The Vivians managed this quite easily. They raced down a side-walk until they came to an overhanging oak tree of enormous dimensions. Into this tree they climbed, getting up higher and higher until they were lost to view in the topmost branches. Here they contrived to make a cozy nest for themselves, where they sat very close together, not talking much, although Betty now and then said calmly, "I like Mrs. Haddo; she is the only one in the whole school I can tolerate."

"Fan's worse than ever!" exclaimed Sylvia.

"Oh, don't let's talk of her!" said Betty.

"It will be rather fun going to London to-morrow," said Hester.

"Fun!" exclaimed Betty. "I suppose we shall be put into odious fashionable dresses, like those stuck-up dolls the other girls. But I don't think, try as they will, they'll ever turn me into a fashionable lady. How I do hate that sort!"

"Yes, and so do I," said Sylvia; while Hetty, who always echoed her sisters' sentiments, said ditto.

"Mrs. Haddo was kind about Dickie," said Betty after a thoughtful pause.

"And it is nice," added Sylvia, "to have the Vivian attic."

"Oh, dear!" said Hester; "I wish all those girls would keep out of sight, for then I'd dash back to the house and bring out the pieces of heather and plant them right away. They ought not to be long out of the ground."

"You had best go at once," said Betty, giving Hester a somewhat vigorous push, which very nearly upset the little girl's balance. "Go boldly back to the house; don't be afraid of any one; don't speak to any one unless it happens to be Mrs. Haddo. Be sure you are polite to her, for she is a lady. Go up to the Vivian attic and bring down the clumps of heather, and the little spade we brought with us in the very bottom of the fifth trunk."

"Oh, and there's the watering-can; don't forget that!" cried Sylvia.

"Yes, bring the watering-can, too. You had best find a pump, or a well, or something, so that you can fill it up to the brim. Bring them all along; and then just whistle 'Robin Adair' at the foot of this tree, and we two will come swarming down. Now, off with you; there's no time to lose!"

Hester descended without a word. She was certainly born without a scrap of fear of any kind, and adventure appealed to her plucky little spirit. Betty settled herself back comfortably against one of the forked branches of the tree where she had made her nest.

"If we are careful, Sylvia, we can come up here to hide as often as we like. I rather fancy from the shape of those other girls that they're not specially good at climbing trees."

"What do you mean by their shape?" asked Sylvia.

"Oh, they're so squeezed in and pushed out; I don't know how to explain it. Now, we have the use of all our limbs; and I say, you silly little Sylvia, won't we use them just!"

"I always love you, Betty, when you call me 'silly little Sylvia,' for I know you are in a good humor and not inclined to howl. But, before Hetty comes back, I want to say something."

"How mysterious you look, Sylvia! What can you have to say that poor Hetty's not to hear? I am not going to have secrets that are not shared among us three, I can tell you. We share and share alike—we three. We are just desolate orphans, alone in the world; but at least we share and share alike."

"Of course, of course," said Sylvia; "but I saw—and I don't think Hetty did——"

"And what did you see?"

"I saw Fan looking at us; and then she came rather close. It was that time when we were all stifling in that odious sitting-room; Fan came and sat very close to you, and I saw her put her hand down to feel your dress. I know she felt that flat pocket where the little sealed packet is."

Betty's face grew red and then white.

"And don't you remember," continued Sylvia, "that Fan was with us on the very, very day when darling auntie told us about the packet—the day when you came out of her room with your eyes as red as a ferret's; and don't you remember how you couldn't help howling that day, and how far off we had to go for fear darlingest auntie would hear you? And can't you recall that Fan crept after us, just like the horrid sneak that she is? And I know she heard you say, 'That packet is mine; it belongs to all of us, and I—I will keep it, whatever happens.'"

"She may do sneaky things of that sort every hour of every day that she likes," was Betty's cool rejoinder. "Now, don't get into a fright, silly little Sylvia. Oh, I say, hark! that's Hester's note. She is whistling 'Robin Adair'!"

Quick as thought, the girls climbed down from the great tree and stood under it. Hester was panting a little, for she had run fast and her arms were very full.

"I saw a lot of them scattered everywhere!" she exclaimed; "but I don't think they saw me, but of course I couldn't be sure. Here's the heather; its darling little bells are beginning to droop, poor sweet pets! And here's the spade; and here's the watering-can, brimful of water, too, for I saw a gardener as I was coming along, and I asked him to fill it for me, and he did so at once. Now let's go to our gardens and let's plant. We've just got a nice sod of heather each—one for each garden. Oh, do let's be quick, or those dreadful girls will see us!"

"There's no need to hurry," said Betty. "I rather think I can take care of myself. Give me the watering-can. Sylvia, take the heather; and, Hetty—your face is perfectly scarlet, you have run so fast—you follow after with the spade."

The little plots of ground which had been given over to the Vivian girls had been chosen by Mrs. Haddo on the edge of a wild, uncultivated piece of ground. The girls of Haddo Court were proud of this piece of land, which some of them—Margaret Grant, in particular—were fond of calling the "forest primeval." But the Vivians, fresh from the wild Scotch moors, thought but poorly of the few acres of sparse grass and tangled weed and low under-growth. It was, however, on the very edge of this piece of land that the three little gardens were situated. Mrs. Haddo did nothing by halves; and already—wonderful to relate—the gardens had been marked out with stakes and pieces of stout string, and there was a small post planted at the edge of the center garden containing the words in white paint: THE VIVIANS' PRIVATE GARDENS.

Even Betty laughed. "This is good!" she said. "Girls, that is quite a nice woman."

The twins naturally acknowledged as very nice indeed any one whom Betty admired.

Betty here gave a profound sigh. "Come along; let's be quick," she said. "We'll plant our heather in the very center of each plot. I'll have the middle plot, of course, being the eldest. You, silly Sylvia, shall have the one on the left-hand side; and you, Het, the one on the right-hand side. I will plant my heather first."

The others watched while Betty dug vigorously, and had soon made a hole large enough and soft enough to inclose the roots of the wild Scotch heather. She then gave her spade to Sylvia, who did likewise; then Hetty, in her turn, also planted a clump of heather. The contents of the watering-can was presently dispersed among the three clumps, and the girls turned back in the direction of the house.

"She is nice!" said Betty. "I will bring her here the first day she has a minute to spare and show her the heather. She said she knew all about Scotch heather, and loved it very much. I shouldn't greatly mind, for my part, letting her know about the packet."

"Oh, better not!" said Hester in a frightened tone. "Remember, she is not the only one in that huge prison of a house." Here she pointed to the great mansion which constituted the vast edifice, Haddo Court. "She is by no means the only one," continued Hester. "If she were, I could be happy here."

"You are right, Het; you are quite a wise, small girl," said Betty. "Oh, dear," she added, "how I hate those monstrous houses! What would not I give to be back in the little, white stone house at Craigie Muir!"

"And with darling Jean and dearest old Donald!" exclaimed Sylvia.

"Yes, and the dogs," said Hester. "Oh, Andrew! oh, Fritz! are you missing us as much as we miss you? And, David, you darling! are you pricking up your ears, expecting us to come round to you with some carrots?"

"We'd best not begin too much of this sort of talk," said Betty. "We've got to make up our minds to be cheerful—that is, if we wish to please Mrs. Haddo."

The thought of Mrs. Haddo was certainly having a remarkable effect on Betty; and there is no saying how soon she might, in consequence, have been reconciled to her school-life but for an incident which took place that very evening. For Fanny Crawford, who would not tell a tale against another for the world, had been much troubled since she heard of her cousins' arrival. Her conscientious little mind had told her that they were the last sort of girls suitable to be in such a school as Haddo Court. She had found out something about them. She had not meant to spy on them during her brief visit to Craigie Muir, but she had certainly overheard some of Betty's passionate words about the little packet; and that very evening, curled up on the sofa in the tiny sitting-room at Craigie Muir Cottage, she had seen Betty—although Betty had not seen her—creep into the room in the semi-darkness and remove a little sealed packet from one of Miss Vivian's drawers. As Fanny expressed it afterwards, she felt at the moment as though her tongue would cleave to the roof of her mouth. She had tried to utter some sound, but none would come. She had never mentioned the incident to any one; and as she scarcely expected to see anything more of her cousins in the future, she tried to dismiss it from her thoughts. But as soon as ever she was told in confidence by Miss Symes that the Vivian girls were coming to Haddo Court, she recalled the incident of what she was pleased to regard as the stolen packet. It had haunted her while she was at Craigie Muir; it had even horrified her. Her whole nature recoiled against what she considered clandestine and underhand dealings. Nevertheless she could not, she would not, tell. But she had very nearly made up her mind to say something to the girls themselves—to ask Betty why she had taken the packet, and what she had done with it. But even on this course she was not fully decided.

On the morning of that very day, however, just before Fanny bade her father good-bye, he had said to her, "Fan, my dear, there's a trifle worrying me, although I don't suppose for a single moment you can help me in the matter."

"What is it, father?" asked the girl.

