, as she -glances at the direction and sees her governess's name -upon it, and her long legs soon carry her upstairs to -her mother's boudoir, where Honor and Miss Denison -are. As Miss Denison reads the telegram her face -changes, and in a voice trembling with agitation she -says: -</p> - -<p> -"My poor girls! I shall have to leave you directly -after all. This is from Frank's mother saying that he -is dangerously ill, and that I must get there without a -moment's delay. O, how unfortunate, to be sure! I -cannot bear to leave you all alone at such a sad time; and -nothing but this would induce me to do so. But you -see, Honor—you see—how imperative it is. Indeed I -fear even now that I may be too late;" and thinking of -her own trouble for the first time Miss Denison breaks -utterly down, and with her pupils' arms round her, -their tears mingling with hers, she sobs uncontrollably -for a few seconds. -</p> - -<p> -Active steps have to be taken, however, and in less -than an hour the remaining occupants of the house -have left it for ever, and Honor and Molly are standing -on the platform at the station by the locked door of -the compartment in which Miss Denison is seated, -looking down upon them with wet and sorrowful eyes. -One last hand-clasp and a half-stifled sob, and the -train moving slowly from the platform leaves the two -girls standing, hand in hand, desolate and alone. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XI. -<br /><br /> -THE BROTHERS TALBOYS. -</h3> - -<p> -It is ten o'clock on one of those warm balmy -mornings which in this erratic climate of ours -sometimes come upon us in the month of February. The -bushes and hedges, and even some of the young trees, -lacking experience and knowledge, allow themselves to -be deluded into the idea that spring is coming, and are -making feeble attempts at budding. They are apparently -ignorant of the fact that the next frost will cut -off the too venturesome little sprouts, and breathing -upon them with its chilling breath reduce them all to -the little brown lifeless-looking twigs that they were -before the week's spell of mild weather had turned -their heads. Even the rose trees, in which the garden -of "The Rosery" abounds, show signs here and there -of succumbing to the seductively balmy air, and it is -with real grief that the two little old gentlemen, -who are trotting round the garden taking their usual -after-breakfast constitutional, shake their heads at -these unlooked-for symptoms of frivolity in their -much-cherished pets, murmuring plaintively: -</p> - -<p> -"The blossoms will not be half so fine this year; -this will weaken them dreadfully." -</p> - -<p> -These two little old gentlemen are none other than -the Messrs. E. and B. Talboys alluded to in the -advertisement of the nine-roomed house to let, and owners -of the same. In appearance and manners they are -almost exactly alike, being in point of fact twins; the -only noticeable difference being that one, Mr. Edward, -is in all points a little more strongly developed than -his brother, Mr. Benjamin. Mr. Edward is perhaps a -trifle the taller of the two, but as he is at the same -time also a trifle stouter the difference in height is -hardly if at all perceptible. Both have good, benevolent -faces; but here again is the slight, very slight, -difference referred to. Both brothers have bright blue eyes; -but while Mr. Benjamin's have the mild, limpid -expression which tells of the more placid nature beneath, -Mr. Edward's have a keenness, amounting at times -almost to a glitter, which is entirely absent in those -of his brother. Both have the same perfect aquiline -nose; and while the mouth and chin in both faces are -equally good in a measure, the curves of Mr. Edward's -mouth, and the slight extra squareness of his chin, -testify to his having the stronger character. The -same thing is to be noticed in the matter of dress; for -although the brothers are always dressed exactly alike, -they appear to wear their clothes differently. Both -have high shirt collars, but there is, or appears to be, -always less starch in those of Mr. Benjamin; and while -his cravat is tied in a modest little bow, which has -a trick of being always either a little to the left or the -right of the stud which fastens the collar in front, -Mr. Edward's is always tied with the greatest precision, -the end of one loop protruding exactly the same -distance from the middle of the collar as the other. There -are also little creases and folds to be sometimes detected -in Mr. Benjamin's coat, which never by any chance -can be discovered in that of his brother. Mr. Benjamin -walks with a slight limp, owing to an accident -which had occurred years ago when they were young -men. Both the old gentlemen, therefore, carry a stout -black walking-stick, with a gold knob at the top. The -subject of this accident is a sore one to both brothers, -and it is without exception the only one upon which -they have ever been known to disagree. -</p> - -<p> -A cricket match in which both brothers were playing -was being held on the village cricketing ground. -Edward was batting, and his brother was fielding close -to the opposite wicket. The rays of the setting sun -were streaming down upon the field, right in the very -eyes of the batsman; and as the ball came swiftly -bounding towards him straight as a dart from the -practised hand of the bowler, it seemed to Edward's -dazzled sight that there were two balls instead of one -to claim his attention. With a feeling of desperation -he rushed, so to speak, at the ball; but in the flurry he -received it on the edge of his bat, and sent it flying -with the strength for which he was envied by the whole -field exactly in the opposite direction to that he -intended. It was a few seconds before he noticed that -the other wicket was deserted, and that nearly all the -men were clustered round one who was stretched upon -the grass at their feet. With a terrible fear at his heart -he strode across to the little throng, to find, to his grief -and horror, that it was indeed his brother lying -helpless before him. Though nearly fainting with agony -Benjamin was in the wildest state of anxiety that the -truth should be kept from his brother as to his having -been unwittingly the cause of his broken ankle, the pain -of which was rendering him half unconscious as he leant -back, faint and white, in the arms of the wicket-keeper. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't let him know it!" he gasped, unconscious of -the fact that his brother was standing close beside -him; "let him think I slipped—and—fell. You see the -sun was in my—eyes—or I would have seen it—coming; -I ought to have got out of the way. Don't let -him know—don't let—" and with these words he -fainted, and was carefully carried from the ground by -his sympathetic friends, Edward being still too much -stunned to take any active part in the proceedings. -Ever since that hot early evening in August it had -been a subject of discussion between the brothers as -to whether the sun could possibly set in two places -at once, each one being perfectly convinced that he -himself had been standing opposite to its dazzling rays. -</p> - -<p> -Only two days ago the brothers Talboys had met -Honor and Molly Merivale by appointment at "The -Rookery," as the house they had been advertising was -called. Old Mr. Hobson had come down with the -girls, rightly thinking that there should be someone -older than Honor present on such an important occasion -as taking a new house. -</p> - -<p> -"You cannot be expected to understand anything -about bad drainage, damp, and such things, my dear," -he had said to Honor, "and it will do me good to run -down into the country for an hour or two; so let us -consider it settled that I go with you and Miss Molly -whenever it is convenient for you to fix a day. -No—not a word of thanks, my dear; I am only too glad to -be of use to the children of my dear old friend, your -father." -</p> - -<p> -And so at the appointed time Mr. Ned and Mr. Ben, -waiting about for their possible new tenants, passing -now in now out of the quaint-looking old house, were -not a little surprised to see bearing down upon them -from the road, two young ladies, an old gentleman -who was walking by their side, and four youths, or -more correctly speaking two youths and two boys, -who made a sort of straggling procession in single file. -For at the last moment, when Honor, Molly, and Hugh -Horton were just starting with old Mr. Hobson, Dick, -accompanied by Regy and Alick, suddenly arrived -upon the scene, determined to look over the new house -also. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, bless my soul, Brother Ben!" exclaimed -Edward, planting his stick firmly on the ground and -looking with undisguised dismay at the troupe now -entering the gate, "these boys can never all belong to -the family. Why, why—they will make havoc of the -garden before they have been a week in the place." -</p> - -<p> -"I do not suppose they <i>all</i> belong to the family," -mildly responded Brother Ben, "and even if they do -they may turn out to be quiet, well-disposed lads -enough." -</p> - -<p> -And of that the boys themselves gave ample proof, -so polite and respectful were they to the two old -gentlemen, whose minds being now relieved on the -score of the possible if not probable destruction of the -garden, soon found themselves chatting away with -them and showing them about (as Mr. Ben said afterwards -to his brother) "as if they were our own boys, -you know." The house proved to be a thoroughly old-fashioned, -rambling place, although small as to the actual -number of rooms. There were long passages with -deep capacious cupboards, "which would have made -delightful store-closets, if we only had anything to -store," whispers Honor to Molly with a sigh. Upstairs -were the funniest old-fashioned bed-rooms, with two -steps leading up to one and three down into another, -and so on. Altogether there were five bed-rooms on -that floor, and two attics above which had not been -included in the advertisement, and which Honor, who, -followed by Molly, had crept up the few steep steps -which led to them, declared to be "lovely!" partly on -account of the odd nooks and corners caused by the -roof, which seemed to slope in half a dozen different -ways, and partly from the fine and extensive view to -be obtained from the window in each attic. But on -speaking of these attics to the brothers they shook -their heads, and Mr. Ned, who was always spokesman, -said: -</p> - -<p> -"My dear young ladies, we did not include them in -the number of rooms mentioned, because we consider -them to be uninhabitable. If they should prove to be -of any use we shall indeed be glad; but I would -recommend their not being used as sleeping-rooms, as we -fear—nay, we feel sure, of there being not a few mice -already in possession, to say nothing of spiders. Is it -not so, Brother Ben?" -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Ben nodded, folded his hands over his stick and -glancing up at the chimneys of the said attics, -murmured, "Surely, surely!" his invariable reply to any of -his brother's statements. -</p> - -<p> -The good old men had been much distressed and -interested on hearing from Mr. Hobson, who took them -aside for the express purpose, some of the sad -circumstances of Mr. Merivale's sudden death, and the ruin -which had come upon his family as upon so many -others. This they had of course heard of, and when, -from two or three little remarks that the old clerk let -drop respecting his late employer, they found that he -was the James Merivale who had been at the same -school with them, their delight knew no bounds. -</p> - -<p> -"You see, my dear sir," cried Mr. Ned, excitedly -pinning Mr. Hobson by the button-hole, "it places things -in such a totally different light. The fact of our -having known the father of these young ladies when a boy -enables us to render them many little services which -we might otherwise perhaps have hesitated to offer. -To be sure," he added, looking doubtfully at his brother, -"James Merivale was a very little chap when he came -to Dr. Gurney's; you remember, Ben, he entered the -school much about the time that you and I were -leaving—not before I had thrashed the bully of the school -in his service though. Ah!" continued the old gentleman, -chuckling to himself, "Tom Yates was the boy; -don't you recollect, Ben? He remembered <i>me</i> for -many a long day, I reckon. There was another big -lad in our form, too, who detested Yates as much as -we did—Arthur Villiers (poor fellow, he's gone too). -I remember giving him the tip to keep an eye on the -youngster after we left; bless you, Yates daren't lay a -finger on anyone when Villiers was by. A cowardly -lump of humanity he was, like all bullies. Eh, Ben?" -</p> - -<p> -And so the old men ran on; and the girls and -Mr. Hobson were as pleased with them as the brothers were -with the unaffected natural manners of Honor and -Molly. So now the two brothers are in the garden, as -has been said, looking at their plants and watching for -the postman; and at length their minds are set at rest -by the appearance of that ancient individual, and they -eagerly seize the letter (the only one this morning) -which he holds towards them. It is, in fact, neither -more nor less than the expected letter from the Merivales, -which is to decide whether or not they will take -"The Rookery." -</p> - -<p> -Hastily tearing it open Mr. Ned proceeds to read it -aloud for the benefit of his brother, who is nevertheless -looking over his shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"There!" he says as he folds it up and puts it into -his pocket with a little sigh of gratification, "I thought -they <i>would</i> take it, Brother Ben; but I am really sorry -we asked as much as twenty pounds rent, under all -the very sad circumstances, because, you see, Ben, fifteen -pounds would be five pounds less! A mere nothing to -us one way or the other; but a great deal, I expect, to -them, poor things. It wouldn't have done, however, -to run the risk of hurting their feelings in the matter, -and perhaps fifteen pounds a year is rather a low figure -for a house like 'The Rookery.' -</p> - -<p> -"Dear me! dear me! How sad, to be sure, to be -thrown in an hour, as one may say, from affluence into -poverty; for poverty it is, Brother Ben, you may take -my word for it. But now really, brother, we must -not stand gossiping here like this when there are a -thousand and one little things to see to up at the house -before the family takes possession. You really are a -terrible old chatterbox, Ben, when you once get a -start." -</p> - -<p> -And Brother Ned, who as usual has been keeping -the conversation exclusively to himself, shakes his -head and his stick at quiet old Ben, as together they -pass out of the garden gate and trot down the road -towards "The Rookery." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XII. -<br /><br /> -A NEW HOME. -</h3> - -<p> -Three weeks have passed, and Honor and Molly -have just stepped out of the old station fly at the -door of their new abode, possession of which they are -to take that very day. There have been not a few -expeditions backwards and forwards from town; but -now everything is settled, the house ready for their -reception, and the furniture actually on its way. The -two girls are standing on the steps watching the driver, -who, with the assistance of Jane, is bringing their -trunks and boxes into the hall. Although the deep, -heavy mourning of the sisters tells of their recent -bereavement, the sorrowful look which seemed to have -settled on their young faces but a few weeks since has -now passed away; for at fifteen and seventeen the -spirits are elastic, and however sharp and painful the -grief may be at first, the buoyancy of youth soon -asserts itself, and the trouble melts away into the past, -ere long resembling a dream which, though vivid at -the time, gradually becomes more shadowy and -indistinct as time rolls on. -</p> - -<p> -"I can't think why some of the boys didn't come -down with us," remarks Molly rather crossly, as she -kneels down and unfastens the cords of a hamper in -which her pet cat is packed. "Now they really <i>would</i> -have been of use to-day, whereas, whenever they came -with us before, they seemed to do nothing but get in -the way." -</p> - -<p> -"O, Molly!" remonstrates Honor, "how <i>can</i> you say so? -Look how beautifully Hugh trained all the creepers -over the front of the house; and I'm sure it must have -been a work of patience too, for they were in a fearful -tangle. It quite distressed those nice old gentlemen -to see how persistently Hugh worked at them; but -they were simply delighted when they were done. -They told me afterwards that they were most anxious -to save him the trouble by sending in their own -gardener to do it; but Hugh was determined, so they let -him have his own way." -</p> - -<p> -Molly shakes her head as, with Timothy now enthroned -upon her shoulder, she gazes out of the open -door. -</p> - -<p> -"Boys are always a nuisance, more or less," she -observes, "though I don't deny that I like them well -enough in their place; and of course I allow that Hugh -has fastened up the creepers well, especially the yellow -jasmine." -</p> - -<p> -Molly says this quite magnanimously, and is about -to descend the steps with a view to receiving an -armful of the small packages now being extricated from -the interior of the fly, when a loud knocking from -inside the house suddenly startles both the girls into a -listening attitude. -</p> - -<p> -"Hark!" says Molly with finger on lip, "it's the -family ghost coming down to receive us! Not <i>our</i> -ghost—the late occupant's, you know. Listen! there -it is again. Who'll come up with me to see who or -what it is? It <i>sounds</i> from the attics." -</p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-107"></a> -<br /> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-107.jpg" alt=""LISTEN!" SAID MOLLY, "THERE IS THE GHOST AGAIN."" /> -<br /> -"LISTEN!" SAID MOLLY, "THERE IS THE GHOST AGAIN." -</p> - -<p> -"O, I durs'n't, miss!" exclaims Jane, dropping a -whole bundle of parcels as Molly glances in her direction; -"ghost or no ghost, I durs'n't go a-nigh the attics -while that knocking is going on. O, my gracious, Miss -Honor—there it is again! I shall drop with fright, -my legs is that trembling!" -</p> - -<p> -And suiting the action to the word, Jane, regardless -of appearances, subsides in a sitting posture on the top -of the hamper which the cat has lately vacated. -</p> - -<p> -"Hush—h!" cries Molly theatrically, and secretly -enjoying the girl's discomfiture; "he's dragging -something about up there! Perhaps it is the old arm-chair -of his deceased great-grandmother, or possibly his own -coffin—" But here Honor interposes, seeing signs of -a further collapse in Jane's frightened face, and -frowningly signing to Molly she says: -</p> - -<p> -"Nonsense! how can you both be so silly? It is -probably some workmen still attending to something at -the top of the house. I'll call out and see." And -mounting a few steps she calls loudly: "Is anyone up there?" -</p> - -<p> -"No!" answers a ringing voice from the attic regions. -"Half a second, Honor, and I'll be down; I'm just -finishing." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Finishing!</i>" echoes Molly, puckering up her eyebrows; -"what in the name of goodness is Hugh finishing -here? Let us go and see. Jane can come too if she likes." -</p> - -<p> -But that young person prefers to remain where she -is, deeming perhaps that her greater safety lies in -proximity to the man who is still unloading the -heavily-laden fly. -</p> - -<p> -"I'd rather stay here, if you please, miss," she says -with her hand pressed against her side; "the fright -has give me such a turn, and the air will do me good -perhaps if—" But Honor is off up the stairs after Molly, -whom she finds pounding away with her little doubled-up -fists at the closed door of the largest and best attic. -</p> - -<p> -"All right, all right!" cries a voice within; and then -suddenly the door is thrown wide open by Hugh, and -both girls cross the threshold cautiously. -</p> - -<p> -The floor of the room, which had looked so shabby -and bare three weeks ago, is now stained and polished -from one end to the other. There is a small square of -Turkey carpet in front of the fireplace, while several -skins are scattered at intervals over the rest of the -floor. At both little windows thick oriental curtains -are artistically draped, and across a large angular -recess is hung another on large brass rings. Just on this -side of the curtain stands an easel—Honor's, with a -sketch of her own lying upon it; while on a little -rough table, half hidden by the curtain, lie all her -painting materials. Two or three high-backed oak -chairs, which had formerly been part of the furniture -of Mr. Merivale's study, are standing about the room; -while three little dainty-looking wicker chairs are -placed invitingly near the bright crackling fire so -merrily burning at the other end of the room. In a -recess near the fireplace is a low, pretty book-case -containing all the girls' favourite books, while on the -top stand several little bronze statuettes. A large -basket work-table with "a second floor," as Hugh -describes the upper shelf, completely fitted up with -materials of all kinds, stands near one of the chairs; and -a nice little table, with a reading-lamp upon it, -completes the furniture of the room. -</p> - -<p> -Both the girls gasp as, taking courage, they advance -further into the room. Their eyes fill with tears as -they recognize some of their much-prized belongings -which they had never expected to possess again; -and they are both so touched at the kind delicacy of -thought for them which is so plainly visible in every -little detail of the room, that for a second or two -they are too much overcome to speak. Hugh, who is -leaning with one elbow on the mantel-piece, sees the -struggle which both the girls are making for -composure, and fearful of the consequences, having already -all an Englishman's horror of "a scene," he says rather -abruptly, "I hope you will all like it. The working -affair is mother's arrangement, and I believe it is well -furnished. The easel, the painting things,—and the -statuettes were Regy's thought; and everything else -is—well, among us all, as it were;" the real fact being -that the "everything else" alluded to had been Hugh's -own particular care. -</p> - -<p> -"O, Hugh," cry both the girls, darting forward and -each seizing one of the young fellow's hands, "how -good—how <i>kind</i> of you! and how beautifully you -have arranged everything, in this short time too!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, to tell you the truth, I believe Alick, Regy, and -I have each worn out a pair of trousers walking round -the room on our knees—doing the staining and polishing, -you know; for that was a big job, and we were -so afraid we wouldn't get it done in time. We had -to press Ted and also Dick (under strict promise of -secrecy) into the service the last day or two." -</p> - -<p> -The girls having now quite recovered themselves, -they proceed to make a tour of inspection round the -room; and Molly, having dived behind the curtain, -discovers Honor's old big portfolio filled to overflowing -with sketches, good, bad, and indifferent, which the -poor girl, thinking sketching and painting days were -over, had had no heart to bring away with her. -Making this discovery Molly cries with enthusiasm: -</p> - -<p> -"Why, here is Honor's dear old portfolio! You <i>are</i> -good to have thought of that! I know it was you, -because here is the label in your own handwriting. -I could hug you for that, Hugh!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, why don't you?" asks Hugh promptly. -</p> - -<p> -At this moment Honor, who is standing at one of -the windows feasting her eyes on the lovely view -which is stretching far and wide, exclaims: -</p> - -<p> -"Why, what is this huge thing in the cart turning -in at the gate? It isn't the furniture, I'm sure! -It must be a mistake. I had better go down and tell -them before they begin to unpack it—whatever it is." -</p> - -<p> -But Hugh is before her; and Honor and Molly -arrive on the front steps just in time to hear him say -"All right!" to the men in charge of the van with so -much confidence that Honor stares stupidly at him -and says nothing. Then one of the men comes forward -and touching his hat presents a letter to her. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know which of the young ladies it is for, -miss," he says, then retires down the steps again to -where the others are already unpacking the -mysterious contents of the van. -</p> - -<p> -"It is for you, Molly, I suppose; you are the only -'Miss M. Merivale' in the family excepting Daisy." And -when her sister has broken the seal Honor looks -over her shoulder and reads the following:— -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="letter"> -"My dear Miss Molly, -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -"Please accept the accompanying little present from an -old man whom you have often delighted with your playing. My -old enemy the gout has necessitated my leaving England again -for a time; so young Mr. Horton has promised to attend the sale -at Lancaster Terrace and to manage this little business for me. -I have written to your mother expressing the great sympathy I -feel for you all in your sad bereavement, and to say that I shall -take the earliest opportunity of calling to see you on my return, -when you will perhaps oblige me with your admirable rendering -of the 'Sonata Pathetique.' This will be the pleasantest thanks -I can receive. -</p> - -<p class="letter"> - "Believe me to remain,<br /> - "Yours very truly,<br /> - "PETER BERESFORD."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Molly turns to Honor with eyes full of grateful tears -at this unexpected kindness from a fresh quarter, but -she is unable to say anything, for at the same moment -the head man approaches them again and asks which -room the instrument is to be taken into. It had been -a bitter trial to poor Molly to have to leave her beloved -piano to the mercy of strangers, and her unbounded -delight may be imagined, therefore, now that she finds -herself looking upon it once more with the proud -consciousness that it is her own—her very own! -Honor calls her into what will be the drawing-room, -where she and Hugh are standing consulting with the -man as to the best place to put it. -</p> - -<p> -"Not <i>too</i> near the window, and certainly not near -the door," says practical Molly promptly. "It mustn't -be in a draught. <i>Here</i> would be a good place. Don't -you think so, Honor? O, good gracious! here they -come with it, staggering under its weight. How nicely -it will help to furnish the room, Honor! And oh, -what a dear old man Sir Peter is! I hope you'll grow -up like him, Hugh!" -</p> - -<p> -"Thanks! I shall want to strike out in a line of -my own before I reach Sir Peter's age," laughs Hugh. -"Do you wish me to be the same height also, Molly? because -I can't accommodate you there, being already -about half a foot taller." -</p> - -<p> -At this point all three are driven ignominiously into -a corner by the piano, which, being now placed on the -little wheeled platform used for such purposes, runs -into the room in quite a jaunty manner. -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose it <i>is</i> ours," hazards Honor, looking rather -dubiously at the back of it. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course it is; can't you recognize it? Besides, -look here"—and Molly takes up one of the legs -which have been laid down in a corner,—"don't you -see where Timothy sharpened his claws one day -just before Christmas? Here are the long scratches, -down the right leg. What a way mother was in! I -remember it quite well. Don't you, Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"I think I can vouch for its being your own also," -says Hugh, "considering that I bought it at the sale; -besides, Sir Peter sent the note to me, and asked me to -give it to the man to bring with it, and I saw it packed -up myself." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIII. -<br /><br /> -THE HORTON BOYS DISTINGUISH THEMSELVES. -</h3> - -<p> -The three young people are just leaving the room, -all deploring the protracted absence of the -furniture vans, which the men had solemnly declared to -Honor would be there by ten o'clock, if not sooner -(it being now between twelve and one), when they are -suddenly startled by a tremendous commotion -outside in the garden, and rushing down the steps they -hear a series of "chuck-a-chucks" in every key and -style, coming from round the other side of the house. -Hastening to that part of the garden they rush right -into the midst of a panting group of boys, whose -heated countenances denote excitement in the highest -degree. Alick is leaning, flushed with victory, against -the wall of the chicken-house, a pendent hen in each -hand, which, notwithstanding the disadvantages of an -inverted position, still give utterance now and then to -mildly remonstrating "chuck-a-chucks." Ted is at the -same moment engaged in gravely dodging a fine duck, -which appears anxious to betake itself to the -flower-garden; and just as Hugh and the girls are all opening -their mouths together to speak, Regy appears from -behind the chicken-house also the triumphant captor -of two indignant hens. They all look at one another, -and then burst out laughing simultaneously, and Regy, -not stopping to explain matters, says: -</p> - -<p> -"We've got them all now, I think, Alick, except -the second speckled hen—hang her! She's got right -out into the road again, with Dick, hatless, in hot -pursuit. I can't do anything with that old rooster! He -seems to have some extraordinary aversion to the -henhouse, and shows a distinct preference for the pig-sty; -these hens got in there too, but I routed them all out; -but old Pincher, not to be done, flew up to the top of -the sty, and there he is now, standing on one leg and -crowing with all his might. Here, Ted, out of the -road! Let's get these beggars shut up; and then, -perhaps, with our united exertions we may capture -Mr. Pincher. O, here's Dick! You've caught her then; -hold her tight while I open the door again. I declare -there are enough feathers flying about to stuff a bed -almost." -</p> - -<p> -Then they all set to, and after an animated chase -succeed in capturing and housing the "old rooster." Honor -and Molly are quick in their efforts to thank -the boys for this kindness, but nothing will induce -them to listen; and some words that Honor lets -drop leading them to infer that she and Molly have -come to the house prepared with some temporary -refreshment, Alick, Ted, and Dick instantly make for -the kitchen, where the others, following, find them -busily engaged in emptying a hamper of its contents. -</p> - -<p> -"You'll have to make shift without chairs and tables, -ladies and gentlemen," remarks Alick, diving into the -hamper again and reappearing with a large, -tempting-looking pie in his hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Nonsense!" cries Dick. "Why should we, when -there's a comfortably furnished room with a large fire -upstairs?" -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed, you boys are not going to have the run of -<i>that</i> room," Molly puts in hastily, and Honor adds: -</p> - -<p> -"No, certainly not! And just think, what a litter -we would make having our lunch up there. This will -do very well; only I <i>wish</i> we had something to sit -down upon." -</p> - -<p> -Hugh, suddenly appearing to be inspired with some -grand idea, darts across the kitchen and begins -vigorously pulling at the dresser drawers. -</p> - -<p> -"Stop a bit!" he cries. "I've got an idea; here, -Regy, lend a hand!" -</p> - -<p> -And in a trice they have got out two of the drawers -and have seated the two girls on them with grave -politeness; Molly's being placed sideways, propped -against the wall, in consideration of the extra length -of her legs; while Honor's is turned upside down, and -makes quite a comfortable seat. -</p> - -<p> -"If you don't feel comfortable you can change with -us, you know," says Regy, as he and Hugh seat -themselves on the wide window-sill. "The rest of you -must dispose yourselves on the dresser and the hamper—Ted's -the lightest, so he'd better have the hamper." -</p> - -<p> -Then follows an impromptu sort of picnic, which -gives complete satisfaction to all, especially as to the -fare; for kind Mrs. Trent has not forgotten that boys -and girls, especially when working hard, are apt to get -hungry, and rightly thinking that it would probably -be a long time before anyone had leisure to think -about cooking, she has included many useful things, -with an eye to future needs. -</p> - -<p> -"O, I say!" cries Alick, suddenly laying down his -knife and fork; "isn't there anything to drink?" -</p> - -<p> -"Pump, out there," briefly explains Molly, waving -a jam tart in the direction of the garden. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes! so there is. Let's go and get a drink all -round; I'm awfully thirsty too." And Dick scrambles -down from the dresser to the floor, and then pauses, -"We've nothing in the world to drink out of!" he says -ruefully. This proves only too true, for though -Mrs. Trent and her cook have had the forethought to pack -a few small plates and knives and forks, anything in -the shape of a drinking vessel has been utterly -forgotten. -</p> - -<p> -"Wouldn't a flower-pot do?" mildly inquires Ted, -doubtful as to how his brilliant suggestion will be -received. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, you muff!" replies Alick scornfully, "what -about the hole? But try it yourself by all means if -you like, unless you'd rather have a sieve." -</p> - -<p> -But here Honor, who has been roaming about in -hopes of finding something to answer their purpose, -rushes into their midst triumphantly flourishing a tin -can above her head. -</p> - -<p> -"Look!" she cries. "I found this on the copper; it -is what old Mrs. Evans brought her beer in, I expect, -and I suppose she forgot to take it back when she -went to her dinner. Will it do, do you think?" -</p> - -<p> -But to Honor's dismay a chorus of groans greets -her. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Honor!</i>" exclaims Molly indignantly, "a nasty -beery thing like that! And most likely the old woman -has been drinking out of it!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, and if she has; there's plenty of hot water. -We can wash it, I suppose! At any rate I can't think -of anything else," concludes poor Honor, looking rather -sat upon, "but the inkstand in our room upstairs. -Will <i>that</i> do?" -</p> - -<p> -But Regy is already at work washing and rinsing -the tin can, and as he has heroically promised to take -first drink and report thereon, they all troop out to the -pump in a body. While there engaged old Mrs. Evans, -who has been hired to scrub the floors and make herself -generally useful, arrives simultaneously with the -furniture. Hugh, equal to the occasion, gravely hands -back the tin can to its owner, and thanks her so -politely, and with such a courtly bow, for the service -she has rendered them in leaving it behind, that the -old woman is thrown into a perfect frenzy of curtsies, -accompanied by assurances of being honoured, and -proud, &c. &c. -</p> - -<p> -Hard work begins in earnest now for all, it being -two o'clock, and everything yet to be done. The -men are at first inclined to be independent, thinking -doubtless that with only these young people to direct -matters they can do pretty much as they like. They -soon find out their mistake, however, and are not a -little impressed with the quiet persistence with which -Honor asserts her will and gets her own way in -everything from first to last. The men appear to -have a rooted objection to put up the bedsteads until -the last thing, but they are soon overruled by Honor, -who stands over them, so to speak, until every bed -is in its place. By six o'clock everything is brought -into the house, and Hugh and Regy, who have packed -off the younger boys by an earlier train, are taking -a general look round after having seen the men -safely off the premises. They have tried all the -bolts and bars and put up the shutters outside, and -Molly having declared for the twentieth time that if -Honor is afraid she is not, the two youths take their -departure, promising to come again the next morning -to help get things straight before the arrival of -Mrs. Merivale with Doris and Daisy, who are expected the -day after. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIV. -<br /><br /> -A COUNCIL OF WAR. -</h3> - -<p> -The two days have quickly flown, and the family -have all settled down into their places in the -new house, which Honor's and Molly's busy fingers -have rendered not only habitable, but almost comfortable. -Mrs. Merivale plaintively approves of all that -has been done, but soon announces her intention of -retiring to her room for the rest of the day, her nerves, -she declares, being quite unequal to the ordeal of going -over the house with the girls. They, poor things! have -been looking forward to this pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -"Never mind," whispers Doris to Honor, "we'll -settle mother comfortably in her room, and then we -will all go round together. What time is tea?" -</p> - -<p> -"O, any time we like to have it! What time is it -now, Doris?" -</p> - -<p> -"Four o'clock. Well, let us have it at five; that -will give us an hour to look at everything, and to get -tea ready. What fun, getting tea for ourselves!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, all very well at first," says practical Molly, as -with hands clasped behind her she follows her mother -and sisters upstairs. "You'll soon get tired of it, -though, and other things too, when it comes to having -to do them whether you like it or not." -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale is almost enthusiastic—for her—over -the arrangements of her bed-room, which the girls have -fitted up with much loving forethought and care. -There is a tiny dressing-room leading out of the large -airy bed-room, into which all ablutionary arrangements -have been banished; while the room itself is -fitted up as half sitting-, half bed-room. -</p> - -<p> -The tears came into the poor woman's eyes as, looking -round the room, she recognizes certain little nick-nacks, -which, though valueless in themselves, are from -old associations worth much to their owner. Even -Honor thought there could be no possible harm in -collecting these little possessions when packing for her -mother; and so there are a few favourite books, some -pretty photograph-frames, a work-basket, and other -little trifles, which give the room a cheery and -home-like appearance. Although the furniture is of the -plainest description, the room is brightened up and -made pretty with dainty muslin draperies; and the -really warm carpet and the thick curtains at the -windows give an air of comfort at once. Indeed the -room presents a marked contrast to those of the girls, -with their little strips of carpet and curtainless -windows, and only what is absolutely necessary in the -way of furniture. -</p> - -<p> -Having left their mother comfortably settled in her -easy-chair, the girls and boys all go off on a tour of -inspection round the house, both inside and out, Honor -and Molly proudly doing the honours. -</p> - -<p> -"These are no vagrant fowls, bought anywhere, -allow me to inform you," says Molly as the party -approach the hen-house; "they came, every one of -them, from the Mortons' own farm at Oakleigh. Don't -you recognize Mr. Pincher? A rare lot of trouble he -gave the boys the other day; but he has settled down -pretty well now, I think." -</p> - -<p> -Daisy especially is delighted with this addition to -the establishment, and asks anxiously if she may take -the fowls into her own care. She and Doris, indeed, -are both enraptured with all the arrangements. So -far from feeling any dismay at the prospect of living -a totally different life from that to which they have -been accustomed from infancy, their spirits rise, and -with the hopefulness and love of change which are -invariably found in youth, they all seem to look -forward to their new life with real pleasure, which -is only damped when they think of the kind and dear -father, still so sorely missed by all at times. -</p> - -<p> -"After all, I think it will be really jolly living in -a small house," remarks Dick, following the girls into -the house again. "One won't be able to roam about -wondering which room to go into; which will be rather -a relief, to <i>my</i> mind. There is the dining-room, and -the drawing-room, and if they won't do, why, one can -just sit on the stairs!" -</p> - -<p> -Unanimous approval of these sentiments is expressed; -but as they come to the end of their peregrinations -round the house Doris suddenly becomes grave, and -putting her arm within Honor's as they turn into the -sitting-room for tea, she says: -</p> - -<p> -"Honor, my girl, we must have a good long talk -together very soon. I've no end of messages from -aunt, and if I don't deliver them at once I shall forget -half. Shall we hold a council of war when the children -have gone to bed to-night?" -</p> - -<p> -Here Dick begs to be informed if he is expected to -consider himself one of "the children" referred to; but -being reassured on this point, renews his attack on -the bread-and-butter with unruffled composure, while -his sisters continue their conversation. -</p> - -<p> -A few hours later Honor looks into the room where -Doris is on her knees before a large trunk, busily -unpacking, and says softly, Daisy being asleep: -</p> - -<p> -"Let us go down, Doris, dear, and have our chat. -The fire is out in the sitting-room, but there's a -splendid one in the kitchen, and Jane won't be there, -for mother, feeling a little nervous, said she would -like her to sit beside her with her work. I left Dick -and Molly roasting apples," she adds, "so if we want -to have any we had better look sharp, I expect." -</p> - -<p> -In a few minutes the four young people are comfortably -settled round the fire, Honor in state in the -only available chair, the second one being occupied by -Timothy. Doris, having extracted from Molly a solemn -assurance that there is no such thing as a beetle (black) -in the house, establishes herself on the corner of the -large kitchen-fender, while Molly occupies the opposite -one, and Dick perches himself on the table, within easy -reach of the plate of apples. -</p> - -<p> -"Well now, to begin," says Doris, "aunt sent her -love, and she was very glad indeed that you were able -to make her cheque do, because, she says, it shows you -<i>must</i> have some ideas of management; and you know -what <i>that</i> means with aunt, and she considers it augurs -well for the future. She says, too, that she thinks we -ought to manage now, with the sum we have yearly, -and what we may be able to earn—for of course I told -her, girls, that we should all turn to and do -<i>something</i>,—though goodness knows what <i>I</i> am fit for!" Doris -gloomily adds, "However, that's neither here nor there. -What was I saying? Oh yes, about the money! Aunt -says—what is, of course, very true—that she has given -us a fair start, and that, unless any dire calamity -should fall upon us, we must not expect her to do -anything more, as she would not like to ask uncle again -for a long time. She wants you to write, Honor, and -tell her everything—what we decide on trying to do, and -all that sort of thing, you know; and she implored me -not to forget to ask what wages you are paying Jane; -because, she says, we have no business to keep an -expensive servant. We ought to have some strong girl -from the village to do the rough work, and manage all -the rest—cooking and all, mind—among us. Well, -now wait a minute"—for here Molly shows signs of -breaking into the conversation,—"I haven't half finished -yet! Aunt has been talking to me about mother, as -well. She has had her own doctor to see her; and he -says that this shock and trouble have really brought -her into a very low and delicate state of health. You -know, Honor, aunt <i>used</i> not to have a spark of patience -with mother's nervous attacks, and headaches, and so -on; but she quite astonished me the other day by -suddenly taking hold of my arm and saying: 'Doris, your -mother now is really what she has fancied herself for -years past—she is a delicate woman, and if you and -the others are not careful she will become a confirmed -invalid. You are not a child now, and I can speak -openly to both you and Honor, I think." And then -aunt went on to say plainly that it is not in mother's -power—she is sure—to take the management of affairs -now; and that <i>we</i> must take all the trouble and worry -on our own shoulders, and not bother her about money -and so on. 