'Was your old home a moor too?' asked Pat. 'Was that why you came to live here?'

'You've guessed true,' replied the old woman. 'The moorland air is native air to me, though this is a small place compared to where I was born. It'll last my time, however, and yours too for that matter. There'll be no railroads across it till the world's a good many years older.'

'How do you know that?' asked Pat, with increasing curiosity. 'Do you know things that are going to happen as well as things that have happened? I wish you'd tell me how you find them out!'

'That I can't do,' was the reply. 'There's some as has the gift, though how it comes they can't tell. It's like music, there's some as it speaks to more than any words, and others to whom one note of it is like another. And who can say why!' She ended, drawing a deep breath.

This talk was growing rather beyond Archie. He strolled into the little kitchen again towards his brother, who was still seated by the fire, where Nance had by this time settled herself opposite him. The flames were still dancing gaily up the chimney. It almost seemed to Pat as if they leaped and frolicked with increased life as the old woman held out her hands to their pleasant warmth. But then of course Pat was very fanciful.

'Tell us a story of the fairies and your great-grandmother,' said Archie. 'What was it they did to help her?'

'There's not time for it now,' Nance replied. 'There's Master Justin and Bob at the door,' and, sure enough, as Archie looked round the two other boys made their appearance, though not the slightest sound of their footsteps had been heard.

Certainly, old as she was, Nance's hearing seemed as quick as that of the fairy Five-Ears.

'I don't want to keep you longer,' she went on, 'or your folk wouldn't be best pleased with me. You must come another day, and bring the little young lady, and old Nance will have some pretty stories ready for you.'

So the three boys bade her good evening and set off homewards, Bob accompanying them a part of the way, talking eagerly to Justin about the ferret scheme they were so full of.

Pat was very silent.

'What are you thinking about?' said Justin, when Bob had left them. 'You seem half asleep, both you and Archie.'

'I was thinking about old Nance,' said Pat; 'she's awfully queer.'

'Yes,' Archie agreed. 'I like her and I don't like her. At least I felt to-night as if I were a little afraid of her.'

'Rubbish,' said Justin. 'That's Pat putting nonsense in your head. If you're going to stuff him with all your fancies, Pat, I'd rather you didn't come with us.'

Archie turned upon him.

'That's not fair of you, Jus,' he said indignantly. 'I think Pat's been very good-natured this evening. And if I were he I wouldn't give you any money for those ferrets if you spoke like that.'

This reminder was not lost upon Justin.

'Pat's all right,' he said. 'He wants the little beasts too, don't you, Pat?' turning to him.

Pat murmured something, though not very clearly, to the effect that he didn't mind, Jus was welcome to the money. Then another thought struck Archie.

'I say!' he exclaimed. 'I wonder if it's true about Miss Mouse coming to have lessons with Miss Ward? That'd mean her being at our house every day.'

'We shouldn't see much of her,' said Justin, 'we'd be at the vicarage. So we needn't bother about it. It wouldn't interfere with us.'

'Bother about it!' repeated Archie. 'I think it would be rather nice. I like her. But we'd have to leave off racketing about so, I suppose. She did look frightened once or twice this afternoon.'

'Perhaps it would be a good thing,' said Pat. 'I don't think we were like what we are now, when Aunt Mattie was with us, and yet nobody could say that she would like boys to be muffs.'

'Speak for yourself,' said Justin. 'There's always been one muff among us, and that's you!'

It was too dark for Pat's face to be seen, and he controlled himself not to reply. It was easier to do so as he was, to confess the truth, feeling not a little pleased with himself for his good-nature to his elder brother.

'I'm sure Aunt Mattie would think I'd done my best this evening,' he thought; 'Justin hasn't been a bit nicer and I've not answered him back once, and I really will give him the money for the ferrets, though I'm sure I never want to see the nasty little beasts. I don't mind them so much if they're kept down at old Nance's, for then when Justin goes to see them I can go too and make old Nance tell me some of her queer stories.'

For Pat was very much fascinated by the old woman and her talk—more than he quite knew indeed. He put down the whole of his amiability to Justin to his wish to follow his aunt's good advice.