"Well, the fact is this. I am going, as you know, to India for the next few years, and it is quite possible that as the cottage at Craigie Muir will belong to the Vivian girls—for poor Frances bought it and allowed those Scotch folk the Macfarlanes to live there—it is, I say, quite possible that you may go to Craigie Muir for a summer holiday with your cousins. The air is superb, and would do you much good, and of course the girls would be wild with delight. Well, my dear, if you go, I want you to look round everywhere—you have good, sharp eyes in your head, Fan, my girl—and try if you can find a little sealed packet which poor Frances left to be taken care of by me for your three cousins."

"A sealed packet?" said Fanny. She felt herself turning very pale.

"Yes. Do you know anything about it?"

"Oh, father!" said poor Fanny; and her eyes filled with tears.

"What is the matter, my child?"

"I—I'd so much rather not talk about it, please."

"Then you do know something?"

"Please, please, father, don't question me!"

"I won't if you don't wish it; but your manner puzzles me a good deal. Well, dear, if you can get it by any chance, you had better put it into Mrs. Haddo's charge until I return. I asked those poor children if they had seen it, and they denied having done so."

Fanny felt herself shiver, and had to clasp her hands very tightly together.

"I also asked that good shepherd Donald Macfarlane and his wife, and they certainly knew nothing about it. I can't stay with you any longer now, my little girl; but if you do happen to go to Craigie Muir you might remember that I am a little anxious on the subject, for it is my wish to carry out the directions of my dear cousin Frances in all particulars. Now, try to be very, very good to your cousins, Fan; and remember how lonely they are, and how differently they have been brought up from you."

Fanny could not speak, for she was crying too hard. Sir John presently went away, and forgot all about the little packet. But Fanny remembered it; in fact, she could not get it out of her head during the entire day; and in the course of the afternoon, when she found that the Vivian girls joined the group of the Specialities, she forced a chair between Betty and Olive Repton, and seated herself on it, and purposely, hating herself all the time for doing so, felt Betty's pocket. Beyond doubt there was something hard in it. It was not a pocket-handkerchief, nor did it feel like a pencil or a knife or anything of that sort.

"I shall know no peace," thought Fanny to herself, "until I get that unhappy girl to tell the truth and return the packet to me. I shall be very firm and very kind, and I will never let out a single thing about it in the school. But the packet must be given up; and then I will manage to convey it to Mrs. Haddo, who will keep it until dear father returns."

But although Fan intended to act the part of the very virtuous and proper girl, she did not like her cousins the more because of this unpleasant incident. Fanny Crawford had a certain strength of character; but it is sad to relate that she was somewhat overladen with self-righteousness, and was very proud of the fact that nothing would induce her to do a dishonorable thing. She sadly lacked Mrs. Haddo's rare and large sympathy and deep knowledge of life, and Fanny certainly had not the slightest power of reading character.

That very evening, therefore, when the Vivian girls had gone to their room, feeling very tired and sleepy, and by no means so unhappy as they expected, Fanny first knocked at their door and then boldly entered. Each girl had removed her frock and was wearing a little, rough, gray dressing-gown, and each girl was in the act of brushing out her own very thick hair.

"Brushing-hair time!" exclaimed Fanny in a cheerful tone. "I trust I am not in the way."

"We were going to bed," remarked Betty.

"Oh, Betty, what a reproachful tone!" Fanny tried to carry matters off with a light hand. "Surely I, your own cousin, am welcome? Do say I am welcome, dear Betty! and let me bring my brush and comb, and brush my hair in your room."

"No," said Betty; "you are not welcome, and we'd all much rather that you brushed your hair in your own room."

"You certainly are sweetly polite," said Fanny, with a smile on her face which was not remarkable for sweetness. She looked quite calmly at the girls for a moment. Then she said, "This day, on account of your arrival, rules are off, so to speak, but they begin again to-morrow morning. To-morrow evening, therefore, I cannot come to your bedroom, for it would be breaking rules."

"Oh, how just awfully jolly!" exclaimed Sylvia.

"Thanks," said Fanny. She paused again for a minute. Then she added, "But as rules are off, I may as well say that I have come here to-night on purpose. Just before father left, he told me that there was a little sealed packet"—Betty sat plump down on the side of her bed; Sylvia and Hetty caught each others hands—"a little sealed packet," continued Fanny, "which belonged to poor Miss Vivian—your aunt Frances—and which father was to take charge of for you."

"No, he wasn't," said Betty; "you make a mistake."

"Nonsense, Betty! Father never makes a mistake. Anyhow, he has Miss Vivian's letter, which proves the whole thing. Now, the packet cannot be found. Father is quite troubled about it. He says he has not an idea what it contains, but it was left to be placed under his care. He asked you three about it, and you said you knew nothing. He also asked the servants in that ugly little house——"

"How dare you call it ugly?" said Betty.

"Well, well, pray don't get into a passion! Anyhow, you all denied any knowledge of the packet. Now, I may as well confess that, although I have not breathed the subject to any one, I saw you, Betty, with my own eyes, take it out of Miss Vivian's drawer. I was lying on the sofa in the dark, or almost in the dark, and you never noticed me; but I saw you open the drawer and take the packet out. That being the case, you do know all about it, and you have told a lie. Please, Betty, give me the packet, and I will take it to-morrow to Mrs. Haddo, and she will look after it for you until father returns; and I promise you faithfully that I will never tell a soul what you did, nor the lie you told father about it. Now, Betty, do be sensible. Give it to me, without any delay. I felt it in the pocket under your dress to-day, so you can't deny that you have it."

Fanny's face was very red when she had finished speaking, and there were two other faces in that room which were even redder; but another face was very pale, with shining eyes and a defiant, strange expression about the lips.

The three Vivians now came up to Fanny, who, although older than the two younger girls, was built much more slightly, and, compared with them, had no muscle at all. Betty was a very strong girl for her age.

"Come," said Betty, "we are not going to waste words on you. Just march out of this!"

"I—what do you mean?"

"March! This is our room, our private room, and therefore our castle. If you like to play the spy, you can; but you don't come in here. Go along—be quick—out you go!"

A strong hand took Fanny forcibly by her right arm, and a strong hand took her with equal force by her left, then two very powerful hands pushed from behind; so that Fanny Crawford, who considered herself one of the most dignified and lady-like girls in the school, was summarily ejected. She went into her room, looked at the cruel marks on her arms caused by the angry girls, and burst into tears.

Miss Symes came in and found Fanny crying, and did her best to comfort the girl. "What is wrong, dear?" she said.

"Oh, don't—don't ask me!" said poor Fanny.

"You are fretting about your father, darling."

"It's not that," said Fanny; "and I can't ever tell you, dear St. Cecilia. Oh, please, leave me! Oh, oh, I am unhappy!"

Miss Symes, finding she could do no good, and believing that Fanny must be a little hysterical on account of her father, went away. When she had gone Fanny dried her eyes, and stayed for a long time lost in thought. She had meant to be good, after her fashion, to the Vivian girls; but, after their treatment of her, she felt that she understood for the first time what hate really meant. If she could not force the girls to deliver up the packet, she might even consider it her duty to tell the whole story to Mrs. Haddo. Never before in the annals of that great school had a Speciality been known to tell a story of another girl. But Fanny reflected that there were great moments in life which required that a rule should be broken.



CHAPTER VI

A CRISIS

The Specialities had made firm rules for themselves. Their numbers were few, for only those who could really rise to a high ideal were permitted to join.

The head of the Specialities was Margaret Grant. It was she who first thought of this little scheme for bringing the girls she loved best into closer communion each with the other. She had consulted Susie Rushworth, Fanny Crawford, Mary and Julia Bertram, and Olive Repton. Up to the present there were no other members of the Speciality Club. These girls managed it their own way. They had their private meetings, their earnest conversations, and their confessions each to make to the other. They swore eternal friendship. They had all things in common—that is, concealments were not permitted amongst the Specialities; and the influence of this small and apparently unimportant club did much towards the formation of the characters of its members.

Now, as poor Fanny sat alone in her pretty room she thought, and thought again, over what had occurred. According to the rules of the club to which she belonged, she ought to consult the other girls with regard to what the Vivians had done. The great rule of the Specialities was "No secrets." Each must know all that the others knew. Never before in the annals of the school had there been a secret of such importance—in short, such a horrible secret—to divulge. Fanny made up her mind that she could not do it.

There was to be a great meeting of the Specialities on the following evening. They usually met in each other's bedrooms, taking the task of offering hospitality turn and turn about. At these little social gatherings they had cocoa, tempting cakes, and chocolate creams; here they laughed and chatted, sometimes having merely a merry evening, at others discussing gravely the larger issues of life. Fanny was the one who was to entertain the Specialities on the following evening, and she made preparations accordingly. Sir John had brought her a particularly tempting cake from Buzzard's, a couple of pounds of the best chocolate creams, a tin of delicious cocoa, and, last but not least, a beautiful little set of charming cups and saucers and tiny plates, and real silver spoons, also little silver knives. Notwithstanding her grief at parting from her father, Fanny was delighted with her present. Hitherto there had been no attempt at style in these brief meetings of the friends. But Fanny's next entertainment was to be done properly.