'Let her keep quiet, child,' aunt said, 'and -give her little bits of work to do—she likes needle-work, -you know; and you girls must learn to do for -yourselves; it will be a good lesson for you before you -get husbands and homes of your own, if you ever do'" -(here Dick laughs softly and derisively), "'and,'" -proceeds Doris with dignity, "'your husbands will thank -their stars that they have got wives who can do something -besides eat and sleep, and dress and make calls!' There—I -think I've said everything now; so you can -all talk away as much as you please; I am going to -eat apples!" -</p> - -<p> -A slight scuffle here ensues between Doris and Dick, -both of whom have made a simultaneous dash at the -largest apple. -</p> - -<p> -Order being restored, Honor begins to unfold the -plans which she and Molly have been making—namely, -that she herself means to try and turn her talent for -painting to account; while Molly, after many -misgivings as to her competency to do so, has made up -her mind to try and get pupils for music. -</p> - -<p> -"How do you mean to set about it?" inquires Doris, -not without a certain spice of incredulity in her -voice. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, we've settled that—Honor and I!" answers -Molly, stirring the fire energetically. "We have the -nicest landlords—the dearest old fellows in the -world—and they are most anxious to do anything for us -that we will let them do. In fact," concludes Molly, -"they would jump over the moon, willingly, I am sure, -if they thought it would do us the least little bit of -good!" -</p> - -<p> -"Molly!" exclaims Honor. "But she is right, to a -certain extent; they are the <i>kindest</i> old gentlemen. And -they knew father at school, you know, only as quite a -small boy; but they make so much of this, and have -been, oh, so kind to us! We must take Doris and Daisy -to see them, Molly. We promised we would; they are -most anxious to make your acquaintance." -</p> - -<p> -"When you have quite finished, Honor, I'll go on -with what <i>I</i> was saying," says Molly in an aggrieved -tone; adding, "We mean, Doris, to consult these old -gentlemen. They know every one about the place, of -course; and surely there must be some children wanting -the very superior musical education that <i>I</i> can give -them—a-hem! Then they are already tremendous -admirers of Honor's drawings; I saw them nodding their -old heads over that little village scene of hers the other -day, and Mr. Ned said, 'Excellent! admirable! so true -to nature—is it not, Brother Ben?' And Brother Ben -answered, 'Surely! surely!' as he always does, you -know." -</p> - -<p> -"It's all very well for you, girls," suddenly breaks in -Dick, who, having finished the last apple, finds leisure -now for putting in a word, "but no one seems to -consider <i>me</i> in any way. I suppose <i>I</i> should like to do -something to help also." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, so you can. There will be heaps of things -to do about the house that you could easily manage; -and that would be really a help," says Doris. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't mean that sort of thing," answers the boy -testily. "If you girls are going to work and make -money, I must say I should like to do the same. And -I would too—only the worst of it is I haven't half -finished my schooling yet;" and Dick breaks off with -a sigh. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor Dick'" says Honor, taking his hand in hers, -"I have been thinking so much about that, and what -is best to be done. Bobby's and Daisy's education we -can easily carry on among us, and I shall keep -Molly up to her French, and teach her the little -German I know; but what we are to do about Dick, I don't -know, girls. I do know a good bit of Latin, but I -daresay he knows as much as I do. Oh, how I wish -Uncle John had offered to keep him at Marlborough—if -only for another year! he might have done much -in that time." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, don't you worry about me, girls," says the -boy, looking up with a flushed face; "I daresay I shall -get along somehow." -</p> - -<p> -"Well now," says Doris, "I want to know all about -the Horton boys. Were they really of much use in -the moving? and is Hugh reading hard now? Oh, -and that reminds me!" she cries, without waiting for -answers to her questions, "Colonel and Mrs. Danvers -called while we were at aunt's to say good-bye; they -start for India in a week's time. The colonel told me -to tell you both how sorry he is not to see you before -leaving; and he begged me to say to you especially, -Molly, that if Hugh is ordered to the same part of the -country when he goes out he will keep an eye on -him." -</p> - -<p> -Molly, with a lingering remembrance of "the -maiden-all-forlorn" episode, tosses her head with a -slightly heightened colour, but takes no notice of the -message otherwise. There is rather a long pause; then -Doris, clasping her hands behind her head and leaning -back against Honor's knees, says: -</p> - -<p> -"How good every one has been to us in all this -trouble! If it were not for the loss of dear father, the -rest would have been almost worth going through if -only for those proofs of real friendship which have -been shown us—by Sir Peter and others—to say -nothing of aunt's and Uncle John's kindness in -starting us afresh." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," says Honor musingly, "we have indeed been -fortunate. Who would have thought that the dear -old piano would ever he ours again! and how glad dear -father would be if he could know that some of his -favourite pictures were hanging on these walls! That -was such a kind thought of Colonel Danvers." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes; it touched mother very much; and so did the -Hortons' kindness—I don't know what you girls -would have done without them. It's all very well for -people to talk about the world being hard and cold; -but to <i>my</i> thinking it's a very pleasant world, with -lots of kind-hearted people in it." -</p> - -<p> -Molly shakes her head dubiously. -</p> - -<p> -"It has certainly been the case so far," she says, -"but we don't know what is in store for us; we are -none of us very old yet!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you <i>are</i> a Job's comforter!" cries Doris, -getting up and shaking herself. "I think after that we -had all better shut up and retire to bed—don't you, -Honor? We had better get all the sleep and strength -we can before we are all hurled into this sea of trouble -which Molly apparently descries looming in the -distance! Hallo! here's Dick asleep! Wake up, my boy, -wake up!—we're all off to bed!" and Doris administers -sundry little sisterly pullings and pinchings, which -eventually arouse Dick sufficiently to enable him lazily -to follow his sisters up the stairs to bed. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XV. -<br /><br /> -DORIS MAKES A PUDDING. -</h3> - -<p> -"Seventeen pounds ten! seventeen pounds ten!" -mutters Honor to herself, as with paper and -pencil in hand and with knitted brows she makes little -notes, seated the while on a corner of the kitchen -table. -</p> - -<p> -"I wish you wouldn't shake so!" says Doris, who, -with sleeves rolled up and in a huge white apron, is in -all the agonies of making a steak-pudding. "If you -keep on chattering too," she goes on, "I know I shall -leave out half the things, and then you'll never -consider how you harassed me with those pounds, shillings, -and pence; but 'blame it all on to me,' as Bobby says. -Let me see, now: have I got everything in? Oh, I -know! a little pot in the middle to keep the gravy in. -Now, I shall have to move some of the meat again. -There! Oh, goodness me! I do hope the crust will be -eatable; but I don't suppose it will in the least. It -seems brick-bat-ified to me. Well, I've done my best, -anyway." And with a prodigious sigh of relief Doris -ties the cloth. "Now," she says, "you can go on, Honor; -what about this horrid money? I really wish we had -lived in the time of the ancient Britons, then we -shouldn't have wanted money at all. It is no doubt a -very nice thing when one has plenty of it; but when -one hasn't!—" Words fail to express Doris's horror of -such a situation, and her cast-up eyes and elevated -floury hands finish the sentence for her. -</p> - -<p> -"We are not quite so badly off as that," Honor says, -returning to the attack. "I was just saying, seventeen -pounds ten a quarter. Take five pounds from that—for -rent, you know—and it leaves twelve pounds ten. -That's not much is it, Doris? If we want to live we -shall <i>have</i> to do something to make both ends meet. -Hark, there's the door-bell! Who can it be, I wonder?" -</p> - -<p> -In a few seconds Jane appears with the intelligence -that she has just ushered the two Mr. Talboys into the -drawing-room, having been quite ignorant of the fact -that Molly is there, serenely seated on the floor, -working away at the chintz covers which she and the other -girls are making for some of the shabby old school-room -furniture which now has to do-duty for the -drawing-room. Molly is arrayed in one of Jane's -large aprons, to keep her black frock from soiling the -delicate colours of the stuff; and, as usual, when she is -busy, her hair is rumpled up in a fashion which is -perhaps more becoming than tidy. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't fuss yourself, Honor," says Doris composedly. -"Molly will not mind a bit, and I daresay she will -explain the situation in some way of her own which -will amuse the old gentlemen immensely. Here she -comes; now we shall hear." -</p> - -<p> -"Girls!" cries Molly, dancing into the kitchen, "here -are the Mr. Talboys. They found me sitting on the -floor amongst all the work; and I couldn't get up at -first, because my legs were so cramped. So they came -and helped me up, and then we all stood and laughed, -till I remembered my manners and asked them to sit -down. I only just saved Mr. Ben from seating himself -on the broken chair, but I rushed up in time and -explained that that was only to be looked at. Then I -told them Doris was making a pudding, and that you -were busy about something, Honor; but that I would -come and see if you had finished. What's the matter? -Why do you both look at me as if I had been committing -high treason?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you <i>have</i> in a way," says Doris reprovingly, -"talking all that nonsense. Weren't the old gentlemen -surprised?" -</p> - -<p> -"Not a bit," answers Molly promptly; "they enjoyed -the fun, and I left them chattering away to Daisy and -Bobby as if they had known them all their lives. -Now, don't stand there, you two, as if you were going -to preach me a sermon five miles long; come and see -the old gentlemen. They are most anxious to make -Doris's acquaintance." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that's all very well," says that young lady as -she and Honor follow Molly; "but you needn't have -said anything about the pudding." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I must say I don't see anything very -extraordinary in either the making or the eating of a -pudding," argues Molly, leading the way to the -drawing-room with her head in the air. -</p> - -<p> -With that she opens the door, and waving her hand -towards her sister, says: -</p> - -<p> -"This is Doris, Mr. Talboys. She was dreadfully -shocked because I told you she was making a pudding, -which I think very silly." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Molly!</i>" exclaims Honor, whereupon the young -lady lapses into silence. -</p> - -<p> -"I am very glad to hear you were so sensibly -employed, my dear Miss Doris," says Mr. Ned, taking the -girl's hand and warmly greeting her. "I am afraid -there are not many young ladies in these days who can -boast of such useful knowledge as that of making a -pudding; but in our young days it was considered as -necessary for the daughters of a family to be taught -to cook, to bake, to preserve, and so on, as it was to -learn reading and writing and all the rest of it. Was -it not, Brother Ben?" -</p> - -<p> -"Surely, surely!" answers Mr. Ben, nodding to his -brother from the opposite end of the room. -</p> - -<p> -In a very short time they are all chatting freely -together; and Honor, thinking it a good opportunity, -gathers up her courage, after a little nervous glance at -her sisters, to tell the brothers of their wish to turn -their talents to account in order to increase their -income. The old gentlemen are delighted, and -enthusiastically promise all the help that they can possibly -give in the matter. Indeed, they express profound -regret that their age prevents their becoming pupils of -the young ladies themselves. -</p> - -<p> -"Ben had a decided talent for drawing as a youngster," -says Mr. Ned with a roguish twinkle in his eye. -"You remember that wonderful quadruped you once -drew, Ben, about which there were such divided -opinions? My own idea was that it was a sheep of -unusual dimensions; but I believe finally it was settled -that it was a horse—possibly an Arab. They are small -animals, you know." -</p> - -<p> -"I think I intended it for a cow, Brother Ned," -remarks Mr. Benjamin modestly; "but I assure you, -young ladies, my talent for drawing was not to be -compared to my brother's—shall we say genius—for -music. He was actually known one day, after many -hours of hard study, to have picked out and played -(with one finger) that difficult and classical work -popularly known as 'God Save the Queen.' Now, -what do you think of <i>that</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -Amidst the general laughter which arises at this -good-natured sparring between the two old men, they -rise to take their leave; and while Mr. Ned intrusts to -Honor a courteous message to her mother to the effect -that he and his brother will shortly do themselves the -honour of calling upon her, when they shall hope to -find her sufficiently recovered to receive them, Mr. Ben -is entreating Doris to allow Daisy and Bobby to go to -tea with them the next day. -</p> - -<p> -"Master Dick here would consider himself too old to -join such a juvenile party, I expect," says the old man, -patting him on the back kindly; "but we mean to ask -you all to come and spend an evening with us soon, if -you can put up with two such old fogies as Brother -Ned and myself for hosts. We must have someone -from the town to come and tune the piano; and then, -perhaps, my brother will play his piece to you—eh, -Ned?" -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly, Ben; but then we must also bring down -that wonderful picture of yours for the young ladies to -see. Miss Honor might perhaps take some very useful -hints from it;" and with that parting shot Mr. Ned -gives Mr. Benjamin his arm, and they trot down the -steps together, away down the garden, and into the -road. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVI. -<br /><br /> -TRYING TO MAKE BOTH ENDS MEET. -</h3> - -<p> -Things go on quietly enough for some time, but -as each day comes round it is pretty sure to bring -with it some little trial and vexation; trifling in itself -perhaps, but none the less wearying to the three girls, -who with hopeful hearts are striving laboriously to -cut and contrive in order to get the utmost out of -every halfpenny. -</p> - -<p> -Honor has shown from the first an almost dogged -determination to have nothing brought into the house -that cannot be paid for at once. -</p> - -<p> -"We know to a farthing what our income is," she -says quietly and firmly; "and what we cannot afford -to have we must learn to do without." -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless it goes to the girl's heart when, having -had to draw perhaps from the little sum set aside for -the week's living for some other incidental expense, -she has to say, "No meat to-day, girls and boys; we -must make our dinners from potatoes and bread and -butter." -</p> - -<p> -"And very good fare too," some will say perhaps; -but for girls and boys who have been brought up in -the lap of luxury, and who in their sudden transition -from affluence to well-nigh poverty have retained their -usual healthy appetites, it is a little trying it must -surely be allowed. To Doris and Honor the fact of -having to deny themselves meat, and sometimes other -things which are almost necessaries, is no great trial -so long as they can somehow or other make both -ends meet; but it does pain them to see that Molly's -and Dick's faces are no longer so round and plump -as formerly, and that little Daisy pushes away her -plate of untempting food from before her sometimes, -plaintively saying she is "not hungry to-day." The -novelty of the situation having worn off also to -a great extent, the spirits of Doris and Molly -especially flag visibly at times; and while Doris sighs -over her work with a generally listless air, Molly -grows despondent, and even a little cross, as she goes -about her daily duties. Poor Honor makes brave and -determined efforts to preserve both her cheerfulness -and her temper for the sake of all, but there are two -little upright lines between her straight brows which -tell of constant care and anxious thought; and many -a quiet tear is shed when, tired in body and anxious -in mind, the girl finds herself alone in her room with -no one to witness her giving way to her overwrought -feelings. -</p> - -<p> -Still, there are gleams of brightness in the new life, -and many an act of kindness is shown to the girls by -the neighbouring families; on all of whom the -Merivales have been most thoroughly impressed by the -brothers Talboys. The first to call are the clergyman -and his wife, and they prove to be affable, -kindly-disposed people. Then most of the families round -about call on Mrs. Merivale also, and do their best to -cheer the girls with accounts of what goes on during -the summer months, saying kindly that they hope they -will look forward to plenty of games of tennis with -their own daughters. -</p> - -<p> -But although every one promises to remember their -wishes to obtain teaching, and to do his or her best in -the matter, no pupils come for Molly; and although -Honor takes up her painting again with renewed -ardour, nobody seems to require lessons in that either. -</p> - -<p> -The brothers Talboys hold many a serious conversation -over the trials and difficulties of their young -friends, as they call them; but beyond sending them -some game from time to time, or something from their -own poultry-yard, dairy, or garden, they do not see -their way to helping them much without running the -risk of hurting their feelings. -</p> - -<p> -One morning the old gentlemen are leaning over -a gate looking admiringly at their sleek Alderneys -grazing in the distance, when suddenly down the lane -behind them come Daisy and Bobby hand in hand. -During the short time that the family has been settled -at the Rookery, these two children, and especially -Daisy, have taken a firm hold on the warm hearts of -the two old brothers. Their blind devotion to the latter -would bid fair, indeed, to turn the head of any less -good and demure little maiden than Daisy, for she can -hardly express a wish in their hearing which is not -gratified; and when the children go to tea at the -Rosery—which event occurs once a week, if not oftener—the -recklessness of their two frolicsome hosts in the matter -of cakes, jam, cream, &c., defies description. -</p> - -<p> -The brothers no sooner now see the children approaching -than they pounce upon them instantly, and after -duly inquiring after every one at home, Mr. Ned -unfastens the gate, and taking Daisy by the hand leads -her away into the field. -</p> - -<p> -"I know you would like to come and speak to -White-star," he says; "they are both going to be milked -in a few minutes, and if you like you shall stay and -see them, and have a drink of nice new milk too. What -are we to do for a tumbler though, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'll run and fetch one, sir," pipes up little Bobby, -who is perfectly at home in all the arrangements of -the Rosery, both in and out of the house, "or shall I -run to the dairy and ask Susan to bring something?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes, my boy, that would be better, for you -might fall down and cut yourself. Here, wait a minute, -Master Bob, a piece of cake would not come amiss with -the milk, I take it, eh? Go and ask Mrs. Edwards to -put some cake, several large slices, into a little basket -for you; and then we will all have lunch out here together." -</p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-135"></a> -<br /> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-135.jpg" alt="DAISY AND THE MR. TALBOYS VISIT WHITESTAR." /> -<br /> -DAISY AND THE MR. TALBOYS VISIT WHITESTAR. -</p> - -<p> -"And give White-star some," cries Daisy excitedly. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, certainly, give White-star some," repeats -Mr. Ned approvingly; "it would be a poor return after -giving us her milk not to offer her any refreshment -herself. I am not certain, however, that she would not -prefer some nice fresh grass even to plum-cake if you -were to pluck it and offer it to her. Ah! I thought -so!" as the little girl goes fearlessly up to the -placid-looking animal, her hands full of sweet-smelling grass. -White-star stoops her head, gravely inspecting Daisy -at first, then she puts her soft velvety nose into the -child's hands and gently gathers up the contents into -her mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"It seems to me," says Mr. Ben, folding his hands -over his stick and looking at the gentle pair—"it seems -to me that White-star has a great deal to say to this -little maid. What say you, Brother Ned? Now I -shouldn't be the least surprised if she is thinking how -much she would like you to have a lot of her good -milk every day to fatten up your cheeks a little, don't -you think so, Brother Ned?" -</p> - -<p> -"I was thinking the very same thing myself," answers -Mr. Ned, nodding approval of his brother's idea. -"Oh! here comes Susan with the pail and the glasses, and -here is Master Bob also heavily laden with the cake -and the milking-stool. Now then, the first drink for -the lady of course." -</p> - -<p> -"And so it is your birthday to-morrow," suddenly -remarks Mr. Ned after a longish pause, during which -undivided attention is given to the milk and cake. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," says Daisy gravely nodding; "who told you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Master Bob there. And he told me, moreover, what -present he is going to give you, and I can assure you -it will be—well, to use the young gentleman's own -words—a regular stunner." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" cries Daisy, "<i>do</i> tell me, Mr. Talboys." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I couldn't think of such a thing. And why, -bless my soul, it is getting quite late, Brother Ben; -if we are to see these little folks home I think we had -better be starting." -</p> - -<p> -And so after a time the quartette appears at the -Rookery, and the children are handed over to Honor, -who has seen them coming through the gate. It is an -everyday occurrence now this finding of the children -with the two Mr. Talboys. If they are missing for any -length of time, someone says, "Oh, they are up at the -Rosery, of course;" and after a time sure enough they -arrive either in charge of Priscilla, the parlour-maid, -or with the old gentlemen themselves. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVII. -<br /><br /> -DAISY'S BIRTHDAY. -</h3> - -<p> -The next morning every one is on the <i>qui vive</i> for -the postman, for is it not Daisy's birthday! and -will there not be mysterious packets, from the Horton's -alone, enough to fill his bag! -</p> - -<p> -The excitement of receiving the presents from her -own family has now subsided; and Daisy, having seen -Bobby's offering, consisting of a pair of black and -white rabbits, duty installed in a separate hutch -improvised for the occasion, and on which is scrawled, -in somewhat doubtful caligraphy, Daisy's own name -as proprietress, that young lady betakes herself to the -drawing-room, where Mrs. Merivale is installed (feeling -a trifle stronger to-day), in honour of her little -daughter's birthday. At last the postman appears, -and there is a general rush to the door. -</p> - -<p> -A packet from Mrs. Horton, one from each of the -boys, one from Aunt Sophia, and another from Miss -Denison. There is also a letter for Honor from the -last named, and one for Jane. With these two Bobby -is despatched to the kitchen regions, where Honor -and Doris are—the former making a cake—and where -Jane is also. Doris seizes on the letter, and Honor's -hands being floury, opens it and reads it to her, Jane -having retired into the scullery with her missive. -</p> - -<p> -Miss Denison's letter is like herself—kindness -throughout. Not one little incident with which they -have acquainted her is forgotten, and the whole letter -conveys with it such an air of her affectionate manner -that it almost seems to the girls as if she were -standing there and speaking to them in person. She sends -good news about the recovery of her <i>fiancé</i>; and in order -that she may accompany him in his prescribed sojourn -to the south of France, they are about to be married -almost immediately. Doris and Honor are still chatting -over the contents of the letter, when Jane, deluged -in tears, rushes into the kitchen and startles them both -with the announcement that she must leave at once. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, if you please, Miss Honor, mother's been taken -ill so sudden, and my sister Sarah says I sha'n't never -see her alive again very like if I don't hurry off at -once." -</p> - -<p> -"Of course you shall go, Jane," says Honor, -suspending the operation of egg-beating and rubbing her -hands upon a cloth. "Of course mother will let you go -by the first train there is. Poor girl!" she adds kindly, -putting her hand on her shoulder, for Jane with her -apron to her eyes has subsided into a chair,—"poor -girl! it is indeed sudden; but doesn't your sister give -any hope, Jane? Perhaps your mother may get over -this attack; while there is life there is always hope, -you know." -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know, I'm sure, miss," returns the girl with -alternate sobs and sniffs. "There's the letter, Miss -Honor; perhaps you'd like to read it." -</p> - -<p> -Honor does so, and finding the case more serious -than she had thought it might be—being in fact the -doctor's own report—she hands the letter without -speaking to Doris, and making her a sign to follow, -quietly leaves the kitchen. -</p> - -<p> -A fearful thought has just struck Honor, and as -Doris comes out to her in the passage she stares at her -blankly, saying: -</p> - -<p> -"What in the <i>world</i> shall we do for her wages, -Doris? She <i>must</i> have them before she goes." -</p> - -<p> -"I have got the ten shillings aunt gave me when -I left," says poor Doris dolefully. "I must give that -towards them, of course. And I think mother has -a little money by her. We must try and make it up -among us, Honor, and we must borrow again from -the house-keeping money, and dine off puddings and -potatoes and such things a little more often." -</p> - -<p> -Here Molly comes bounding out into the passage. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, what is the matter with you two?" she asks. -"You look as if you had discovered a dynamite plot or -something." -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon Honor tells her of the difficulty, and -Molly, diving into the recesses of her pocket, draws -forth a jubilee half-crown, which she has been hoarding -up for future emergencies. -</p> - -<p> -"Take it, Honor," she says, "it will have to go -some time or other, so it may as well go now!" -</p> - -<p> -And with a sigh of resignation she is turning away -again, but Honor stops her. -</p> - -<p> -"No, dear," she says, kissing her young sister, "it is -like your generosity to give up all you possess; but -with a little management, and perhaps a little help -from mother, we shall be able to arrange, I am sure; -and Doris shall not give up hers either." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, but <i>you</i> are giving up every farthing of -your own little private income for the good of -everybody," exclaims Doris. "And I'm sure it is only fair -that Molly and I should do the little we <i>can</i> do." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you know, Doris, I am only thankful that -I have that little income to devote to us all. It would -not give me the very slightest pleasure to keep it to -myself; and, after all, girls, it benefits me as much -as it does anyone. It's share and share alike with us -all now, I think, isn't it?" -</p> - -<p> -"You're a good old soul, and that's a fact!" cries -Molly impulsively, "and the most unselfish creature -that ever breathed." -</p> - -<p> -"What nonsense, Molly!" says Honor, blushing at -this burst of praise. -</p> - -<p> -"She is quite right, of course," says Doris, "and -I only wish I was half as good." -</p> - -<p> -"And now," remarks Molly, "after this digression, -as the books say, I suppose you mean to come and -consult mother about Jane and all the rest of it, don't -you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course. You run and get the time-table, Molly, -and we will look out a train." -</p> - -<p> -It is with great difficulty that Jane can be persuaded -to take all the money that is due to her. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sure, Miss Honor, I never thought about such -a thing as wages," says the girl with her apron to -her eyes. "I would readily have stayed with you -young ladies and the mistress without thinking of -money, miss, except when you pleased to give me -a little now and again. And if you will just give me -enough for my journey, Miss Honor, and so as I have -a shilling or two in my pocket when I gets home, I -would rather not take any more, if you please, miss." -</p> - -<p> -But Honor and Doris together gently overrule the -girl's generous impulses, and insist on her taking what -is due to her, Mrs. Merivale adding a trifling present -as a little return for the kindness of heart which Jane -has shown to them all in their days of adversity. -</p> - -<p> -In little more than an hour's time Jane has departed -with all her belongings, and the girls and Dick are -still standing at the door watching her, as with -handkerchief to her eyes she goes down the road, when -their attention is drawn to a novel kind of procession, -consisting of the Mr. Talboys' stable-boy, Joe, bearing -something resembling a pail, with elaborate care, the -under-gardener with a wheel-barrow containing some -large and odd-looking packages, and lastly Priscilla, -holding in her arms with as much solicitude as if it -were a baby, a long, mysterious-looking parcel. The -party enters the gate with much gravity and makes -for the side entrance. -</p> - -<p> -"From the Mr. Talboys, Miss Merivale," says Priscilla, -the man and boy bashfully hanging back. "Put the -pail inside the door, Joe," she adds, and then she takes -the packages from the barrow, and turning to Honor -says: "Shall I step inside with them, ma'am? The -masters told me I was to be sure and deliver them -myself. Oh, and there's a letter for Miss Daisy as -well. And I was to give the masters' compliments, -and ask how Mrs. Merivale finds herself this morning." -</p> - -<p> -Up to this point the girls have done nothing but -stare with mute astonishment at the oddly-laden trio. -But at length, when the parcels are actually laid down, -and the maid stands waiting for her answer, Honor -finds her tongue: -</p> - -<p> -"Tell your masters, please," she says, "that mother -is feeling a little stronger this morning." -</p> - -<p> -And before Honor can say another word the maid -is out of the house and through the gate, where the -man and the boy—both grinning from ear to ear—are -awaiting her. -</p> - -<p> -"What <i>can</i> it mean?" cries Doris, beginning to feel -the parcels, while Timothy, the cat, walks gravely up -to the pail and commences a deliberate inspection of -the outside. "This is knobby!" Doris goes on; "and -this soft—O, my gracious! what's that?" as a sound -like a rather squeaky voice is heard to issue from the -long parcel. -</p> - -<p> -"Let us read the letter," says prompt Molly; "then -we shall understand it all. No, let Daisy open it—it's -her letter. I quite expect they are birthday presents -from the old gentlemen. Now, let us see!" -</p> - -<p> -And they all crowd round the child while she -carefully opens the envelope and unfolds the letter. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="letter"> -"To Miss Margaret Merivale. -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -"My dear Miss Daisy, -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -"Brother Ben and I are sending some little presents for -your birthday, with our best love. The young lady herself is -from Brother Ben, whilst her carriage and luggage (including her -bed) are from myself. I believe the young lady is rather particular -about her sleeping arrangements, and has therefore thought it -better to take her own bed with her. White-star is most anxious -that we should deliver a very important message from her. She -sends her love, and hopes you will accept for a birthday present -the can of new milk she is sending you, and that you will let her -send you some every day for the future. White-star thinks it -will fatten up your cheeks, and she would far rather you had her -milk than that the pig should. -</p> - -<p class="letter"> - "Wishing you many happy returns of the day,<br /> - "We are, dear little Miss Daisy,<br /> - "Your affectionate friends,<br /> - "EDWARD TALBOYS.<br /> - "BENJAMIN TALBOYS."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"There, didn't I say so!" exclaims Molly. "What -dear old boys they are, and how fond of Daisy! Come -along, child, and let us undo the parcels." -</p> - -<p> -"O, what a <i>lovely</i> doll!" -</p> - -<p> -Daisy stands perfectly entranced, and, truth to tell, -a little in awe of the fashionable young lady which -emerges from the many wrappings of soft white paper -in which she has been carefully enshrouded. A young -person of most eccentric character she proves to be, -for on a certain spring being touched she walks along for -some yards with her head in the air in a truly martial -manner; and when (on her showing deliberate intention -of walking into the coal-scuttle) Honor snatches her up -from the ground, she gives vent to loud cries of "Papa! -Mamma!" which astonish her hearers not a little. Finally, -on being placed in a reclining position in her new -owner's arms, she shows symptoms of faintness, and -closing her eyes in a melodramatic manner lies back -quite motionless. Daisy looks anxious at this catastrophe, -but is reassured on finding that the young lady -opens her handsome brown orbs again the moment she -is made to sit up. -</p> - -<p> -Honor and Doris presently suggest that all the -presents shall be taken into the room where Mrs. Merivale -is sitting, and a good hour or more is spent by Doris -and the others in unpacking the handsome perambulator -which has arrived with her ladyship, and also her beautiful -bed. This last is completely fitted up, even to a -little eider-down quilt. But the unpacking of the -wardrobe—that is the thing! and Doris, at heart as -great a baby over dolls and their belongings as Daisy -herself, sits on the floor surrounded with walking -costumes, dinner dresses, ball dresses, &c., and enjoys -herself with her little sister to her heart's content. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVIII. -<br /><br /> -DR. JOHN SINCLAIR. -</h3> - -<p> -That same afternoon Honor puts on her hat and -walks into the village in search of a girl to take -Jane's place, if such an individual can be found, -which she privately doubts. She first goes to old -Mrs. Evans, the charwoman, and makes a few inquiries -about the girls in the village. This lady, however, -probably with an eye to "No. 1," discourages the idea -of "keepin' a gal permanent." With regard to herself -she is "willin' to oblige, and don't mind how often she -goes up to the 'ouse, pervided she gets one day in the -week to do her own bit o' washin'." This not being at -all Honor's idea, and the old woman appearing to have -no other by which she may benefit, she takes her -departure. -</p> - -<p> -She next goes to the little grocer's shop and makes -inquiries there, learning that they believe they know -of a likely young woman. She has been living at the -butcher's over the way, partly as nurse, they think, -and having left about a week ago is likely to be -looking out for a new place. Flora Smart is the name by -which this young person is known. So Honor thinks -she may as well go "over the way" as anywhere else -to pursue her inquiries. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Masters, the butcher's wife, is a brisk and chatty -little woman, who enters into the discussion of possible -and impossible girls with a keen and lively interest. -She thinks Mrs. Phips possesses a granddaughter who, -though not calculated to set the Thames on fire with -her cleverness, is a good girl enough as far as honesty, -truthfulness, and cleanliness go. She is greatly desirous -of "bettering herself," whatever that may be; and -Mrs. Masters thinks that if Miss Merivale don't mind the -trouble of training her, she may turn out a handy -kind of girl. -</p> - -<p> -"I have just been recommended a girl called Flora -Smart," remarks Honor presently. "I believe she was -with you for a time, Mrs. Masters." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, miss; for a very short time though, I'm thankful -to say. I had her to help with the children, and -to give a hand when it was needed to my own servant -that I've had with me for years. She was an idle -hussy though, and didn't care to do anything but take -the children out. Ah, and they nearly met their death, -or might have done, with her wicked carelessness!" -she adds with an involuntary shudder. -</p> - -<p> -"How was that?" asks Honor, impressed with -Mrs. Masters' manner. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, miss, she had taken the two youngest out -in the perambulator; and from what I heard after I -suppose that, when she got half-way down Meadow -Lane, there she saw some acquaintance of hers—a -young man it was; and as she thought the perambulator -might be seen if she took it with her, she just -left it in the middle of the lane and ran back round -the corner, quite out of sight of the children. Well, -miss, it was market-day; and presently there came -along the usual drove of cattle, the drovers far behind. -Fortunately the doctor was coming along that way -too, and recognizing them and seeing their danger at -once, he just took and wheeled them home to me, -saying as he brought them up to the door, 'I think -your little ones will be safer with you, Mrs. Masters, -than in the middle of Meadow Lane by themselves on -market-day.' Dear! it did give me such a turn, to be -sure, miss; for he told me after that he quite thinks -the perambulator would have been overturned, some -of the cattle were so wild and unruly. Ah, a -kind-hearted gentleman is Dr. Sinclair! He would do -anyone a good turn, from the highest to the lowest." -</p> - -<p> -"Dr. Sinclair!" repeats Honor. "Is that the name of -the doctor here, Mrs. Masters? I really didn't know -there was a doctor here at all; though I suppose there -always is, even in a little village like this." -</p> - -<p> -"Dear me, now, Miss Merivale, to think that you -don't know him even by sight, and he often rides up -your way too!" -</p> - -<p> -"I am generally too busy to notice many passers-by," -says Honor smiling; "but now I think of it, I believe -I have heard the Mr. Talboys mention him." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, to be sure you would, miss; if 'twas only on -his father's account; though I'm not sure if the old -gentlemen don't like the son just as well, if not better. -But you see, miss, it was the old doctor that attended -Mr. Benjamin with his broken ankle; I think they -were all boys at school together—so I've heard my -husband say. Yes, it was quite a blow to the old -gentlemen when the old doctor died. There! talk of the -angel—why, that's the young doctor himself coming up -the road yonder. Now you can see him for yourself, -miss. -</p> - -<p> -Honor lifts her eyes as a rider comes slowly up the -remainder of the steep hill which leads into the -village. She sees a well-made, broad-shouldered man, -who cannot be much under six feet in height, bestriding -a handsome glossy chestnut, which in the matter -of muscular strength and powerfulness of build is as -noticeable as his master. -</p> - -<p> -Dr. John Sinclair appears to be deep in thought, for -his eyes are raised no higher than his horse's head as -he sits flicking its ears softly with the end of his -riding-whip, a performance which the creature -apparently rather enjoys than otherwise, judging by the -tossing of its head, accompanied by little whinnyings -of approval. As he rides past the butcher's shop, -though, the doctor raises his head, and catching sight -of Mrs. Masters smiles brightly and courteously. As -he lifts his hat, his eyes rest upon Honor with a little -inquiring expression. -</p> - -<p> -"Aye, that's just like him," says the woman with a -gratified look as she acknowledges the young man's -salutation with a pleased little bow, "he would lift his -hat to a poor beggar woman just as quickly as to a -duchess; and that's what makes every one about here -worship him so. There's no thoughts of class or the -like with Dr. John Sinclair, miss; and one to him is as -good as another, where there's help and kindness -needed. But there now, I am wasting your time, Miss -Merivale, as well as my own. My husband always tells -me mine is a terrible tongue to go, especially when -any talk of the young doctor comes up, for then I -always feel as if I could never say enough for him. -Besides everything else he has done, he pulled my -youngest boy through with croup, when every one -else had given him up; and I have never forgotten -that—no, nor ever shall. Well, miss, I think you will -do well to go to Mrs. Phips. I know her grand-daughter -is a decent sort of girl, though she ain't very -bright. But I do think it would be worth trying -her, perhaps. Oh, no thanks needed, I'm sure, miss," -as Honor expresses gratitude for the information. -"Good-day to you, miss; and I hope the girl may -suit." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap19"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIX. -<br /><br /> -A VISIT FROM AUNT SOPHIA AND THE HORTON BOYS. -</h3> - -<p> -After a tolerably satisfactory interview with -Mrs. Phips and her granddaughter Becky, Honor at -length returns home, where she finds unusual excitement -reigning, all sorts of unexpected things having -happened in her absence. -</p> - -<p> -The moment her hand touches the latch of the gate -Molly comes flying down the garden to meet her, her -eyes sparkling, her hair blown about, her apron all -awry. -</p> - -<p> -"Such news!" she cries breathlessly. "That nice -clergyman has been here, and he wants his little girl -to have music lessons; so now I've got a real live -pupil, Honor! Isn't that <i>splendid</i>? To be sure they -can't give very good pay," she adds, a little ruefully, -"but it will all help, won't it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course it will, dear!" says Honor, kissing her. -"I am so glad—" -</p> - -<p> -Molly cuts her short: -</p> - -<p> -"But that isn't all," she says. "Aunt's here, sitting -with her bonnet on as usual, though we've all had a -try to make her take it off. And mother seems quite -cheered up. Well, then Hugh and Regy arrived by -the same train, Hugh nearly bursting with most -important news. Come along in; you can go and talk -to them all while Doris and I finish getting the tea. -Oh, and give me the key of the store-cupboard; I want -to get out some of that lovely jam the Mr. Talboys -sent Daisy. The boys wanted to come and help in the -kitchen, but I shut them out and locked the door. I -do hope Doris hasn't let them in in my absence!" -</p> - -<p> -And being tormented with doubt on this score Molly -retires in haste, and Honor enters the drawing-room, -where she finds Daisy, with the assistance of Miss -Celestine Ermyntrude Talboys—as she has persisted in -naming her doll,—gravely doing the honours to Hugh -and Regy, while her mother and aunt are seated -close together in earnest confidential conversation. -</p> - -<p> -In due course tea is announced, and as Mrs. Merivale -expresses her intention of joining them to-day, -there is quite a large party when Dick and Bobby also -arrive home from a long ramble they have been having -in the woods. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Woodhouse, it appears, has come down with -the intention of having a good long chat with them -all, and to see how things are going generally. -</p> - -<p> -Hugh's important piece of news is that he, having -"worked like a nigger" for the last few months with -a "coach," has sent in his papers, and is awaiting the -result anxiously, but hopefully too, his "coach" having -spoken in the highest praise of his ability when once -he had put his shoulder to the wheel. -</p> - -<p> -They have a very merry tea, and when it is over -and the visitors have returned to the drawing-room, -Doris and Honor remain behind to clear away and -wash up the tea-things, while Molly goes to look after -the poultry. She is engrossed in trying to prevent -Mr. Pincher and one or two of the greediest hens from -snapping up the entire supply of maize and other luxuries, -which she is scattering amongst them, before their more -modest companions can get a chance, when she hears a -clear tenor voice not far off ringing out the words— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "O, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,<br /> - All lonely waiting here for you,<br /> - While stars above are brightly shining<br /> - Because they've nothing else to do!"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Molly listens a moment, and then turning the basket -upside down, and shaking out the last grains, she -wheels about and faces Hugh as he comes round the -corner and stands before her. -</p> - -<p> -"It's a pity you have nothing to do but to go about -singing such nonsense," she observes. "It may be all -very well for the stars, perhaps—I don't know their -ways and habits—but I should think <i>you</i> might easily -find something else to do." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, so I can, and <i>do</i> in fact, at least I have done -lately," returns poor Hugh confusedly. "Come now, -Molly," he pleads, "don't be hard on a fellow! I thought -you would be so pleased with the news I brought -down to-day." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, so I am, of course; but," rather unkindly adds -Molly, "you hav'n't passed yet, you know!" -</p> - -<p> -Hugh looks a trifle hurt for a moment; but then he -says quietly enough: -</p> - -<p> -"No; you are right there, Molly. But if I fail this -time I do think it will be my misfortune rather than -my fault; for ever since you lectured me so on the -subject of my work I <i>have</i> worked with a vengeance, -and chiefly, I believe, for your sake." -</p> - -<p> -"Why, what nonsense, Hugh! Why in the world -for my sake?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it's hardly likely I would want you to think -that all your words were thrown away on me—pearls -before swine, you know, and all that sort of thing. -No; but seriously, Molly, I have done my level best -to deserve the little bit—the <i>very</i> little bit, I'm -afraid,—of good opinion you have of me. Though I don't -mean to say that I hav'n't worked for my own sake -too, and for mother's. But, upon my honour, I don't -believe I ever saw the matter in a proper light until -you put it so plainly before me, Molly. My mother -has often said a few words to me on the subject, of -course, but no one but you ever had the courage to -tell me out to my face that I was fast drifting into an -idle, useless vagabond; and—" -</p> - -<p> -"I never said such a thing!" exclaims Molly, firing -up indignantly. "How dare you say I said what I -didn't!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, really, you know, you implied something of -the sort. Now, didn't you? But you won't let a fellow -finish what he is saying. I was going to add that no -one had ever tried to show me what I might have -drifted into but you; and I shall always feel that I -owe you a debt of gratitude for it, whatever you may -say to the contrary. And I tell you what, Molly dear, -I have felt happier during these few months of hard -work than I have for a long time past. It has roused -me, and given me a taste for work, and made me feel -that there is something worth living for beyond the -little everyday pleasures of life. Ah! I shall often -think of my little mentor and the <i>d-u-s-t</i> she wrote -on my books, when I am miles and miles away; that -is if I go," he adds hastily, anticipating any incredulous -remark which Molly may be about to make. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course you will go away, if it depends on your -passing your exam," says the girl quietly, as they go -slowly back together by the laurel hedge, she pulling -off a dead leaf here and there. "I always said that, if -you remember; I mean that it rested with yourself, as -it were. You see, too, what your 'coach' told you." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hang the 'coach!'" exclaims Hugh disrespectfully. -"I care a hundred times more for your opinion -than for old Dobson's; though he's not a bad sort of -fellow, and a perfect rattler at cramming." -</p> - -<p> -"Of course," says Molly demurely, "I know my -opinion is of exceeding great value; but, you see, I -haven't been in the habit of <i>cramming</i> a lot of young -men for a good many years past, and therefore his -experience may possibly be wider than mine. Now, -come in, and talk to mother and aunt; your train will -be going before long." -</p> - -<p> -"Stop a minute," cries Hugh, catching her hand and -detaining her before she opens the door; "will you -write to me if I <i>do</i> go away, Molly?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes," she replies graciously; "I'll write. And, -look here, Hugh, if you should go <i>very</i> far away, say -to China, or New Zealand, or—or—Kamtchatka—I'll -work you a pair of slippers—there!" And with a -grave, emphatic nod, she pushes open the door and -runs into the house. -</p> - -<p> -In the meantime Lady Woodhouse has been hearing -all the news from Doris and Honor, the former of whom -is seated on a footstool at her aunt's feet, her chin -resting in her hands, and with a generally doleful sort -of air about her. -</p> - -<p> -"No, it's no use, aunt," she is saying. "I hate -domesticating, and that's all about it. I've tried my -hand at everything pretty nearly, and I think each -has failed in an equally successful manner. A -beef-steak pudding is a thing to be spoken of with bated -breath in this house, ever since I made one, not long -after we settled here. I believe the whole family -suffered from violent indigestion for a week and more; -and now if it is proposed to have a pudding for dinner, -someone—generally Dick or Molly—inquires in a most -pointed manner, 'Who's going to make it?' I tried a -treacle pudding one day, when they had well recovered -from the other; but I was so flurried with thinking -how in the world I should prevent the treacle from -running out at the ends that I forgot the lard altogether; -so no one suffered from the richness of the paste that -day, because it was simply flour and water. It doesn't -seem to matter <i>what</i> it is," poor Doris goes on after a -pause; "I even failed in boiling some potatoes the other -day, for the water all boiled away (I suppose I didn't -put enough), and I found the potatoes all stuck to -the bottom of the pot, and burnt horribly! And it's -just the same in other things. If I feed the chickens -in the evening one of them is sure to be found either -dead or dying the next morning. The very milk goes -sour if <i>I</i> by chance put it away!" -</p> - -<p> -"Hum—that's because you don't put it in the right -place, I suspect," remarks Aunt Sophia grimly. -</p> - -<p> -"Very likely; but that doesn't alter the fact that it -<i>does</i> go sour, and that everything I have to do with is -bound to go wrong in some way or other. Now, aunt, -<i>do</i> take off your bonnet!" -</p> - -<p> -"I tell you I'm not going to, child," says Lady -Woodhouse, holding on to it with both hands. "You know -very well that until my trunk is unpacked I cannot -get a cap, and sit bareheaded I will not. But if you -are so very anxious upon the subject you can take my -keys and go and find one." -</p> - -<p> -Molly, who has just entered, volunteers to do this, -and after this little interruption Lady Woodhouse -says abruptly: -</p> - -<p> -"Well then, Miss Doris, I take it that you are not -of very much use in this establishment, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, I am afraid not," answers Doris, looking rather -crestfallen. "The only thing I can do decently is -needlework, and I <i>am</i> of use in that sometimes. Am I -not, Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"You are lots of use in all sorts of ways, Doris; -only you allow yourself to be so easily discouraged. -But she does do plain needlework beautifully, aunt; -and, oh, there has been <i>such</i> a lot of mending and -darning to do in the house linen since we came here. -We only brought what was very old. The best was -all included in the sale." -</p> - -<p> -"I don't believe it need have been," grumbles Doris -in an undertone; "but you know, aunt, Honor became -quite <i>aggressively</i> conscientious by the time we were -actually leaving. I declare I wonder she allowed us to -keep our own hair!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Doris!</i>" exclaims Honor, in the midst of a general -laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"Very well, then," resumes Aunt Sophia, quite regardless -of the interruption, "you would not, I suppose, -be missed from home so much as one of the others. -Now, how do you think you would like to go abroad -with your uncle and me for a time? Mind you," she -adds quickly, "it would not be a <i>short</i> time probably; -our travels might possibly extend over a year, or even -more. Now, the question is, can your mother and -sisters and these boys spare you—and can you spare -them?" -</p> - -<p> -Doris gasps. Poor girl! to travel is always what -she has so greatly longed to do. And her father had -promised her that "he would think about it one fine -day." And now to have the chance after all, when -she had fancied it had gone for ever! No wonder -Doris gasps with delight as she looks eagerly round to -read in the others' faces their ideas on the subject. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know yet when we shall be going," -continues Lady Woodhouse, without waiting for anyone -to speak. "Your uncle has some law business on hand, -and he can't leave till that is settled; and goodness -knows when that will be. However, you'll want a -little time to get ready, won't you? And I think you -might decrease your mourning now, Honor, or certainly -in another month. People don't now wear the heavy -crępe that they used, even for a parent. Oh, my cap? -Thank you, Molly." -</p> - -<p> -"I hope it is the right one, aunt," says the girl as -she stands waiting for the bonnet. -</p> - -<p> -"It can't very well be the wrong one, child, since I -only brought one with me. Did you think I would -bring a dozen for a visit of two days?" -</p> - -<p> -So at length, after a good deal of argument for and -against, it is settled that Doris is to hold herself in -readiness to accompany her uncle and aunt whenever -they feel disposed to summon her. -</p> - -<p> -Honor does not disguise the fact that she will miss -her sister not a little. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course it is all nonsense Doris saying she is of -no use," she remarks, stroking Vic's soft drooping ears. -"She has for one thing taken Daisy and Bobby regularly -to their lessons lately, and even Dick has joined -them sometimes, but somehow he and Doris don't pull -very well together on the subject of study, and I'm -afraid just lately it has been dropped altogether. Of -course, when Doris goes this will fall to me or Molly, -but Molly would be as sorry as I should to let poor -Doris miss such an opportunity; and for aunt's sake -too we shall be glad for her to go. It is the least we -can do after all her goodness to us." -</p> - -<p> -"Tut, child," says Lady Woodhouse, "that is nothing; -you are all good girls, and I am glad to do anything -I <i>can</i> for you. But it seems to me that Doris is -the best, taking her altogether, to come with us to see -something of the world; and then, of course, she is the -eldest." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes!" cries Doris, jumping up and clapping her -hands; "and, who knows, I may marry a duke yet!" -</p> - -<p> -"Marry a fiddlestick!" snaps Lady Woodhouse; and -there the subject drops for the present. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap20"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XX. -<br /><br /> -BECKY. -</h3> - -<p> -Just as Lady Woodhouse is about to take her -departure two days later, the new domestic, Becky -Phips, arrives, accompanied by her "gra'm'ther," who -assists in carrying her small box and a mysterious -brown paper bag on which much care is lavished by -Becky, and which afterwards turns out to contain -nothing more nor less than that young person's "best -'at." -</p> - -<p> -Aunt Sophia, who is standing on the steps peering -up and down the road in search of the fly, now due, -which is to convey her to the station, catches sight of -the girl as she goes round to the back entrance, and -raising her hands and eyes at the same time turns to -Honor, exclaiming— -</p> - -<p> -"Good gracious, child! Where did you pick up such -an eccentric-looking piece of goods as that? Did -anyone ever see such a remarkable head! My dear -Honor, mark my words: that girl will either turn out -extraordinarily clever or surprisingly stupid. She -could be nothing between the two with a head like -that, you know. Let me know, child, which she -proves to be. I shall quite look forward to hearing -whether she is an unsurpassable treasure, or whether -she drives you all to despair and madness by her -outrageous stupidity. Ah, here's the fly! That's right. -Now, Honor, don't forget. All right, driver." And -away goes Aunt Sophia, nodding her head out of -the window until a bend in the road hides the fly -from view, and the girls go indoors again to interview -Becky. Certainly she is a remarkable-looking young -person; and many a grave discussion is held as to -the phrenological meaning of the enormous bumps on -either side of her head. To Becky herself they chiefly -mean that not all the bonnet-pins and hair-pins in the -world will keep her cap straight; if it is not leaning -over too much on one side, it is sure to be on the other. -This imparts a rakish sort of air to the girl, which is -trying in the extreme to Mrs. Merivale. -</p> - -<p> -At last Dick settles the matter off-hand one day, by -announcing once for all that they are the bumps of -hunger—the girl proving to have an insatiable appetite, -and the consumption of bread, potatoes, and anything -in the nature of pudding being truly astonishing—not -to say alarming—since her arrival at the Rookery. -It does not take Honor long to make up her mind as -to what will be the report to her aunt regarding the -girl's possible cleverness or stupidity, for she presently -developes such an apparently inexhaustible fund of the -latter commodity as often to reduce the entire family -to the verge of frenzy. There are only two things -which Becky appears capable of doing with any regularity -or determination, and these are "swilling" the -back-yard and letting the kitchen fire go out. Thus -little scenes are constantly taking place as follows: -Mrs. Merivale expresses a wish to have a cup of tea -somewhat earlier than usual. Honor goes into the -kitchen. Kettle ostentatiously placed over what was -once a fire, but is now a depressing collection of black -cold cinders. -</p> - -<p> -Honor—"I thought I told you, Becky, <i>always</i> to -have the kettle boiling by three o'clock. Just look at -it." -</p> - -<p> -Becky (with cap awry)—"Ain't it boiling, miss? -Why, I put it on nigh two hours ago. I'm <i>sure</i> I did!" -</p> - -<p> -Honor (desperately)—"What is the use, Becky, of -putting the kettle over a fire that has gone out. Oh, -dear! oh, dear! I don't believe I shall ever be able to -teach you anything; I really don't!" -</p> - -<p> -Becky (resignedly)—"No, miss." -</p> - -<p> -Then perhaps Doris, in an unusually domestic frame -of mind, will come rushing into the sitting-room one -morning, her arms full of the little light muslin -draperies with which, at small cost, she and her sisters -have so smartened up the scantily furnished bedrooms. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, girls," she cries, "anything in this line that -you want washed? Mother has actually trusted me -with her lawn collars and cuffs. She remarked (in a -not very complimentary manner, I think), 'that at -least I could hardly do them <i>worse</i> than old -Mrs. What's-her-name does them.' Yes, do you know, -I really think I <i>shall</i> develop a talent for washing -and ironing—so long as it is something light and -pretty—laces or muslins, or something. I feel that it is <i>in</i> -me somehow. Now, don't laugh! I'm going to <i>dare</i> -Becky to let the fire out, on pain of death or instant -dismissal." -</p> - -<p> -All goes well and merrily for some time. The -fire burns brightly, the kettle sings, the boiler hisses; -and Doris, also singing, and attired in a big coarse -white apron, stands over a small tub, her pretty arms -plunged up to the elbows in soap-suds. -</p> - -<p> -In the afternoon, however, loud and wrathful -lamentations rend the air when Doris, having enjoyed -a well-merited lounge in the only comfortable chair in -the sitting-room, goes into the kitchen to commence -her ironing, and finds—a plentiful supply of irons -indeed, but carefully arranged before a fire which has -been out a good hour or more! Doris does not take -these little <i>contre-temps</i> so quietly as Honor, so there -ensues a stormy torrent of scolding on her side, and -mild protestations and feeble efforts at self-justification -on Becky's, until the latter finally retires in floods of -tears into the scullery, and Doris, being remonstrated -with by Honor, rushes up to their bed-room in a fit of -the sulks and locks herself in. -</p> - -<p> -On the first Sunday that comes round, however, the -whole family is electrified by an unexpected talent, -not to say genius, for boot-cleaning, which Becky -suddenly proves herself to possess. -</p> - -<p> -It has been noticed that from the neighbourhood of -the wood-cellar where she keeps all the paraphernalia -of brushes and blacking, sounds of one of Moody -and Sankey's hymns have been issuing, pitched in an -unusually high key, and when, a little later, Becky -places all the boots in a row at the foot of the stairs, -saying with pride, "There, miss; I think I've made -them look proper!" the girls feel that the joyful -sounds are accounted for. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, as Honor, Molly, Dick, Daisy, and Bobby are -all seated afterwards in the little village church, on -a conspicuous bench without any front, and right under -the reading-desk, the eyes of the eldest girl travel -proudly down the row of neat-looking boots and -shoes, till they reach Bobby's little high-lows, when -her pride receives a sudden shock, for right across the -left one she notices for the first time an ugly-looking -crack, which will of a surety develop into a split in -a day or two. It is to be feared that poor Honor's -attention wanders from the sermon more than once -that morning, her mind being harassed and distracted -with the constantly recurring thought, that unless -Bobby is to go almost barefoot he will certainly have -to be re-shod before that week is out. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap21"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXI. -<br /><br /> -A DISASTROUS VISIT TO A FROG POND. -</h3> - -<p> -But before that day is out Honor finds that there -are likely to be more troubles before her than the -want of new boots. For Daisy, who has been trusted -to the care of Dick and Bobby for a long walk in the -fields, comes home with flushed little cheeks, cold feet -and hot hands, and while declining in her quiet, -determined way to touch a morsel of anything to eat, begs, -almost with tears in her eyes, for cup after cup of tea. -</p> - -<p> -"The child looks really ill," says Mrs. Merivale -anxiously. "I can't think what can have made her -feverish so suddenly." -</p> - -<p> -"What have you been doing with her?" demands -Molly of her two brothers as she cuts bread with an -energy almost terrible to behold. -</p> - -<p> -Bobby mutters something unintelligible about -"frogs," his mouth being full of bread-and-butter at -the moment. But at length, after a cross-examination -of both boys, it turns out that Daisy, who is a lover of -anything in the way of an animal from caterpillars -upwards, has been standing for a good half hour and -more on the wet, marshy banks of a large pond, -admiring the frogs with which it abounds. -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose the time passed quicker than we thought," -Says Dick apologetically. "It was such fun, you -know; for some of them came quite close to us. I had -a job to keep Daisy from going right into the shallow -water after one old fellow, who was sitting up on -a kind of plank." -</p> - -<p> -"He was washing his face," explains Daisy in a -husky little voice. -</p> - -<p> -"He wasn't," says Bobby; "he was scratching his -ear!" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't believe they've got any ears to scratch," -remarks Dick placidly. "You'd better pile it on, -young Bob, and say he was wiping his eyes with a -fine cambric handkerchief." -</p> - -<p> -"You should have been more careful, Dick," puts in -Mrs. Merivale. "You know how susceptible Daisy is -to cold; and I'm sure we thought you might be trusted -with her." -</p> - -<p> -The poor boy looks terribly taken down at this mild -reproof, for his devotion to his little sister is great, -and there is nothing he would not do for her sake. -He almost gulps, therefore, as he explains further that -he had tried in vain to make the child leave the spot -when once he had remembered how imprudent it was -for her to be standing there in the damp. -</p> - -<p> -At this point there is an unexpected diversion, -caused by Daisy demanding to be put to bed—a most -unprecedented request, it being, as a rule, her one -aim and object to keep <i>out</i> of bed as long as possible. -</p> - -<p> -She is taken off, therefore, by Doris and Honor, -having first kissed Dick, and stroked his cheek with -her feverish little hand, saying: -</p> - -<p> -"It wasn't Dick's fault, you know. I wouldn't -come away from the frogs when he wanted me to; so -you mustn't scold him, mother, dear." -</p> - -<p> -As the evening wears on the child seems to grow so -much worse that Honor consults her mother as to the -advisability of sending for the doctor; and in a short -time Dick is despatched with a little note begging him -to look in as soon as possible. He soon returns, with -the information that the doctor is expected in soon, -and that the note would be given to him at once. -The boy has hardly hung up his cap in the hall -when a firm, brisk step is heard on the gravel path -outside, and in another minute (the front door being -open) Honor, who is crossing the hall, finds herself -shaking hands with the young doctor in as friendly -a manner as if she had known him all her life. -</p> - -<p> -"I was out at rather an important case," he says, -making for the staircase as a matter of course, "when -your brother left the note; but I believe I caught -sight of him just as he was leaving my place. I was -only half-way up that dreadful hill, and not near -enough to call to him, or I might have ridden on at -once. My horse was tired though, and when I found -there was no immediate hurry I thought I had better -walk up and see the little patient. Is she in bed, -Miss Merivale?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes," Honor replies, leading the way upstairs; -"and as soon as we got her into bed she became very -feverish. And she is dreadfully restless, poor child. -I hope," stopping abruptly on the landing and facing -the doctor, "I do hope, Dr. Sinclair, there is no scarlet -fever about here. She is so dreadfully flushed, and -so thirsty that Doris—Doris is my eldest sister—and -I have been getting quite nervous." -</p> - -<p> -"Do not alarm yourself on that score," says the -doctor reassuringly. "I can honestly tell you that -there has not been a case of scarlet fever in this -healthy village for years. No; your little sister has -always looked to me a delicate child, and to tell you -the truth I have noticed lately that she has certainly -become more fragile than she seemed to be when you -first came here. We doctors notice these things where -others would not, perhaps. Now for my little patient," -and he walks into the room, closely followed by Honor, -never noticing the painful flush which his words have -called to the poor girl's face. -</p> - -<p> -"She has certainly become more fragile since you -came here!" -</p> - -<p> -Yes; these words fall on Honor's heart like lead, and -cause it to feel as heavy; for has it not been her -constant and painful reflection that ever since they left -the old life poor little delicate Daisy, with the -exception of White-star's milk, has had very little of the -nourishing, strengthening food to which she has been -accustomed ever since her birth. -</p> - -<p> -After a brief introduction to Doris, Dr. Sinclair -makes a grave and careful inspection of little Daisy. -Presently, with his cool firm hand resting on the child's -forehead, he turns to the girls, and speaking in a -slightly lowered voice he says: -</p> - -<p> -"There is no danger of its being infectious fever of -any kind. She is suffering from a severe form of low -fever; a thing that with so delicate a child is even -more difficult to treat sometimes. Her constitution -has completely run down, and she has no strength to -speak of at all. Has she had no appetite? What have -you been giving her to eat?" -</p> - -<p> -Honor flushes again painfully as she answers in a -low voice: -</p> - -<p> -"She has had a good deal of milk lately, Dr. Sinclair; -and sometimes a little fowl—and—eggs, of course. -And Daisy is fond of milk-puddings; and—and in fact -she has a great many puddings of all kinds—" and here -the poor girl breaks off suddenly, feeling in her heart -that it is not a very extensive list of dainties she has -enumerated. -</p> - -<p> -"But meat," says the doctor, turning smilingly -towards Honor; "what meat has she had? She wants -good steaks and chops and strong beef-tea, jellies and -a little good port, and that sort of thing. Hasn't she -cared for meat lately?" -</p> - -<p> -The tears fill Honor's eyes and a lump rises in her -throat, but she swallows it down bravely; and turning -a little away from the keen eyes of the doctor, says -sadly: -</p> - -<p> -"My little sister used to have all these things in my -father's lifetime, doctor, but since he—since he died -we have not been so well off, and," with a pitiful little -smile, "we have not been able to afford all these -nourishing things which we know dear little Daisy -ought to have." -</p> - -<p> -Honor's face is almost as white now as it was flushed -before, for the effort to speak thus has been great. -She turns towards the window, but before she can -reach it the doctor is at her side with outstretched -hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Forgive me," he says simply; "I had forgotten all -your trouble. Please forgive my careless, and what -must have seemed to you, my heartless words." -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed," replies Honor gently, and accepting his -proffered hand, "there is no need of forgiveness. You -only spoke the truth, though it sounded a little cruel -at the moment; but it was my fault in being so silly -as to feel it," and she hastily wipes away two obstreperous -tears which have forced their way from beneath -her lowered eyelids. -</p> - -<p> -"It was my unfortunately straight way of speaking," -resumes the doctor moving towards the bed again; -"speaking right out what I think without considering -the consequences." -</p> - -<p> -"Unfortunate," repeats Honor, raising her eyebrows; -"I should call it a very good way of speaking. I think -it must be dreadful to lack the courage to say what -one really thinks." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes, of course," the doctor agrees; "but there -are always two ways of saying a thing, Miss Merivale; -and I assure you I often get myself into hot-water -with my bluntness of speech, especially with touchy -old gentlemen whose ideas as to their ailments, either -real or imaginary, do not always agree with mine. -Now then, I will tell your mother what to do for the -little patient if you will take me to her, and I will -send round a draught directly I get home." -</p> - -<p> -"Mother will be very pleased to see you, Dr. Sinclair, -but please give me all the necessary directions -about Daisy. Doris and I will have to nurse her, so -it will be better." -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly. But is your mother ill, then?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, not <i>ill</i> exactly," replies Honor truthfully; -"but she is very delicate and extremely nervous, and -we, my sisters and I, always save her all the trouble -and anxiety that we can. Indeed," she adds hastily, -seeing a slightly incredulous expression pass across the -young man's face, "she would not be strong enough to -do <i>anything</i> in the way of nursing." -</p> - -<p> -"Hum!" mutters the doctor grimly, and following -Honor walks down to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Merivale, -with smelling-bottle close at hand, is reclining -on the sofa. It does not take the clear-sighted doctor -long to sum up this lady's character. -</p> - -<p> -"Full of fads and fancies," he thinks to himself as -he stands, hat in hand, answering the questions she -puts to him concerning the state of her little daughter. -</p> - -<p> -So, preferring to make Honor responsible in all -matters connected with the sick-room, he takes his -departure as speedily as politeness will let him, saying -as he shakes hands with her that he will look round -early in the morning. By that time poor little Daisy is -considerably worse, the fever having increased greatly -during the night. Dr. Sinclair looks grave, and thinking -it better to be open with his "sensible little friend," -as he calls Honor to himself, tells her plainly that the -child will in all probability be seriously ill. -</p> - -<p> -"Do not alarm yourself unnecessarily as yet," he -says kindly to her and Molly, who with widely opened -eyes is scanning his face anxiously, "she is very young, -of course, and although her strength is at a very low -ebb she will very likely pull through it quite nicely. -It is wonderful what children do go through. So we -must all cheer up and hope for the best." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap22"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXII. -<br /><br /> -DAISY'S ILLNESS. -</h3> - -<p> -About an hour after the doctor has gone that -morning the garden gate is rather hastily opened, -and there is a ring at the door-bell. The Mr. Talboys, -in the last stage of anxiety, have arrived to inquire -about their little favourite. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, my dear Miss Honor," they both cry, each -seizing one of her hands, "is there <i>nothing</i> we can -do—either for the poor child or for yourselves, you know? -I am quite sure there must be something, if we can -only think of it. Calves-foot jelly now, for instance. -Mrs. Edwards makes most delicious calves-foot jelly. -She shall make some this very day—eh, Brother Ben? -Yes, we'll call at the butcher's on our way home and -see if they have any calves' feet, and if not, why, they -must kill a calf, that's all." -</p> - -<p> -Then the two old gentlemen explain that they had -met Dr. Sinclair in the village, and he had told them -about poor little Daisy—the first they had heard of it; -and so they had come right off to inquire without delay. -</p> - -<p> -"And now," says Mr. Benjamin, taking the initiative -for once, "you must remember your promise, Miss -Honor, my dear, to let my brother and myself know -at once if you can think of anything—no matter -what—that we can do for you. Now Priscilla, for instance. -Don't you think she would be a help if we sent her -over to you for a few hours every day? I don't mean -actually for the nursing, but to give assistance in a -general sort of way in the house, you know. She is a -good-natured, warm-hearted girl, is Priscilla, and I am -sure would be glad to turn her hand to anything—eh, -Brother Ned?" -</p> - -<p> -"Just so, just so," agrees Mr. Edward, planting his -stick firmly on the floor; "a very excellent idea, -Brother Ben; but of course it is to be exactly as Miss -Honor thinks herself. And now we must not waste -her time any more. You will give Daisy the flowers, -with our love, and—oh, yes, I remember—the boy -will be round by and by with a few little things that -we thought might be useful. Good-bye, good-bye!" -</p> - -<p> -And before Honor has a chance of saying a word of -thanks off the brothers trot together, waving their -hands smilingly to her as they look back from the -gate. -</p> - -<p> -It is a long, long time, however, before poor little -Daisy can touch any of the tempting and -strengthening things which the kind old gentlemen are constantly -sending up to the house, for she soon becomes so much -worse that a little of White-star's milk, with soda-water, -is almost all she lives upon for some time. It is, -indeed, an anxious fortnight for all while Daisy—the -pet and darling of the household—lies so weak and -helpless, and, in the intervals between the attacks of -fever, so patiently on her bed of sickness. Her little -frame is so wasted, and her weakness so great, that to -those watching around her it sometimes seems as if -each breath drawn might free the spirit from the little -frail body. -</p> - -<p> -Through all this period of sadness and trouble -Dr. Sinclair proves himself a most kind and untiring friend. -Indeed, before many days are over the good-hearted -young fellow is on perfectly familiar terms with the -whole family, and besides attending to his patient he -looks after each one individually, from Mrs. Merivale, -whom he gets gradually to like and pity, down to -young Bobby, whom he finds on his arrival one day -prostrated with a violent bilious attack, an almost -inevitable consequence of his having taken both dinner -and tea with the Mr. Talboys on the previous day. -At length there comes a day when the doctor looks -even graver than usual as he stands by the bed of his -little patient, who has become in those weary days of -watching almost as dear to him as a little sister might -have been. And his affection is warmly returned by -Daisy, who looks forward with feverish excitement to -his every visit, lying with her great blue eyes—now -seeming so much larger in the thin, pale, little -face—turning ever towards the door, and gleaming with -brightness the moment the step of her "dear old -doctor," as she calls him, is heard outside. Once in the -room his presence has a singularly soothing influence -upon the child; and more than once has the sleepless, -weary little body succumbed to the almost magnetic -touch of his large, cool hand, when, resting it firmly -but gently upon her forehead, he has stood and watched -the heavy eyelids droop and droop, until, if only for -a few minutes, his little patient sleeps. -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Sinclair says very little as he makes his -examination on this particular morning. But as Honor -follows him downstairs he turns into the empty -sitting-room, and taking up his hat and stick from the table -suddenly faces her. -</p> - -<p> -"Can you bear to hear the truth?" he asks abruptly. -</p> - -<p> -Honor feels her heart tighten at these ominous -words, but she meets the doctor's keen inquiring gaze -unflinchingly, and answers bravely: -</p> - -<p> -"I would far rather know the worst than be kept in -suspense." -</p> - -<p> -Then the young man gently and pityingly tells her -that the next four-and-twenty hours will decide -whether little Daisy will live or die, and that almost -everything will depend on the care and attention she -receives during that time. -</p> - -<p> -"Do not be afraid for me," she says a little brokenly. -"I am not one to give way, you know; and I am quite -strong, and perfectly able to sit up for many more -nights yet. When will you send the draught?" -</p> - -<p> -"I shall not send it at all," he answers briefly. "I -would far rather that this exhaustion should end, as I -still hope it may, in a healthy and natural sleep. But -sleep the child <i>must have</i> somehow; so I shall look in -about five, and, with your permission, Miss Honor, I -shall remain during the night to help watch my little -patient." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, how good of you!" exclaims the girl. "It will -be such a relief to feel that I am not responsible, as it -were; not that I am afraid—please, don't think that." -</p> - -<p> -Having thus arranged, the young man hurries off to -get in all the work he can before returning to the -Rookery. He has not got far on his road, however, -when suddenly turning a corner he runs straight -against the brothers Talboys, who are hurrying from -the opposite direction. Before the doctor can open his -mouth to speak, one has seized the lapel of his coat -and the other his arm, and simultaneously they pant -out the same question: -</p> - -<p> -"How is she? How have you left her? My dear -Dr. John, we have been so anxious, and we have been -watching for you this hour or more; we felt we couldn't -trouble the family by calling to inquire this morning." And -Mr. Ned, who, it is needless to say, has quickly -out-distanced his brother in speaking, shakes the -doctor's arm roughly in his anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -"I left the poor child in a very critical state, sir," he -replies, trying to conceal his impatience at being -detained thus unexpectedly; "but I am returning there -at the end of the afternoon, and should there be any -change, either for better or worse, I will try and send -you up a message." -</p> - -<p> -"Not for the worse, Dr. John?" repeats Mr. Ben, -while both the kind old faces express much emotion. -"You don't look for a change for the worse, do you?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, my dear sirs; God forbid that I should -look for it. But as yet I cannot tell, though to-night -must decide the case one way or the other. We will -pull her through yet, Mr. Talboys, if it be God's will; -and if not—" -</p> - -<p> -A lump rises in the young man's throat which prevents -his finishing his sentence, and shaking off Mr. Ben's -detaining hand as gently as he can, he tries to -make his escape. But Mr. Ned hurries after him, and -once more seizing his hand cries, with tears in his -eyes: -</p> - -<p> -"Save her, Dr. John! only save the child, and my -Brother Ben and I shall owe you a debt of gratitude -that we can never sufficiently repay." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap23"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXIII. -<br /><br /> -DICK'S GOOD NEWS. -</h3> - -<p> -The message which Dr. Sinclair promised the -Mr. Talboys is despatched about ten o'clock the same -night by his own errand-boy, whom he has brought -with him to the Rookery and installed in the kitchen, -in case of his wanting anything from his surgery -during the night, as also to make himself useful in any -way that he can in the house, all Becky's energies -being concentrated on keeping the kitchen fire in. -</p> - -<p> -The message is one that brings tears of joy and -thankfulness to the eyes of the soft-hearted old gentlemen, -for it tells them that their little favourite sank -into a deep sleep about seven, and that if it continues, -as Dr. Sinclair hopes and thinks it will, all danger will -be at an end. -</p> - -<p> -The old gentlemen retire to their beds, therefore, in a -happier frame of mind than that in which they had -left them the same morning. A long, anxious night of -watching follows, through most of which Dr. Sinclair -sits patiently, his large hand clasped tightly by Daisy's -little thin one, until he becomes too cramped almost to -move, though not all the agony in the world would -have induced him to do so at the risk of rousing his -little patient. -</p> - -<p> -But presently, with the dawn, comes the knowledge -that the little girl will live, for she still sleeps soundly. -It is only then that Honor (on the doctor quietly -persisting in her doing so) consents to give up her -place to Molly, and with a thankful heart she goes to -take the rest which, now that the suspense is over, she -is obliged to confess that she sadly needs. As the doctor -returns to his own house that same morning, he looks -in at the Rosery, and delights the two old gentlemen -with the good news he has to tell them. Not very -long afterwards the brothers walk up to the Rookery -together, but declining to stir an inch beyond the -doorstep, make their inquiries of Doris—who comes out to -see them—in a hushed, low voice, and having intrusted -her with the lovely posy of spring flowers which they -have brought for Daisy, go softly down the steps and -gravel-walk on tiptoe, that no sound may reach the -room above, where lies the little sufferer. -</p> - -<p> -Daisy, now having taken a turn for the better, makes -rapid progress for a little while; but once having left -her bed, an intense weakness and lassitude set in which -take the united strength of the whole family to battle -against. For Daisy will not eat, unless someone stands -over her and compels her to do so. She becomes -fretful too; and being too young herself to see the -necessity of trying to take the strengthening food that is -brought to her at intervals, she gets quite cross, telling -them all plainly that it is very unkind to tease her so, -and that if she likes to give the greater part of her -dainty food to Timothy (who is always in close attendance -at meal-times), she doesn't see why she shouldn't. -So Mrs. Merivale implores, the girls coax and persuade, -and the doctor scolds a little sometimes, till finding he -must exert his authority, he proceeds to do so in a -manner which astonishes no one so much as the little -lady herself. -</p> - -<p> -The effort once made, Daisy's appetite improves little -by little, until at length she gives very practical -illustration of that sensible French proverb, "<i>L'appetit -vient en mangeant</i>." -</p> - -<p> -Every one (with the exception of Timothy, perhaps) -is delighted with this improvement, and it is now that -Honor has reason to be so grateful to the Mr. Talboys; -for when once the little invalid is sufficiently convalescent -to take such things, jellies, both sweet and savoury, -strong soups, good old port (a hint as to which, -perhaps, Dr. Sinclair is answerable for), and, indeed, all -the nourishing things that can be thought of, are -showered down upon the household for little Daisy's -benefit. -</p> - -<p> -It is a subject for deep thankfulness to Mrs. Merivale -and her elder daughters that, in their days of -adversity, they should have been thrown amongst such -generous, warm-hearted friends; for although no one -actually puts the thought into words, they all know -full well in their secret hearts that were it not for the -generosity of their two kind old landlords, little Daisy -would never have thrown off the terrible weakness -which assailed her when the actual illness was a thing -of the past. -</p> - -<p> -The day of the Messrs. Talboys' first visit to their -little favourite was an occasion to be remembered by -all; so overcome with emotion were they at first, and -then so almost boyishly delighted when they found -that Daisy could manage to chat with them a little. -Both the old gentlemen's handkerchiefs did active -duty for a few minutes at first, but they soon recovered -their spirits in presenting the child with the little gifts, -with which, as a matter of course, they had come -laden. -</p> - -<p> -The time allowed for the first visit soon slips away, -however; but it is arranged that directly Daisy is well -enough to sit up for any length of time, the Mr. Talboys -shall come to tea with her one day. They -take their departure quite satisfied therefore, looking -back and nodding and smiling so many times that -Mr. Ned, who is gradually backing towards the stairs, -is only saved from shooting headlong down by Doris, -who, appearing on the scene just at the critical moment, -grasps his arms and restores his balance before he knows -where he is. -</p> - -<p> -From this time the days go on monotonously enough. -The doctor comes and goes, though not every day now, of -course; and the two old gentlemen trot backwards and -forwards, always bringing something for the little -invalid, until her mother and sisters have to tell them -that they are fast doing their best to spoil their pet. -</p> - -<p> -Household matters also go on very much as before; -and now that the greater trouble is lifted off their -shoulders, the same little everyday annoyances and -vexations begin to harass and worry the girls again. -Clothes wear out, especially boots and shoes. Then -Becky one day, with her cap more awry even than -usual in the excitement of the moment, suddenly -announces the startling and pleasing intelligence that -"There ain't no more coals in the cellar than what'll -light the kitchen fire to-morrow morning!" -</p> - -<p> -Honor, too, begins to worry terribly about the entire -cessation of Dick's studies. Daisy (before her illness) -and Bobby, she and the other girls could very well -manage between them, but Dick they feel to be altogether -beyond them; and many an hour is spent by Honor -at night, tossing and turning, and wondering what can -be done for the boy. -</p> - -<p> -One Saturday, when Daisy is promoted to the sofa -in the sitting-room, and, domestic work being over for -the day, the others are all seated delightedly round -her with work, books, &c., Dick suddenly bursts into -their midst, wildly waving his cap in the air. -</p> - -<p> -"Hooray! hoo-ray!" he shouts. "You'll never guess -what news I've brought you, not if you guess for a -hundred years! No more bothering and thinking for -you, Miss Honor, as to how you can contrive to get -your reprobate brother a decent education! Hooray!" -and up goes his cap to the ceiling, greatly to the peril -of the gas globes. -</p> - -<p> -When the boy can be persuaded to calm down and -talk like a reasonable being, the good news is -gradually extracted from him, and proves to be as -follows:— -</p> - -<p> -The night before being Friday, and therefore practice-night -at St. Luke's, Dick had been prowling round -the church as usual, in the hope of having a musical -treat from the organ, which in the hands of a -promising young musician (a native of the village), pealed -forth harmonies which flew straight to Dick's -music-loving soul. As he entered the half-lighted church, -and made for a secluded corner where he was in the -habit of enjoying the choir-practice unseen, he suddenly -ran full tilt against the vicar, who was emerging from -the vestry. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, my lad!" exclaimed Mr. Bolton, with a little -gasp at the collision; "have you come to listen to our -practice? Perhaps you sing yourself, do you?" -</p> - -<p> -"A little, sir," answered Dick shyly, as they moved -more towards the light together; "but I am <i>very</i> fond -of it," he added with enthusiasm. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, now I see you better," exclaimed the vicar -suddenly, "I am sure I know your face! Don't you -come with your sisters to church every Sunday and sit -just about there?" pointing with his stick. "Ah, I -thought so; and I have noticed how very much you -seem to enjoy the music, and that you have a fine -clear voice of your own." -</p> - -<p> -And then it ended in Mr. Bolton asking him how he -would like to join the choir; and afterwards, greatly -to his delight, he was actually given a stall in the -chancel and allowed to follow the choir as best he -could, one of the boys good-naturedly sharing his -music-books with him. All through the practice -Mr. Bolton kept a sharp look-out on Dick, noting with -what evident enjoyment the boy joined in anything -that he was familiar with, while listening with rapt -attention to all that he was not. -</p> - -<p> -After it was all over he came up to the boy, who -(the choir having dispersed) was standing aloof, -wondering whether he ought to thank the vicar for his -kindness, and placing his hand on his shoulder kindly -said, "I have asked Mr. St. John to stay behind after -the others have gone, I want him to try your voice;" -and motioning to the boy to wait, he disappeared into -the vestry. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. St. John, the organist, expressed himself -delighted with Dick's voice, and when at last after a -little kind encouragement and pressing on the part of -the young man he sang with genuine feeling and taste -Handel's thrilling recitative, "There were shepherds -abiding in the field," the delight of both gentlemen -knew no bounds. -</p> - -<p> -After questioning the boy a little Mr. Bolton closed -the interview by telling him to come and see him on -the afternoon of the next day. -</p> - -<p> -"And now comes the cream of the whole thing!" cries -Dick excitedly, after having given the foregoing -information in a series of short, spasmodic sentences. -</p> - -<p> -"After I had told Mr. Bolton that I most distinctly -<i>should</i> like to join the choir, he asked me all the -questions imaginable about my education, and, oh, -ever so many things that I can't remember now. -But to continue (as the books say), I let out that -you were all worrying about my schooling having to -stop, and directly I said that he quite brightened up, -and told me that if I liked he thought he could be of -service to me about that. It seems, you see, that he -generally gives his chief choir-boys about four pounds -a year; but that would not be of very much use to me, -he said (I thought to myself it just <i>would</i>, though). -And so he proposed that in return for my services—my -<i>services</i>, mind—he would carry on my education -with his own boy and the two pupils he has living at -the vicarage. 'The more the merrier, my boy,' he said; -'and Mr. Holmes and I can as well tackle <i>four</i> as three -youngsters like you.' Mr. St. John is to train my voice, -of course; and now, which of you girls can make a -surplice? And, oh yes, I forgot, Mr. Bolton is coming -to see you about it all to-morrow, mother. There -now! don't you think I have done a good day's work? <i>I</i> -do!" And up goes the cap to the ceiling once more. -"Ah! you little thought," he goes on, suddenly calming -down—"you little thought what I meant some time -ago when I said I had a plan in my head about -something; but, honestly, you know, I didn't expect it -would turn out in this stunning fashion. What I -intended doing was to offer myself for the choir, you -see, because I guessed they paid something, though I -didn't know what. And that is the reason I have been -going to the practices so much lately, trying every -time to screw up my courage to speak to Mr. Bolton. -But now, I suppose, you girls and mother will all think -the education plan the best, though I must say I think -it rather hard on a fellow. But still," he adds -magnanimously, "if it takes a load off all your shoulders, -of course I shall be very glad." -</p> - -<p> -It need hardly be said with what delight Dick's -news is received by every one, and as she lays her -head upon her pillow that night, Honor thinks of her -brother's words, and feels that a "load" is indeed lifted -off her heavily burdened shoulders. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap24"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXIV. -<br /><br /> -DORIS'S "KNIGHT OF THE WOODS." -</h3> - -<p> -It is a lovely, warm day at the beginning of June, -and Doris, having made the beds in conjunction -with Molly, and afterwards drifted round the rooms -with a duster in a desultory sort of fashion which, -had she seen her, would have driven energetic Honor -well-nigh crazy, presents herself in the kitchen where -her sister is engaged in certain culinary matters. -</p> - -<p> -"That soup smells good!" she remarks, as Honor, -pepper-caster in hand, gives a final stir round the -saucepan over which she is bending, and turns to -confront her sister. -</p> - -<p> -"There is not much in it besides the pea-flour, and -a flavouring of carrots and onions—oh, and the bacon -bone, which has been stewing ever since the early -morning. But it's cheap," Honor winds up with a -sigh; "and really Dick's and Bobby's appetites seem -to grow larger every day, to say nothing of Becky's!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I came to tell you that I can not stay indoors -any longer on such a lovely morning as this. I know -it's no use asking you to come too, because you would -be certain to find some very good reason against it. -So, as Molly is going to the vicarage to give Dolly -Bolton her lesson, I shall just take my book and go -and sit in Lord What's-his-name's woods for a time." -</p> - -<p> -"He is not a lord, I tell you," says Honor rather -testily, "any more than you or I. He is only a -baronet.—Sir Something Somebody, I forget what now. It -was only the other day that Mr. Edward Talboys was -pointing out the house (The Court, I think he called it) -to me, and he said that the owner was nearly always -abroad, and that it had been shut up for years in -consequence." -</p> - -<p> -"All the better for us," remarks Doris. "Well, I'm -off. Good-bye, Honor; if I find any flowers worth -having, I'll bring you some." -</p> - -<p> -Walking briskly along, Vic bounding forward in -advance, elated at the idea of a prolonged hunt, Doris -and she soon come to the woods, and climbing over a -little stile, strike off down a path to the right which -they both seem to be familiar with. Following this -for some distance, Doris turns suddenly to the left, -and in another instant is in the most lovely little glade -imaginable. The girls have named it their "parlour," -for it is carpeted with a rich emerald turf, which is -dotted over at intervals with numberless wild flowers -of the woods. Several trees have been felled at this -spot, and the moss-covered stumps afford capital -resting-places, especially one stump, which has two -straggling sort of boughs behind it, thus forming quite -an inviting arm-chair. -</p> - -<p> -Opposite this is a curiously-shaped tree, which when -once climbed into makes a luxurious lounge for anyone -who is lazily inclined. -</p> - -<p> -There being no one to embarrass Doris on this -particular occasion by watching her ascent into the tree, -she is established there in a very few seconds, and -ordering Vic (greatly to the animal's surprise and -indignation) to "lie down," she opens her book and leans -back comfortably in her leafy couch. The minutes fly -quickly, and the book being an interesting one, Doris -hardly raises her eyes from it until a whole hour has -sped away. Not till then does she become aware that -Vic has entirely disappeared from view, and is not to -be heard any more than seen. Doris sits up and looks -round, with no satisfactory result, however; and she -is just screwing up her mouth to whistle, when she -is startled by a shrill cry away in the distance, -followed by a shout in a man's voice of "Drop it, drop it, -you brute!" -</p> - -<p> -Then in another moment Vic, with a young rabbit -in her strong jaws, bursts through the thicket to the -right, runs across the glade, and is at once out of sight -again. She is closely followed by a tall, broad-shouldered -young fellow, who, while making one last abortive attempt -to rescue the unfortunate rabbit from its captor, -catches his foot in a straggling briar and measures his -length on the soft turf, almost at Doris's feet. -</p> - -<p> -"Now or never!" thinks the girl to herself, preparing -to descend—for with an exclamation which would -doubtless have been suppressed had he guessed his -close proximity to a lady, the young man commences -to pick up first himself and then his hat. -</p> - -<p> -With a desperate jump Doris alights safely on the -stump below; but, as with a little less caution she -prepares to leave that also, an unkind branch above -hitches itself into one of the bows of her hat and -whisks the whole erection off her head, so that when -the young man suddenly turns round he finds himself -confronted by a hatless young lady, who has apparently -sprung from nowhere! They both look up at the hat, -then they look at each other, and burst into a merry -laugh. -</p> - -<p> -Lifting his hat, which he has just replaced on his -head, the young fellow says, "Really I must -apologize for my very abrupt appearance. I had not the -least idea that anyone was here. I hope I did not -startle you very much. May I be permitted to inquire -if you have dropped from the clouds?" -</p> - -<p> -Doris indicates with a wave of her hand the place -from which she has descended, and without paying -attention to the words addressed to her says, "O, I -wish you had been a little quicker! Do you think the -poor thing was dead?" -</p> - -<p> -His manner changes the moment he sees the genuine -anxiety in the young face looking up at him, and he -answers gently, "O, yes, I think so, certainly; and even -if not then, I am very sure it must be dead now. I wish -too that I could have been quicker, though for my -own personal comfort I was rather disastrously so. -I am afraid it is no use going after them now. It is a -game little dog: does it belong to you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, the wretched little creature! Who would have -thought of her going off hunting like that? I told her -to lie down too." -</p> - -<p> -An amused twinkle comes into the young man's eyes. -"You could hardly expect her to do that, I think," he says, -"especially in a place like this. It would not be in dog's -nature to do it, you know. Have you been here long?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, yes, I suppose I have," says Doris, glancing -furtively at her hat, which is wholly out of her reach. -"My book was interesting, and I forgot all about time -and Vic too. I suppose it <i>was</i> hardly reasonable to -expect her to keep quiet all that time." -</p> - -<p> -"I think so," says her companion with a smile. -"Let me put in a word for her and intreat your pardon -on her behalf. But dear me, how thoughtlessly I am -behaving! allowing you to stand bareheaded in the -sun and never making an attempt to recover your hat -for you." -</p> - -<p> -"It <i>is</i> rather hot," remarks Doris somewhat reproachfully. -"The sun penetrates even this shady nook after -a time;" and then she watches with keen interest the -jumps and snatches which are being made at the -refractory hat. "We call this our 'parlour,'" the girl -goes on. "Isn't it pretty here? But I really think -you had better get up on one of those stumps. I don't -think you will ever get it down with your stick." -</p> - -<p> -This advice being followed, the hat is captured in -due course of time and handed to its owner. Then -jumping down he says, "O, your 'parlour' you call -it? Well, I am sure it is a very lovely one. How -beautiful those shadows are! Do you know these woods -well? do you often come here?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, pretty often," replies the girl briskly. "Have -<i>you</i> ever been here before?" -</p> - -<p> -"O yes, I know the place well; in fact I spent a -good part of my boyhood here. Will you think me -very unpardonably curious if I ask your name, and -how long you have been living in Edendale? I know -Sir Charles Ferrars, and I don't remember his having -ever spoken of any new arrivals; and he generally -keeps himself <i>au courant</i> with the affairs of the -neighbourhood, though he seldom honours it with his -presence. That is why I ask." -</p> - -<p> -"No, I don't suppose he <i>would</i> have spoken of us -even if he had been at the Court when we came here," -says Doris a little bitterly. "We didn't arrive here -with a flourish of trumpets exactly. But I am not -paying attention to your questions. My name is Doris -Merivale, and we have been here, let me see, rather -more than four months, or <i>about</i> four, I think. Now, -I think you ought to tell me <i>your</i> name. One good -turn deserves another, you know." -</p> - -<p> -"Exactly. My name is Ferrars—Lancelot Ferrars," -he says carelessly and a little absently. "In fact I am -a distant relation of Sir Charles." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh," says Doris, and subsides into silence. -</p> - -<p> -"Merivale!" repeats Mr. Ferrars softly to himself. -"Have you an aunt living in London, Miss Merivale, -by name Lady Woodhouse? I am sure I have seen -your face somewhere before, and I can only think that -it was in a frame on one of her tables." -</p> - -<p> -"Very likely," remarks the girl sadly. "She used to -be rather fond of talking about her eldest niece, who -was to have been presented at the first drawing-room -this season. Yes, she is our aunt. And so you know -her? Did she tell you of our come-down in the world?" -</p> - -<p> -"She told me," says Mr. Ferrars, looking kindly at -the flushed face, which showed the girl's bitter thoughts -and emotions, "of the sudden misfortunes of a sister -and her family—not of any <i>come-down</i>, as you express -it. One need not necessarily come down with -adversity, you know." -</p> - -<p> -Doris looks gratefully at him, then swallowing the -lump in her throat she says, trying to smile, "No, -perhaps not; but it makes one very cross and -discontented, I think." -</p> - -<p> -"Does it? You do not look either the one or the -other, so far as I can see." -</p> - -<p> -"O, you don't know what I am at home," says the -girl shaking her head gloomily. "Now, although I -have certainly enjoyed my morning out here, I have -an uncomfortable sort of feeling (conscience, I suppose) -that I ought to be at home domesticating. But I am -not above confessing that I cordially <i>hate</i> anything of -the kind; and so I was wicked and played truant and -left poor Honor to do all the work by herself." -</p> - -<p> -"Honor!—what a pretty name!" says Mr. Ferrars, -while he industriously peels off the bark from a little -stick. "Is she your domestic?" -</p> - -<p> -Doris breaks into a rippling laugh. "Honor is my -sister," she says, "and the dearest old girl in the -world." -</p> - -<p> -"Is she much older than you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Older?—-she is <i>younger</i> than I am!" exclaims Doris, -fairly laughing out this time. -</p> - -<p> -"I beg your pardon," begins Mr. Ferrars, looking a -little vexed, "but I thought I understood you to say -'old girl' in reference to your sister just now." -</p> - -<p> -"O, yes, I daresay I did," replies Doris checking her -laughter; "but that is a way we all have of speaking -of her. She seems like a little mother to us all, and -appears to take a delight in all those things which -<i>I</i> hate. Honor has always been the industrious one of -the family, and it was just the same in the -school-room. Miss Denny (our late governess) used to -complain dreadfully of my laziness over my lessons; and -although I was supposed to be 'finished,' and was -going up to town for my first season, I am <i>sure</i> I -couldn't speak a whole sentence in French without -at least two mistakes. I used to tell them all not to -bother about me, because I had made up my mind to -marry a duke after I was presented and had 'come -out;' then, you see, I could have done just as I liked, -and should always have had everything done for me." -</p> - -<p> -"You couldn't have had French spoken for you -though," objects Mr. Ferrars smiling up at the girl, -who is seated in state in the arm-chair; "and I fancy -even a duchess would sometimes be called upon to -speak another language than her own. Would <i>nothing</i> -less than a duke do?" -</p> - -<p> -Doris shakes her head solemnly. -</p> - -<p> -"I had <i>quite</i> made up mind to be a duchess, nothing -more nor less. But that is all at an end now," she -adds with a little sigh. "I suppose I shall remain plain -Doris Merivale to the end of my days." -</p> - -<p> -"O, I don't know; why should you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you see, all chance of a duke or anybody of -that sort is quite at an end now, and no ordinary person -would care to have me." -</p> - -<p> -"Why not?" -</p> - -<p> -"Because I am such a useless sort of girl. Now, -Honor, and even Molly (Molly is another of my sisters), -would I think make good wives for poor men, because -they seem to be able to turn their hands to anything, -whereas every single thing I undertake, no matter what -it is, is bound to fail. No, it's no use. I must make -a good marriage or live and die an old maid. Aunt -says that is all I am fit for, and she ought to know." -</p> - -<p> -"Which, a good marriage or an old maid?" the young -man inquires mischievously. -</p> - -<p> -Doris suddenly stops and laughs. -</p> - -<p> -"What dreadful nonsense I am talking!" she says -half apologetically, and blushing a little. "I never -can stop myself when I once begin, and I get dreadfully -scolded at home for it. It is really quite an -event to have someone to talk to though, out of the -family I mean; and we are so horribly dull at home. -I hope you don't think me dreadfully silly?" -</p> - -<p> -"Silly! why should I?" says Mr. Ferrars kindly. -"On the contrary I like to hear anyone talking naturally, -and I assure you I have been very much interested -in all that you have told me. Are you fond of -pictures?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes; that is, I like looking at them <i>very</i> much, but -I don't understand them in the least. Honor is the -one for that sort of thing." -</p> - -<p> -"Does your sister paint, then?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, she really paints well, I believe; and just -before poor father died, and we became so horribly poor, -she was going to have lessons from some good artist. -But of course it all came to nothing. Poor Honor was -bitterly disappointed." -</p> - -<p> -"I am <i>sure</i> she must have been," says Mr. Ferrars -feelingly. "I know what I would have felt under -the circumstances." -</p> - -<p> -"Why, do <i>you</i> paint, then?" inquires Doris, opening -wide her bright blue eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, oh yes; I paint a little," he answers smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"Then you are an artist, I am sure!" exclaims the -girl eagerly. "I was trying to settle in my own mind -whether you were in the army or an artist. I was -sure it was one of the two. Ah, you wretched little -creature, here you are at last!" -</p> - -<p> -This last remark is addressed to Vic, who with -depressed tail and ears has suddenly appeared before -them, looking guilty to the last degree. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't scold her now, poor creature!" says Mr. Ferrars, -stroking the dog's head encouragingly. "You -promised to let her off, don't you remember?" -</p> - -<p> -"Very well," says Doris, "I'll forgive her this time. -Good gracious!" she exclaims after a little pause, "just -look where the sun has got to. Why it must be one -o'clock or more!" -</p> - -<p> -"It is a quarter past," says Mr. Ferrars consulting -his watch; "and that reminds me if I don't put my -best foot foremost I'll not catch my train." -</p> - -<p> -"Are you leaving Edendale then?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I am only passing through the place; but I -could not resist taking a walk in the woods on this -lovely morning. Are you in a hurry too?" -</p> - -<p> -"My goodness, yes!" exclaims Doris excitedly, "I -ought to have been home ages ago." -</p> - -<p> -"I am so sorry," says Mr. Ferrars holding out his -hand, "that I cannot accompany you home; but I fear -it is impossible. I shall hope to meet you, however, -some day at your aunt's. Good-bye, and thank you for -the pleasant hour's talk we have had, and which I have -thoroughly enjoyed." And first stooping to pick up -Doris's book from the grass, on which it has been lying -unnoticed ever since it fell there, he lifts his hat and -walks away at a brisk pace, looking back once, before -he turns off the path, to smile and wave his hand to her. -</p> - -<p> -"A nice unaffected little girl," thinks Lancelot -Ferrars to himself as he walks quickly towards the -station. "I hope I shall see her again some day, poor -child!" -</p> - -<p> -And Doris, as she calls Vic to follow her, says softly -to herself, "Lancelot! Lancelot Ferrars! What a pretty -name! And what a nice, gentlemanly fellow he seems. -Just the sort of man poor father would have liked, I -think. I wonder if I shall ever see him again. I -suppose not." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap25"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXV. -<br /><br /> -HONOR ANSWERS AN ADVERTISEMENT. -</h3> - -<p> -When Doris gets home she finds them all seated -at dinner, partaking of the pea-soup, which -appears to be popular. Honor and Molly seem to be -rather elated about something concerning themselves, -and Doris is inclined to be put out at the scant -attention they give to the account of her adventure in the -wood. -</p> - -<p> -Only Dick and Mrs. Merivale appear at all interested -in her story; the former beginning without loss of -time to tease his sister about her "knight of the -woods." When there is once more a little quiet, it -transpires that the postman has arrived in Doris's -absence, and besides bringing letters for Mrs. Merivale -and Molly, from Hugh Horton, telling them of his -having obtained his commission, and of the probability -of his leaving soon for Ireland after all, there is one for -Doris from her aunt, and also a newspaper with an -advertisement marked with a large cross in red ink, -to which Lady Woodhouse begs Honor will give her -particular attention. -</p> - -<p> -This is to the effect that persons with any knowledge -of painting can easily earn a pound weekly, by painting -on tin—the latest novelty in art, and greatly in -demand. Then the advertisement goes on to say that -by applying at a certain place in the town, those -desirous of taking up this very remunerative employment -can be instructed in this branch of art in two -lessons, at one-and-six each. -</p> - -<p> -"So you see I have made up my mind to go and -inquire about it all this very afternoon if I can get -away," says Honor folding up the paper. "Just think, -if I can earn a pound a week, what a difference it will -make to us! With that and what Molly makes by -her teaching, we shall really be getting along quite -famously. O, and that reminds me: have you told -Doris about your probable new pupil, Molly?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, but I was just going to. It seems that some -new people have taken the house opposite the Vicarage, -and Mr. Bolton has spoken to them about me. There -are several children, I believe, and he seems to think -that if I get the eldest girl on well (if I have her at -all, that is) I may have the others when they are old -enough. I fancy they are not very aristocratic sort of -people: retired bakers or something, but they have -lots of money, so I shall hope to get good terms. I -shall have to bring all the dignity I can muster to the -fore, I expect, for Mr. Bolton said in his quaint, quiet -way that he was 'afraid they were not very good -children from all he heard;' so if he confesses to that -much you may depend upon it they are pretty bad. -I am going to call on Mrs. Hallam, that is the bakeress's -name" ("<i>Molly!</i>" exclaims her mother), "to-morrow," -continues that young lady unmoved, "so then I shall -know all about them. O, by the by, Hugh says he -shall very likely run down to-morrow afternoon. -What does aunt say, Doris?" -</p> - -<p> -"Aunt?" says Doris, who has been absently looking -out of the window. "Oh, she tells me she may want -me to join her next week; but uncle's business is still -a little uncertain, so it may not be till the week after. -She has sent me five pounds to get myself a few new -things. Kind of her, isn't it?" -</p> - -<p> -"O, you lucky girl!" exclaims Molly. "How I wish -someone would give me five pounds to rig myself out -with!" -</p> - -<p> -"You will be <i>earning</i> as many soon, Molly, and -that will be better," says Doris with a little flush. -"If I were not such a poor useless creature I might be -at home doing something too, instead of going away -from everybody for ages!" and to everyone's surprise -the girl suddenly bursts into tears. -</p> - -<p> -The general consternation caused by this unexpected -end to the conversation does not prevent plenty of -loving sympathy being shown towards Doris. Poor -little light-hearted Doris! who, though overwhelmed -with joy at first at the prospect of travelling, now -discovers down in the depths of her soft little heart -a feeling which amounts to nothing less than dismay, -now that she is brought face to face with the fact that -before many more days have passed over her head -she will have to say good-bye to the mother, sisters, -and brothers from whom she has never before been -separated beyond a week or two. -</p> - -<p> -Molly comes to the rescue presently with one of her -short, practical remarks, having first suppressed Dick, -whom she—not Doris fortunately—has heard to mutter -something to the effect that his sister "is fretting -because she will never see her 'knight' again." -</p> - -<p> -"Well now, cheer up, my girl," she says briskly. -"Eighteen months or even a couple of years will slip -round and carry you with them before you have -time to look about; and just think what an awfully -jolly time we shall all have when you come home -again! Now," proceeding coolly to tuck up her frock -and pin it behind her, "who's coming with me to help -Becky clear away the dinner things and prevent her -smashing them all? O, dear me, Dick, how you do -worry! <i>Do</i> go out; there's a good boy. Now, Honor, -if you want to catch that next train you had better be -off to dress. We will leave mother and Daisy to rest -quietly together, and Doris will come with me, won't -you?" -</p> - -<p> -Thus running on she carries her sister off with her, -and it is not long before plenty of laughter is heard -from the regions of the kitchen, Becky having retired -into the depths of the wood-cellar to black Honor's -boots. -</p> - -<p> -No. 3 Prospect Road, which is the address given in -the advertisement, does not look a very flourishing -sort of place in Honor's idea. There are a few little -insignificant pictures in the window, chiefly water-colour -and crayon drawings, very indifferently executed; -a portrait of a severe-looking lady, half of it very -dark, half restored presumably to its former state; -some frames, looking rather the worse for wear; and -a few artists' colours scattered about indiscriminately. -Behind these a dirty-red curtain is drawn, giving a -sort of private air to the interior of the shop. -</p> - -<p> -Honor had expected to see some imposing studio, -where perhaps photography was carried on also, and -it is with a feeling of disappointment that she turns -the handle of the door, after having looked once more -at the advertisement to make sure she has made no -mistake. -</p> - -<p> -As the girl enters the shop, a fat little man emerges -from behind some lumber which is piled up at the -other end, and coming forward and rubbing his hands -begins to talk very quickly, with a strong German -accent. Gesticulating and chattering the whole time, -Mr. Nathan (that being this gentleman's name) proceeds -to show Honor some specimens of the painting on tin, -which are certainly very pretty. Some, about a foot -square, representing charming little winter scenes, -consisting merely of a foreground of snow, innumerable -firs, a frozen stream with a rustic bridge, a -church, through the windows of which a comfortable-looking -red light streams, and a background of peaky -snow-clad hills. Others represent waterfalls, with the -usual surroundings, and others are simple rustic scenes. -</p> - -<p> -Now, Honor is quick enough to see that beyond the -knowledge of preparing the tin for the application of -the colours, there is no instruction needed at all; at -least for herself, and in the course of conversation she -is more than once led to suspect that she knows more -about painting than Mr. Nathan himself. So she -plainly tells the man that the two lessons mentioned -in the advertisement will not be required in her case, -and that if he will supply her with the tin, and tell her -the secret of the preparation, that will be all she needs, -finishing up with the inquiry of how many little -pictures he expects her to do for the stated pound -a week. -</p> - -<p> -"I have everything else that I require," says Honor, -anxious to conclude the bargain. "You will see by -these that I know something about painting;" and -with very pardonable pride she places before the -astonished little man several sketches which her former -master, who was no mean artist, had pronounced -"excellent." -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Nathan looks with supreme and undisguised -astonishment first at the sketches and then at Honor. -Then he pulls himself together, and with many "hums" -and "haws" and waves of the hands he says, "But -pardon me, my dear young lady, will you be so obliging -as to look once again at my advertisement, which -I fear you do not rightly comprehend?—or stay, I -have a paper here;" and running his dirty, fat -forefinger down one of the columns he at length stops -and points out to Honor the words, "One pound a -week may be earned," &c. &c. "You see, mees, it -does not say I myself will give one pound. I give two -lessons, one-and-six each; then my pupils paint the -views, four, six, what they please, and I put them in -my window and on my counter, so; then customers will -come, and one will say 'I will buy this,' and another -'I will buy that.' And sometimes many are sold, and -sometimes also <i>none</i>. It depends much"—with a little -shrug—"on the merit of the painting, without doubt; -and therefore, my dear young lady, yours would sell -well, <i>ve-ry</i> well, I should say. The commission I -charge is not much, and—" But here Honor, who -begins to see through the old impostor, interrupts him, -and moving towards the door says, "Thank you, I -think it is useless to continue the conversation. I -understood from your advertisement that you could -offer employment for which you would give certain -payment. But it seems to me," she adds with -justifiable warmth, "that the only <i>certain</i> part in the -matter is the fact that your possible pupils would be -paying <i>you</i> for the two lessons, which I notice are -made rather a point of in the advertisement. -Good-afternoon!" And poor Honor, trembling with -suppressed indignation and disappointment, hurries out -of the shop and is out of sight before the old man can -recover from his astonishment. Thoroughly disgusted -and discouraged by the result of her expedition to the -town, poor Honor gets back to the station with all -possible speed, and before long is safely ensconced in -a corner of a third-class carriage, where, finding herself -alone, she indulges in a good cry, which somewhat -relieves her feelings; though she cannot, poor girl, -forget the dreadful fact that the three shillings -expended on her fare there and back have been utterly -wasted and thrown away. She has dried her eyes -again, and is trying, with her usual common sense, to -reconcile herself to the loss, which cannot now be -helped, when suddenly, just as the train is about to -start, the door of the compartment is flung wide open, -and a stout little elderly gentleman shoots past her -right to the end of the seat opposite, while a -good-natured-looking porter, who is standing on the step -closing the door, says, touching his cap, "There weren't -no time for the 'firsts,' sir; they be right at the other -end." "Thank you, thank you," gasps the old gentleman, -sitting up and straightening his hat, "this will do -very nicely, very nicely indeed. Dear me, now, what -a fortunate, I may say providential thing, that my -brother was not with me! Why, bless my soul, if it's -not Miss Honor!" And leaning forward Mr. Edward -Talboys, for he it is, seizes the girl's two hands and -shakes them up and down in such a kind, affectionate -manner that Honor, still feeling a little hysterical, has -hard work to keep her tears from rising again. "And -now," says Mr. Ned, who, though he appears not to do -so, notices the girl's pale cheeks and swollen -eyelids—"now, you must tell me where you have been and -what you have been doing. Wait a minute, I mean to -have a guess. You have been, perhaps, to see your kind -old friend Mrs. Horton? or perhaps that very excellent -old gentleman Mr. Dobson—no, Hobson, who came -down with you when you paid your first visit to the -Rookery?" Honor smiles and shakes her head. "Then -perhaps," says the old gentleman, with his head on one -side, "you have been doing a little shopping?