Justin was struck by Pat's forbearance.

'What's coming over him?' he said to himself, 'I've never known him so good-tempered before.'

Archie noticed it too, as he had already done earlier in the afternoon, and he was not afraid to say so.

'You're really too bad, Jus,' he exclaimed. 'Pat's far too patient. If I were he I wouldn't stand it.'

This gave Pat great satisfaction, for though he seemed unsociable and morose he was really very sensitive to other people's opinion of him, and eager for approval.

'Don't you meddle,' said Justin. 'Pat and I can manage our affairs without you. We're both older than you, remember.'

But before Archie had made up his mind what to reply, the threatening quarrel was put a stop to by an unexpected diversion. They had by this time left the moor and were making their way home by a little lane which skirted their own fields, across which it was not always easy to make one's way in the dark. A few yards ahead of them this lane ran into the road, and just at this moment, to their surprise, they caught sight of a carriage driving slowly away from Moor Edge.

'What can that be?' said Justin. 'It's the fly from the station, I'm almost sure. I know it by the heavy way it trundles along.'

'I do believe,' said Archie joyfully, 'that it's papa and mamma come back without warning!'

His brothers did not seem equally pleased.

'If it is,' said Justin, 'we'll get into a nice scrape for being out so late. Run on, Archie, you're mamma's pet, and tell her we're just behind.'

Archie made no objection to this, he was not unused to being employed in this way, and when a few minutes later the elder boys entered the house, they found that their pioneer had done his work well.

Their mother was crossing the hall on her way upstairs when she caught sight of them coming in by a side door; Archie was beside her, laden with bags and rugs.

'My dear boys,' said Mrs. Hervey, 'you shouldn't be out so late. I was just beginning to wonder what had become of you when Archie ran in.'

'We never thought you'd come back to-night,' said Justin, as he kissed her, 'or we'd have been in, or gone along the road to meet you.'

'That's not the question,' said their father's voice from the other side of the hall, where he was looking over some letters that had come for him. 'I'm afraid it's a case of "when the cat's away,"' but by the tone of his voice they knew he was not very vexed. 'So, Pat,' he went on, 'you were out too. I'm glad of that, it's better than being always cooped up indoors. What have you all been after? Archie says you weren't far off—were you with Griffith?'

'Part of the time,' said Justin. 'The vet came over to look at mamma's pony.'

'Oh, by the bye, how is it?' asked Mr. Hervey quickly, but Justin could not say.

'I'll run out and ask Griffith now,' he volunteered, and off he ran.

Pat followed his mother and Archie upstairs. He did not quite own it to himself, but he had a strong feeling of not wishing his father to know that they had been for some time at the Crags' cottage.

On the landing upstairs, Mrs. Hervey and the boys were met by the two nursery children. Hec kissed his mother in a rather off-hand way—there was a good deal of Justin about Hec—but fat little Ger ran forward with outstretched arms.

'Mamma, mamma!' he cried. 'I am so glad you've comed home. And Mith Mouse has been here, did you know? Aunt Mattie brought her.'

'My darling, what are you talking about?' said his mother. 'Pat— Archie, what does he mean?'

'The little girl,' said Archie, 'Aunt Mattie's own little girl. Didn't you know she was coming, mamma?'

Mrs. Hervey's face cleared.

'Do you mean little Rosamond Caryll?' she said. 'Oh yes, of course I knew she was expected to stay with your Aunt Mattie. But I forgot she was coming so soon. And so she has been to see you already? That is very nice. She must be a dear little girl, I am sure.'

'Hers juth like a mouse,' said Ger, 'all tho thoft and juth the right colour—greyey, you know!'

His mother laughed.

'You funny boy,' she said. 'When are you going to leave off lisping altogether? You can say S's quite well if you like. Did she mind your calling her "Miss Mouse"?' she went on, turning to the elder boys.

'No, not a bit,' said Archie. 'I think she liked it.'

'And so did Aunt Mattie,' added Pat. 'She said it suited her. Is it true that she's coming here to have lessons, mamma?'