There was no secret about these gatherings. Miss Symes had been told that these special girls wanted to meet once a week between nine and ten o'clock in their respective bedrooms. She had carried the information to Mrs. Haddo, who had immediately given the desired permission, telling the girls that they might hold their meeting until the great bell rang for chapel. Prayers were always read at a quarter to ten in the beautiful chapel belonging to Haddo Court, but only the girls of the upper school attended in the evening. Fanny would have been in the highest spirits to-night were it not for the Vivians, were it not for the consciousness that she was in possession of a secret—a really terrible secret—which she must not tell to her companions. Yes, she must break her rule; she must not tell.

She lay down on her bed at last and fell asleep, feeling tired and very miserable. She was horrified at Betty's conduct with regard to the little packet, and could not feel a particle of sympathy for the other girls in the matter.

It was soon after midnight on that same eventful night. The great clock over the stables had struck twelve, and sweet chimes had come from the other clock in the little tower of the chapel. The whole house was wrapped in profound slumber. Even Mrs. Haddo had put away all cares, and had laid her head on her pillow; even the Rev. Edmund Fairfax and his wife had put out the lights in their special wing of the Court, and had gone to sleep.

It was shortly after the clocks had done their midnight work that Betty Vivian raised herself very slowly and cautiously on her elbow, and touched Sylvia on her low, white forehead. The little girl started, opened her eyes, and was about to utter an exclamation when Betty whispered, "Don't make a sound, silly Sylvia! It's only me—Betty. I want you to get very wide awake. And now you are wide awake, aren't you?"

"Yes, oh yes," said Sylvia; "but I don't know where I am. Oh yes, of course I remember; I am in——"

"You are in prison!" whispered Betty back to her. "Now, lie as still as a statue while I waken Hester."

Soon the two little sisters were wide awake.

"Now, both of you creep very softly into my bed. We can all squeeze up together if we try hard."

"Lovely, darlingest Betty!" whispered Sylvia.

"You are nice, Bet!" exclaimed Hester.

"Now I want to speak," said Betty. "You know the packet?"

The two younger girls squeezed Betty's hands by way of answer.

"You know how she spoke to-night?"

Another squeeze of Betty's hands, a squeeze which was almost ferocious this time.

"Do you think," continued Betty, "that she is going to have her way, and we are going to give it up to her?"

"Of course not," said Sylvia.

"I might," said Betty—"I might have asked Mrs. Haddo to look after it for me; but never now—never! Girls, we've got to bury it!"

"Oh Bet!" whispered Sylvia.

"We can't!" said Hester with a sort of little pant.

"We can, and we will," said Betty. "I've thought it all out. I am going to bury it my own self this very minute."

"Betty, how—where? Betty, what do you mean?"

"You must help me," said Betty. "First of all, I am going to get up and put on my thick skirt of black serge. I won't make a sound, for that creature Fan sleeps next door. Lie perfectly still where you are while I am getting ready."

The girls obeyed. It was fearfully exciting, lying like this almost in the dark; for there was scarcely any moon, and the dim light in the garden could hardly be called light at all. Betty moved mysteriously about the room, and presently came up to her two sisters.

"Now, you do exactly what you are told."

"Yes, Betty, we will."

"I am going, first of all," said Betty, "to fetch the little spade."

"Oh Bet, you'll wake the house!"

"No," said Betty. She moved towards the door. She was a very observant girl, and had noticed that no door creaked in that well-conducted mansion, that no lock was out of order. She managed to open the door of her bedroom without making the slightest sound. She managed to creep upstairs and reach the Vivian attic. She found the little spade and brought it down again. She re-entered the beautiful big bedroom and closed the door softly.

"Here's the spade!" she whispered to her sisters. "Did you hear me move?"

"No, Bet. Oh, you are wonderful!"

"Now," said Betty, "we must take the sheets off our three beds. The three top sheets will do. Sylvia, begin to knot the sheets together. Make the knots very strong, and be quick about it."

Sylvia obeyed without a word.

"Hester, come and help me," said Betty now. She took the other twin's hand and led her to one of the French windows. The window happened to be a little open, for the night was a very warm and balmy one. Betty pushed it wider open, and the next minute she was standing on the balcony.

"Go back," she whispered, speaking to Hester, "and bring Sylvia out with the sheets!"

In a very short time Sylvia appeared, dragging what looked like a tangled white rope along with her.

"Now, then," said Betty, "you've got to let me down to the ground by means of these sheets. I am a pretty good weight, you know, and you mustn't drop me; for if you did I might break my leg or something, and that would be horrid. You two have got to hold one end of these knotted sheets as firmly as ever you can, and not let go on any account. Now, then—here goes!"

The next instant Betty had clutched hold of one of the sheets herself, and had climbed over the somewhat high parapet of the balcony. A minute later, still firmly holding the white rope, she was gradually letting herself down to the ground, hand over hand. By-and-by she reached the bottom. When she did this she held up both hands, which the girls, as they watched her from above, could just see. She was demanding the little spade. Sylvia flung it on the soft grass which lay beneath. Betty put her hand, making a sort of trumpet of it, round her lips, and whispered up, "Stay where you are till I return."

She then marched off into the shrubbery. She was absent for about twenty minutes, during which time both Sylvia and Hetty felt exceedingly cold. She then came back, fastened the little spade securely into the broad belt of her dress, and, aided by her sisters, pulled herself up and up, and so on to the balcony once more.

The three girls re-entered the bedroom. Not a soul in that great house had heard them, or seen them, or knew anything about their adventure.

"It is quite safe now—poor, beautiful darling!" whispered Betty. "Girls, we must smooth out these sheets; they do look rather dragged. And now we'll get straight into bed."

"I am very cold," said Sylvia.

"You'll be warm again in a minute," replied Betty; "and what does a little cold matter when I have saved It? No, I am not going to tell you where it is; just because it's safer, dear, dearest, for you not to know."

"Yes, it's safer," said Sylvia.

The three sisters lay down again. By slow degrees warmth returned to the half-frozen limbs of the poor little twins, and they dropped asleep. But Betty lay awake—warm, excited, triumphant.

"I've managed things now," she thought; "and if every girl in the school asks me if I have a little packet, and if every teacher does likewise, I'll be able truthfully to say 'No.'"

Early the next morning Mrs. Haddo announced her intention to take the Vivians to London. School-work was in full swing that day; and Susie, Margaret, Olive, and the other members of the Specialities rather envied the Vivians when they saw them driving away in Mrs. Haddo's most elegant landau to the railway station.

Sibyl Ray openly expressed her sentiments on the occasion. She turned to her companion, who was standing near. "I must say, and I may as well say it first as last, that I do not understand your adorable Mrs. Haddo. Why should she make such a fuss over common-looking girls like those?"

"Do you call the Vivians common-looking girls?" was Martha West's response.

"Of course I do, and even worse. Why, judging from their dress, they might have come out of a laborer's cottage."

"Granted," replied Martha; "but then," she added, "they have something else, each of them, better than dress."

"Oh, if you begin to talk in enigmas I for one shall cease to be your friend," answered Sibyl. "What have they got that is so wonderful?"

"It was born in them," replied Martha. "If you can't see it for yourself, Sibyl, I am not able to show it to you."

Mrs. Haddo took the girls to London and gave them a very good day. It is true they spent a time which seemed intolerably long to Betty in having pretty white blouses and smartly made skirts and neat little jackets fitted on. They spent a still more intolerable time at the dressmaker's in being measured for soft, pretty evening-dresses. They went to a hairdresser, who cut their very thick hair and tied it with broad black ribbon. They next went to a milliner and had several hats tried on. They went to a sort of all-round shop, where they bought gloves, boots, and handkerchiefs innumerable, and some very soft black cashmere and even black silk stockings. Oh, but they didn't care; they thought the whole time wasted. Nevertheless they submitted, and with a certain grace; for was not the precious packet safe—so safe that no one could possibly discover its whereabouts? And was not Betty feeling her queer, sensitive heart expanding more and more under Mrs. Haddo's kind influence?

"Now, my dears," said that good lady, "we will go back to Miss Watts the dressmaker at three o clock; but we have still two hours to spare. During that time we'll have a little lunch, for I am sure you must be hungry; and afterwards I will take you to the Wallace Collection, which I think you will enjoy."

"What's a collection?" asked Sylvia.

"There are some rooms not far from here where beautiful things are collected—pictures and other lovely things of all sorts and descriptions. I think that you, at least, Betty, will love to look at them."

Betty afterwards felt, deep down in her heart, that this whole day was a wonderful dream. She was starvingly hungry, to begin with, and enjoyed the excellent lunch that Mrs. Haddo ordered at the confectioners. She felt a sense of curious joy and fear as she looked at one or two of the great pictures in the Wallace Collection, and so excited and uplifted was she altogether that she scarcely noticed when they returned to the shops and the coarse, ugly black serges were exchanged for pretty coats and skirts of the finest cloth, for neat little white blouses, for pretty shoes and fine stockings. She did not even object to the hat, which, with its plume of feathers, gave a look of distinction to her little face. She was not elated over her fine clothes, neither was she annoyed about them.

"Now, Miss Watts," said Mrs. Haddo in a cheerful tone, "you will hurry with the rest of the young ladies' things, and send them to me as soon as ever you can. I shall want their evening-dresses, without fail, by the beginning of next week."