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, not shopping, Mr. Talboys," says the girl with -a tremulous voice; and then, longing for a little -sympathy, she tells the whole history of the advertisement -from beginning to end. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Ned works himself into a regular heat over the -story, and for some time Honor scarcely knows which -predominates—indignation at the man or pity for herself. -First he is for taking the next train back again and -giving Mr. Nathan "a good round piece of his mind," as -he expresses it. Then he calms down a little, and -shaking his head solemnly, says, "A hoax, my dear—nothing -but a rascally hoax to extort money. You may see the -advertisements every day in some form or another. -The paper is full of them. Now, if only you had come -and asked our advice about it. But dear me, how should -a young girl like you know that there are such cheating -rogues in the world!" Then, after a few more -remarks of a similar character, Mr. Talboys leans back -in his seat for a while quite lost in thought, and it is -not until they are nearing the little station of -Edendale that he rouses himself again. -</p> - -<p> -He startles Honor, who has also been wrapped up in -her own thoughts, by suddenly leaning forward and -saying, "Now, can you find time, my dear, to run up to us -to-morrow morning—any time, any time after breakfast -that is convenient to yourself, you know? I am inclined -to be interested in this painting on tin of which you have -been telling me, and I should like to know more about -it. I should like my brother Ben to hear something -about it too. With his artistic taste, I am sure he will -be deeply interested in the subject. Now, what time -would you like to fix, Miss Honor,—shall we say eleven? -Are you <i>quite</i> sure that will be convenient?" Honor -satisfying Mr. Talboys on this point, they part outside -the station gates; and while the old gentleman trots -off to the village on some suddenly-remembered -business, Honor, with a heart lightened and cheered by -his kindness and sympathy, goes her way towards -home. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap26"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXVI. -<br /><br /> -THE MR. TALBOYS RESORT TO STRATEGY. -</h3> - -<p> -On arriving at the Rosery the next morning Honor -finds the two old gentlemen waiting in the garden -to receive her, both in an unwonted state of excitement. -For they have been arranging a little plot -together, which they are burning to disclose (partially) -when the right moment shall arrive. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Edward had gone home the evening before with -his thoughts running on the tin painting, and pinning -his brother Ben by the button-hole without loss of time -he told him of a plan which he had thought of for -Honor's benefit, and which only required discussion with -him, Mr. Benjamin, to be carried into instant effect. -</p> - -<p> -"And although I should still like to break Mr. Nathan's -head with this stick," says Mr. Edward to -his brother, and shaking the said stick menacingly, "I -cannot help feeling grateful to the rogue, Ben, for -having, as it were, paved the way for our helping Miss -Honor, poor child, in a manner which cannot possibly -hurt her feelings. That was a good thought of yours, -Ben, a capital thought, about Spaull the picture-dealer. -If this tin painting is to come into vogue for a time—and -I suppose it will from what Miss Honor said—he -will be just the man to place the paintings with; and -of course we must bind him over to strict secrecy as -to our part in the business, eh, Ben?" and Mr. Ned -nudges his brother playfully with his stick. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," answers Mr. Benjamin, nodding and smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, bless me," adds Mr. Ned, "we shall have to -do quite a nice little piece of acting. But here comes -Miss Honor. Now we shall see what she says to our -plan. Mind you must be very careful, Ben, not to let -the cat out of the bag—you run on at such a rate -sometimes, you know; and it would never do for her to think -we were paying for the paintings in the first instance, -though of course it will be quite the same to us when -Spaull refunds the money." And here they trot -forward to open the gate for Honor, who has just reached it. -</p> - -<p> -After inquiring rather breathlessly as to the welfare -of the roses at the Rookery, and Molly's real, honest -opinion about them, they dash straight into the -subject of the painting. -</p> - -<p> -"We have been talking it all over, Brother Ben and -I, and it seems to us that with your gift for painting, -my dear, you might make a very nice thing of this. -Now, we happen to know a man in the picture-dealing -trade, a Mr. Spaull, a most respectable man, who would -be just the very person to suit our purpose; and what -we propose—" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, what we propose," repeats Mr. Ben, nodding -at Honor. -</p> - -<p> -"Is," resumes Mr. Ned, "that you shall paint so -many pictures, varying in size and style perhaps, for a -fixed price, which will be paid—be paid by—by—" -</p> - -<p> -"By the <i>party</i>," says Mr. Ben, frowning a little at -his brother. -</p> - -<p> -"Exactly—by the party," repeats Mr. Ned. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Spaull," quietly suggests Honor with a smile. -</p> - -<p> -"Just so, just so—Mr. Spaull, of course!" cry both -the brothers together. "Dear me, how very warm it -is this morning!" continues Mr. Ned. "Did I say that -this—er, this <i>person</i> would pay for the pictures at once, -on completion, you know? and sell them at his, that is -to say, Mr. Spaull's convenience?" And Mr. Ned, -concluding rather abruptly, looks helplessly towards his -brother for encouragement. -</p> - -<p> -"The fact is," remarks Mr. Ben, coming nobly to the -rescue, "my brother is apt to become a little confused -when speaking of this firm. There are partners—" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes; partners!" cries Mr. Ned delightedly. -"Two partners!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Three</i>," corrects Mr. Ben; "although only the one -name, that of Spaull, appears. I think my brother -wants you to go up to the town with him to-morrow, -to the proper art shop there, where, he says, you can -provide yourself with the necessary materials, and get -what information you require respecting the preparation -of the tin at the same time." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that is exactly what I mean, my dear Miss -Honor," says Mr. Ned, nodding approvingly at his -brother. "And while you are seeing to <i>your</i> business, -<i>I</i> will go and have a talk with Mr. Spaull. You see, -I think it will be so much more pleasant if you transact -your business with him <i>through</i> me, as it were. So -what do you say to going with me to-morrow? When -I say 'me,' of course I mean <i>us</i>. Brother Ben will like -to give his opinion as well, I am sure, and we all know -what a valuable one it is on a subject like this. Don't -we, Ben?" -</p> - -<p> -It is useless to try to describe poor Honor's delight -and gratitude at this kind thought of her old friends. -As they all go down the little drive together, she tries -to say a few words of thanks, first to one, and then to -the other; but the brothers have so much to say on -their own account that she cannot get a word in -edge-ways. When they reach the gate, Mr. Benjamin takes -Honor's hand, and tapping Mr. Edward on the shoulder -with his walking-stick, says: -</p> - -<p> -"My brother here is taking such an active part in -the management of this little affair, that I hope, my -dear, you will allow <i>me</i> to purchase for you all the -materials which you are likely to require; merely as a -set off against his part in the business, you know," he -adds hastily, "for I can see plainly that he will -become quite conceited if he has <i>everything</i> his own -way." -</p> - -<p> -Honor, with her almost over-scrupulous objection to -accepting anything which actually costs money, hesitates -a moment, but she sees such a look of disappointment -creeping over the old man's countenance that she -quickly changes her mind, and thanks him for his -kindness with such a beaming face as to effectually -set at rest any fears he may have had at first of having -offended her. -</p> - -<p> -As Honor walks home she takes herself to task -about what some people have called her <i>fault</i> of -independence. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder whether I <i>do</i> carry it too far sometimes," -she says to herself. "Mother and Molly say I do, and -Molly at any rate has a very fair amount of independence -in <i>her</i> composition. I suppose if shown too -much it amounts to ungraciousness, as I know it did -with dear Mr. Ben just now, though I do hope I made -up for it afterwards. Yes, I suppose I overdo it -sometimes; and I know Dr. Sinclair thought so the -other day, when he spoke so kindly of there being -plenty of time for sending in his bill. I <i>know</i> I -answered him ungratefully, and as if we had ten -thousand a year at least, when he knows just as well -as I do, I daresay, that ten thousand pence is much -nearer the mark. I felt what an idiot I had made of -myself, with my nasty, false pride; for where in the -world the poor man is to get his money from at all <i>I</i> -can't see, unless anything really comes of this painting -and I can save up. Yes, it is all very well; but where, -I wonder, would I have got the money for the tin and -things, if good old Mr. Ben had not taken it upon -himself to buy them. I am sure I am thankful enough -now that he told me he would, especially after wasting -those three shillings yesterday. O, dear me, I hope -the Mr. Talboys know how grateful I am to them! I -wonder what would have become of us all since we -came here if it hadn't been for them. Ah, well! I -must try and remember in future that real, proper -independence is a perfectly different thing from the -feeling which I know has been growing on me lately, and -which I am <i>sure</i> now is false pride. Aunt was quite -right in what she said to me the other day; I am afraid I -do not consider the feelings of others enough sometimes." -</p> - -<p> -Therefore it comes about that Honor has a softened -manner with her from this time. Not that it is in the -girl's nature ever to be anything but gentle and kind -to every one around her. But, nevertheless, there is a -<i>something</i> different now which causes her mother to -say, "Ah, poor girl! anyone can see what a load is -lifted from her shoulders, now that she has the prospect -of making a little money." -</p> - -<p> -And Doris says to Molly one day, "Honor is not so -excruciatingly particular in the spending of a penny or -so as she used to be, is she Molly? Poor old girl! I'm -afraid the struggle to make the best of our poverty -has been a hard one for her—-harder than we think, I -expect, for she is not one to <i>say</i> much, you know. -She never talks openly about what she feels, as some -people do." -</p> - -<p> -"No," says Molly. "Honor's a little brick, there's -no doubt about that; and it is plain to see that this -painting, for which she is sure to be properly paid, -is an immense relief to her mind." -</p> - -<p> -It is now that the attic which the Horton boys had -taken such pains to fit up, comes to be thoroughly -appreciated. -</p> - -<p> -Honor and the Mr. Talboys have paid their visits -respectively to the ironmonger's (where Mr. Benjamin -was with difficulty prevented from purchasing a whole -roll of tin), to the art material shop, and to Mr. Spaull's -the picture-dealer. To this last, however, Mr. Edward -preferred going alone, telling his brother with a very -palpable nod and wink that he is sure Miss Honor will -like to have a look at the shops, and that it will save -time, therefore, if they separate for a while. -</p> - -<p> -Well supplied with everything she can possibly -need, Honor now snatches every spare moment and -spends it in the "studio," painting away with an -energy which Doris and Molly declare takes their -breath away. Sometimes Daisy sits up there, cosily -curled up in the most comfortable arm-chair. But -this does not happen very often, as the smell of the -oils and turpentine turn the child faint. -</p> - -<p> -Molly, however, who has taken to "reading herself -up," as she calls it, is often up there, and may be found -in her favourite attitude when particularly absorbed -in anything—her elbows planted on the table, and her -fingers buried in her hair. -</p> - -<p> -Doris at this time is much taken up with needlework, -her five pounds having been expended chiefly in -materials for underclothing, boots and shoes, and other -really necessary things for a prolonged visit abroad. -</p> - -<p> -"I would far rather your aunt found you a little -badly off as regards dresses or hats, than in linen and -such things," said Mrs. Merivale sensibly. "Your aunt -is a generous woman, and if she finds that her present -has been wisely spent, I do not suppose she will let -you suffer in the matter of dresses." -</p> - -<p> -So between them all they had managed to cut out -these garments, and Mrs. Merivale and Doris are -busily engaged in making them, with occasional -assistance from the others. -</p> - -<p> -Doris, therefore, is often to be found upstairs also; -and Honor and Molly, having suddenly awakened to -the necessity of their sister being able upon her arrival -on foreign shores to say a sentence or two in French -without utterly disgracing herself, they form a sort of -class, which Doris (under protest) is made to join. -</p> - -<p> -"And for one whole mortal hour," said Doris, -complaining to Hugh Horton afterwards, "did we sit like -three noodles, hammering away at French conversation, -Molly with a huge dictionary at her elbow, and -both she and Honor pretending they liked it. You -may imagine that <i>my</i> remarks were few and far -between. They call it 'rubbing up' my French, you -know; and I'm sure it is all labour thrown away, for -all the rubbing up in the world, even with the best -French polish, would never make me express myself -decently in any language but my own. And to tell -you the truth, Hugh," lowering her voice, "I am not -always so <i>very</i> confident of doing that. It's dreadfully -shocking, of course, but none the less true." -</p> - -<p> -And so there is often quite an industrious party to -be found up in the attic studio, with the windows wide -open, letting in the sweet soft air, laden with the -scent of the rich grass (so soon to fall beneath the -scythe), and the multitudes of early summer flowers; -and the girls feel that they are happier in their busy -useful life, even though there are still crosses and -trials for all to bear at times, than in former days, -when living a life of luxury and ease. There is one -never-to-be-forgotten sorrow which all share, however, -and though some time has elapsed now since their -kind and indulgent father passed away, his memory -is still as fresh as ever in their young minds. It is, -indeed, a common thing with them all, even still, to -study what probably would have been his wishes in -settling little matters concerning their own affairs, -saying to themselves, "I wonder if father would have -approved," or "I think that would have pleased -father," showing, therefore, that the good influence of -his gentle though firm training still remains with -them. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap27"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXVII. -<br /><br /> -TWO DEPARTURES. -</h3> - -<p> -The month of June goes on auspiciously both -out-of-doors and in at the Rookery. Besides having -brought the rose-trees to a state of perfection, which -charms and delights the Mr. Talboys beyond measure, -Molly has secured not only one, but two of the retired -baker's daughters for music pupils. Indeed, -Mrs. Hallam is so charmed with the progress that Violet -and Lilian (who are really musical by nature) are -making in the hands of their clever little instructress, -that she, Molly, is promised the whole family (which -is numerous) in succession so soon as each one becomes -old enough. -</p> - -<p> -To be sure, Violet and Lilian Hallam give poor -Molly a good deal of trouble between them, their -tempers being anything but sweet; but she is not a -girl to brook the slightest disrespect or impertinence -from anyone, much less from a child who is under her -own control for the time being. The consequence is, that -having found this out for themselves in their very -first lesson, and discovered that their usual method -of treating their governess is not practicable in Miss -Merivale's case, they take it out of each other. On -duet days especially they often actually come to blows, -and on these occasions the music, it is to be feared, -sometimes obtains scant attention; Molly's whole time -being taken up in preventing the sisters from doing -one another an injury. -</p> - -<p> -Their mother they rule with a rod of iron. The -head nurse, who has been with Mrs. Hallam since the -birth of her first child, is in a chronic state of giving -notice, though she is generally persuaded into staying -on by her master and mistress, and yet the young -rebels, though such termagants in a general way, have -at heart warm and affectionate natures. Not one -governess has ever been known to stay beyond the -first quarter, so that Mrs. Hallam, coming suddenly -into the room one day and seeing her daughters -hanging round Molly, to whom they have taken an immense -fancy, throws up her hands in amazement. -</p> - -<p> -"I cannot think how you manage them so well, -Miss Merivale! You never give way to them, and yet -they always seem as docile as lambs with you, and -they are so fond of you too! I never can get them to -attend to a word <i>I</i> say. Their father is the only one -in the house that can manage them." -</p> - -<p> -Molly smiles, and while pinning on her hat mutters -something about their mother being "too indulgent -perhaps." She does not say what is really in her -mind, however, that the very fact of her not giving -way to her obstreperous pupils is probably the reason -that they are better behaved with her than anyone -else. -</p> - -<p> -Besides the Hallams, Molly has one or two other -pupils in prospect, so that before long she hopes to -help very considerably with the household expenses. -As it is, indeed, she contributes a nice little sum from -time to time, her pride and delight being unbounded -when, having completed her first course of lessons to -Dolly Bolton, she brings home her first earnings and -pours the little pile of money into Honor's lap. -</p> - -<p> -Honor also is now making a steady little income -every week by her painting on tin, which has become -most popular, especially in the immediate -neighbourhood. Besides the stipulated number of landscapes for -Mr. Spaull, which are taken up at stated intervals by -Mr. Edward Talboys with most elaborate care, Honor -has a good many odd orders; for the old gentlemen -were so charmed and delighted with the effect of the -pretty little scenes that they immediately made a -round of calls, with a view to showing their specimen -to all their friends and perhaps getting some pupils -for their <i>protégé</i>. -</p> - -<p> -The time is now rapidly drawing near when Doris -is to join her aunt in town, previous to their departure -for the Continent. -</p> - -<p> -The weather having taken a capricious fancy to be -extremely hot, in fact more like late July or August -than June, the girls sit out-of-doors a great deal with -their work and their books. -</p> - -<p> -Although no one speaks openly of it, there is a -feeling with them all that Doris cannot be made too much -of in these last few days before her long separation -from them. Doris's pillow is often wet with the tears -which she quietly sheds at night, when she thinks -Honor is asleep, at the thought that to-morrow will -bring her one day nearer to the parting she so much -dreads. -</p> - -<p> -Time marches on, however, in his inexorable fashion, -and the last day having really come, all go about their -work with an elaborately indifferent air, each one -making heroic efforts to keep up for the others' sake. -The whole family (with the exception of Mrs. Merivale, -who has taken leave of her daughter at home -quietly) is now standing by the door of a third-class -compartment in the London train, in which Doris, -surrounded by small packages, is standing up, with -tear-bestreamed face, a large smut on her forehead, and -a general limpness which extends itself to the handkerchief -in her hand, which just now is doing double -duty as it were, as are those of all the others. -</p> - -<p> -Doris has been kissed by each one in turn several -times, and the usual last questions have been asked -and answered, and now the guard comes along with -his key, and having locked the door quietly moves -them all back a little; with no lasting result, however, -for they are all crowding round again the moment he -is gone. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you <i>sure</i>," says Honor with a trembling voice, -"that you have got everything?" -</p> - -<p> -"O yes, <i>everything</i>!" answers Doris with a gasp of -despair. -</p> - -<p> -Honor looks round incredulously, for each one has -been carrying to the station a bag, basket, or -something belonging to her sister, and as her careful eye -travels round she suddenly pounces on Molly, who is -discovered still clinging desperately to Doris's umbrella, -her thoughts being entirely taken up with the direful -fact that the dreaded moment has indeed arrived at -last! The umbrella is handed in through the window, -and kissing being now rather a daring thing to attempt -after the stentorian "Stand away there!" of the guard, -Honor and Molly are reaching up their hands for a -final squeeze, when Doris, first feeling wildly in the -little pocket of her jacket, then diving after her purse, -exclaims: -</p> - -<p> -"Good gracious! my ticket; who's got it? I haven't!" -</p> - -<p> -In the excitement of the search Doris overturns her -little luncheon basket, and, oblivious of the fact that -the cork of her travelling flask has come out, and the -milk it contains is quietly spreading itself out on the -cushion until it comes to a little ridge in the leather, -where it collects in a nice little pool, she leans -distractedly out of the window to see the result of the -hurried search which they are all making in all sorts -of impossible places. -</p> - -<p> -But at this critical moment, and just as the guard is -about to blow his whistle, Dick, who has strolled off -to look at the advertisements, appears on the scene, -and Honor, suddenly remembering that she had -intrusted him with the money for the ticket when first -they arrived at the station, rushes at him and grasps -his arm wildly. -</p> - -<p> -"The ticket!" she gasps; "you've forgotten to take -the ticket!" -</p> - -<p> -"I haven't," returns Dick, much injured. "I thought -I gave it to you. Oh, here it is; better late than -never!" and with supreme indifference at the anxiety -depicted on every face he hands it up to Doris, and at -the same moment the train moves. -</p> - -<p> -They all run along beside it for a second or two, -but its pace soon gets beyond theirs, and they are left -disconsolately on the platform, waving their hands to -a white handkerchief which is fluttering from one of -the windows, and is literally all of Doris that is now -to be seen. -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -* * * * * * * * * -</p> - -<p> -That same afternoon Hugh Horton runs down to -bid them all farewell before leaving for Ireland the -next day. He is naturally not in the best of spirits, -and looks so gloomy and melancholy while reminding -Molly of her promise regarding the slippers, that that -young lady tells him plainly that if he cannot look -a little more cheerful over it he shall not have them -at all. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be unkind, Molly," remonstrates Honor. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm not," replies the girl, reddening; "besides he is -not going to Kamtchatka. I said I would make them -if he went there, or to some other outlandish place." -</p> - -<p> -"It does not matter, Molly, <i>where</i> one goes particularly, -when leaving all one loves behind;" and Hugh -sighs heavily. "It would be just as painful to me to -take up my quarters in the next village merely, if -I knew for certain that I should not see my mother -or—or any of you for some long time to come." -</p> - -<p> -Molly looks a little abashed. -</p> - -<p> -"But you will have leave," she says. -</p> - -<p> -"O yes, of course I shall have leave; but not very -often, I suppose." -</p> - -<p> -"You must write to us as often as you can," says -Mrs. Merivale kindly. "You know I take just as much -interest in all you boys as if you were my own." -</p> - -<p> -Molly strolls down to the gate with Hugh when he -has taken leave of all the others; but he is very silent, -and she, thinking that perhaps she has hurt his sensitive -feelings with some of her random talk, is silent -also. -</p> - -<p> -In a minute or two Hugh rouses himself, however, -and says: -</p> - -<p> -"Molly, I have never told you how awfully glad -I am that you are all getting on so much better now, -as to funds and all that sort of thing, you know. I -do think you have all shown yourselves such good -girls in having met your misfortunes so bravely; and -I cannot tell you how glad I feel that you have all had -your reward, and have a little more peace and comfort -now than you had. Mother is always talking about -you all, and saying how much she admires the spirit -and unselfishness with which you turned to and made -the best of everything." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>I'm</i> not unselfish!" cries Molly, looking surprised. -"Why, I'd take a footstool or an easy-chair from -anybody! It's no use saying I don't care about being -comfortable, because I <i>do</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -Hugh takes no notice of this interruption, but goes -on as if nothing had been said. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, we were talking about you last night, mother -and I, and what do you think she said about you, -Molly, particularly?" -</p> - -<p> -Molly shakes her head. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know," she says. -</p> - -<p> -"She told me she considered that you had had quite -as much to do with influencing me for good as she had. -I told her of some of your lectures too, and she says -you are a right-minded, good girl, and she admires you -for what she calls your 'spirit' in taking me to task -as you did." -</p> - -<p> -Molly blushes up to the roots of her chestnut curls -at this praise from one whose opinion is to be valued. -</p> - -<p> -"Did you tell her about the <i>dust</i>?" she inquires. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I did!" replies Hugh, laughing, "and she -enjoyed the story immensely. And now, Molly, you -will write to me while I'm away, won't you? You -can lecture and blow me up as much as you like, only -let me go away thinking that my little mentor will still -take the same interest in scapegrace Hugh that she -has hitherto." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I will, Hugh; here's my hand upon it. Of -course it is all nonsense," she adds suddenly; "but -if—if I have really been of any use in—in urging you on, -you know, I am <i>very</i> glad. And now, would you like -me to tell you a secret? Well, the slippers are more -than half done already! Good-bye; be a good boy!" -and without waiting for another word she runs back -to the house, never stopping till she has reached the -steps, when she turns round and waves her hand with -rather a feeble smile. -</p> - -<p> -She is not <i>quite</i> sure whether it is Hugh still standing -where she left him, or whether it is only the gate-post, -for there are two large tears trickling down -the now saddened and softened face of plain-speaking -little Molly, which seriously obstruct her vision. -</p> - -<p> -There is quite a feeling of desolation all through the -house after this second departure, for although not -actually one of themselves, Hugh and his brothers -have so often been down to see them that he is missed -as much as if he were almost. -</p> - -<p> -In a few days Doris's first letter arrives, and they -are all relieved to find that she is less home-sick than -might have been expected. Their own spirits rise in -proportion therefore. -</p> - -<p> -Part of Doris's letter runs thus:— -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="letter"> -"We had a bad passage across, at least so aunt says. I didn't -feel it a bit though. Uncle disappeared mysteriously, and as he -looked rather pale when he reappeared on our reaching Calais, I -strongly suspected he was not very flourishing either. I have -made a grand discovery, however, through this bad weather. -Nothing more nor less than the reason why aunt will never take -off her bonnet unless she has a cap at hand to put on immediately. -Aunt, I must tell you, very soon expressed her intention of going -down into the cabin, so I went with her and made her as comfortable -as circumstances would permit. It was such a dreadfully -close, stuffy atmosphere that I was thankful to get up into the air -again. After a time I thought I ought to go down and see how -poor aunty was getting on; so after a good deal of stumbling and -floundering (for the boat was rolling very much) I at last managed -to get down, and there I found her in a truly pitiable state. She -had been dreadfully ill, but so it seems had been nearly all the -other people, and I suppose the stewardess could not pay much -attention to so many, for I found aunt in a miserable state, half -on and half off the sofa, and looking as pale as death. 'O, Doris -child!' she gasped faintly, 'if ever I get out of this boat alive I -will never go into another, if I have to live all my life in -France!' Well, I raised her up and placed her a little more comfortably, -and in doing this her bonnet fell off, and—you girls won't believe -me, perhaps, but I daresay mother knows—there, as plain to see -as anything, was a little bald patch, about as big as half-a-crown, -on the top of her head! Poor aunt! she was in far too great -misery to think about such trifles then, and only told me to put -her feet a little higher and to bring her smelling-bottle. But -I shall <i>always</i> think of it whenever anyone asks her to take her -bonnet off! By the by, aunt says she knows Mr. Ferrars quite -well. She calls him 'A very estimable young man!' How -<i>dreadful</i>! She says, too, we may meet him somewhere or other -abroad. He told her he was going to 'knock about a little' on -the Continent. The expression did not come spontaneously from -aunt; I dragged it out of her, under protest! I wonder if we -<i>shall</i> see him!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale folds up the letter. "I wonder if -they will!" she says. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap28"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXVIII. -<br /><br /> -BRIGHTER DAYS. -</h3> - -<p> -Two years have sped quickly, and it is once more a -warm, lovely day in June. The French windows -of the Rookery sitting-room are wide open, letting in -the still, summer air, and Mrs. Merivale and Honor, -both with their work, are seated just inside, so as to -get full benefit of any little fitful breeze which may -spring up, without exposing themselves to the glare of -the sunlit garden. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, two years have flown since Doris left home to -go abroad with her aunt, and her mother and sister -are talking over a letter which they have received -from her that morning, and which, with two others, is -lying in the former's lap. -</p> - -<p> -Honor is a little taller than when we last saw her, -though not much; but her figure has filled out, -making her look more womanly, though still small and -slight altogether. She has still the same quaint little -oval face, and the same steadfast, earnest look in her -soft brown eyes; but, with the exception of the two -little straight lines between her brows, the anxious, -care-worn look has gone from it, and in its place there -is a happy, contented expression, which her mother -looks upon with thankfulness. The two years have -also changed Mrs. Merivale, though not perhaps so -much in appearance as character. -</p> - -<p> -She has to a great extent lost that fretful nervousness -and selfishness which, before her husband's death, -and, indeed, for some time after, had seemed to be -growing upon her. Though still feeble in health her -disposition has grown more cheerful, and she has -become more self-reliant than of old. Honor has -unconsciously taken to consulting her more in the -management of their household affairs, and although she still -takes all the active part upon herself, she often finds -her mother's advice of great value now. -</p> - -<p> -To such matters as banging doors, creaking boots, -loud voices, &c., which used formerly to "jar" upon -her nerves, she has become almost impervious, whilst -to be "completely prostrated" is a calamity of rare -occurrence, excepting on occasions of real and genuine -nervous headaches. -</p> - -<p> -The two years have been quiet, uneventful ones -enough to the inhabitants of Edendale. The most -exciting thing that has taken place, perhaps, being the -sudden and unexpected death, while in Africa -somewhere, of Sir Charles Ferrars of Ferrars Court. But -as he had never lived at the Court for long together, -and latterly not at all, his death was not an event to -stir the sympathies of the surrounding neighbourhood -greatly. Of course every one said, "How very -sad—so sudden, you know!" and then they began to -speculate as to what the heir would be like, and whether -he would take possession soon, &c. &c. But in a few -days the whole affair was forgotten; and as no heir -arrived on the scene to satisfy their curiosity, they soon -forgot that there was one to speculate about. -</p> - -<p> -Dr. John Sinclair is constantly to be seen at the -Rookery; indeed, he has fallen into the habit of going -there, at one hour or another, almost every day. -</p> - -<p> -With the first really hot weather of the year before, -Daisy's health had flagged rather alarmingly, and the -young doctor began to fear that her illness of the -previous spring had left a permanent mark upon her. -Thus had he become a constant visitor in order to -watch the child closely. -</p> - -<p> -At the present time Daisy is, for her, in comparatively -robust health, but every one knows how difficult -it is to get out of any habit once taken to, whether it -be good or bad, and young Dr. Sinclair is to be seen at -the Rookery almost as frequently as ever, although -there is now no special need for looking after his little -patient from a medical point of view. -</p> - -<p> -Dick, now a strapping lad of fifteen, has pleased the -Rev. Mr. Bolton beyond measure during the two years -he has been with him, and the good old vicar does not -know which to be most delighted with—his beautiful -voice, or the industry and perseverance which he has -displayed regarding his own studies. -</p> - -<p> -Molly's pupils have so increased in number that she -has for some time past been making a nice steady -little income, and she has even felt justified in affording -herself some finishing lessons from a good master. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Horton, always ready to do the girls any kind -service now that their mother cannot go about with -them, and more especially since their aunt left -England, has taken both Honor and Molly up to London for -a few weeks' visit at different times; and the former -also, considering that it would be money well spent, -has given herself the benefit of a little "brushing up," -as she calls it, in her art. Both the girls, therefore, -are able to take a better stand in their teaching (for -Honor has pupils now in addition to her own painting), -and Molly often finds herself correcting, encouraging, -or remonstrating, as the case may be, with girls a good -deal older than herself; for her fame as a musicianly -teacher has spread far and wide, and she has as many -grown-up girls as pupils, who are anxious to keep up -their practice, as younger ones. Molly has three of the -Hallam children now, and a fourth is nearly ready to -begin, Indeed, were it feasible, Mrs. Hallam would -like to include the baby still in arms in her list of -pupils, so anxious is she that they shall all commence -early enough and get all the benefit they can from -what she is constantly quoting to her friends as -"first-class teaching, my dear." -</p> - -<p> -The Mr. Talboys look if anything younger than -they did a couple of years back. They have residing -in the stables of the Rosery a pretty, knowing-looking -pony rejoicing in the name of Puck, the pet and -property of Miss Margaret Merivale. At the time -previously spoken of, when little Daisy had drooped so -with the heat of the summer, and Dr. Sinclair had been -racking his brains to think what could be done to -revive the feeble strength, which at times seemed ready -to ebb away altogether, a bright idea struck him one -day. Riding!—the very thing. But how in the world -could such a thing be managed? Although the Merivales -were in a very different position now to that -which they were in when they first came to the village, -they were not, he was sure, well enough off to buy and -keep a pony. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, if only she could ride Jack," thought the -doctor to himself, "he would, I know, be as gentle as a -lamb with a child upon his back. But, bless me! his -back would be far too broad for little Daisy! Besides, -who would there be to ride with her? I don't think -Jack would care to consent to a leading rein at his age!" -</p> - -<p> -But nevertheless the doctor goes on thinking and -thinking (for during the long time he has now attended -the child she has become very dear to him), until he -suddenly becomes possessed of a still brighter idea. -He will go to the Mr. Talboys and talk it over with -them. -</p> - -<p> -One would certainly have thought, from the almost -childish delight which the generous old men expressed -at this brilliant idea of their young friend's, that it was -one which would benefit themselves greatly. But so -indeed it was, for they could know no higher privilege -than to do good to others. -</p> - -<p> -"My <i>dear</i> Dr. John," they had both cried, "you -could not have done us a greater kindness than by -coming to consult us about this capital plan of yours. -I think," continues Mr. Ned, "I may with truth say -that Brother Ben and myself have been worrying as -to what could be done to pick up the child's strength -as much as you have, my dear boy, and we <i>know</i> how -it has troubled you, do we not, brother?" -</p> - -<p> -And so there had been no rest for anybody until a -desirable animal had been found and purchased. The -old gentlemen were somewhat particular in making -their choice, and a trifle difficult to please. Of course -it was to be pretty. Not too tall, nor too small. -Neither too old nor too young. It was to be a -thoroughly respectable pony, and reliable as to temper; -but while wishing it to possess a "spice of spirit," as -they expressed it, it was to be steady and sober-minded -at heart! It must be confessed that to find all these -excellent qualities possessed by one ordinary pony was -rather difficult, and, perhaps, more than ought to have -been expected. But the brothers did not want an -ordinary pony! On the contrary they had made up their -minds to have an extraordinary one; and it is to be -feared that more than one horse-dealer lost his temper -when, having trotted out his best ponies before the -two exacting old gentlemen, who stood watching their -paces with heads on one side, it turned out that not -one of them came up to their ideas of what a pony -<i>ought</i> to be. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed one man was overheard to say to his ostler -(taking it for granted that the Mr. Talboys were -deaf as well as old) that he "should think the old -gents had better get one made to order!" which caused -Mr. Ned to wish him "good-morning." -</p> - -<p> -At length, however, a desirable pony was found, and -having been presented to Daisy in due form, was -installed in the comfortable stable at the Rosery. -</p> - -<p> -There being no one at home who could take out -Daisy for her airings on Puck—for the doctor said -<i>walking</i> would be of no use; she must have a good -canter every day—the young man begged that he -might be allowed to take her under his charge. He -could give her a good run, he said, every day, when -going his distant rounds on Jack, and the Rosery -lying between his own house and the Rookery, he -could always call for Puck on his way for Daisy. -</p> - -<p> -This arrangement met with the little girl's entire -approval, in fact she very soon confided to her dear -Doctor John that there was <i>no one</i> else she would -have trusted herself to in her first attempts at riding. -</p> - -<p> -Ere long, however, the young doctor had made a -very fair little horsewoman of Daisy, and the pair -were constantly to be seen cantering over the country -together, with Rufus, the doctor's red setter, and Vic -(who condescended to be friendly under the circumstances) -at their heels. -</p> - -<p> -The letters mentioned at the beginning of this -chapter are, besides the one from Doris, from Lady -Woodhouse and Mr. Lancelot Ferrars, the latter containing -a formal proposal of marriage for Doris. -</p> - -<p> -The two have been thrown together a great deal -abroad, and Lady Woodhouse has smiled with grim -approval whenever the young fellow has appeared, -quite by accident as it were, at the same place in -which they are staying. -</p> - -<p> -"Your uncle and Mr. Ferrars seem to have taken -quite a fancy to each other lately," judicially -remarked Aunt Sophia, with a little, almost imperceptible -sniff, which always accompanied any attempt at -acting on her part. -</p> - -<p> -"You see, Doris, it must be lonely work for a man -to be travelling by himself; though, of course, -Mr. Ferrars has his profession as an artist to attend to. -But your uncle has only you and me to talk to, so I -am very glad Mr. Ferrars seeks his society for that -reason; for people may say what they like, child, but -men do like talking to each other when they get the -chance better than to us women. I suppose they think -they have more brains than we," with a slight toss of -her head, "though all I can say is that if they have, -they don't always know how to use them." -</p> - -<p> -So, although Lady Woodhouse saw plainly that this -constant visitor was becoming attached to her niece, -she prided herself immensely on her diplomacy and -tact in not allowing the girl to get what she called any -nonsensical ideas into her head, at any rate for the -present. -</p> - -<p> -She has written to her sister now on the subject in high -spirits, and though certain parts of the letter are for -Mrs. Merivale's own private perusal only, she is reading -out most of it to Honor. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="letter"> -"Doris seems genuinely fond of the young man now," writes -Lady Woodhouse. "At first, I tell you candidly, I thought I -would have some trouble with her, for she seemed to have a fixed -idea in her silly head that by making some great match she -might retrieve the fortunes of the whole family. She told me -plainly one day that she would see plenty of people during the -two years that she was travelling about, and that if she got a -good chance she would certainly take it. But all this, I am -bound to acknowledge, was before Mr. Ferrars began to pay her -any attention. As ill luck would have it, however, a wretched -little elderly French count, with false teeth and dyed hair and -moustache, began to pay her attention also just at the same time -(Doris is certainly a pretty girl, Mary), and for a little while -I shook in my shoes; for common report set him down as being -enormously rich. Well, I saw at last that the child was getting -worried over it all. So was Mr. Ferrars, naturally. And so one -fine day I gave my lady a talking to. 'You can do as you -like,' I said, 'subject to your mother, of course, but don't say -afterwards you were not warned. You can accept this made-up -old fop with his million of francs (mind <i>francs</i>, not pounds) and -be a miserable woman for the rest of your life if you like. On -the other hand here is a young, good-looking fellow who is -sincerely attached to you, and though he may have only his few -hundreds, he is not the man to take a wife unless he can keep her -comfortably.' I think my words came just at the right time. -Anyhow, it all came right; and when Doris came to me and told -me she would rather be the wife of Lancelot Ferrars with only -one hundred a year than marry the richest duke in the world, I -knew, my dear Mary, that the child's heart was in the right place -after all. I can congratulate you heartily, for young Ferrars is -one of the nicest young men I know, and will be just the right -sort of husband for Doris. Then, of course, his good position—" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"Good position!" echo both Dick (who has just -entered the room) and Honor, pricking up their ears. -</p> - -<p> -"Position as a painter," remarks Mrs. Merivale, -folding up her letter with dignity. "That is all I need -read to you. The rest is all upon business matters." -</p> - -<p> -"Then we may expect to see Mr. Ferrars some time -this week, I suppose," says Honor presently. For in -his short courteous note he has begged leave to call -on Mrs. Merivale, previous to his departure for some -distant part of the world where he has some important -business to transact. -</p> - -<p> -"I do hope he will let us know beforehand," says -Honor, already tormenting herself as to culinary -matters, "or else he will be quite certain to choose a -day when we have nothing but cold mutton for -dinner—and none too much of that, very likely." -</p> - -<p> -"Hooray!" shouts Dick, tossing up his cap. "Fancy -little Doris being engaged! Good gracious! the house -won't hold her when she comes back!" -</p> - -<p> -"She seems to be very happy," says Honor, who is -reading her sister's letter for about the sixth time. -"She little thought what would come of her adventure -in the wood that day. Dear little Doris, I hope -she has a happy life before her." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap29"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXIX. -<br /><br /> -"WHAT A TEASE YOU ARE, MOLLY!" -</h3> - -<p> -In the meantime a conversation of quite a different -character is going on in the garden, under the -drooping boughs of a fine old weeping-ash, the -welcome shade of which is much sought by the girls in -hot weather. -</p> - -<p> -Molly is seated on a garden chair, working away -industriously at something in the dress line, her -work-basket on another chair by her side. -</p> - -<p> -Seated just opposite to her is Dr. John Sinclair, his -hat lying on the grass at his feet, and his head resting -on his arms, which are folded behind it. -</p> - -<p> -"And so this is what you have dropped in for," -remarks Molly, shaking out her work. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," he says, gazing up into the sky. "We were -on our way back, and just passing the Rosery gate -when Mr. Ned ran out and stopped us. I represented -that you would all be expecting Daisy home, that she -had only her habit on, that she might be tired. All -to no purpose, as I have told you. She must stop to -tea, and surely someone could call for her later; and -if not, why, Priscilla could take her home. And so," -he concludes rather slowly, "I said I would call about -eight o'clock. I—I thought perhaps Miss Honor would -like to walk up with me in the cool of the evening, -you know." -</p> - -<p> -"O!" says Molly, shooting a little glance at him over -her work. -</p> - -<p> -"Do you think she would care to?" asks the doctor, -bringing his arms forward and stooping to pick up his -stick, which is also on the grass. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know really," replies Molly carelessly; "you -had better ask her. I am not sure, though, that I shall -not go myself. I suppose I should do as well? Dick -wanted one of us to walk over to the mere this -evening with him and Jack Bolton, and—yes, I think he -said Ernest Hildyard was to be one of the party. -Why, what in the world are you getting so red about? -Don't, it makes one hotter than ever!" and Molly, -biting her thread, takes another little look at her -companion. -</p> - -<p> -"Better stick to his reading," she hears him mutter -to himself, and then he begins hitting at the turf with -his stick. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, he is a bit lazy, I suppose; but then so are -lots of other people, and I don't see why he should be -expected to stay in on such a lovely evening as this -will be. Oh, <i>please</i> take care! You'll hit my foot in a -minute; besides, you are spoiling the turf." -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sure I beg your pardon," says Dr. John, now -stooping for his hat also. "I think I had better be -going. I will call for Daisy alone, then." -</p> - -<p> -"What has made you so cross?" inquires teasing -Molly, searching amongst her cottons. "I really think -it is most ungracious of you to say you 'will go <i>alone</i> -to fetch Daisy' when I have only this moment offered -myself as a companion. Now, don't go—sit down -again, and I will tell you something." -</p> - -<p> -"Pooh!" mutters the young man crossly, "what's -the use?" -</p> - -<p> -"It <i>isn't</i> pooh," says Molly severely; "and it is a -great deal of use, if you choose to listen. <i>I</i> am going -on this expedition with the boys this evening, and -Honor, as far as I know, is going to stay at home; -unless," she wickedly adds, "you should care to ask <i>her</i> -instead of <i>me</i> to walk up to the Rosery with you. If -you do, and she does go, I advise you to be a little -more amiable. Now, <i>please</i> leave that silk alone: you -are getting it into a frightful tangle!" -</p> - -<p> -"What a tease you are, Molly!" says Dr. Sinclair, -looking, however, more cheerful on the whole. -</p> - -<p> -"I? Why? What have I said or done?" -</p> - -<p> -"You said Honor was going for a walk with that -young idiot, Hildyard." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, why shouldn't she? But, as it happens, I did -<i>not</i> say anything of the kind. I said the boys wanted -<i>one</i> of us to go, and Honor never dreamed of going -any more than <i>you</i> did. You shouldn't jump at conclusions -so quickly. Now, tell me, what do you think -of this news about Doris?" -</p> - -<p> -"O, I am awfully glad. I think from what you -have all told me that Ferrars must be a nice fellow. -We shall have you going off next, Molly." -</p> - -<p> -"Me?—oh, dear no! Besides, it is Honor's turn -before mine, you know." -</p> - -<p> -"Is it true this that I hear about young Horton, or -rather his regiment, being ordered off to the Soudan?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," says Molly quietly, bending over her work. -"It is quite true." -</p> - -<p> -"When does he arrive from Ireland?" -</p> - -<p> -"Mrs. Horton wrote us word that she expected him -to-morrow." -</p> - -<p> -"And <i>you</i> will expect him the day after, I suppose?" -</p> - -<p> -"I daresay he will come to see us soon," says Molly -simply; "his time will be very short before he leaves -altogether." -</p> - -<p> -"Poor fellow!" says the doctor musingly. "It is a -pity he is being sent so far away. Well, I must really -be off now—by Jove, it's later than I thought! -Good-bye for the present, Molly. Perhaps you would not -mind asking Miss Honor if she will stroll up for Daisy -with me? I'd no idea it was so late, or I would have -run in and asked her myself." -</p> - -<p> -"All right," says Molly reassuringly. "I'll see that -she goes." -</p> - -<p> -The girl looks after him as he goes swinging down -the road. -</p> - -<p> -"He's a nice fellow," she says to herself. "I shouldn't -at all mind having him for a brother. I wonder, now, -whether Honor likes him as much as he does her. -Anyone can see with half an eye that it is not Daisy -alone that he comes here to see. He's dreadfully -jealous, though. He makes himself quite ridiculous -over that young Hildyard, just because he stares at -Honor so in church. Such a <i>child</i>, too, as Ernest is; -and I don't believe Honor has ever spoken to him -more than two or three times at the outside. It really -is absurd. I can't help teasing Dr. John about it. -All right, coming!" she cries, in answer to a summons -to tea from Honor; and gathering up her work, she -goes slowly back to the house. -</p> - -<p> -There is perhaps more alteration in Molly's appearance -than in any of the others in these two past years. -She is now turned seventeen, and tall for her age. She -carries herself gracefully, and her slight though rounded -figure is shown to advantage to-day in the light, -simply-made dress which she is wearing on account of -the heat. -</p> - -<p> -Molly's hair has been turned up for some time now, -ever since she took to teaching, in fact. "You cannot -expect me to command respect from my pupils with -my hair hanging down my back," she had said when -the others had been inclined to remonstrate. It is all -gathered up, therefore, in a pretty top-knot of bright, -sunny, chestnut curls, which, notwithstanding the -number of pins she uses, do their best to escape and tumble, -as of old, about her forehead, ears, and neck. She is -not, perhaps, what most people would call strictly -pretty; but she is <i>very</i> charming, and her deep blue -eyes, with their long lashes, are really beautiful. Her -complexion though brilliant is at the same time -delicate, and one of her greatest charms is in the -ever-varying expression of her face. Her nose is not strictly -aquiline, but her pretty sensitive mouth and firm little -chin make up for its deficiencies; and last, but not least, -there is the pretty way in which her hair grows about -her forehead and temples. -</p> - -<p> -Altogether Mrs. Merivale has reason to feel proud -of her three now grown-up daughters, and she often -turns away with a heavy sigh when she thinks with -what fond pride their dead father would look upon -them could he see them now. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap30"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXX. -<br /><br /> -HUGH'S PARTING GIFT. -</h3> - -<p> -A few afternoons later Honor and Molly are both -seated at work under the weeping ash, but the -weather being hotter than ever they have retired to -the very back of the natural arbour which the drooping -boughs form. Of course they have the advantage -of being able to see all that goes on outside, while quite -invisible themselves. -</p> - -<p> -They are talking on the usual inexhaustible subject -of the present time, namely, their future brother-in-law, -Mr. Lancelot Ferrars, who has been down, and -having had a mysterious talk with Mrs. Merivale in the -drawing-room, has taken early dinner (not cold mutton) -with them in quite a brotherly sort of fashion. After -dinner he had been introduced to the studio, as being -a place likely to interest him. Then after a stroll -round the garden, and an early cup of tea insisted -upon by Molly, he had gone off to the station to catch -the next train back to town. -</p> - -<p> -Altogether they are very pleased with their new -relative in perspective, and are never tired of discussing -his merits, either real or imaginary. -</p> - -<p> -"He looks as if he had a little spice of temper in his -composition," says Molly, while hunting for her scissors. -"I saw it in his eyes." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I don't like him any the less for that," replies -Honor, "so long as he knows how to control it. He -looks as if he was accustomed to having his own way -too, and—well, as if he wouldn't stand any nonsense -from anybody." -</p> - -<p> -"All the better for Doris," says Molly sagely. "She -wants keeping in order, you know, and he will do it. -I don't mean to imply that he will beat her, or -anything of that sort, Honor; but, it is as you say, I am -sure he would stand no nonsense from anyone. And -quite right, too. I hate people without a will of their -own. Why, there's a man going up the drive to the -front door!" -</p> - -<p> -"Dear me, you don't say so. Probably it is the -baker," and Honor goes on with her work serenely. -</p> - -<p> -"Nonsense, Honor!" cries Molly, peering excitedly -through the close branches. "The baker goes to the -backdoor, too. It's a gentleman—a <i>gentleman</i>, I tell -you. Come here and look!" -</p> - -<p> -At this startling announcement Honor rises and -looks over Molly's shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"I believe it is Hugh," she says; "only somehow he -looks so much older. How long is it since we have -seen him, Molly?" -</p> - -<p> -"I saw him about a year ago; but I expect it is -longer since you did. It was while I was in London -with Mrs. Horton. Good gracious, Honor, it <i>is</i> Hugh, -and he's got a moustache!" -</p> - -<p> -This remark is called forth by the fact of the visitor -having turned round on reaching the steps, and given -an inquiring glance round the garden, as if in search -of someone. -</p> - -<p> -"O, thank goodness, Mary is answering the bell; not -but what Hugh is used to Becky's shortcomings. Now -he will be shown into the drawing-room in style. I -hope mother isn't asleep on the sofa." -</p> - -<p> -"Come along, Molly," cries Honor, preparing to leave -the arbour. "We need not wait to have his name -brought to us." -</p> - -<p> -But Molly shows distinct signs of cowardice as they -approach the drawing-room together, and as Honor -actually opens the door and enters, she hangs back, -and peeps curiously at Hugh from behind her sister. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, Molly, have you forgotten me? Don't you -know me?" he says, taking her two hands in his, and -looking down into her fair flushed face. -</p> - -<p> -Molly laughs. -</p> - -<p> -"You <i>have</i> changed," she says a little shyly, "and if -we hadn't watched you all the time you were walking -up to the door, I don't know that I <i>should</i> have known -you in this half light." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," says Honor, "you little thought we were in -our 'leafy retreat,' as we used to call it. I expect you -would have found your way to us there if you -had." -</p> - -<p> -"I am very sure I should," answers Hugh, going -over to the window. "Shall I draw up the blinds, -Mrs. Merivale? the sun is off the room now." -</p> - -<p> -"O, <i>don't</i>!" cries Molly, who seems to be seized with -an unaccountable fit of shyness. "I do hate a light -room; so does mother." -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale, however, happens to prefer a little -light on this occasion, now that the sun is going down, -and says in the same breath with Molly, "Yes, do please, -Hugh." -</p> - -<p> -So, with a little deprecating look towards Molly, up -go the blinds and in comes the light. -</p> - -<p> -Molly ensconces herself in a corner behind her -mother, and allowing nearly all the conversation to fall -on the others, sits very still, making silent observations -of the alterations in her old playmate. -</p> - -<p> -It turns out that Hugh is under orders to sail for -Egypt a good deal sooner than he expected, and as his -time is much taken up in dodging about at the -Horse-guards, he finds he will not probably have the -opportunity of coming down again before leaving for -good. He has come, therefore, with the intention of -staying the evening, if they will have him. -</p> - -<p> -Honor, on hearing this, immediately becomes exercised -in her mind as to the state of the larder, and -making a sign to Molly to follow her, she quietly -leaves the room. -</p> - -<p> -So Mrs. Merivale and Hugh sit chatting together -while the two girls consult with Mary about the -arrangement of a nice little supper. It must here be -explained that with their improved position the -Merivales have engaged a more capable servant, it being -necessary to have someone who can do without the -perpetual looking after and directing which Becky, -even in her brightest moments, always required—both -Honor's and Molly's time being taken up now with -other than domestic matters. Becky, however, still -remains, greatly to her delight, she having become much -attached to "missus" and the young ladies. She is -useful in the rougher work of the house, all rights as -to swilling the backyard and blacking boots being -reserved by her. Thus the delinquency of the fire, and, -indeed, others which have been almost beyond endurance -sometimes, are not so constantly brought before -the family now. Mary is a good-natured girl, and as -a rule the two get on very well, unless the kitchen -fire is let out. Then, her face is a sight to see. -</p> - -<p> -Presently Hugh comes out, and finding his way to -the kitchen as of old, tells the girls he is going to run -up to see the Mr. Talboys between tea and supper. -Perhaps Molly will go with him? -</p> - -<p> -But Molly, perverse to the last, remembers some -most important business she has to do, and says "no." -</p> - -<p> -Hugh turns away, looking hurt, as well he may, and -Honor, after frowning her displeasure at her younger -sister, follows him out. -</p> - -<p> -"I would go with you myself, Hugh, but I have a -little bit of painting which I really <i>must</i> do before the -light goes. I didn't know," she adds, "that Molly had -anything very important to do; but I suppose she -knows her own business best." -</p> - -<p> -But Molly, who does not wait to hear her sister's -opinions on the subject, beats a retreat out to the -back-yard, nominally to look after the fowls. -</p> - -<p> -When Hugh has gone to the Rosery, and she joins -her mother and Honor in the drawing-room, they both -fall upon her, metaphorically speaking, and scold her -roundly for what they call her unkindness and vanity. -Hard words these for poor Molly to hear as she stands -abashed before them, especially coming from either her -mother or Honor, who are both so gentle with her -always. -</p> - -<p> -"It is not as if you were a child now," says -Mrs. Merivale in a vexed tone of voice. "What might have -passed for fun two or three years ago amounts to -rudeness in a girl of your age. And how you can like to -be unkind—yes, unkind, Molly,—I really do not know. -What made you refuse to walk up to the Rosery with -Hugh? You are certainly his favourite of all the girls" -(here she tries to speak carelessly), "and when he is -going away, goodness knows how far and for how long, -you must needs be almost uncivil to him. Now, I must -beg, Molly, that you do your best to make Hugh's last -evening here a happy one. I don't suppose he is in -very good spirits, poor fellow! and we don't want to -put him into worse. Do you hear me? Very well. -Come here and give me a kiss. Now, you can run -away if you like." -</p> - -<p> -Molly, who is almost on the verge of tears, is glad to -avail herself of this permission. Catching up her large -white garden hat she returns to the ash, with the -intention of getting her work, which she has left there -in a state of chaos. -</p> - -<p> -Sitting down, however, she begins thinking, and -presently a tear drops on her hands, which are lying -loosely clasped in her lap. Others seeming likely to -follow, she is just raising her hand to brush them away, -when at a little distance she, hears, in Hugh's fine -tenor, the old familiar song he is so fond of singing: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "O, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,<br /> - All lonely waiting here for you,<br /> - While stars above are brightly shining,<br /> - Because they've nothing else to do!"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -In another moment he has caught sight of her white -dress through the branches of the tree, and going -quickly round to the entrance, he goes in and sits down -by her side. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, Molly! In the dumps?" he says kindly. -</p> - -<p> -Molly shakes her head, but says nothing, and there -is a long pause. -</p> - -<p> -"I wish you could have found time to go up to the -Rosery with me, Molly," Hugh says at length. "It was -so cool and pleasant. I think it would have done you -good after the hot day." -</p> - -<p> -A little gasping kind of sigh, then, "I <i>could</i> have -gone if I had chosen," says truthful Molly. "It was -all humbug about the business." -</p> - -<p> -Hugh looks at her a little curiously. -</p> - -<p> -"Why didn't you come then?" he asks. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know," says Molly, and again there is -silence. -</p> - -<p> -"And so you think I have changed so much?" -queries Hugh presently. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that is just it," replies Molly more briskly. -"You <i>do</i> seem to have become so—so <i>different</i> somehow." -</p> - -<p> -"In what lies the difference, Molly?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I hardly know, Hugh—and yet I <i>do</i> know; -only I don't like to say." -</p> - -<p> -"Say away," he says, leaning back in his chair and -laughing. "<i>I</i> won't mind." -</p> - -<p> -"O, it is nothing disparaging," and Molly takes her -hat off and swings it round. "The fact is you seem -so—so dreadfully <i>old</i> now to what you were. Do you -know," she adds, sinking her voice and nodding in her -old way, "I felt quite afraid of you when I came into -the drawing-room and peeped at you from behind -Honor; I did indeed. Then there was your moustache, -too. It makes you look quite severe, and I could not -help wondering how I ever had the face to lecture -and blow you up as I did in the old days. But you -seemed so boyish then to what you do now. The -alteration quite startled me at first." -</p> - -<p> -Hugh laughs. -</p> - -<p> -"I am awfully sorry, Molly. But you didn't expect -me to go on being boyish to the end of my days, did -you? You see, I have knocked about the world a little -now: I don't mean as to distance; that has to come," -he adds with a little sigh. "But since I joined my -regiment I have, of course, been thrown much more -into the society of men—men much older than myself -mostly, and I suppose the life altogether does change a -fellow. My mother says the same as you, Molly. But -notwithstanding the ferocious appearance that my -moustache gives me generally," he goes on after a -pause, "I assure you I am just the same in heart as -ever. Just the same old playmate and companion if -you will let me be, and as ready and anxious for -lectures and scoldings from my little mentor as ever; so -I hope she will not throw me over as a bad job, now -that I am no longer a <i>boy</i>. Now, do you know, I think -<i>I</i> have more reason to complain of the change in <i>you</i>, -Molly, of the two. What with your long frocks and -your turned-up hair, and—oh, lots of things, really you -are quite alarming to contemplate. You have grown -so tall, too; why, I don't believe I am a head taller than -you now, and I was a good deal more, you know." -</p> - -<p> -"I am <i>sure</i> you are not," returns Molly promptly, -"Stand up and let us see." -</p> - -<p> -Standing back to back, it is somewhat difficult to -decide, so it is agreed that Honor shall settle the point -later. -</p> - -<p> -When they have done laughing they sit down again, -Hugh remarking, "'Fair play is a jewel,' you know, -and if you grow up, as you call it, I don't see why I -should not too. What pretty work that is, Molly! -Do you know, my slippers are beginning to wear out." -</p> - -<p> -"Are they? Well, I'll see if I can find an old pair -of somebody's for you. Do you think mine would fit -you?" and Molly holds out her foot with a neat little -morocco slipper on it. -</p> - -<p> -"Too large, by a long way!" he mutters, shaking his -head. Then there is silence for a few minutes, and -Molly puts exactly five stitches into her work. -</p> - -<p> -"Will you wear this as a little keepsake, Molly, and -think of me sometimes when you look at it?" -</p> - -<p> -"This" is a beautiful though simple pearl ring, -which Hugh has put into her lap. -</p> - -<p> -"O, how beautiful!" exclaims the girl, her eyes -lighting with pleasure. "But—I don't know whether -mother would care for me to wear it, Hugh." -</p> - -<p> -"I have asked her, Molly, and she has no objection -at all. It is only a keepsake, you know." -</p> - -<p> -Hugh does not add that he has been asking Mrs. Merivale's -permission to place a more important ring -on her daughter's finger on his return from Egypt, -provided that young lady raises no objections herself. -Molly knows naught of this, however, and proceeds to -place the ring on the third finger of her right hand -with elaborate propriety, turning it round, and looking -admiringly on the shimmering pearls, for they are fine -ones, and being set with diamond dust, are shown to -advantage. -</p> - -<p> -"It is kind of you, Hugh; but I did not want -anything to remember you by. I don't think I should -have forgotten you. They are <i>lovely</i> pearls, and I am -so fond of pearls, too." -</p> - -<p> -The young fellow looks pleased. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't you think it would look nicer on the other -hand, Molly? I think rings look awkward somehow -on the right." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it hurts awfully if anyone squeezes one's -hand when shaking it. Now, who was it who used to -make me scream nearly, rings or no rings? Oh, I -know! poor old Sir Peter Beresford. You know, I -suppose, that he died last year?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, poor old fellow! What a nice old man he -was. Here, let me put it on for you, Molly. There! it -looks ever so much nicer on that finger. You <i>will</i> -think of me and write regularly too, won't you, dear?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," says Molly hastily; but she looks rather -frightened, and Hugh hastens to change the subject. -</p> - -<p> -"We are quits now," he says. "I have still got the -ring you gave me!" -</p> - -<p> -"The ring I gave you!" exclaims Molly staring. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, the ring you gave me. It is no use your -pretending that you hav'n't given me one, because -here it is!" and from a compartment of his pocketbook, -in which he has been industriously hunting, he -takes out and holds up a gorgeous arrangement of -blue and white beads, strung on horse-hair—a present -which Molly now remembers having made him with -great solemnity when she was about ten years old. -</p> - -<p> -"You can't say another word now, Molly," he says -laughing. -</p> - -<p> -"Diamonds and sapphires!" says Molly taking this -valuable ring in her hand, "my favourite mixture; -but how very absurd of you to keep it all this time, -Hugh." -</p> - -<p> -"Not at all. I assure you I value it very much," -and he returns it to his pocket-book with great care. -</p> - -<p> -"I call it highly ridiculous. But now I am going -round to my roses, and you may come too if you like. -I want to cut some for the table." -</p> - -<p> -"I am glad you are getting over some of your terror -of me," laughs Hugh following her. -</p> - -<p> -"The brothers Talboys tell me you are quite a little -witch with your roses; they say you have brought -them to such perfection." -</p> - -<p> -"I believe I <i>do</i> know something about them," -answers Molly. -</p> - -<p> -"Becky!" she calls, catching sight of that damsel -through the kitchen window, "bring out the large -blue china bowl and put it on the front steps. Where -no one will step into it; <i>not</i> in the middle. And fill -it with water, please. Do you know," she says as she -catches up Hugh again, "that Becky is perfectly -overcome by the sight of your moustache. I do hope she -won't smash the bowl in consequence. She is a great -admirer of yours, you know," she runs on, snipping -a rose off here and there. "When you went away last -time she confided to me that you were 'the nicest -gentleman as she ever see!' There's a pretty compliment -for you. This afternoon she said to me, 'Mr. Hugh -<i>has haltered</i>!' I wondered for the moment if -you had ridden down and 'tethered your roan to a -tree.'" -</p> - -<p> -Hugh laughs heartily. -</p> - -<p> -"I am sure I feel immensely flattered. What a -lovely bud that is you are cutting now, Molly!" -</p> - -<p> -"It is for you, Hugh. Stand still a moment and -I will pin it in your button-hole." -</p> - -<p> -Hugh's pleased and gratified look defies description -as he obeys orders, and stands looking down at the -busy little fingers while they deftly fasten the bud in -his coat. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall never—" he is beginning to say, when -Molly cuts his remark short. -</p> - -<p> -"There is Honor!" she cries; "she shall help us to -put all these in water," and running down the path she -leaves him to follow. -</p> - -<p> -In the evening, after supper, there is a little music. -Molly plays, and Hugh sings one or two songs with -a voice that trembles a little sometimes, Molly, after -a slight skirmish on the subject, accompanying him. -</p> - -<p> -Then Honor nobly struggles through a pianoforte -duet with her younger sister by way of a change, her -modest bass sounding rather feeble in comparison with -Molly's spirited treble. It is only Schulhoff's "Grand -Waltz" they are playing; nevertheless, Honor quakes -when they come to the last two or three pages; but -she centres all her hopes on Molly, and, amidst plenty -of laughter (for Hugh and Dick are both in attendance -to turn over), she is landed safely by her at the -last chord. Then Dick sings, but notwithstanding the -efforts made by every one to be cheerful their spirits -seem to go down lower and lower as the evening -advances; and when, after a long unbroken silence, -Hugh suddenly seats himself at the piano, and sings -with simple expression and pathos Hatton's "Good-bye, -Sweetheart," tears rise to the eyes of nearly -every one in the room. -</p> - -<p> -It is a relief almost when Hugh rises and says he -must be leaving. Mrs. Merivale having suggested -that Honor and Molly shall walk down to the gate -with him, and sent them on before, takes an affectionate -leave of the young fellow, saying as she does so, -"We will not let her forget you, dear Hugh." He is -too much overcome to speak, but the look of gratitude -upon his face as he stoops and kisses her is understood -and appreciated by Mrs. Merivale. -</p> - -<p> -The two girls are standing quietly by the gate -when Hugh reaches it, and for a moment he stands -beside them, silent also. Then he turns to the elder -girl: -</p> - -<p> -"Good-bye, Honor," he says gently. "You will let -me hear everything that goes on, won't you?—all -about Doris too; and tell her, with my love, how sorry -I was not to see her again. I will write pretty often; -as often as I can that is, unless I am knocked over by -the Arabs one day." Then he kisses her and moves -towards Molly, who, a little pale and very quiet, is -leaning against the gate-post. He takes her two -hands in his, and looks earnestly into her face for -a moment. Then— -</p> - -<p> -"God bless you, Molly!" he says brokenly. "Don't -forget me!" and stooping he presses a lingering kiss -almost reverently upon her forehead, and—the gate -swings back and he is gone. -</p> - -<p> -Honor is just wondering whether Molly is crying or -what, so quietly is she standing, just where Hugh left -her, when suddenly a figure rushes past them in hot -haste. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm going to walk to the station with him!" cries -Dick's voice. "Great dolt that I was not to think of -it before!" and away he dashes through the gate. -</p> - -<p> -After this little diversion the girls walk slowly back -to the house, and joining their mother they stand -talking together, or rather she and Honor do. After -a few minutes Molly, still very quiet, says she is tired -and will go to bed. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor child!" says Mrs. Merivale as the door closes, -"I think she feels his going. I wonder if she <i>does</i> -care for him, and is just finding it out? I think we -were right, though, Hugh and I—don't you, Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"What about, mother?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, I told you. Where is your memory, child? -When he asked if he might give her that ring, he told -me of his attachment to Molly. But he said it should -be just as I wished whether he said anything to her or -not. He said she was still so young in many ways -that he did not want to frighten her, and perhaps -destroy his chances later. He said, very sensibly I -thought, that there is plenty of time; that they are -both young, and he would rather that Molly grew -to care for him on her own account as it were, than -by its being suggested, so to speak. <i>Don't</i> walk up -and down so, Honor! You fidget me to death, child, -and I am expressing myself anyhow!" -</p> - -<p> -Honor seats herself, and her mother goes on: -</p> - -<p> -"Well, that was the gist of what he said, and I -think it was a very right way of looking at things. -What do you say?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I think so, certainly," replies Honor warmly. -"I always liked Hugh, and I only hope Molly will be -as fond of him one day as he is of her." -</p> - -<p> -"He says," resumes Mrs. Merivale, paying no heed -to this remark, "that if he does not come back in the -ordinary course of things, he shall get short leave if -he finds the time running on. There's Dick! Mind, -not a <i>word</i> to him, Honor; he would tease the child -out of her senses. I think the safest way will be for -only you and me to know it. Doris will be so taken up -with her own affairs that she will not give any thought -to the matter. Of course his mother knows. She has -always hoped for this, it seems. Ah, Molly is a good -girl! You are <i>all</i> good girls, Honor. Now, good-night, -dear; you look tired too, and I am sure <i>I</i> am." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap31"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXI. -<br /><br /> -PREPARATIONS FOR A BALL. -</h3> - -<p> -About a week after this Doris comes home, arriving -in such wild spirits that the household, which -has lately become a little dull, does not seem the same. -Since Hugh's departure Molly has certainly been -more quiet and subdued than of old, often sitting lost -in thought, till Dick one day was reduced to telling -her she seemed always "wool-gathering" now, and -asked was "it a paying business?" The fact of the -case was, that Hugh's manner and gift on the evening -of his last visit had set Molly thinking. No one -can resist the influence of Doris's happy gaiety, however; -and though still disposed to be a little thoughtful -at times, Molly is soon roused into her own bright self -again. -</p> - -<p> -For some days after her arrival home, Doris's tongue -hardly ever ceases going. -</p> - -<p> -"Aunt was awfully kind to me, and I can tell you -she is as pleased as Punch about my engagement. -Only she will call Lancelot (a little blush) 'an -estimable young man,' which does sound so dreadful, doesn't -it? And so poor Hugh has gone," she runs on. "Yes, -it's a pretty ring, Molly, very simple"—and here she -glances rather complacently at her own half-hoop of -fine diamonds—"but good taste; oh, yes, very. I -always thought there would be something between you -two; but I suppose I was mistaken," she says airily. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, aunt was very kind. Uncle is <i>much</i> better, -and looks quite ten years younger. It was such fun! -Aunt, I suppose, thought I should be conceited if I -thought Lancelot was coming so much for my sake, so -she told me that uncle and he had struck up a wonderful -affection for each other, and that amused uncle -immensely. He used to wink at me openly whenever -Mr. Ferrars was announced. -</p> - -<p> -"Uncle and I are regular chums; and when he said -good-bye he patted my face, and told me I was a good -girl, and that he was going to send me a cheque when -I begin to get my 'fal-lals and furbelows' together for -my marriage." -</p> - -<p> -The wedding has been fixed for about six months -later, but Doris does not consider it a bit too soon to -commence the all-important business of her trousseau, -and soon the house is a perfect sea of long-cloth, -cambric, and lace. For it is settled that all the -under-linen shall be made at home, with the assistance of the -girls at the schools, perhaps, in which both Honor and -Molly have for some time held classes on Sunday. -</p> - -<p> -"Plenty of time for dresses and such things later on," -said Mrs. Merivale; and Doris agreed with her. -Lancelot Ferrars was now in London, Mrs. Merivale and -Doris had heard, and up to his eyes in business. He -would run down to see them soon, however, he said. -</p> - -<p> -Some few weeks after this, when they are all settled -down quietly once more, a startling piece of intelligence -is spread through Edendale, which throws every one, -from the highest to the lowest, into an unwonted state -of surprise and expectation. -</p> - -<p> -The new heir to the Court is said to be about to -return from "foreign parts," and intends coming down -in about a fortnight's time to take formal possession -of his inheritance. -</p> - -<p> -There is to be first a tenants' dinner, and then a -ball, to which every one for miles round is to be invited. -Of course the whole neighbourhood is in a tremendous -state of excitement over this unexpected news, more -especially as it is reported that the new baronet intends -living at the Court a good deal. There is much -speculation on many points, and mothers who have -unmarried daughters on their hands still, nod approvingly -at all they hear of the preparations in connection with -the proposed gaieties—all hoping for the best. For some -declare that he is as yet a bachelor, though others are -equally certain that he has been married for years. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Edward Ferrars does not, it appears, feel disposed -to gratify their curiosity on this point any more than -any other. For he does not attempt to come near the -place, leaving all arrangements as to the entertainment -entirely in the hands of those appointed to carry it -through, calmly announcing that he does not intend -putting in an appearance himself until absolutely -necessary. People are obliged perforce to be content, -and they can only look forward to the day of the ball -with redoubled zest. -</p> - -<p> -In course of time cards of invitation are sent out -for July 10th, the Merivale's being for "Mrs. and the -Miss Merivales." Doris goes up to town soon after -this to stay for a few days with her aunt, and Lancelot -coming in one day she shows him the invitation. -</p> - -<p> -"I brought it up to show aunt," she says. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Ferrars laughs a little. -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Edward thought it best to say 'the Miss Merivales,' -I suppose. I did say there were three of you, -but I daresay he forgot. He's a queer sort of fellow, -I believe. His predecessor was also rather eccentric, -you know. Of course you are all going, Doris?" he -says presently. "I shall be there. One of my aunts -is going to play hostess for Sir Edward, and I have -promised to go and help them. It's an awful bore, -though." -</p> - -<p> -"Honor and I are going," says Doris, referring to -the first remark. "I am not quite sure about Molly." -</p> - -<p> -"O, let little Molly go! Besides," cries Lancelot with -energy, "she must, as my future bride's sister, you -know." -</p> - -<p> -Doris stares a little. -</p> - -<p> -"How in the world are people to know that you and -I are engaged; and even if they did, what would they -care about either me or Molly? We are nothing to -Sir Edward." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, true, I forgot that. But you know what -country places are, Doris; and I wouldn't mind betting -five pounds that before you have been in the room -half an hour the fact of our engagement will have -leaked out." -</p> - -<p> -"Do you know much of this Sir Edward?" inquires -Doris after a pause. "Is he married? Some say he -is, some say he isn't." -</p> - -<p> -"I don't <i>think</i> he is," says Lancelot slowly. "I -fancy I heard something about his being engaged, -though." -</p> - -<p> -"O, <i>what</i> a pity!" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, Doris?" -</p> - -<p> -"Because I thought he would have done nicely for -Honor, or Molly perhaps." -</p> - -<p> -"It strikes me there are two people who would -strongly object to such an arrangement," says Mr. Ferrars, -leaning back in his chair and smiling at Doris. -"I don't think Dr. Sinclair would care about it, nor -young Horton." -</p> - -<p> -Doris opens her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh!" she says with astonishment in her voice. -"Why, nothing has been said about these two, Lancelot." -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps not," he answers lazily; "but there will be, -sooner or later, you will see, my dear. Don't say -anything to Molly, though; I don't think your mother -wishes it. As for Sinclair, anyone can see he is fond -of Honor." -</p> - -<p> -"O yes, of course, I know that. But fancy Molly! -My goodness, it seems only yesterday that she was in -short frocks!" And Doris falls to musing. -</p> - -<p> -It is finally decided that Molly <i>shall</i> go to the ball -with her sisters, and now an important question comes -up. What are they all to wear? -</p> - -<p> -"I would rather not go at all than go badly dressed," -says Doris with a suspicion of a pout. "How <i>horrid</i> -it is to be poor! There will be all the Trevelyan -family there: they are <i>sure</i> to be, because even -Lancelot knows them quite intimately, and so also of course -Sir Edward must, to some extent; and they are the -greatest people about this part of the world, I suppose. -I can just imagine how Lady Anne will put up her -eye-glass and examine us from top to toe." -</p> - -<p> -"I don't care if she does," says Molly promptly. -"You can afford to be looked at, Doris, for you are a -hundred times better looking than she is, and you are -sure to get a lot more partners, notwithstanding her title." -</p> - -<p> -But here Mrs. Merivale suddenly becomes possessed -of an idea, and intimates that such is the case by -holding up her hand and saying "Hush!" -</p> - -<p> -She then reminds Honor of the trunks of dresses -belonging to her, which, it will be remembered, there -had been some little argument about keeping at the -time of the sale. -</p> - -<p> -"Were they kept, Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, mother. Aunt insisted that it was more than -anyone would expect or even think of (I mean to leave -them), so she had her own way, and they are up in the -second attic now in those big boxes." -</p> - -<p> -"Quite right, too," remarks Doris, referring to her -aunt's having come off victorious in the matter. -</p> - -<p> -So then and there a tremendous turn out takes place; -and Mrs. Merivale's bed-room, where the foregoing -conversation has taken place, is the scene of trying on and -taking off for a good hour. -</p> - -<p> -Doris and Molly turn out their own particular -hoards also, though the latter's, in the matter of -evening apparel, is somewhat scanty. Still it is found -that their white silks, which were their winter party -dresses, and only new shortly before the death of their -father, are in perfectly good condition still, and with -judicious management the two together can be made -into one very presentable dress for Molly. -</p> - -<p> -Doris's few evening dresses provided by her aunt -when abroad, and modest enough in themselves, prove -to be a little shabby when seen by daylight, and the -girl's spirits begin to sink accordingly. -</p> - -<p> -"That pale pink of mother's is lovely," she says, -looking at one which Honor is in the act of shaking -out, "but Lancelot insists on my being in white. Such -nonsense! I declare I would spend my last few shillings -in having a new white net or something; but it -would look absurd for Molly to be in silk and me not. -What about Honor, too?" -</p> - -<p> -At this critical moment Becky appears staggering -under the weight of a large milliner's box, her cap a -little more awry than usual. -</p> - -<p> -"For you, miss," she says, planting it on the floor -close before Doris. "There ain't nothing to pay;" and -looking very much as if she would like to stay, she -slowly leaves the room. -</p> - -<p> -"For me? Good gracious! what can it be?" and -Doris pounces on the box, and tearing off both paper -and string she very soon gets at the contents. A new -dead, white silk is then triumphantly displayed, made -with artistic simplicity, the only trimming being a -little good lace. -</p> - -<p> -Off comes Doris's dress in a trice, and in almost less -time than it takes to tell she is in the new one, pulling -here and patting there until it is all fastened (Doris -gasping a little, but striving to conceal that fact), and -pronounced by one and all to "do" charmingly. -</p> - -<p> -"My stars," says Dick, appearing suddenly on the -scene, "you <i>do</i> look stunning! What a pity our knight -is not here to gaze upon his future bride in this—shall -I say, regal attire," and the boy falls into an attitude -of admiration and devotion. Doris bows her -acknowledgments of these graceful compliments with a -heightened colour; but whether the colour is due to -the undeniable tightness of the bodice or the mention -of the "knight" we will leave an open question; Dick -inclining to the latter opinion, Doris (privately) to the -former. -</p> - -<p> -"You ungrateful girl!" suddenly cries Honor, who is -engaged in smoothing out the many sheets of crumpled -tissue paper strewn about the box and on the floor. -"Here is a letter from aunt; how came you not to see it?" -</p> - -<p> -It appears that the present is from Sir John. He -wishes Doris to look well at the coming ball, Lady -Woodhouse goes on to say, young Ferrars being of the -same family as Sir Edward. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, that is kind of uncle, isn't it? Now I shall -not care two straws for Lady Anne Trevelyan or -anyone else." -</p> - -<p> -On further examination of the hoards another white -silk (one of Mrs. Merivale's) is discovered, which will -do nicely for Honor if altered and renovated. -</p> - -<p> -"I want you all to be dressed alike in that respect," -says Mrs. Merivale. "You know, girls, I always liked -white silk for you in the old days before your poor -father died," and she sighs heavily. -</p> - -<p> -And so the weighty subject of the ball dresses is -settled, and a young woman in the village, whom the -girls have found to be possessed of some ideas as to -style and so on, is engaged to come into the house to -alter those destined for Honor and Molly. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap32"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXII. -<br /><br /> -JOHN SINCLAIR'S FAIRY TALE. -</h3> - -<p> -All this time Daisy and Dr. John Sinclair continue -to take their almost daily rides, greatly to the -delight of the former if not the latter. Not that the -young man feels one whit less the pleasure of having -his little favourite intrusted to his care, and of -watching her slow but steady return to health and -spirits. -</p> - -<p> -But of late he has become dull and spiritless, going -about his work in a listless sort of way which is quite -foreign to him as a rule, and which cannot fail to be -noticed by anyone who knows him well. -</p> - -<p> -It will have been gathered from some foregoing -hints that ever since the young doctor had been called -in to attend Daisy in her illness, he had been gradually -becoming attached to her sister Honor. -</p> - -<p> -At first he had been amused, afterwards attracted, by -all her quiet little motherly ways when nursing Daisy, -and when he came to be a daily visitor at the house -he soon learned to appreciate and admire the girl who, -for the sake of all around her, was making such brave -and heroic efforts against an adverse fate. -</p> - -<p> -It was not difficult for the doctor's keen eyes to see -that Honor, young as she was, was the guide and -mainstay of the whole household, nothing, not even the -merest trifle being ever settled or arranged without -consultation with her first. -</p> - -<p> -And all this was done with graceful cheerfulness -and sweetness of temper; for it was very seldom, sorely -tried though she was at times, that Honor allowed herself -to become ruffled or cross, even with poor Becky in -her most stupid fits; and no one but the girl herself -knew what a weary, tired-out little frame it often -was she stretched upon her bed at night with a sigh -of thankfulness for her well-earned rest. Then when -better times came, and cares and anxieties lessened, -the young doctor saw a new side to her character; -for whereas she had before been almost unnaturally -sober-minded for one so young, she was now like a -bright sunbeam in the house. -</p> - -<p> -No wonder Dr. Sinclair began to think how cheerless -his house (which hitherto had appeared to be all -that was desirable) looked on his arrival home, and -how different it would all be if there was someone -always waiting to receive him. In summer-time he -would picture this person sitting in the porch, perhaps, -with needlework, and when winter came, in a cozy -sitting-room all aglow with firelight, with possibly a -pair of slippers warming near the fender. O, yes, it -was a charming picture! In truth the young doctor, -hitherto so matter of fact and prosaic, had taken to -painting many such pictures in his mind's eye, and the -centre figure always bore, strange to say, a strong -resemblance to Honor Merivale. But John Sinclair -had got his way to make in the world, for although he -had stepped into his father's practice on the latter's -death, the list of well-to-do patients was not a very -extensive one, there being but few (comparatively) -large houses round about the neighbourhood; and the -young fellow being kind-hearted and lenient in such -matters, fees came in but slowly from his poorer -patients, often not at all. -</p> - -<p> -This had been of no consequence to the old gentleman -during his lifetime, for he had money of his own -which made him independent of his profession. In -later years, however, he had speculated largely and -unsuccessfully, and when on his death-bed he was obliged -to tell his son that all he had to leave him was his -house and just the bare practice. This intelligence had -in no way disconcerted John Sinclair, however. He -said he had his brains and his hands, and with those -useful commodities had no fears for the future. -</p> - -<p> -He had soon worked the practice up into something -very much better than it had been formerly, and, what -was more encouraging, he was beginning to be looked -upon with favour by his brother practitioners, it being -now no uncommon thing for him to be sent for to -neighbouring towns to hold consultations with men -of long standing and experience. -</p> - -<p> -Still his fortune was not made, and in his castle-building -moments he now became painfully conscious -of many defects in his bachelor home. -</p> - -<p> -The carpets, which a little while back had appeared -quite handsome in his eyes, now look threadbare and -worn. The curtains are all of them old-fashioned and -dingy. The leather of the dining-room furniture has -suddenly become shabby and scratched, whilst the -coverings of all the drawing-room chairs and sofas, &c., -are faded to the last degree. -</p> - -<p> -No, he could not ask Honor to share his home as it -is. He must wait until he shall have the means to -brighten up the old house with modern furniture, and -to make it both pretty and comfortable. He must -wait, too, until he has a certain income (how much, he -has not quite decided even to himself) to depend upon -yearly. -</p> - -<p> -"She has slaved and laboured enough, poor child!" -he says to himself sighing, "and she shall never have -to do it again through any rashness of mine." -</p> - -<p> -So altogether John Sinclair is not in the best of -spirits just now, for while he is waiting might not -someone else step in and secure the prize. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale sees the change, and guesses pretty -accurately the reason of it. But while she pities him -from her heart she feels rightly that nothing she can -do will mend matters. -</p> - -<p> -Daisy does not find her companion nearly so amusing -and cheerful now as she used to, and one morning, -feeling in extra good spirits herself, and only getting -mono-syllabic answers to all her childish flow of chatter, -she plainly informs him of that fact without the slightest -regard to his feelings. -</p> - -<p> -"Am I not?" says Sinclair, laughing a little and -pulling himself together; for he had been leaning -forward in his saddle wrapped in gloomy thoughts, until -the child's abrupt remark roused him. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I am very sorry, Daisy. I'll try to be a -little more lively in future. Shall I tell you a new -story?" -</p> - -<p> -Daisy looks at him, and then shakes her head. -</p> - -<p> -"I like the old one best," she says, "about the -princess, you know, and the wood-cutter. But I don't -like the way it finishes up. You must make it end -differently, Dr. John." -</p> - -<p> -"Why, how did it end?—I almost forget now;" and -he passes his hand over his eyes and strives to take -his memory back to please his exacting little patient. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, I believe <i>I</i> know it all better than you!" -remarks the child with some contempt. "Don't you -remember? The princess had a lot of brothers and -sisters; but, you know, she can only have been a princess -in disguise, because she was a kind of Cinderella at -home. Then the wood-cutter, just because he <i>was</i> a -wood-cutter, would not ask the princess to marry him, -although he was <i>dreadfully</i> fond of her; and <i>I</i> think -that was silly, you know, because it was quite likely -that some fairy would have made him a prince when -they were married, and then, you see, it would have -been all right. You must make up a new ending," -concludes Daisy authoritatively, "and make the -wood-cutter ask the princess to marry him, and then they -will both be happy ever after." -</p> - -<p> -"Do you think they really would be?" asks Dr. John -anxiously. -</p> - -<p> -"Of <i>course</i> they would—they always are!" replies -Daisy, with firm conviction that the approved manner -of winding up fairy tales in general cannot fail to be -successful in this case also. -</p> - -<p> -"You can arrange it all nicely when you are at home -to-night," continues the child, "and mind you make -it very long." -</p> - -<p> -"To be sure," says the young man as he lifts his -little charge off her pony and stands her by the gate. -"Yards long, if you like, Daisy; and we will take an -extra long ride so as to get it all in comfortably." -</p> - -<p> -As he stops at the Rosery stables to leave Puck, the -old gentlemen at work in the garden catch sight of -their young favourite; and nothing will do but he -must go in and take a glass of ale and some cake with -them, the brothers being devoted to cake themselves, -and thinking of necessity that every one else must be -likewise. So Jack is taken in company with Puck to -the nice cool stable, where he is entertained with a fresh -drink and a few oats, while his master goes into the -shady, old-fashioned dining-room with his old hosts. -It soon becomes apparent that they have lured him in -with some special object, for after a humming and -hawing from both gentlemen in turn Mr. Edward at -length says: -</p> - -<p> -"The fact is, my dear Dr. John, we have been -wanting to speak to you for some time past on a little -matter of business; and I do not see that we could -have a better opportunity than now." -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Benjamin nods approvingly, and saying -"exactly," looks at his brother expectantly. -</p> - -<p> -"You see, my dear boy," resumes the elder brother -slowly, "if you will pardon us for saying so, we do -think it is time you were thinking of getting married. -Hush! pray let me finish what I was about to say. Of -course Mrs. Mildew, though a truly excellent woman -in her way, is, it cannot be denied, advancing in years; -and we fear that she does not always make you as -comfortable as—as, well, as she might. Now, Brother -Ben and I, you must remember, have known you ever -since you were a little chap—so high, and have looked -upon you as a son almost. Naturally, therefore, we -have put you down in our will for a trifle. But we -have lately been thinking that the wiser plan would -be to let you have the benefit of this little sum during -our lifetime—in fact, at once. It will bring you in -about a hundred a year, and with your own practice, -we think you might make a sufficient income to keep -a wife very comfortably. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course," says Mr. Ned, holding up his hand -again for silence—"of course <i>this</i> is a matter in which -we cannot advise you, and which must be left entirely -to yourself. I daresay, however, you know plenty of -young ladies in the different towns about;" and he -nods and smiles archly at the young fellow. -</p> - -<p> -"You see, my dear boy, it looks so much better for a -doctor to be a married man," suddenly puts in -Mr. Benjamin; "and should you be so fortunate as to meet -with anyone in the future whom you would like to—to -make Mrs. John, you know, you would naturally want -to furbish up the old place a bit—now, wouldn't you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Another thing," strikes in Mr. Edward, both brothers -seeming equally determined that John shall not -have an opportunity of getting in a single word edgeways -until they have said all their say, "it would be an -immense relief to both Brother Ben and myself to feel -that we still had you at hand to fly to in any case of -emergency. We have always had the fear that you -might perhaps be running away to set up in some more -prosperous place than this." -</p> - -<p> -Here the old gentleman pauses, and John Sinclair, -seizing his opportunity, speaks at last—not that he is -allowed to say much, however, for the old fellows have -not half finished yet, and they will not listen to a -single word of thanks. -</p> - -<p> -When John once brings in the word "obligation" -they are both down upon him at once. -</p> - -<p> -"There is no obligation in the matter at all, my -dear boy, unless it is on our side. As I said to Brother -Ben this morning, 'It is pure selfishness on our part, -Ben, nothing more nor less. Because, you see, we like -to see with our own eyes that what we intend doing -is really done, and without any haggling with lawyers -and executors.' Why, bless me, if every one acted on -this principle there would be a little more justice and -comfort in the world, I'm thinking." -</p> - -<p> -After a little more brisk conversation and some -chaffing on the subject of the future "Mrs. John" -(Mr. Ben having declared that his young friend was -blushing, and that he believed he already had his eye on -some charming young lady, though whom it could be -he couldn't tell), the young doctor is allowed to take -his departure. -</p> - -<p> -Riding slowly down the cool, green lanes, Jack rather -enjoying the unusual pace, Sinclair repeats over and -over to himself Daisy's words, "The wood-cutter must -ask the princess to marry him," till at last, giving the -saddle a sounding smack with the handle of his riding-whip, -he exclaims to himself, "He shall ask her, and -that this very day! Only," his face falling a little, "will -she raise any objections to leaving all her brothers and -sisters, I wonder?" He is put to the test sooner than -he expects, for as he comes out of the lane at the -crossroads, a little way down one of which his own house -stands, whom should he see seated on the stile, a small -basket by her side, but Honor Merivale! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap33"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXIII. -<br /><br /> -THE WOOD-CUTTER AND THE PRINCESS. -</h3> - -<p> -In a moment John Sinclair is off his horse, and -drawing his arm through the reins he approaches Honor. -</p> - -<p> -"Now I am fortunate," he says, putting one foot up -on the lower plank of the stile. "I was just wishing -for someone to communicate a piece of good news to; -and lo! here is someone ready and waiting, as it were." -</p> - -<p> -"I was waiting for a fresh stock of breath after -climbing up that hill, Dr. Sinclair, not for you." -</p> - -<p> -"Possibly," he returns, smiling; "but now you are -here you will let me tell my news, won't you?" -</p> - -<p> -Then in a few words he tells her of the conversation -that has been held that morning by the Mr. Talboys -and himself. -</p> - -<p> -"I am so glad!" exclaims Honor, holding out her -hand in the impulse of the moment, "and they will be -so delighted at home too! You work so hard and are -so good to every one, I am sure you thoroughly deserve -this good fortune." -</p> - -<p> -"The brothers find serious fault with me for one -thing, however," resumes the doctor after a short pause. -"They think it is high time I thought of getting -married." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" says Honor, and suddenly discovering that -her hand is still resting in that of Sinclair, she gently -draws it away and strokes Jack's velvet nose. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, they say a doctor ought to be a married man. -I think so too. What do <i>you</i> say, Miss Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -"O, I daresay it may be well in some cases, but you -have got on very well so far." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, so far perhaps," and letting the reins drop, -that Jack may graze at will, Sinclair seats himself on -the stile, a plank below Honor. -</p> - -<p> -"By the by," he says, looking up suddenly, "you -remember that story I have often told Daisy, about -the wood-cutter and the princess? You must have -heard it, because I am sure I have told it some hundreds -of times altogether. Well, I have to revise it, to -suit her little ladyship's taste. She no longer approves -of it as it was. I thought, perhaps, you might help -me. First of all the princess, so far as I remember, -had no name. I don't think I ever troubled myself -about giving her one. Now, what do you think of -'Honoria'—Princess Honoria? I think it sounds -well; do you?" -</p> - -<p> -"O yes," replies the girl, laughing a little. "That -would do very well, I daresay." -</p> - -<p> -"Well then, do you think 'John' too commonplace a -name for the wood-cutter?" -</p> - -<p> -Honor starts a little. -</p> - -<p> -"I think you might find one better suited to a fairy -tale," she says quietly. -</p> - -<p> -"Do you? Oh, I think it would do so well. O yes, -certainly; his name must be John. You can settle the -next question for me. Daisy says the wood-cutter is -to ask the princess to marry him. Shall he do so, -Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -Poor Honor! She cannot get off the stile, because -there sits the doctor below, making her descent -practically impossible until he chooses to move; and her -broad-brimmed hat, though effectually shading her eyes -from the sun, cannot shield her from the earnest eyes -looking up so anxiously into her face. She cannot put -up her sun-shade either, for both her hands are now -imprisoned, and while flushing painfully she tries to -withdraw them, she looks away across the fields and -says nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"Won't you answer me, Honor?" he says after a -minute. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I think it would be a pity for him to ask her," -she says in a low voice. -</p> - -<p> -"Why?" -</p> - -<p> -Honor brings her face round again, and with a great -effort continues speaking in the light manner in which -they began, notwithstanding that her hands are still -held tightly. -</p> - -<p> -"Why," she says with a little smile. "Don't you -remember that the princess had a lot of brothers and -sisters, and—and they might not like her to go away, -and she might not think it right to leave them, you -know." -</p> - -<p> -"They might marry too," mutters Sinclair gloomily. -Then suddenly bending forward again, he says with -trembling voice, "Honor, dear child, do not trifle with -me. You know that I have loved you for a long, long -time, almost ever since I first knew you. But I have -been waiting—oh, such a weary waiting!—until I -should have something else to offer you besides my -worthless self. And now that I <i>can</i> do it, you are not -going to disappoint me, dear? Say you will be my -wife, Honor." -</p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-257"></a> -<br /> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-257.jpg" alt=""YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DISAPPOINT ME, HONOR?"" /> -<br /> -"YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DISAPPOINT ME, HONOR?" -</p> - -<p> -"O don't, please don't!" cries the girl, trying -distractedly to get possession of her own hands again. "O, -Dr. Sinclair, I <i>wish</i> you had not asked me!" -</p> - -<p> -"Why?" he asks again quietly. -</p> - -<p> -"Because—because, I cannot bear to seem ungrateful -or unkind, and yet I must. O, will you please let me -go?" -</p> - -<p> -"I will let you go when you have answered me two -questions, Honor," he says, dropping her hands and -drawing back. "Will you first tell me why you are -obliged to disappoint me?" -</p> - -<p> -Honor struggles bravely to keep back her tears, -while she says in a low voice: "I could not leave -them, Dr. Sinclair. My mother and sisters and the -boys, I mean. Somehow I have never thought of such -a thing as marrying for myself." -</p> - -<p> -"Not lately, Honor?" -</p> - -<p> -Honor looks down, but does not answer. -</p> - -<p> -"I promised father, only a little while before he -died," she goes on, "that I would always do all I could -to help the others." -</p> - -<p> -"But you did not promise him never to marry? -Your father would not have exacted such a promise, I -am sure. Now, Honor dear, be reasonable. Doris is -going to be married, and Molly will follow before very -long." -</p> - -<p> -"Molly?" repeats Honor, looking up. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, of course she will, as soon as young Horton -comes home again. Well, there are two off the list. -You would not consider the boys so much in the -matter, I suppose; and your mother could divide her time -between Doris and ourselves. Daisy I have always -looked forward to having to live with us. Ah! what -would poor little Daisy say if she knew that the -princess was refusing to marry the wood-cutter, and to give -her that big brother she so much covets! Ah, Honor, -dear child, think before you speak again. Don't decide -hurriedly, I beseech you. Take a day to consider—two -or three, if you will; but remember, that if your -final answer is again 'no,' you give me a lifelong -sorrow to live down. -</p> - -<p> -"No!" he suddenly adds with an energy that startles -Honor and Jack both, "not a <i>life</i>-long sorrow, for -I shall still hope, even if I have to wait for years. -There is only one thing that will rob me of all hope. -If you tell me that you cannot care for me, then will I -leave you here at once, and I will never open my lips -on the subject again." -</p> - -<p> -But Honor, who would rather die than tell an untruth, -cannot tell him anything of the kind, and so she turns -a little reproachful look upon him, shaking her head -sadly, and as it droops lower and lower two great tears -fall upon the hands which are now again holding hers -in a firm grasp. -</p> - -<p> -At the sight of her tears the doctor has instant -remorse. -</p> - -<p> -"Forgive me, Honor," he says gently. "I have been -too hard on you; I am a selfish fellow, and now I have -distressed you." -</p> - -<p> -But Honor, who is still crying quietly, again shakes -her head, and in a whisper that he can hardly hear -she says: -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, you have not. Please, do not think that. -I—I am crying for, for happiness, I think. But oh, I -am so sorry too! <i>Please</i>, let me get my handkerchief!" -</p> - -<p> -What would have been the result of this somewhat -contradictory statement, it would be perhaps rash to -speculate upon, judging by the look of happiness which -suddenly overspreads the doctor's face. But at this -critical moment a small urchin turns the corner of the -lane and slowly comes into sight. He holds a tin-can -in one hand and something tied up in a red-cotton -handkerchief in the other—presumably his dinner. -The fact of coming upon the party at the stile so -suddenly and unexpectedly appears to embarrass him -exceedingly, for he stands as if rooted to the spot, -gaping and staring, first at the horse, then at Sinclair, then -at Honor; his eyes travelling back again in reversed -order, and finally resting on Jack, with whom he seems -struck with admiration. All chance of private -conversation being apparently at an end, John Sinclair rises, -and first possessing himself of Honor's basket, holds -out his hand and helps her down from the stile with -elaborate politeness. Then once more slipping the -reins over his arm, he retraces his steps (Jack meekly -following, though it is the opposite direction from -home), and walks slowly along by Honor's side until -they reach the gate of the Rookery. -</p> - -<p> -When Honor enters the house it is with a confused -sense of having conceded so far as to make three -distinct promises to Dr. John Sinclair. One is that should -Molly marry some day in the far distant future, she, -Honor, shall consider herself pledged to become -Mrs. Sinclair, at a moment's notice. The second is that she -shall straightway inform her mother of what has -passed between them, as he intends calling that evening -to speak to Mrs. Merivale on the subject himself. -</p> - -<p> -The third concession (and Honor blushes when she -thinks of it) is that "Dr. Sinclair" is to be dropped -from that time forth, and that she is to call him simply -"John" for the future. Honor, however, privately -resolves to call him nothing, if she can avoid doing -otherwise, as a way out of the difficulty. -</p> - -<p> -They are all seated at the dinner-table when she -enters the room, Doris at the head carving, for which -Honor is devoutly thankful, feeling possibly that in -her present state of confusion she would not know a -shoulder of mutton from a round of beef. Mrs. Merivale -is at the other end of the table. -</p> - -<p> -"You <i>are</i> late," says Doris, brandishing the -carving-knife. "Which will you have, Honor, hashed mutton -or cold beef?" -</p> - -<p> -"Cold mutton, please," replies Honor, and Doris, -staring a little, begins to carve her some beef, thinking -to herself that the hot sun has turned her sister's head -a little. -</p> - -<p> -Dick presently pushes the salad over. -</p> - -<p> -"No, thanks," says Honor absently; and at that -Dick arrests the progress of the fork which is half-way -to his mouth, and laying it down again exclaims: -</p> - -<p> -"Why, what is the matter with Honor? She is as -red as a poppy; she calls beef mutton and refuses -salad in the same breath!" -</p> - -<p> -"Mind your own business and don't tease!" says -Molly, who had caught sight of the doctor with Honor -at the gate, and has her own private opinion as to her -sister's embarrassment. "Eat your dinner, Dick, and -get back to your lessons. That's the best thing you -can do. Can't you see," leaning over and helping -herself to more salad, "that Honor is done up with the -heat? I really thought I should have collapsed with -it myself this morning when I was coming home, down -that hot, glaring, dusty road. What did Lancelot say -in his letter this morning, Doris?" -</p> - -<p> -Honor looks gratefully at her younger sister, and -having had time to recover herself, she tries to talk -and to make a pretence of eating, though the chief -part of her meat is surreptitiously received by Timothy -under the table. -</p> - -<p> -The conversation at length becomes general, and is -chiefly about the ball, which is no further off now than -the next evening. -</p> - -<p> -Later on in the day Lady Woodhouse is to arrive, -she having promised to chaperone her three nieces to -the ball. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap34"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXIV. -<br /><br /> -"I AM LANCELOT," SAYS SIR EDWARD. -</h3> - -<p> -The dresses for the ball have all been finished off -satisfactorily, and now that the evening of the -10th has really arrived, the three girls are standing in -the drawing-room, preparatory to starting with their -aunt for the Court. -</p> - -<p> -They make a pretty group in their simple, white -silk gowns and natural flowers. Doris is perhaps a -little the most important looking, as being the eldest -of the three. Standing with a handsome posy of -choice hothouse flowers (sent down from London that -morning by Mr. Ferrars) in her hand, she looks, as she -certainly is, a very pretty and graceful girl. -</p> - -<p> -Honor, with an opposition posy, which had arrived -with some mystery that afternoon, and is explained -with great persistency by Dick as being an offering -from Ernest Hildyard, looks almost equally pretty -to-night, with a soft flush upon her cheeks and a -happy light in her eyes, which seems lately to have -become habitual to them. But it is Molly who carries -off the palm for beauty on this occasion, though not, -perhaps, looking in the same ecstatic spirits as her two -sisters; and her mother as she looks at her feels a little -pardonable pride in the thought that probably her -three daughters will be the best-looking girls in the -ball-room. -</p> - -<p> -"She is looking lovely to-night!" whispers the -delighted mother to Honor. "I do wish Hugh were -here to see her, poor fellow!" -</p> - -<p> -Lady Woodhouse and Molly are also provided with -posies of choice flowers, Priscilla having left them at -the Rookery that evening about six, with her masters' -compliments, a card being tied on each, one for "Lady -Woodhouse," the other "Miss Mary Merivale." -</p> - -<p> -Evidently some little bird had whispered to the old -gentlemen that it would be quite unnecessary to send -a similar offering to either Doris or Honor. -</p> - -<p> -"We must take care what we are about, Ben," -remarked Mr. Edward to his brother, "or we shall -have these two young fellows getting jealous of us." -</p> - -<p> -When the only available fly in the village is at length -announced by Dick and Bobby, who have both been -on the tiptoe of expectation for some time, Lady -Woodhouse gathers up her skirts, and followed by her -three nieces walks down the gravel path, Dick being -in attendance to receive her goloshes, which, though -there has not been a drop of rain for weeks, she insists -on wearing over her evening shoes until she shall be -safely seated in the aforesaid fly. -</p> - -<p> -As the boy hands Honor in, he charges her to be -sure to ask Sinclair how he likes the flowers Mr. Hildyard -has sent her, but on receiving a smart rap on his -head with a fan from Molly, who is close behind him, -he wisely retires into the background. -</p> - -<p> -"Bless me! what a rattle-trap kind of conveyance," -says Lady Woodhouse to Honor, who is seated opposite, -"and <i>how</i> it smells of straw! You girls had better -hold up your gowns off the floor; I don't suppose it is -any too clean. And, dear me, there is a piece of glass -out of the pane behind Molly! You had better pull -the window up on your side, child, or you will be -getting a stiff neck or an ear-ache." -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -* * * * * * * * -</p> - -<p> -It is certainly not to be denied that those whose -business it has been to make all the arrangements for -the ball have achieved wonders, for the stately, -gloomy-looking old place, which until now had been shut up -for so many years, is scarcely to be recognized in the -brilliantly-lighted and flower-bedecked mansion, at -whose wide-thrown doors the guests are being set -down from carriage after carriage. -</p> - -<p> -The garden is so arranged as to look like a continuation -of the beautiful conservatories, and the trees and -bushes all being hung with coloured lamps, the whole -scene is like a miniature fairy-land. There is a large -marquee at one end, with light refreshments, and this -arrangement is appreciated not a little by the guests, -who are thankful on this hot summer night to have -the excuse of a stroll in the open air in order to obtain -their ices and claret-cup between the dances. -</p> - -<p> -Just inside the great drawing-room stands an -aristocratic-looking, silver-haired lady, who, with the -assistance of three gentlemen (Lancelot and two -younger-looking men), is receiving the guests. The dancing is -to be in the great hall, so when most of the visitors -have arrived they are conducted thither without -delay. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder which is Sir Edward?" whispers Doris to -Honor; "they are neither of them half so good-looking -as Lancelot." For Mr. Ferrars has merely said "my -cousins" in introducing them to the girls. -</p> - -<p> -But at this moment there is a little stir near the -door, and the next moment the Earl and Countess of -Castleton, with their daughters, Lady Anne and Lady -Margaret Trevelyan, enter the room. -</p> - -<p> -As the host and hostess have been waiting for the -arrival of this party before giving the signal for the -dancing to commence, Lancelot immediately leads the -way to the hall with Lady Castleton. The rest of the -guests follow, Lord Castleton, rather to Doris's surprise, -begging the honour of the first dance with her, while -the two "cousins" bear off the Ladies Anne and -Margaret. -</p> - -<p> -Doris, though appearing pleased enough, nevertheless -feels rather put out. As she had looked forward -to dancing the first dance with Lancelot, she cannot -help wondering why <i>he</i> should be opening the ball -with Lady Castleton, instead of his cousin Sir Edward. -Lord Castleton does not mend matters in her opinion -by planting himself and her immediately opposite to -Lancelot and his partner, thus giving her precedence -of Lady Anne and Lady Margaret. -</p> - -<p> -The girl is so confused with this (to her) odd -arrangement that her conversational powers are seriously -affected, and she thinks to herself what a stupid little -thing she must appear to his lordship. She sees in -the distance, in another set, Honor with John Sinclair, -and Molly with Lord Hinton, a friend and college -chum of Lancelot's, who has come down with him, -and she finds herself privately thinking that if her -partner were any other than Lord Castleton she would -insist on leaving this very select set and joining the -other. -</p> - -<p> -She makes the best of it, however, and meeting a little -affectionate and encouraging glance from her vis-ŕ-vis -just as the band plays the opening bars of the quadrille, -she brightens up, and chats to her elderly partner -while gracefully moving through the figures in a -manner which quite charms his lordship. -</p> - -<p> -Doris is once more standing by her aunt's side when -Lancelot hurries up. "I must have this one waltz -before I do any more duty dances, Doris. Come along!" -and in another instant they are gliding round the room -together. After several turns Mr. Ferrars guides her -to the end of the hall, where some heavy curtains are -hung. He lifts one, and Doris, looking a little surprised, -passes through. They are now in a sort of inner hall, -and hurrying Doris down it he throws open one of the -doors and stands aside for her to enter. It is a -cosy-looking study which they are now standing in, the -windows, like those of nearly all the rooms on that -side, leading straight to the garden. The only thing, -however, that Doris notices particularly in the room -itself is a nearly full-length portrait of Lancelot over -the mantel-piece. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you tired?" he asks, putting her into a comfortable -lounging-chair, and taking his stand by the fireplace, -one elbow resting on the mantel-piece. -</p> - -<p> -"Tired!—after only two dances? Why, I shouldn't -expect to be tired if I danced all night long, Lancelot." -</p> - -<p> -"And now, tell me, Doris," he says after a short -pause, "how do you like Sir Edward?" -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Edward?" repeats Doris staring a little. -"Why, I don't even know who he is yet. You only -said 'my cousin' when you introduced them both to -us. How can I possibly tell?" -</p> - -<p> -"And yet you have been dancing with him," says -Lancelot with a little smile. -</p> - -<p> -"I!—with Sir Edward?" says Doris evidently thinking -that her companion is wandering in his mind a little. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, <i>you</i>, with Sir Edward. Look here, Doris," -taking her arm and raising her from the chair, "that -is Sir Edward Ferrars up there!" and he points to the -portrait of himself. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Lancelot!