'Who told you so?' asked his mother, with some surprise. 'There's nothing settled about it.'

Pat and Archie glanced at each other, but neither replied. Their mother, however, did not notice their silence, for just then Miss Ward made her appearance. She was all smiles and cheerfulness now, for Mr. and Mrs. Hervey's return was the greatest possible relief to her.

'I hope everything has been all right while we were away?' said the boys' mother kindly.

'Yes, thank you,' said Miss Ward, 'at least everything is quite right now. I had just a little trouble, but it was really accidental, and Mrs. Caryll's coming this afternoon was such a pleasure.'

Mrs. Hervey saw that Miss Ward did not wish to say any more before the children. Her face fell a little.

'I am afraid,' she thought to herself, 'that Justin may have been unmanageable, but I shall hear about it afterwards if there is anything that must be told. Pat,' she went on to herself, 'looks wonderfully bright and cheerful, more like what he used to be when Mattie was here. I do hope it will turn out nicely about little Rosamond coming.'



CHAPTER VII

NANCE'S STORY

The next day Mrs. Hervey drove over to Caryll Place, where she had a long talk with her sister, and made acquaintance with little Rosamond.

'She is a sweet little girl,' she said, when she and Aunt Mattie were by themselves. 'I do hope it will answer for her to come over to us, as we had thought of. Even though she would be mostly with the little ones, you could let her spend a day now and then with all the boys, I hope, Mattie? It would be so good for them, and I think, I hope they would not be too rough for her. They must have been unusually unruly yesterday.'

Mrs. Caryll hesitated. She was anxious not to disappoint her sister, as she looked up in her face with her gentle, pleading brown eyes—eyes so like Archie's. Mrs. Hervey was several years older than Aunt Mattie, and yet in some ways she seemed younger. There was something almost child-like about her which made it difficult to believe that she was the mother of the five sturdy boys. And to tell the truth, she often felt overwhelmed by them. 'If only one of them had been a girl!' she used to say to herself. 'She would have had such a softening influence upon the others!' and she had hailed with delight the prospect of little Rosamond making one of the Moor Edge party to some extent for a time.

'You're not thinking of giving it up?' she went on anxiously.

'No,' replied Aunt Mattie. 'I think now that Rosamond herself would be very disappointed. Her uncle said something to her last night which I see has made a great impression upon her. She really wants to be a sister to them all, for the time. But I think it will be necessary for you—or his father rather—to speak very seriously to Justin. I am afraid there is a touch of the bully about him which seems to have got worse of late, and it is such a bad example for the younger ones.'

'Of course it is,' Mrs. Hervey agreed. 'We have been speaking to him this morning about his rudeness to Miss Ward while we were away. We made her tell about it, poor thing—and on the whole I must say he took it well. He didn't attempt any excuses. And Pat has been very nice, much brighter than usual. I can't help hoping that the thought of Miss Mouse'—she smiled as she said the name-'is going to put them all on their mettle.'

'I shall be very glad indeed if it is so,' said Mrs. Caryll, and when her sister went home again, she carried with her, to her houseful of boys, the news that the little stranger was to join the schoolroom party the next day but one, for to-day was Saturday.

They were all more or less pleased. Justin the least so perhaps, unless it were that he thought it rather beneath him to seem to care one way or another about a thing of the kind, and he repeated that it would make no difference to him, as Miss Mouse's companions were to be the two little boys.

'Oh, but she's going to be with us on half-holidays, very often,' said Archie.

'What a nuisance!' said Justin, but in his heart he was not ill-pleased. There was a good deal of love of show-off about him, and a little girl, especially a quiet, gentle child like Rosamond, seemed to him very well suited to fill the place of admirer to his important self.

'We must take her to see old Nance, the first chance we get,' said Pat. 'We almost promised we would, you remember?'

'Do you think Aunt Mattie wouldn't mind,' said Archie doubtfully.

'Mind,' repeated Pat, 'of course not. We've never been told we're not to speak to the Crags. All papa said was that he didn't want us to have Bob too much about the place. And I daresay that was partly because the servants are nasty to him, and might get him into trouble somehow or other.