They all went down into the street. Sylvia found herself casting shy glances at Betty. It seemed to her that her sister was changed—that she scarcely knew her. Dress did not make such a marked difference in Hetty's appearance; but Hetty too looked a different girl.

"And now we are going to the Zoological Gardens," said Mrs. Haddo, "where we may find some spiders like Dickie, and where you will see all sorts of wonderful creatures."

"Oh Mrs. Haddo!" exclaimed Betty.

They spent an hour or two in that place so fascinating for children, and arrived back at Haddo Court just in time for supper.

"We have had a happy day, have we not?" said Mrs. Haddo, looking into Betty's face and observing the brightness of her eyes.

"Very happy, and it was you who gave it to us," answered the girl.

"And to-morrow," continued Mrs. Haddo, "must be just as happy—just as happy—because lessons will begin; and to an intelligent and clever girl there is nothing in the world so delightful as a difficulty conquered and knowledge acquired."

That evening, when the Vivian girls entered the room where supper was served, every girl in the upper school turned to look at them. The change in their appearance was at once complete and arresting. They walked well by nature. They were finely made girls, and had not a scrap of self-consciousness.

"Oh, I say, Fan," whispered Susie in her dear friend's ear, "your cousins will boss the whole school if this sort of thing goes on. To be frank with you, Fan, I have fallen in love with that magnificent Betty myself. There is nothing I wouldn't do for her."

"You ought not to whisper in English, ought you?" was Fanny's very significant response, uttered in the German tongue.

Susie shrugged her shoulders. The Specialities generally sat close to each other; and she looked down the table now, and saw that Margaret, and the Bertrams, and Olive Repton were equally absorbed in watching the Vivian girls. Nothing more was said about them, however; and when the meal came to an end Miss Symes took them away with her, to give them brief directions with regard to their work for the morrow. She also supplied them with a number of new books, which Betty received with rapture, for she adored reading, and hitherto had hardly been able to indulge in it. Miss Symes tried to explain to the girls something of the school routine; and she showed each girl her own special desk in the great schoolroom, where she could keep her school-books, and her different papers, pens, pencils, ink, etc.

"I cannot tell until to-morrow what forms you will be in, my dears; but I think Betty will probably have a good deal to do with me in her daily tuition; whereas you, Sylvia, and you, Hester, will be under the charge of Miss Oxley. I must introduce you to Miss Oxley to-morrow morning. And now you would like, I am sure, to go to bed. Mrs. Haddo says that you needn't attend prayers to-night, for you have had a long and tiring day; so you may go at once to your room."

The girls thanked Miss Symes, and went. They heard voices busily conversing in Fanny's room—eager voices, joined to occasional peals of merry laughter. But they were too tired, too sleepy, and, it may be added, too happy, to worry themselves much over these matters. They were very quickly in bed and sound asleep.

Meanwhile Fanny was much enjoying the unstinted praise which her friends were bestowing on the beautiful tea-set which her father had given her.

"Oh, but it is perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Olive. "Why, Fan, you are in luck; it's real old Crown Derby!"

"Yes," said Fanny; "I thought it was. Whenever father does a thing he does it well."

"We'll be almost afraid to drink out of it, Fanny!" exclaimed Julia Bertram. "Fancy, if I were to drop one of those little jewels of cups! Don't the colors just sparkle on them! Oh, if I were to drop it, and it got broken, I don't think I'd ever hold up my head again!"

"Well, dear Julia, don't drop it," said Fanny, "and then you will feel all right."

Cocoa was already prepared; the rich cake graced the center of the board; the chocolate creams were certainly in evidence; and the girls clustered round, laughing and talking. Fanny was determined to choke back that feeling of uneasiness which had worried her during the whole of that day. She could not tell the Specialities what her cousins had done; she could not—she would not. There must be a secret between them. She who belonged to a society of whom each member had to vow not to have a secret from any other member, was about to break her vow.

The girls were in high spirits to-night, and in no mood to talk "sobersides," as Mary Bertram sometimes called their graver discussions.

But when the little meal of cocoa and cake had come to an end, Margaret said, "I want to make a proposal."

"Hush! hush! Let the oracle speak!" cried Olive, her pretty face beaming with mirth.

"Oh Olive, don't be so ridiculous!" said Margaret. "You know perfectly well I am no oracle; but I have a notion in my head. It is this: why should not those splendid-looking girls, the Vivians, join the Specialities? They did look rather funny, I will admit, yesterday; but even then one could see that clothes matter little or nothing to them. But now that they're dressed like the rest of us, they give distinction to the whole school. I don't think I ever saw a face like Betty's. Fan, you, of course, will second my proposal that Betty Vivian, even if her sisters are too young, should be asked to become a Speciality?"

Fanny felt that she was turning very pale. Susie Rushworth gazed at her in some wonder.

"I propose," exclaimed Margaret Grant, "that Miss Betty Vivian shall be invited to join our society and to become a Speciality. I further propose that we ask her to join our next meeting, which takes place this day week, and is, by the way, held in my room. Now, who will second my suggestion?"

"You will, of course, Fan," said Susie. "Betty is your cousin, so you are the right person to second Margaret's wish."

Fanny's face grew yet paler. After a minute she said, "Just because Betty is my cousin I would rather some one else seconded Margaret Grant's proposal."

All the girls looked at her in astonishment.

"Very well; I second it," responded Susie.

"Girls," said Margaret, "will you all agree? Those who do not agree, please keep their hands down. Those who do agree, please hold up hands. Now, then, is Betty Vivian to be invited to join the Specialities? Which has it—the 'ayes' or the 'noes'?"

All the girls' hands, with one exception, were eagerly raised in favor of Betty Vivian. Fanny sat very still, her hands locked one inside the other in her lap. Something in her attitude and in the expression of her face caused each of her companions to gaze at her in extreme wonder.

"Why, Fanny, what is the meaning of this?" asked Margaret.

"I cannot explain myself," said Fanny.

"Cannot—and you a Speciality! Don't you know that we have no secrets from one another?"

"That is true," said Fanny, speaking with a great effort. "Well, then, I will explain myself. I would rather Betty Vivian did not join our club."

"But why, dear—why?"

"Yes, Fanny, why?" echoed Susie.

"What ridiculous nonsense you are talking!" cried Olive Repton.

"The most striking-looking girl I ever saw!" said Julia Bertram. "Why, Fan, what is your reason for this?"

"Call it jealousy if you like," said Fanny; "call it any name under the sun, only don't worry me about it."

As she spoke she rose deliberately and left the room, her companions looking after her in amazement.

"What does this mean?" said Julia.

"I can't understand it a bit," said Margaret. Then she added after a pause, "I suppose, girls, you fully recognize that the Speciality Club is supposed to be a club without prejudice or favor, and that, as the 'ayes' have carried the day, Miss Betty Vivian is to be invited to join?"

"Of course she must be invited to join," replied Susie; "but it is very unpleasant all the same. I cannot make out what can ail Fanny Crawford. She hasn't been a bit herself since those girls arrived."

The Specialities chatted a little longer together, but the meeting was not convivial. Fanny's absence prevented its being so; and very soon the girls broke up, leaving the pretty cups and saucers and the remains of the feast behind them. The chapel bell rang for prayers, and they all trooped in. But Fanny Crawford was not present. This, in itself, was almost without precedent, for girls were not allowed to miss prayers without leave.

As each Speciality laid her head on her pillow that night she could not but reflect on Fanny's strange behavior, and wondered much what it meant. As to Fanny herself, she lay awake for hours. Some of the girls and some of the mistresses thought that she was grieving for her father; but, as a matter of fact, she was not even thinking of him. Every thought of her mind was concentrated on what she called her present dilemma. It was almost morning before the tired girl fell asleep.

At half-past six on the following day the great gong sounded through the entire upper school. Betty started up in some amazement, her sisters in some alarm.

By-and-by a kind-looking woman, dressed as a sort of housekeeper or upper servant, entered the room. "Can I help you to dress, young ladies?" she said.

The girls replied in the negative. They had always dressed themselves.

"Very well," replied the woman. "Then I will come to fetch you in half-an-hour's time, so that you will be ready for prayers in chapel."

Perhaps Betty Vivian never, as long as she lived, forgot that first day when she stood with her sisters in the beautiful little chapel and heard the Reverend Edmund Fairfax read prayers. He was a delicate, refined-looking man, with a very intellectual face and a beautiful voice. Mrs. Haddo had begged of him to accept the post of private chaplain to her great school for many reasons. First, because his health was delicate; second, because she knew she could pay him well; and also, for the greatest reason of all, because she was quite sure that Mr. Fairfax could help her girls in moments of difficulty in their spiritual life, should such moments arise.

Prayers came to an end; breakfast came to an end. The Vivians passed a very brisk examination with some credit. As Miss Symes had predicted, Betty was put into her special form, in which form Susie Rushworth and Fanny Crawford also had their places. The younger Vivians were allowed to remain in the upper school, but were in much lower forms. Betty took to her work as happily (to use a well-known expression) as a duck takes to water. Her eyes were bright with intelligence while she listened to Miss Symes, who could teach so charmingly and could impart knowledge in such an attractive way.