</i>" gasps Doris, and she turns her wonder-stricken -face towards him, while a little pained look -comes into her eyes. "Why have you called yourself -Lancelot, then?" she inquires, her voice sounding a -little hurt and constrained. -</p> - -<p> -"Because I <i>am</i> Lancelot," Sir Edward says gently, -and taking her hands into his. "But I am Edward -too, Doris; the other is only my second name, though -I have always been called by it since my infancy. -You see, I never expected to come into this property, -Doris. It came almost like a blow to me. There was -another man, a distant cousin, who was the direct heir; -but, poor fellow! he was a black sheep, I am afraid, and -he came to an untimely end. It was all hushed up at -the time, and I knew no more of it than anyone else. -You may imagine, then, how surprised I was when -I found myself the happy possessor of this property. -Happy, because I have found someone to share it with -me, Doris. I should not have cared two straws about -it otherwise." -</p> - -<p> -"But—but <i>why</i> did you deceive me, Lancelot?" -says Doris, with the threatening of a pout on her fair -face. -</p> - -<p> -"I did not deceive you, dear. I simply let things -take their own course, with you that is, and I was as -much Lancelot Ferrars then as now, now as then. -The only two people I told of my accession to this -property were your aunt and your mother. I was -bound to tell them, of course." -</p> - -<p> -"And why," says Doris, still looking and feeling a -little hurt, "<i>why</i> couldn't you tell <i>me</i> too?" -</p> - -<p> -"You must forgive me, Doris. Do you remember -what you said to me over and over again about making -some great match? I remember you tossing your -little head one day when we were sitting in the -balcony of the hotel at Venice and saying 'What was love -compared to riches!'" -</p> - -<p> -Doris blushes and hangs her head. -</p> - -<p> -"Then there appeared this rich old French count—" -</p> - -<p> -"He wasn't <i>very</i> old," interrupts Doris. -</p> - -<p> -"Older than I am at any rate. And I thought at -first you were a little bit dazzled with the prospect of -horses and carriages and diamonds and so forth, so, -although I knew even then that I was in a position to -give them to you also, I made up my mind I would be -sure that you were accepting me for myself, even as -the artist who could only give you a very different -position to that which the old (I beg pardon, the -middle-aged) count could, and I suppose <i>did</i>, offer you. -Am I forgiven, Doris? I must be hastening back to -my duties now; but you must tell me first, dear, if you -care any less for Sir Edward than for the Lancelot you -have known so long?" -</p> - -<p> -Doris lifts her face, a little paler than when they -entered the room at first, and with unshed tears -standing in her large blue eyes she says: -</p> - -<p> -"Dear Lancelot, I care for you no less, no more than -at first. I do not think I could ever be fonder of you -than I was when I promised to become your wife. -But I am glad now that you tried me, and that I -accepted you in ignorance of your real position. O," -she adds a little archly, "it was horribly mean of you, -but I am very, very glad now!" -</p> - -<p> -Sir Edward (for we may as well give him his title -now) folds Doris in his arms for one brief moment, -then he hurries her out of the room. As they are -approaching the hall once more, he whispers, "Give -me your programme, Lady Ferrars! I must squeeze in -every dance that I can with your ladyship; but oh, -these duty dances! I <i>must</i> have one with Honor, and -Molly too. Now you understand, I suppose, why I -opened the proceedings with Lady Castleton, and why -the Earl was <i>your</i> partner?" -</p> - -<p> -"But he doesn't know, does he?" says Doris, looking -frightened. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I gave him a hint. We are old friends; my -father and he were very intimate in days gone by. -Lord Castleton has just told me that he thinks Miss -Merivale is a very charming girl. I shouldn't be a -bit surprised if he proposes your health at supper -to-night. There will have to be a little speechifying, -worse luck, because of the occasion." -</p> - -<p> -"O, good gracious, I hope he won't!" exclaims Doris -excitedly. "If he does, I shall fall straight under the -table with nervousness!" -</p> - -<p> -"Never mind," says Sir Edward calmly. "If you do -I can fish you up again." -</p> - -<p> -Presently the Mr. Talboys come up to Doris full of -hearty congratulations, as do also most of the guests in -the room that night, who have not known the true state -of affairs any more than Doris herself. Molly, indeed, -is reduced to such a state of surprise and wonder, that -Honor thinks it well to whisper that her present -partner, a youth of tender age, will be frightened if -she continues to stare in that vacant manner. -</p> - -<p> -The Mr. Talboys, who, after their usual custom had -been amongst the first arrivals, have been immensely -gratified and pleased by all the attention their three -favourites have been receiving. The little surprise of -Lancelot turning out to be Sir Edward, they take -quite as a matter of course. -</p> - -<p> -"Doubtless he had very excellent reasons, my dear -Ben," observed Mr. Ned. "You see, no one knew him -down here, not a soul, excepting the Merivales and -ourselves, and I should say Mr. Ferrars—I mean Sir -Edward—is an unobtrusive sort of man. O yes, very, -I should think." -</p> - -<p> -To Lady Woodhouse Doris is at the same moment -saying, "Aunt, how could you and mother play me -such a trick? It was too bad of you both." -</p> - -<p> -"Tut, child!" says Aunt Sophia with a little toss of -her head, "it was for your own good. If young -Ferrars had really been a pauper and was pretending -to be a prince, I might have thought twice about it, -perhaps. Here he comes for you. Dear me, how tired -I am getting!" and the poor lady tries to stifle a yawn -behind her fan. -</p> - -<p> -By and by, in one of the pauses in their waltz, Sir -Edward suddenly says, "You will have to call me -'Edward' now, you know. You can't go on with -Lancelot: no one would know whom you were talking -about. Of course it must be Edward." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I suppose it must," says Doris, taking little -sniffs at her flowers. "But I don't like it half so well. -It is so formal too. I shall have to call you 'Ned' for -short, shall I?" -</p> - -<p> -"You can't do that, because Mr. Talboys will -always think you are speaking to him when he is -present. <i>Ted</i> might do, though. It sounds so romantic -and pretty, doesn't it? Honor and Molly are getting -lots of attention, aren't they? Poor Horton, I wish he -was here. Shall we have another turn, Doris?" -</p> - -<p> -Not long after this there is a general move amongst -the guests who are still left, and while Lady Woodhouse -and her three nieces are waiting together in a -little group, Sir Edward, his cousins, Lord Hinton, and -John Sinclair being in close attendance, Mrs. Cunnyngham, -Sir Edward's aunt, says a few kind, courteous -words to her nephew's promised bride, finally kissing -her affectionately when saying "good-night." -</p> - -<p> -Sir Edward takes Lady Woodhouse out to the -carriage, Lord Hinton following with Doris. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Ernest Hildyard, who has been leaning against -the wall consumed with jealousy of his successful rival -John Sinclair for the best part of the evening, on -seeing this move rushes forward, inspired by one last -glimmer of hope, and is about to offer his arm to -Honor, when Sinclair with a little triumphant smile -strides forward and quietly takes possession of her. -</p> - -<p> -The disappointed youth falls back to Molly's side -just as one of Mrs. Cunnyngham's sons also reaches -her; but with a little smile at the latter Molly puts -her hand on young Hildyard's arm, and Cunnyngham, -understanding her smile, steps back, liking her all the -better for the little kind-hearted act. -</p> - -<p> -Both brothers, however, accompany her as well, and -there is quite a merry leave-taking amongst them all -as the gentlemen stand congregated on the lowest -step, after having seen their fair charges stowed away -in the fly. The first rosy streaks of dawn are appearing -in the east as they drive away from the Court, and -poor Lady Woodhouse, tired and shivery, throws -herself back in her seat exclaiming: -</p> - -<p> -"There! thank goodness <i>that</i> is over. I would not -go through it all again, no, not if I were paid for -it!" Mary is in attendance with the goloshes as the fly -draws up at the gate, and they all go as quietly and -softly into the house and up the stairs as if, as Doris -says, they were housebreakers. -</p> - -<p> -The girls follow their aunt into her room and help -her out of her finery, as she calls it. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, dear me," says the good lady, sinking into a -chair, "you girls look as fresh as larks even now—excepting -Molly perhaps: the child looks pale. Get me -my night-cap somebody, I am dying to get this lace -arrangement off. That diamond pin has been running -into my head the best part of the evening." -</p> - -<p> -"Poor Aunt!" says Doris. "Take off your cap and I'll -have the other ready in a minute." And the naughty -girl winks at Honor as she turns away to look for it. -</p> - -<p> -Molly, however, too tired for jokes, is before her, and -is already standing by her aunt with the night-cap in -her hands. -</p> - -<p> -"That's a good girl," says Lady Woodhouse, drawing -her face down and kissing it. "And now be off, all of -you. You have already lost several hours of beauty-sleep, -and you will be looking as haggard as old -women to-morrow!" And kissing them all affectionately, -she dismisses her three maids for the night, or -more correctly speaking, morning. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap35"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXV. -<br /><br /> -DORIS'S WEDDING. -</h3> - -<p> -Breakfast is considerably later than usual the -next morning, in consequence of the gaieties of -the previous night. Mrs. Merivale has therefore made -an effort to be present on this occasion in order to hear -full accounts of the ball. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Woodhouse has now somewhat recovered from -her fatigue, but the girls all look pale and heavy-eyed, -being altogether unaccustomed to such late hours. -Molly sits in a hopeless state of yawning, hardly -eating any breakfast, and leaving all the others to do the -talking, only throwing in a word here and there. -Doris has been scolding her mother for her part in -what she calls the <i>trick</i> played upon her as to the real -position of her <i>fiancé</i>, and Mrs. Merivale has more than -once been obliged to appeal laughingly to her sister for -support in what she holds out as her <i>reasons</i> against -her daughter's arguments. -</p> - -<p> -That young lady at length clinches the matter by -emphatically declaring it to be all "fudge," whatever -that may be, and that she is quite surprised at -Lancelot having behaved so badly. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," presently remarks Lady Woodhouse, chipping -the top off an egg, "I will say this for your girls, -Mary,—a more lady-like, refined trio you could not see. If -they were not here," she continues with an inconsistency -worthy of the Emerald Isle itself, "I should go -on to say what is perfectly true, that they were the -admiration of the greater part of the guests, and the -envy of the rest. Why, if their programmes had been -as long as my arm, they could have filled them over -and over. O, yes, I certainly feel well repaid for those -long, weary hours of sitting there, pretending I liked -it, when I would <i>far</i> rather have been in my bed. -Well, as I said before, the girls do you credit, Mary. -You and that excellent Miss Denison that was; you -would have brought them up to be refined even had -they had to go out charing. Good gracious! here's that -cat of yours playing with my shoe-strings. Take him -away, Molly, do! And now, Doris, what is this you are -telling us about Sir Edward? If he wants you to -marry him in three weeks' time instead of several -months, why in the world shouldn't you do so?" -</p> - -<p> -"It is so quick, aunt," objects Doris. -</p> - -<p> -"Quick? What nonsense, child! And now, let me tell -you this, Doris, and I am sure your mother will agree -with me. Considering that you are going to your -husband without so much as a sixpence of your own, -I think it is your duty—do you hear?—your <i>duty</i> to -consider his wishes. Goodness knows, the property has -been neglected long enough; and if Sir Edward wishes -to settle down on his estate as quickly as he can, I -don't see why <i>you</i> should raise objections. <i>Do</i> leave -off twirling that knife round, Dick. It fidgets me to -death." -</p> - -<p> -After a good deal of argument on the subject, it is -settled that Doris (in her aunt's wording) shall behave -herself like a sensible young woman, and inform Sir -Edward, who is to call at twelve o'clock that morning, -that she is ready to be borne off to the altar at any -moment he shall think desirable; and Molly, suddenly -looking up at the clock and remembering that she is -due at the Hallams at half-past ten, darts away from -the table to put on her hat. -</p> - -<p> -And so it comes to pass that the wedding is fixed -for that day three weeks. -</p> - -<p> -Much as Sir Edward would have wished for a quiet -wedding—just simply the Merivale party and a few of -his own relatives—it is found to be impossible, under -all the circumstances. So Doris finds (not entirely to -her chagrin) that she is, after all, to have the grand -wedding which she has always promised herself on the -occasion of her union with the much-talked-of duke. -Although the house for the next three weeks is in a -perfect uproar of preparation regarding everything -appertaining to the bride's trousseau, much trouble, and -expense too, is taken off their hands by the Mr. Talboys, -who insist, taking no denial, on giving the breakfast -at their own house. -</p> - -<p> -Grave and long, therefore, are the consultations held -by the old gentlemen with Mrs. Edwards, their cook -and housekeeper, and anxious the discussions with -Priscilla, the parlour-maid, on the subject of certain -valuable silver and china, which are stored away in -the depths of a capacious closet, and have not seen the -light of day for years. -</p> - -<p> -Nearly all Doris's time is taken up in trying on and -being fitted, until she hardly knows what dresses she -does possess. Many are the notes of thanks, too, which -she has to write for the really nice presents she -receives, conspicuous amongst which are a beautiful set -of amethysts from Mr. Edward, and another of fine -pearls from Mr. Benjamin Talboys. -</p> - -<p> -Sir John and Lady Woodhouse have come forward -most generously in the matter of the trousseau, the -former having said to his wife: "We must see that little -Doris is well set up for gowns and bonnets and so -forth, my dear. I should not like her to step into such -a position scantily supplied. You see it is our duty, as -it were, to see the affair all through satisfactorily, the -young people having met so often while Doris was -under our charge." -</p> - -<p> -And so the rich silk embroidered with seed pearls -in which Doris now stands, waiting for her carriage, -has been the gift of her kind uncle, as well as most of -the other dresses; and while, before starting for the -church, he clasps upon the girl's wrist a slender band -of pearls (his wedding present), he whispers to her, -"You must never forget, my dear, that <i>I</i> was the -attraction, and that Sir Edward always came to see -<i>me</i>, not <i>you</i>, you know!" and laughingly patting her -cheek, he trots away after his wife. -</p> - -<p> -No less a personage than the Earl of Castleton has -solicited the honour of giving away the bride, partly on -account of his friendship with Sir Edward, but quite -as much for the real liking he has taken to "little Miss -Doris," as he calls her. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Castleton seems every bit as nervous as Doris -herself on this occasion, for he fusses about the room, -first to the window then to the mantel-piece, taking -little sniffs here and there at the flowers, then back -again to the window. He can think of nothing -particular to say either, excepting every now and then -expatiating on the beauty of the day, which has -certainly turned out lovely, and also begging Doris not to -be nervous. -</p> - -<p> -He is just admiring the beautiful diamond necklace -(Sir Edward's gift) which Doris wears, when the -carriage is announced, and the earl, with a dignity which -fills the stragglers at the gate with awe, proudly -conducts the bride to it. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Hinton acts as best-man to his friend, Sir -Edward, and the ceremony once over, he of course -takes Honor into his charge as first bridesmaid, -Dr. John Sinclair accepting the inevitable with a fairly -good grace, remarking as he follows the rest of the -party down the aisle with Molly on his arm: -</p> - -<p> -"You and I must console each other, Molly; we both -seem rather out of it to-day, though your turn will -come as surely as mine yet." -</p> - -<p> -The moment has now come when Doris must take -leave of all her family and the kind friends standing -around her. She is looking lovely in her plainly-made -dress of dark green cloth and tan Sučde waistcoat and -facings, with bonnet and gloves to match. Though -when bidding her adieux the tears are standing in her -soft blue eyes, she wisely keeps them from falling (for -after all it is not a compliment to one's bridegroom to -start on the wedding tour in floods of tears); and as -she takes her husband's arm and goes down the steps, -she turns before entering the carriage and throws a -beaming glance back to them all. -</p> - -<p> -In another moment, amidst a perfect storm of rice, -the Mr. Talboys actually struggling with Dick and -John Sinclair for the largest quantities, Sir Edward -and Lady Ferrars are off, <i>en route</i> to Seaforth Abbey, -one of Lord Castleton's seats in the neighbourhood of -the English lakes, which he has placed at their disposal -for the honeymoon. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap36"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXVI. -<br /><br /> -THE END OF A FAIRY TALE. -</h3> - -<p> -Another year has passed, and on a hot lazy -afternoon in August a group may be seen lounging -on the lawn of the Rookery, under the shade of one -or two fine old trees. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Merivale and Lady Woodhouse are seated close -together in earnest conversation over some matter -which is of importance to themselves only. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Edward and Lady Ferrars, who have now been -settled at the Court for some long time, have dropped -in at the Rookery, as they are fond of doing, and are -seated with Honor a little distance off. -</p> - -<p> -Presently Doris rises and joins her mother and aunt, -and after a little pause, during which Sir Edward rolls -up and lights a cigarette, he turns to his sister-in-law -and says: -</p> - -<p> -"Do you know, Honor, I have come here this afternoon -with the deliberate intention of giving you a -good talking to. I told Doris I should this morning, -and she quite agreed." -</p> - -<p> -"Why, what have I done?" inquires Honor laughing. -</p> - -<p> -"It is not what you <i>have</i> done, but what you seem -determined <i>not</i> to do, young lady," returns Sir Edward. -"To speak plainly, I do not think you are treating -Sinclair fairly. That is what I want to tell you." -</p> - -<p> -Honor is opening her mouth to speak, a little surprise -on her face at this accusation, when Sir Edward -continues: -</p> - -<p> -"No, I really don't, Honor. Here is this letter, -which came more than a week ago, telling us of young -Horton already being on his way home, poor fellow! and -you know very well what will take place when -once he does come, for Molly certainly returns his -affection now. I am sure of it. And yet you go on, -putting off Sinclair still; and for no reason at all as far -as I can see." -</p> - -<p> -Honor looks a little abashed, but Sir Edward goes -on again, first sending a cloud of smoke up into the -tree above. -</p> - -<p> -"You know what I intend doing for Bobby and -Dick, Honor. Of course it is high time now in any -case that Bob went to a good boarding-school, and he -can divide his holidays amongst us when they come -round. Dick cannot do better than remain where he -is for a little while linger; but I have told the lad -that when the right time comes he shall have his -heart's desire, and go to Oxford. Now, Honor, be -reasonable. What is there to prevent your marrying -Sinclair now? There are only your mother and Daisy -left, and I am sure the former would be very happy -living with us, taking turns, I mean, with you and -ourselves. And as for Daisy, Sinclair has often spoken -of his great wish to have the child to live entirely -with himself and you in the future. Now, I don't -think you can say another word. I consider I have -blown away all your scruples as completely as I am -blowing away this smoke. So now, Miss Honor, we -shall both, Doris and I, expect cards for your wedding -shortly;" and before the girl can say a word in reply -Sir Edward gets up and joins the other group, feeling -doubtless that it will do more good if she is left to -digest his remarks at her own leisure. -</p> - -<p> -The Mr. Talboys are coming to tea this afternoon, -bringing with them two guests of their own—Daisy -and Bobby. So, after sitting a moment or two, Honor -gets up and goes into the house to give a look to the -preparations for tea, which is to be in the garden on -this occasion. -</p> - -<p> -While this conversation is going on, Molly is seated -in a swing which is suspended to a tree near a small -arbour, at the back of which is a little gate in the -hedge, much used by the servants, it being a short way -to the back of the house. -</p> - -<p> -Often the girls use this way of entrance too, -especially when they want to get in quickly. -</p> - -<p> -To-day, on her return home from some of her pupils, -Molly turns in this way, and seating herself in the -swing throws her hat down on the grass before her. -</p> - -<p> -It is not because she is tired that Molly stays here -instead of going straight into the house, but because -she wants to be quiet for a few moments, in order to -read again for about the twentieth time that letter -spoken of by Sir Edward to Honor, which is from -Col. Danvers, and is in her pocket at the present -moment. Gently swinging to and fro, one hand steadying -the rope, the other holding the letter down in her -lap, Molly reads the words which she could now almost -say off by heart. -</p> - -<p> -The first portion of the letter is taken up with -inquiries for all at home, and a brief explanation of -his having been ordered to the Soudan some little time -back. There, greatly to his surprise, he had come -across Hugh Horton, the two from that time being -thrown much together. Then comes the description -of a small skirmish with the Arabs one day when they -were both out together, in which Hugh was badly -wounded in nobly going to the rescue of one of his own -men. -</p> - -<p> -Having been cut off somehow from the rest of the -party, this man suddenly found himself face to face -with three Arabs, who, promptly attacking him, would -soon have made short work of the matter, had not -Hugh, seeing the state of affairs from a distance, -galloped up to his assistance. Even then the two had -a hard fight for it, and it is doubtful whether either -would have lived to tell the tale had not others of the -party ridden up to their rescue; for while the Arabs -at the sight of them took instant refuge in flight, -Hugh at the same moment rolled forward in his saddle -and fell heavily to the ground, close to where Private -Williams had fallen a few seconds previously. -</p> - -<p> -Altogether the letter is a long one, but a little -further on—after describing the dangerous state in -which Hugh (now Captain Horton) had lain for weeks, -the surgeon having in fact given up all hope of his -recovery—there are some words which Molly is never -tired of reading. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="letter"> -"I nursed him through it all myself," the colonel goes on, -"with the assistance of his own servant, and altogether, when -not raving in delirium, he was as patient as a man with a broken -arm, a deep sabre gash across his forehead, and quite a nice little -collection of bullets in his body altogether, could be expected to -be, I think. Through all his delirium, and even when quietly -sleeping sometimes, the name of 'Molly Bawn' was constantly on -his lips. I mention this in case you should happen to know -anything of the young lady in question! Well, a truce to joking. I -am sending poor Horton home to you all a complete wreck of his -former self. Take care of him, and be kind to him, Molly. He -needs it sadly. I think you may expect him almost any time -after you receive this letter, for I want to start him off the -moment I can." -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -A few more words and the letter ends. Not so the -motion of the swing. For Molly still sits, reading -a little bit here and there over again, until the tears -slowly gather in her eyes, and fall one by one with -a little splash on to the paper in her lap. -</p> - -<p> -"Dear Hugh!" she says softly to herself, "I hope he -will come soon." -</p> - -<p> -The words are hardly spoken when her heart -tightens, and for a second or two almost ceases to beat. -For hark! A tenor voice somewhere in the neighbourhood -of the road is singing, or to speak more correctly, -humming, the first verse of "Molly Bawn." -</p> - -<p> -Molly arrests the motion of the swing and listens; -her heart now beating to suffocation almost, while -a flush rises to her fair young face. It dies away -again suddenly, however, for in another instant a tall -figure stands beside her with pale haggard face, on -which the dark and now sweeping moustache looks -fiercer than ever. -</p> - -<p> -There is the same soft light in the eyes as of old -though, as Hugh, with a little smothered cry of "Molly, -darling!" throws his one available arm round the -startled girl, just in time to prevent her from falling. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh!" she cries. And in those three words all is -said, all told; and the next moment Molly is leaning -her head upon his shoulder, shedding tears of thankfulness -for his safe return. -</p> - -<p> -A little later on, when (regardless of spiders and -other innumerable creeping things) they are seated in -the arbour, Hugh having begged earnestly for a few -minutes' quiet talk before joining the others, Molly -suddenly looks up. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor fellow! you do indeed look as if you need to -be taken care of. Is your poor arm really getting -stronger now?" and she gently strokes the right arm, -which he still wears in a sling. -</p> - -<p> -"O, that will soon be all right," he says, capturing -the little hand and holding it fast. "It was the knock -on the head which nearly did for me. Look here, -Molly!" and lifting a lock of hair which falls a little -over one side of his forehead, he shows her a wound -which extends pretty far back. Not an ugly-looking -scar, but a deep and dangerous cut at the time. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," he says, "I did not know much after getting -that, Molly; but I should have known still less if it -had not been for <i>you</i>." -</p> - -<p> -"For me?" says the girl looking up inquiringly. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, for you, dear. Here, help me to get into my -breast-pocket, Molly I have something to show you." -</p> - -<p> -With a little struggling Hugh's pocket-book is at -length extracted from his pocket, and after some -fumbling among its contents he presently produces a little -flat silver box of oriental-looking workmanship, which -looks a good deal dented and a little bent. -</p> - -<p> -He gives it into Molly's hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Open it," he says, and the girl, wondering a little, -does so. -</p> - -<p> -A faded white rose lies within it, a faint, sweet -fragrance clinging to it still. -</p> - -<p> -"My rose!" says Molly softly, her eyes filling with -tears. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Mine</i>," returns Hugh gently, and taking it out of -her hand he puts it away again carefully. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, if it had not been for this rose, Molly, I should -not be sitting here beside you now. The bullet which -would have been buried in my heart struck this -(touching the box), and glanced aside. So you see, -Molly, it was <i>you</i> who saved my life!—a worthless -one enough until you took me in hand, dear. Well, -now I suppose we must go and join the others. What -a start I shall give them!" -</p> - -<p> -When they reach the lawn they find the -Mr. Talboys have arrived with Daisy and Bobby; and -when they have all got over their first astonishment -at the sight of the haggard-looking personage walking -by Molly's side, there is a general rush, and hearty -congratulations are showered on Hugh by every one -upon his safe arrival home again. Although nothing -is actually said upon the subject, it is not difficult to -guess at the true state of affairs when they glance from -Hugh's speaking face to Molly, where she stands a -little apart, with downcast eyes and heightened colour; -and there is extra warmth thrown into the welcome -to the returned wanderer on this account perhaps. -</p> - -<p> -"But where is Daisy?—not ill, I hope;" and Hugh -looks inquiringly towards Molly. -</p> - -<p> -"O no," says Mrs. Merivale rising. "I am thankful -to say that she is quite a little Samson to what she -was formerly. But she and Bobby have been dining -with the Mr. Talboys to-day, and Daisy seems a -little done up with the heat. She complained of -headache, so Honor insisted on her lying on the sofa in the -drawing-room for a little while. I will take you to -see her myself, Hugh;" and putting her arm within -his they turn towards the house together. -</p> - -<p> -"The fact is," remarks Honor, shaking her head -gravely at the brothers Talboys, "Mr. Ned and -Mr. Ben have been giving the children too many good -things. Bobby already begins to look as if a powder -might be desirable sooner or later." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Honor!</i>" exclaims that young gentleman indignantly, -while Mr. Ned, much concerned at the charge -brought against himself and his brother, says -emphatically: -</p> - -<p> -"I <i>assure</i> you, my dear, we have been most judicious -in that respect, and I am sure that Daisy at least had -nothing richer than apricot-tart and cream. To be -sure," he adds after a minute, "I have some slight -recollection of my brother Ben and Daisy having -finished up the tart between them, but I <i>don't</i> think -it was a very large one. Master Bob and I preferred -something more substantial—didn't we, young man?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," replies Bobby promptly. "We had a roly-poly -jam-pudding, Mr. Ned and I. And we had the -jam-pot up as well, because we thought Mrs. Edwards -had not put enough in—didn't we, Mr. Ned?" -</p> - -<p> -"Hush—sh—sh!" says Mr. Edward, shaking his -finger at the boy; "you mustn't tell tales out of school, -young Bob, or we shall have Miss Honor after us with -the cane!" -</p> - -<p> -When Mrs. Merivale a little later comes out of the -drawing-room, leaving Hugh still chatting to Daisy, -Molly is just descending the stairs, having been up to -her room to take her hat off. She waits for her, therefore, -and tenderly folding her daughter in her arms she -whispers, "I am so glad, dear child! Now go into the -drawing-room and sit with him and Daisy in the cool for -a little while. We will call you out when tea is ready. -I will tell the others and make it all easy for you, -dear. See if Hugh would like anything after his dusty -walk. Poor fellow, what a wreck he is indeed!" and -opening the door again Mrs. Merivale gently pushes -her daughter into the room. -</p> - -<p> -Sitting there in the welcome shade of the darkened -room, with one hand in Hugh's strong grasp and the -other clasped by Daisy's little sympathetic fingers, -Molly listens quietly to all that Hugh is telling her -little sister of his experiences and adventures abroad; -and presently he turns to her and tells her of the -devotion and kindness with which Colonel Danvers -tended him while on his bed of sickness, and indeed -up to the time he had left Egypt. -</p> - -<p> -"He told me afterwards," Hugh adds, "that he was -determined to pull me through 'for little Molly's sake.'" -</p> - -<p> -At this moment Becky opens the door, and with a -frightened glance at the "capting" announces that tea -is ready and waiting. So they leave Daisy to herself, -promising to send some tea in to her. -</p> - -<p> -There is such a large party on the lawn altogether -that Honor and Molly divide the labour between them -and have opposition tables, Honor with tea, Molly with -coffee. Hugh is seated in a comfortable wicker chair -near Molly's table (he preferring coffee to tea), and is -being made much of by everybody. There is a beautiful -sapphire and diamond ring on the third finger of -Molly's left hand now, the pearls playing number two; -and as Hugh watches the little hands moving about -the cups, the flashes emitted by the fine stones cause -him much inward satisfaction, as proving some really -tangible arrangement <i>at last</i>! -</p> - -<p> -Presently John Sinclair strolls in, and being a -tea-drinker, naturally comes to anchor beside Honor's -table. He is very soon, as usual, plunged in some -scientific discussion with Sir Edward Ferrars, a great -liking for each other having sprung up between the -two young men. But notwithstanding the rapt attention -he is apparently bestowing on the subject, Doctor -Sinclair reads the "signs of the times" as quickly as -anyone, and the sight of Hugh seated by Molly and -the flashing of the latter's diamonds and sapphires afford -him every bit as much satisfaction as they do Hugh. -</p> - -<p> -"I have come to the end of my cream!" suddenly -exclaims Molly. "Who will fetch me some more?" -</p> - -<p> -"I will," cries Honor, jumping up. "I can lay my -hand on it at once. Don't let Dick eat all the sugar -while I am gone." -</p> - -<p> -In another moment John Sinclair rises quickly from -his chair. -</p> - -<p> -"I will go and see how Daisy is getting on," he -remarks, and, quite oblivious of the fact that Sir -Edward has just asked him some abstruse question, -the answer to which he is eagerly waiting for, off he -starts with rapid strides towards the house. Sir -Edward, however, looks at Doris and laughs, well pleased. -After waiting patiently for some considerable time -Molly at length exclaims: -</p> - -<p> -"Good gracious! what a time she is fetching that -cream! O, here they all come together." -</p> - -<p> -"Daisy feels better," remarks Honor with some -confusion in her manner, "so we have brought her out -with us." -</p> - -<p> -"Exactly," says Brother Ben, his eyes twinkling -meanwhile. Molly looks at her sister a moment, then -with a little smile at Hugh she says: -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Honor, but where is my cream?" -</p> - -<p> -There is a general smile, and then Dick offers his -services. -</p> - -<p> -"I <i>may</i> perhaps manage to remember what I am -going for," he says; "but it is a long, <i>long</i> walk to the -house, and I fear it is doubtful, as Honor has already -shown. However, I'll try." -</p> - -<p> -"And don't drink half of it before you get back!" -cries Sinclair after him. -</p> - -<p> -While Dick is absent there is rather an awkward -silence, which Sir Edward suddenly breaks by bursting -into a hearty laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"You must really forgive me," he says to Honor and -Sinclair, "but it is so very absurd to see you two -sitting there trying to look as if nothing at all particular -has happened. Of course every one of us here," and he -looks round, "has long known of the tacit understanding -as to Honor's possible marriage in the future (I -say 'possible' because of her noble and generous scruples -in the matter), and I am sure, therefore, that she will -forgive me for speaking thus openly before this family -party, and our old and valued friends, the Mr. Talboys." The -brothers bow delightedly. -</p> - -<p> -"So now, Sinclair," and Sir Edward holds out his -hand, "may I congratulate you and Honor on your -formal engagement?" Of course every one flocks round -them, and the general excitement is at high pitch for -a few minutes, it being presently increased by Bobby -contriving to upset a milk jug. For this catastrophe -Honor is devoutly thankful, since it takes every one's -attention away from herself for a time. Moreover, it -benefits Vic and Timothy, who generally grace the -tea-board with their presence. The former has been -industriously shaking Honor's dress for the last few -minutes, being under the impression that all the -handshaking and kissing are some new kind of game. But -they both rush forward now with one accord to the -little pond of milk, which is rapidly sinking into the -thirsty turf, and lap energetically until it is gone. -</p> - -<p> -Presently, when they have all settled down again -quietly, Mr. Edward Talboys plants his stick firmly on -the grass in front of him and says: -</p> - -<p> -"Now, there is one thing, my dear friends, that my -brother Ben and I have set our hearts upon, and in -case of any little misunderstanding in the future, we -think it is best, perhaps, to mention it at once." -</p> - -<p> -"Just so, just so," says Mr. Ben nodding. -</p> - -<p> -"We wish very much to have the honour of giving -away the two brides when the time for the wedding -(which will be a double one, I suppose) shall come. -We had looked forward, you know, to performing this -little ceremony for Doris on the occasion of her -becoming Lady Ferrars, but although we were obliged to -make the best of it then, we much hope there will -be no similar disappointment in store for us <i>this</i> time." -</p> - -<p> -"My dear sirs, I am sure that nothing would please -my sisters better," answers Sir Edward for the two -girls. "I had intended taking that duty on myself, -but you have a far superior claim; and so with your -leave we will consider that matter settled. I shall -devote myself exclusively to your mother, Doris, for -the whole day, so you must look out for someone else." -</p> - -<p> -"O, I shall find someone, never fear," retorts Lady -Ferrars, tossing her fair little head at her lord. -</p> - -<p> -"And what is to become of me, pray?" inquires -Lady Woodhouse, looking round at every one in turn. -</p> - -<p> -"O, I am going to be your cavalier, aunt," says -Dick with a courtly bow. "Just you wait until you -see me. I mean to get myself up to the nines, <i>I</i> can -tell you, and you will be able to congratulate yourself -on having the best-looking fellow in the church as -your escort, <i>not</i> excepting the two bridegrooms." -</p> - -<p> -"Dick!" cries every one together, and Lady Woodhouse, -giving him a rap with the handle of her sunshade, says: -</p> - -<p> -"Go along with you, do! As if I should consent to -having a young jack-a-napes like you for a cavalier." -</p> - -<p> -Here Daisy, who had run after Dick when he went -for the cream, and has been absent ever since, reappears -amongst them all with some little sketches which she -has been doing under Honor's supervision in Hugh's -absence, and which she is anxious to show to him. -</p> - -<p> -After they have been duly examined and admired, -Sir Edward calls her over to him. -</p> - -<p> -"I fancy your friend Dr. John can finish your story -for you now, Daisy," he whispers. "Go and tell him -I say so." -</p> - -<p> -Nothing loth, the child goes across to where he is -sitting, and demands his instant and undivided attention. -</p> - -<p> -So John Sinclair, with one arm round the child as -she stands close beside him, begins briefly narrating -the old fairy tale in a low voice, hurrying over it until -he comes to the part in which he has made the required -alterations. -</p> - -<p> -"Wait a minute!" cries Daisy excitedly; "you must -speak out loud now, because I don't believe any of the -others know the new ending. Now then." -</p> - -<p> -"So," resumes John, "the woodcutter asked the -princess to marry him—" -</p> - -<p> -"He was a prince really, you know," puts in Daisy -parenthetically, for the benefit of the company -generally. -</p> - -<p> -"And," continues John, "as all her sisters were -married excepting one—" -</p> - -<p> -"She said she would!" cries the child, clapping her -hands and beaming round upon everybody. Then there -is a short pause, during which John glances at Honor. -</p> - -<p> -"And—" at length queries Daisy, looking up into -her favourite's face. -</p> - -<p> -"And—er—" says John. "Let me see. O yes, the -princess took the wood-cutter by the hand and led him -up to her little sister, saying: -</p> - -<p> -"'Buttercup, I have brought you a new brother. -Will you come and live with him and me far away in -the wood, in a little hut which is covered with roses?'" -</p> - -<p> -"And what did Buttercup say?" inquires Daisy, -who is listening with breathless interest to this entirely -new part of the story. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know," says John rather lamely; "what -would <i>you</i> have said?" -</p> - -<p> -"O, <i>I</i> would have said 'yes,'" she replies promptly. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I think you had better finish the story, Daisy. -You know it quite as well as I do, if not better." -</p> - -<p> -"Well," says Daisy gravely, "Buttercup said she -<i>would</i> like to live with them in the hut covered with -roses. And then the wood-cutter and the princess -were married very soon, and they all lived happily -ever after." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -THE END. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Three Bright Girls, by Annie E. Armstrong - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE BRIGHT GIRLS *** - -***** This file should be named 62631-h.htm or 62631-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/6/3/62631/ - -Produced by Al Haines -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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