In the middle of the morning there was the usual brief period when the girls might go out and amuse themselves for a short time. Betty wanted to find her sisters; but before she could attempt to seek for them she felt a hand laid on her arm, and, glancing round, saw that Fanny Crawford was by her side.

"Betty," said Fanny, "I want to speak to you, and at once. We have only a very few minutes; will you, please, listen?"

"Is it really important?" asked Betty. "For, if it is not, I do want to say something to Sylvia. She forgot to give Dickie his raw meat this morning."

"Oh, aren't you just hopeless!" exclaimed Fanny. "You think of that terrible spider when—when——Oh, I don't know what to make of you!"

"And I don't know what to make of you, Fanny!" retorted Betty. "What are you excited about? What is the matter?"

"Listen!—do listen!" said Fanny.

"Well, I am listening; but you really must be quick in getting out whatever's troubling you."

"You have heard of the Specialities, haven't you?" said Fanny.

"Good gracious, no!" exclaimed Betty. "The Specialities—what are they?"

"There is nothing what about them. They are people—girls; they are not things."

"Oh, girls! What a funny name to give girls! I haven't heard of them, Fanny."

"You won't be long at Haddo Court without hearing a great deal about them," remarked Fanny. "I am one, and so is Susie Rushworth, and so are the Bertrams, and so is that handsome girl Margaret Grant. You must have noticed her; she is so dark and tall and stately. And so, also, is dear little Olive Repton——"

"And so is—and so is—and so is—" laughed Betty, putting on her most quizzical manner.

"You must listen to me. The Specialities—oh, they're not like any other girls in the school, and it's the greatest honor in the world to be asked to belong to them. Betty, it's this way. Margaret Grant is the sort of captain of the club—I don't know how to express it exactly; but she is our head, our chief—and she has taken a fancy to you; and last night we had a meeting in my bedroom——"

"Oh, that was what the row was about!" exclaimed Betty. "If we hadn't been hearty sleepers and girls straight from the Scotch moors, you would have given us a very bad night."

"Never mind about that. Margaret Grant proposed last night that you should be asked to join."

"I asked to join?"

"Yes, you, Betty. Doesn't it sound absurd? And they all voted for you—every one of them, with the exception of myself."

"And it's a great honor, isn't it?" said Betty, speaking very quietly.

"Oh yes—immense."

"Then, of course, you wouldn't vote—would you, dear little Fan?"

"Don't talk like that! We shall be returning to the schoolroom in a few minutes, and Margaret is sure to talk to you after dinner. You are elected by the majority, and you are to be invited to attend the next meeting. But I want you to refuse—yes, I do, Betty; for you can't join—you know you can't. With that awful, awful lie on your conscience, you can't be a Speciality. I shall go wild with misery if you join. Betty, you must say you won't."

Betty looked very scornfully at Fanny. "There are some people in the world," she said, "who make me feel very wicked, and I am greatly afraid you are one. Now, let me tell you plainly and frankly that if you had said nothing I should probably not have wished to become that extraordinary thing, a Speciality; but because you are in such a mortal funk I shall join your club with the utmost pleasure. So now you know."



CHAPTER VII

SCOTCH HEATHER

Betty was true to her word. After school that day, Margaret Grant and Olive Repton came up to her and asked her in a very pretty manner if she would become a member of their Speciality Club.

"Of course," said Margaret, "you don't know anything about us or our rules at present; but we think we should like you to join, so we are here now to invite you to come to our next meeting, which will take place on Thursday of next week, at eight o'clock precisely, in my bedroom."

"I don't know where your bedroom is," said Betty.

"But I know where yours is!" exclaimed Olive; "so I will fetch you, Betty, and bring you to Margaret's room. Oh, I am sure you will enjoy it—we have such fun! Sometimes we give quite big entertainments—that is, when we invite the other girls, which we do once or twice during the term. By the way, that reminds me that you will be most useful in that respect, for you and your sisters have the largest bedroom in the house. You will, of course, lend us your room when your turn comes; but that is a long way off."

"I am so glad you are coming!" said Margaret. "You are the sort of girl we want in our club. And now, please, tell me about your life in Scotland."

"I will with pleasure," replied Betty. She looked full up into Margaret's face as she spoke.

Margaret was older than Betty, and taller; and there was something about her which commanded universal respect.

"I don't mind telling you," said Betty—"nor you," she added as Olive's dancing blue eyes met hers; "for a kind of intuition tells me that you would both love my wild moors and my beautiful heather. Oh, I say, do come, both of you, and see our three little plots of garden! There's Sylvia's plot, and Hester's, and mine; and we have a plant of heather, straight from Craigie Muir, in the midst of each. Our gardens are quite bare except for that tiny plant. Do, do come and see it!"

Margaret laughed.

Olive said, "Oh, what fun!" and the three began to walk quickly under the trees in the direction of the Vivians' gardens.

As they passed under the great oak-trees Betty looked up, and her eyes danced with fun. "Are you good at climbing trees?" she asked of Margaret.

"I used to be when I was very, very young; but those days are over."

"There are a few very little girls in the lower school who still climb one of the safest trees," remarked Olive.

Betty's eyes continued to dance. "You give me delightful news," she said. "I am so truly glad none of you do anything so vulgar as to climb trees."

"But why, Betty?" asked Margaret.

"I have my own reasons," replied Betty. "You can't expect me to tell you everything right away, can you?"

"You must please yourself," said Margaret.

Olive looked at Betty in a puzzled manner; and the three girls were silent, only that they quickened their steps, crunching down some broken twigs as they walked.

By-and-by they reached the three bare patches of ground, which were railed in in the simple manner which Mrs. Haddo had indicated, and in the center of which stood the wooden post with the words, "THE VIVIANS' PRIVATE GARDENS," painted on it.

"How very funny!" exclaimed Olive.

"Yes, it is rather funny," remarked Betty. "Did you ever in the whole course of your existence see anything uglier than these three patches of ground? There is nothing whatever planted in them except our darling Scotch heather; and oh, by the way, I don't believe the precious little plants are thriving! They are drooping like anything! Oh dear! oh dear! I think I shall die if they die!" As she spoke she flung herself on the ground, near the path.

"Of course you won't, Betty," said Margaret. "Besides, why should they die? They only want watering."

"I'll run and fetch a canful of water," said Olive, who was extremely good-natured.

Betty made no response. She was still lying on the ground, resting on her elbows, while her hands tenderly touched the faded and drooping bells of the wild heather. She had entered her own special plot. Olive had disappeared to fetch the water, but Margaret still stood by Betty's side.

"Do you think they'll do?" said Betty at last, glancing at her companion.

Margaret noticed that her eyes were full of tears. "I don't think they will," she said after a pause. "But I'll tell you what we must do, Betty: we must get the right sort of soil for them—just the sandy soil they want. We'll go and consult Birchall; he is the oldest gardener in the place, and knows something about everything. For that matter, we are sure to get the sort of sand we require on this piece of waste ground—our 'forest primeval,' as Olive calls it."

"Oh dear!" said Betty, dashing away the tears from her eyes, "you are funny when you talk of a thing like that"—she waved her hand in the direction of the uncultivated land—"as a 'forest primeval.' It is the poorest, shabbiest bit of waste land I ever saw in my life."

"Let's walk across it," said Margaret. "Olive can't be back for a minute or two."

"Why should we walk across it?"

"I want to show you where some heather grows. It is certainly not rich, nor deep in color, nor beautiful, like yours; but it has grown in that particular spot for two or three years. I am quite sure that Birchall will say that the soil round that heather is the right sort of earth to plant your Scotch heather in."

"Well, come, and let's be very quick," said Betty.

The girls walked across the bit of common. Margaret pointed out the heather, which was certainly scanty and poor.

Betty looked at it with scorn. "I think," she said after a pause, "I don't want to consult Birchall." Then she added after another pause, "I think, on the whole, I'd much rather have no heather than plants like those. You are very kind, Margaret; but there are some things that can't be transplanted, just as there are some hearts—that break—yes, break—if you take them from home. That poor heather—once, doubtless, it was very flourishing; it is evidently dying now of a sort of consumption. Let's come back to our plots of ground, please, Margaret."

They did so, and were there greeted by Olive, who had a large can of cold water standing by her side, and was eagerly talking to Sylvia and Hester. Betty marched first into the center plot of ground.

"I've got lots of water," said Olive in a cheerful tone, "so we'll do the watering at once. Sylvia and Hester say that they must have a third each of this canful; but of course we can get a second can if we want it."

"No!" said Betty.

Sylvia, who was gazing with lack-lustre eyes at the fading heather, now started and looked full at her sister. Hester, who always clung to Sylvia in moments of emotion, caught her sister's hand and held it very tight.

"No," said Betty again; "I have made a discovery. Scotch heather does not grow here in this airless sort of place. Sylvia and Hester, Margaret was good enough to show me what she calls heather. There are a few straggling plants just at the other side of that bit of common. I don't want ours to die slowly. Our plants shall go at once. No, we don't water them. Sylvia, go into your garden and pull up the plant; and, Hester, you do likewise Go, girls; go at once!"

"But, Betty——" said Margaret.

"You had better not cross her now," said Sylvia.

Margaret started when Sylvia addressed her in this tone.

Betty's face was painfully white, except where two spots of color blazed in each cheek. As her sisters stooped obediently to pull up their heather, Betty bent and wrenched hers from the ground by which it was surrounded, which ground was already dry and hard. "Let's make a bonfire," she said. "I sometimes think," she added, "that in each little bell of heather there lives the wee-est of all the fairies; and perhaps, if we burn this poor, dear thing, the little, wee fairies may go back to their ain countree."

"It all seems quite dreadful to me," said Margaret.

"It is right," replied Betty; "and I have a box of matches in my pocket."

"Oh, have you?" exclaimed Olive. "If—if Mrs. Haddo knew——"

But Betty made no response. She set her sisters to collect some dry leaves and bits of broken twigs; and presently the bonfire was erected and kindled, and the poor heather from the north country had ceased to exist.

"Now, you must see our gardens," said Margaret, "for you must have gardens, you know. Olive and I will show you the sort of things that grow in the south, that flourish here, and look beautiful."

"I cannot see them now," replied Betty. She brushed past Margaret, and walked rapidly across the common.

Sylvia's face turned very white, and she clutched Hetty's hand still more tightly.

"What is she going to do? What is the matter?" said Margaret, turning to the twins.

"She can't help it," said Sylvia; "she must do it. She is going to howl."

"To do what?" said Margaret Grant.

"Howl. Did you never howl? Well, perhaps you never did. Anyhow, she must get away as far as possible before she begins, and we had better go back to the house. You wouldn't like the sound of Betty's howling."

"But are you going to let her howl, as you call it, alone?"

"Let her? We have no voice in the matter," replied Hester. "Betty always does exactly what she likes. Let's go quickly; let's get away. It's the best thing she can do. She's been keeping in that howling-fit for over a week, and it must find vent. She'll be all right when you see her next. But don't, on any account, ever again mention the heather that we brought from Craigie Muir. She may get over its death some day, but not yet."

"Your sister is a very strange girl," said Margaret.

"Every one says that," replied Sylvia. "Don't they, Het?"

"Yes; we're quite tired of hearing it," said Hetty. "But do let's come quickly. Which is the farthest-off part of the grounds—the place where we are quite certain not to hear?"

"You make me feel almost nervous," said Margaret. "But come along, if you wish to."

The four girls walked rapidly. At last they found a little summer-house which was built high up on the very top of a rising mound. From here you could get a good view of the surrounding country; and very beautiful it was—at least, for those whose eyes were trained to observe the rich beauty of cultivated land, of flowing rivers, of forests, of carefully kept trees. Very lonely indeed was the scene from Haddo Court summer-house; for, in addition to every scrap of land being made to yield its abundance, there were pretty cottages dotted here and there—each cottage possessing its own gay flower-garden, and, in most cases, its own happy little band of pretty boys and girls.

As soon as the four girls found themselves in the summer-house, Margaret began to praise the view to Sylvia.

Sylvia looked round to right and to left. "We don't admire that sort of thing," she said. "Do we, Hetty?"

Hetty shook her head with vehemence. "Oh no, no," she said. Then, coming a little closer to Margaret, she looked into her face and continued, "Are you the sort of kind girl who will keep a secret?"

Margaret thought of the Speciality Club. But surely this poor little secret belonging solely to the Vivians need not be related to any one who was not in sympathy with them. "I never tell tales, if that is what you mean," she said.

"Then that is all right," remarked Sylvia. "And are you the same sort of girl, Olive? You look very kind."

"It wouldn't be hard to be kind to one like you," was Olive's response.

Whereupon Sylvia smiled, and Hetty came close to Olive and looked into her face.

"Then we want you," continued Sylvia, "never, never to tell about the burnt sacrifice of the Scotch heather, nor about the flight of the fairies back to Scotland. It tortured Betty to have to do it; but she thought it right, therefore it was done. There are some people, however, who would not understand her; and we would much rather be able to tell our own Betty that you will never speak of it, when she has come back to herself and has got over her howling."

"Of course we'll never tell," said Olive; and Margaret nodded her head without speaking.

"I think you are just awfully nice," said Sylvia. "We were so terrified when we came to this school. We thought we'd have an awful time. We still speak of it as a prison, you know. Do you speak of it to your dearest friend as a prison?"

"Prison!" said Margaret. "There isn't a place in the world I love as I love Haddo Court."

"Then you never, never lived in a dear little gray stone house on a wild Scotch moor; and you never had a man like Donald Macfarlane to talk to, nor a woman like Jean Macfarlane to make scones for you; and you never had dogs like our dogs up there, nor a horse like David. I pity you from my heart!"

"I never had any of those things," said Margaret; "but I shall like to hear about them from you."

"And so shall I like to hear about them," said Olive.

"We will tell you, if Betty gives us leave," said one of the twins. "We never do anything without Betty's leave. She is the person we look up to, and obey, and follow. We'd follow her to the world's end; we'd die for her, both of us, if it would do her any good."

Margaret took Sylvia's hand and began to smooth it softly. "I wish," she said then in a slow voice, "that I had friends to love me as you love your sister."

"Perhaps you aren't worthy," said Sylvia. "There is no one living like Betty in all the world, and we feel about her as we do because she is Betty."

"But, all the same," said Hester, frowning as she spoke, "our Betty has got an enemy."

"An enemy, my dear child! What do you mean? You have just been praising her so much! Did any one take a dislike to her up in that north country?"

"It may have begun there," remarked Hetty; "but the sad and dreadful thing is that the enemy is in this house. Sylvia and I don't mind your knowing. We rather think you like her, but we don't. Her name is Fanny Crawford."

"Oh, really, though, that is quite nonsense!" said Margaret, flushing with annoyance. "Poor dear Fanny, there is not a better or sweeter girl in the school!"

Sylvia laughed. "That is your point of view," she said. "She is our enemy; she is not yours. Oh, hurrah! hurrah! I see Betty! She is coming back, walking very slowly. She has got over the worst of the howls. We must both go and meet her. Don't be anywhere about, please, either of you. Keep quite in the shade, so that she won't see you; and the next time you meet talk to her as though this had never happened."

The twins dashed out of sight. They certainly could run very fast.

When they had gone Margaret looked at Olive. "Well," she said, "that sort of scene rather takes one's breath away. What do you think, Olive?"

"It was exceedingly trying," said Olive.

"All the same," said Margaret, "I feel roused up about those girls in the most extraordinary manner. Didn't you notice, too, what Sylvia said about poor Fanny? Isn't it horrid?"

"Of course it isn't true," was Olive's remark.

"We have made up our minds not to speak evil of any one in the school," said Margaret after a pause; "but I cannot help remembering that Fanny did not wish Betty to become a Speciality. And don't you recall how angry she was, and how she would not vote with the 'ayes,' and would not give any reason, and although she was hostess she walked out of the room?"

"It's very uncomfortable altogether," said Olive. "But I don't see that we can do anything."

"Well, perhaps not yet," said Margaret; "but I may as well say at once, Olive, that I mean to take up those girls. Until to-day I was only interested in Betty, but now I am interested in all three; and if I can, without making mischief, I must get to the bottom of what is making poor little Betty so bitter, and what is upsetting the equanimity of our dear old Fan, whom we have always loved so dearly."

Just at that moment Fanny Crawford herself and Susie Rushworth appeared, walking together arm in arm. They saw Margaret and Olive, and came to join them. Susie was in her usual high spirits, and Fanny looked quite calm and collected. There was not even an allusion made to the Vivian girls. Margaret was most thankful, for she certainly did not wish the little episode she had witnessed to reach any one's ears but her own and Olive's. Susie was talking eagerly about a great picnic which Mrs. Haddo had arranged for the following Saturday. The whole school, both upper and lower, were to go. Mr. Fairfax and his wife, most of the teachers, and Mrs. Haddo herself would also accompany the girls. They were all going to a place about twenty miles away; and Mrs. Haddo, who kept two motor-cars of her own, had made arrangements for the hire of several more, so that the party could quickly reach their place of rendezvous and thus have a longer time there to enjoy themselves.

"She does things so well, doesn't she?" said Susie. "There never was her like. Do you know, there was a sort of insurrection in the lower school early this morning, for naughty sprites had whispered that all the small children were to go in ordinary carriages and dogcarts and wagonettes. Then came the news that Mrs. Haddo meant each girl in the school to have an equal share of enjoyment; and, lo and behold! the cloud has vanished, and the little ones are making even merrier than the older girls."

"I wish I felt as amiable as I used to feel," said Fanny at that moment.

"Oh, but, Fan, why don't you?" asked Olive. "You ought to feel more and more amiable every day—that is, if training means anything."

"Training is all very well," answered Fanny, "and you may think you are all right; but when temptation comes——"

"Temptation!" said Margaret. "In my opinion, that is the worst of Haddo Court: we are so shielded, and treated with such extreme kindness, that temptation cannot come."

"Then you wish to be tested, do you, Margaret?" asked Fanny.

Margaret shivered slightly. "Sometimes I do wish it," she said.

"Oh, Margaret dear, don't!" said Olive. "You'll have heaps of troubles in life, for my mother says that no one yet was exempt from them. There never was a woman quite like my darling mother—except, indeed, Mrs. Haddo. Mother has quite peculiar ideas with regard to bringing up girls. She says the aim of her life is to give me a very happy childhood and early youth. She thinks that such a life will make me all the stronger to withstand temptation."

"Let us hope so, anyhow," said Fanny. Then she added, "Don't suppose I am grumbling, although it has been a trial father going away—so very far away—to India. But I think the real temptation comes to us in this way: when we have to meet girls we can't tolerate."

"Now she's going to say something dreadful!" thought Olive to herself.

Margaret rose as though she would put an end to the colloquy.

Fanny was watching Margaret's face. "The girl I am specially thinking of now," she said, "is Sibyl Ray."

"Oh!" said Margaret. She gave a sigh of such undoubted relief that Fanny was certain she had guessed what her first thoughts were.

"And now I will tell you why I don't like Sibyl," Fanny continued. "I have nothing whatever to say against her. I have never heard of her doing anything underhand or what we might call low-down or ill-bred. At the same time, I do dislike Sibyl, just for the simple reason that she is not well-bred, and she never will be."

"Oh! oh, give her her chance—do!" said Olive.

"I am not going to interfere with her," remarked Fanny; "but she can never be a friend of mine. There are some girls who like her very well. There's Martha West, who is constantly with her."

"I am quite sure," said Margaret, "that there isn't a better girl in the school than Martha, and I have serious thoughts of asking her to become a Speciality." As she spoke she fixed her very dark eyes on Fanny's face.

"Do ask her; I shall be delighted," remarked Fanny. "Only, whatever you do, don't ask her friend, Sibyl Ray."

"I have no present intention of doing so. Fanny, I don't want to be nasty; but you are quite right about Sibyl. No one can say a word against her; and yet she just is not well-bred."



CHAPTER VIII

A NEW MEMBER

The picnic was a great success. The day was splendid. The sun shone in a sky which was almost cloudless. The motor-cars were all in prime condition. There were no accidents of any sort. The girls laughed and chatted, and enjoyed life to the utmost; and the Vivian girls were amongst the merriest in those large and varied groups.

The twins invariably followed in Betty's footsteps, and Betty possessed that curious mixture of temperament which threw her into the depths of anguish one moment and sent her spirits flying like a rocket skyward the next. Betty's spirits were tending skyward on this happy day. She was also making friends in the school, and was delighted to walk with Margaret and Susie and Olive. Fanny did not trouble her at all; but Martha West chatted with her for a whole long hour, and, as Martha knew Scotland, a very strong link was immediately established between the girls.

A thoroughly happy picnic—a perfect one—is usually lived through without adventure. There are no contretemps, no unhappy moments, no jealousies, no heart-burnings. These are the sort of picnics which come to us very rarely in life, but they do come now and then. In one sense, however, they are uninteresting, for they have no history—there is little or nothing to say about them. Other picnics are to follow in this story which ended differently, which led to tangled knots and bitter heart-burnings. But the first picnics from Haddo Court in which Betty Vivian took part was, in a way, something like that first morning when she joined the other girls in whispering her prayers in the beautiful chapel.

The picnic came and went, and in course of time the day arrived when Betty was to be the honored guest of the Specialities. On the morning of that day Fanny made another effort to induce Betty to renounce the idea of becoming a Speciality. She had spent a sleepless night thinking over the matter, and by the morning had made up her mind what to do.

Betty was making friends rapidly in the school. But the twins, although they were quite popular, still clung very much to each other; and Fanny's idea was to get at Betty through her sisters. She knew quite well that often, during recess, Sylvia and Hester rushed upstairs, for what purpose she could not ascertain, the existence of the Vivians' attic being unknown to her. There, however, day by day, Sylvia and Hetty fed Dickie on raw meat, and watched the monstrous spider getting larger and more ferocious-looking.

"He'd be the sort," said Sylvia, opening her eyes very wide and fixing them on her sister, "to do mischief to some one if some one were not very careful."

"Oh, don't, silly Sylvia!" said Hetty with some annoyance. "You know Mrs. Haddo would not like you to talk like that. Now let's examine our caterpillars."

"There isn't much to see at the present moment," remarked Sylvia, "for they're every one of them in the chrysalis stage."

The girls, having spent about five minutes in the Vivians' attics, now ran downstairs, and went out, as was their custom, by a side-door which opened into one of the gardens. It was here that Fanny pounced on them. She came quickly forward, trying to look as pleasant as she could.

"Well, twins," she said, "and how goes the world with you?"

"Oh, all right!" replied Sylvia. "We can't stay to talk now; can we, Het? We've got to meet a friend of ours in the lower garden—old Birchall. By the way, do you know old Birchall, Fan?"

"Doddering old creature! of course I know him," replied Fanny.

"He isn't doddering," said Sylvia; "he has a great deal more sense than most of us. I wish I had half his knowledge of worms, and spiders, and ants, and goldfish, and—and—flies of every sort. Why, there isn't a thing he doesn't know about them. I call him one of the most delightful old men I ever met."

"Oh," said Hetty, "you shouldn't say that, Sylvia! Birchall is nice, but he isn't a patch upon Donald Macfarlane."

"If you want to see Birchall, I will walk with you," said Fanny. "You can't object to my doing that, can you?"

"We mean to run," said Hetty.

"Oh no, you don't!" said Fanny. Here she took Hetty's hand, pulled it violently through her arm. "You've got to talk to me, both of you. I have something important I want to say."

Sylvia laughed.

"Why do you laugh, you naughty, rude little girl?"

"Oh, please forgive me, Fanny; but it does sound so silly for you to say that you have something important to talk over with us, for of course we know perfectly well that you have nothing of the sort."

"Then you are wrong, that's all; and I sha'n't waste time arguing with you."

"That's all right," said Hetty. "We may be off to Birchall now, mayn't we, Fanny?"

"No, you mayn't. You must take a message from me to Betty."

"I thought so," remarked Sylvia.

Fanny had great difficulty in controlling her temper. After a minute she said, speaking quietly, "I don't permit myself to lower myself by arguing with children like you two. But I have an important message to give your sister, and if you won't give it you clearly understand that you will rue it to the last days of your lives—yes, to the last day of your lives."

Sylvia began to dance. Hetty tried to tug her hand away from Fanny's arm.

"Come, children, you can do it or not, just as you please. Tell Betty that if she is wise, and does not wish to get into a most serious and disgraceful scrape, she will not attend the meeting of some girls in Margaret Grant's room this evening."

"Let's try if we know it exactly right," said Sylvia. "Betty will get into a serious scrape if she goes to Margaret Grant's room to-night? What a pity! For, you see, Fan, she is going."

"Do listen to me, Sylvia. You have more sense in your little head than you imagine. Persuade Betty not to go. Believe me, I am only acting for her best interests."

"We'll give her the message all right," said Hester. "But as to persuading Betty when Betty's mind is made up, I'd like to know who can persuade her to change it then."

"But you are her sisters; she will do what you wish."

"But we don't wish her not to go. We'd much rather she went. Why shouldn't she have a bit of fun? Some one told us—I forget now who it was—that there are always splendid chocolates at those funny bedroom-parties. I only wish we were asked!"

"I tell you that your sister will get into a scrape!" repeated Fanny.

"You tell us so indeed," said Sylvia, "and it's most frightfully annoying of you; for we sha'n't have a minute to talk to Birchall, and he promised to have four different kinds of worms ready for us to look at this morning. Oh dear, dear! mayn't we go? Fanny, if you are so fond of Betty, why don't you speak to her yourself?"

"I have spoken, and she won't listen to me."

"There! wasn't I right?" said Sylvia. "Oh Fanny, do you think she'd mind what we said—and coming from you, too? If she didn't listen to you direct, she certainly won't listen to you crookedwise—that's not Betty."

"I was thinking," said Fanny, "that you might persuade her—that is, if you are very, very clever, just from yourselves—not to go. You needn't mention my name at all; and if you really manage this, I can tell you I'll do a wonderful lot for you. I'll get father to send me curious spiders and other creatures, all the way from India, for you. He can if he likes. I will write to him by the very next mail."

"Bribes! bribes!" cried Sylvia. "No, Fan, we can't be bribed. Good-bye, Fan. We'll give the message, but she'll go all the same."

With a sudden spring, for which Fanny was not prepared, Hester loosened her hand from Fanny's arm. The next minute she had caught Sylvia's hand, and the two were speeding away in the direction of the lower garden and the fascinating company of old Birchall.

Fanny could have stamped her foot with rage.

The Specialities always met at eight o'clock in the evening. They were expected to wear their pretty evening-dress, and look as much like grown-up young ladies as possible. In a great house like Haddo Court there must be all sorts of rooms, some much bigger than others. Thus, where every room was nice and comfortable, there were a few quite charming. The Vivians had one of the largest rooms, but Margaret Grant had the most beautiful. She had been for long years now in the school, and was therefore accorded many privileges. She had come to Haddo Court as a very little girl, and had worked her way steadily from the lower school to the upper. Her people were exceedingly well-off, and her beautiful room—half bedroom, half sitting-room—was furnished mostly out of her own pocket-money. She took great pride in its arrangements, and on this special evening it looked more attractive than usual. There were great vases of late roses and early chrysanthemums on the different whatnots and small tables. A very cheerful fire blazed in the grate, for it was getting cold enough now to enjoy a fire in the evenings, and Margaret's supper was all that was tasteful and elegant.

Betty had received Fanny Crawford's message, and Betty's eyes had sparkled with suppressed fun when her sisters had delivered it to her. She had made no comment of any sort, but had asked the girls, before they got into bed, to help her to fasten on her very prettiest frock. She had not worn this frock before, and the simple, soft, white muslin suited her young face and figure as nothing else could have done. The black ribbon which tied back her thick hair, and was worn in memory of dear Aunt Frances, was also becoming to her; and the twin girls' eyes sparkled with rapture as they looked at their darling.

"Good-night, Bet!" said Sylvia.

"Have a splendid time, Bet!" whispered Hester.

Then Sylvia said, "I am glad you are going!"

"But of course I am going," said Betty. "Good-night, chickabiddies; good-night. I won't wake you when I come back. Sleep well!" Betty left the room.

In the corridor outside she met Olive Repton, who said, "Oh, there you are, Betty! Now let's come. We'll be two of the first; but that's all the better, seeing that you are a new member."

"It sounds so mysterious—a sort of freemasonry," remarked Betty, laughing as she spoke. "I never did think that exciting things of this sort happened at school."

"They don't at most schools," replied Olive. "But, then, there is only one Haddo Court in the world."

"Shall I have to take an awful vow; shall I have to write my name in blood in a queer sort of book, or anything of that sort?" asked Betty.

"No, no! You are talking nonsense now."

By this time they had reached Margaret's room, and Margaret was waiting for them. Betty gave a cry of rapture when she saw the flowers, and, going from one glass bowl to the other, she buried her face in the delicious perfume.

By-and-by the rest of the Specialities appeared—the Bertrams (who were greatly excited at the thought of Betty joining), Susie Rushworth, and, last to enter, Fanny Crawford.

Fanny had taken great pains with her dress, and she looked her best on this occasion. She gave one quick glance at Betty. Then she went up to her and said, "Welcome, Betty!" and held out her hand.

Betty was not prepared for this most friendly greeting. She scarcely touched Fanny's hand, however, and by so doing put herself slightly in the wrong in the presence of the girls, who were watching her; while Fanny, far cleverer in these matters, put herself in the right.

"Now, then, we must all have supper," said Margaret. "After that we'll explain the rules to Betty, and she can decide whether she will join us or not. Then we can be as jolly as we please. It is our custom, you know, girls, to be extra jolly when a new member joins the Specialities."

"I'm game for all the fun in the world," said Betty. Her curious, eager, beautiful eyes were fixed on Margaret's face; and Margaret again felt that strange sense of being wonderfully drawn to her, and yet at the same time of being annoyed. What did Fanny's conduct mean? But one girl, however much she may wish to do so, cannot quite spoil the fun of six others. Margaret, therefore, was prepared to be as amiable and merry and gay as possible.

Was there ever a more delicious supper? Did ever cake taste quite so nice? Were chocolate creams and Turkish delight ever quite so good? And was not Margaret's lemonade even more admirable than her delicate cups of cocoa? And were not the dried fruits which were presently handed round quite wonderful in flavor? And, above all things, were not the sandwiches which Margaret had provided as a sort of surprise (for as a rule they had no sandwiches at these gatherings) the greatest success of all?

The merry supper came to an end, and the girls now clustered in a wide circle round the fire; and Margaret, as president, took the book of rules and began to read aloud.

"There are," she said, opening the book, which was bound beautifully in white vellum, "certain rules which each member receives a copy of, and which she takes to heart and obeys. If she deliberately breaks any single one of these rules, and such a lapse of principle is discovered, she is expected to withdraw from the Specialities. This club was first set on foot by a girl who has long left the school, and who was very much loved when she was here. Up to the present it has been a success, although its numbers have varied according to the tone of the girls who belong to the upper school. No girl belonging to the lower school has ever yet been asked to join. We have had at one time in the Speciality Club as many as one dozen members. At present we are six; although we hope that if you, Betty, decide to join us, we shall have seven members. That will be very nice," continued Margaret, smiling and looking across the room at Betty, whose eyes were fixed on her face, "for seven is the mystic, the perfect number. Now, I will begin to read the rules aloud to you. If you decide to think matters over, we will ask you to come to our next gathering this day week, when you will receive the badge of membership, and a copy of the rules would be made by me and sent to you to your room.

"Now I will begin by telling you that the great object of our club is to encourage the higher thought. Its object is to discourage and, if possible, put a stop to low, small, mean, foolish, uncharitable thoughts. Its object is to set kindness before each member as the best thing in life. You can judge for yourself, Betty, that we aim high. Yes, what were you going to say?"

"I was thinking," said Betty, whose eyes were now very wide open indeed, while her cheeks grew paler than ever with some concealed emotion, "that the girl who first thought of this club must have sat on a Scotch moor one day, with the purple heather all round her, and that to her it was vouchsafed to hear the fairies speak when they rang the little purple bells of the heather."

"That may have been the case, dear," said Margaret in her kindest tone. "Now, I will read you the rules. They are quite short and to the point:

"'RULE I.—Each girl who is a member of the Specialities gives perfect confidence to her fellow-members, keeps no secret to herself which those members ought to know, is ready to consider each member as though she were her own sister, to help her in time of trouble, and to rejoice with her in periods of joy.'

"That is Rule I., and I need not say, Betty, that it is a very important rule."

Betty's eyes were now lowered, so that only her very black lashes were seen as they rested against her pale cheeks.

"Rule II. is this:

"'RULE II.—That the Specialities read each day, for one quarter of an hour, a book of great thoughts.'

"The books are generally selected at the beginning of term, and each member is expected to read the same amount and from the same book. This term, for instance, we occupy one quarter of an hour daily in reading Jeremy Taylor's 'Holy Living.' It is not very long, but there's a vast amount of thought in it. If we feel puzzled about anything in this wonderful book we discuss it with each other at the next meeting of the Specialities, and if, after such a discussion, the whole matter does not seem quite clear, we ask Mr. Fairfax to help us. He is most kind, although of course he is not in the secret of our club.

"Rule III. is quite different. It is this:

"'RULE III.—Each day we give ourselves up, every one of us, to real, genuine fun—to having what may be called a jolly time.'

"We never miss this part of the Speciality life. We get our fun either by chatting gaily to each other, or by enjoying the society of a favorite schoolfellow.

"Rule IV. does not come into every day life; nevertheless it is important:

"'RULE IV.—We meet once a week in one of our bedrooms; but four times during the term we all subscribe together, and get up as big a party as ever we can of girls who are not Specialities. These girls have supper with us, and afterwards we have round games or music or anything that gives us pleasure.'

"Rule V. is this:

"'RULE V.—That whoever else we are cross with, we are always very careful to show respect to our teachers, and, if possible, to love them. We also try to shut our eyes to their faults, even if we see them.'

"Rule VI. is perhaps the most difficult of all to follow completely. It is the old, old rule, Betty Vivian, of forgetting ourselves and living for others. It is a rule that makes the secret of happiness. It is impossible to keep it in its fullness in this world; but our aim is to have a good try for it, and I think, on the whole, we succeed.

"Now, these are the six rules. When you read them over, you will see that they are comprehensive, that they mean a vast lot. They are, every one of them, rules which tend to discipline—the sort of discipline that will help us when we leave the school and enter into the big school of the world. Betty, do you feel inclined to join the club or not?"

"I don't know," replied Betty. "It is impossible to answer your question on the spur of the moment. But I should greatly like to see a copy of the rules."

"I will have them copied and sent to your bedroom, Betty. Then if you decide to join, you will be admitted formally this day week, and will receive the badge of the Specialities—a little true-lovers' knot made of silver—which you will wear when the Specialities give their entertainments, and which will remind you that we are bound together in one sisterhood of love for our fellow-creatures."

Betty got up somewhat nervously. "I must think a great deal; and if I may come to whichever room the Specialities are to meet in this day week, I will let you know what I have decided."

"Very well, dear," said Margaret, shutting the book and completely altering her tone. "That is all, I think to-night. Now, you must sit down and enjoy yourself. Which girl would you like to sit close to? We are going to have some round games, and they are quite amusing."

"I should like to sit close to you, Margaret, if I may."

"You certainly may, Betty; and there is a seat near mine, just by that large bowl of white chrysanthemums."

Betty took the seat; and now all the girls began to chat, each of them talking lovingly and kindly to the other. There was a tone about their conversation which was as different from the way they spoke in their ordinary life as though they were girls in a nunnery who had made solemn vows to forsake the world. Even Fanny's face looked wonderfully kind and softened. She did not even glance at Betty; but Betty looked at her once or twice, and was astonished at the expression that Fanny wore.

"Just one minute, girls, before we begin our fun," said Margaret. "Martha West is most anxious to join the Specialities. Betty, of course, has no vote, as she is not yet a member. But the rest of us know Martha well, and I think we would all like her to join. Those who are opposed to her, will they keep down their hands? Those who wish for her as a member, will they hold them up?"