'Oh well yes,' said Archie, who was always inclined to see things in the pleasantest light, 'I daresay it was for that, and Miss Mouse does want very much to go to see their queer cottage.'

And on Monday morning little Rosamond made her appearance for the second time at Moor Edge. She had come over in her aunt's pony-cart, which was to fetch her again in the afternoon, Mrs. Caryll intending very often to drive over for this purpose herself.

Things promised very well in the schoolroom. Miss Ward was a good teacher, and Rosamond was a pleasant child to teach. Three days in the week she was alone with the little ones, the three other days Archie and she did several of their lessons together, for it was only on alternate mornings that he went with his brothers to the vicarage for Latin and Greek, which Miss Ward did not undertake. So a week or more passed quietly and uneventfully. The two first half-holidays were not spent by Rosamond at Moor Edge, as her aunt thought it better not to throw the little girl too much with the elder boys till she had grown more accustomed to being among so many, for a change of this kind is often rather trying to an only child.

But on the second Wednesday, when the little girl was starting in the morning, she asked her aunt if she might spend that afternoon with 'the boys,' and not come home till later.

Mrs. Caryll was pleased at her expressing this wish.

'Certainly, dear,' she said. 'I shall very likely drive over myself to bring you back. I have not seen Aunt Flora,'—for so Rosamond had been told to call Mrs. Hervey—'for some days. Have you made some plan for this afternoon?'

'Only to go for a walk with the big ones,' Miss Mouse replied. 'I daresay we'll go on the moor, for I've hardly been there at all.' And after the early dinner at Moor Edge the children set off for their ramble, having informed Miss Ward that they had no intention of coming home till tea-time.

'Aunt Mattie's coming to fetch me herself,' said Rosamond, 'and now the evenings are rather cold and get so soon dark, she is sure to come in a close carriage, so mightn't we have tea a little later, Miss Ward, so as to be able to stay out as long as it's light?'

She looked up coaxingly in Miss Ward's face.

'I don't think it would do to change the hour,' the governess replied. 'But I won't mind if you're not in just to the minute.'

Miss Ward's not often so good-natured as that,' said Justin. 'I suppose she "favours" you because you're a girl, Miss Mouse.'

'I think she's very kind to everybody,' said Rosamond.

'I'm sure she's had nothing to complain of lately,' said Justin. 'We've been as good as good. I'm getting rather tired of it.'

They were close to the moor by this time. It was a mild day for the time of year, and the sky was very clear.

'We might go a good long walk,' said Archie.

'Humph,' said Justin, 'I don't call that much fun. Anyway I mean to go first to Bob Crag's. I don't know what he's doing about those ferrets. He's had time enough to find out about them by now.'

'What was there to find out?' asked Archie. 'He told us ever so long ago that he could get them at Maxter's.'

'Oh, but you didn't hear,' said Pat. 'It was one morning you weren't with us. He ran after us to say that these ones were sold too. And he had heard of some other place farther off. I don't believe we'll ever get any.'

'Is that the boy whose old grandmother lives in the queer hut on the moor?' asked Rosamond eagerly. 'I remember the first time I came here you said you'd take me to see it some day. Can't we go that way now?'

'We are going that way,' said Justin. 'You're sure you won't be frightened of the old granny? For if you were, Aunt Mattie wouldn't let you come with us again.'

Rosamond opened her eyes very wide.

'Frightened of her,' she repeated. 'Why should I be? Isn't she a kind old woman?'

'Yes,' said Pat, 'but she's very queer. If you don't like her, you need never come back to see her again.'

'And in that case you needn't say anything about it to Aunt Mattie,' added Justin.

'But of course I won't be frightened,' said Rosamond, a little indignantly. 'I've never been easily frightened. Even when I was only two, mamma said I laughed at the niggers singing and dancing at the seaside. Aunt Mattie would think me very silly if I were frightened.'

'She'd be more vexed with us than with you,' said Justin. 'I think on the whole you needn't say anything about the Crags to her. You see you don't quite understand being with boys. We don't go in and tell every little tiny thing we've done. Miss Ward would be sure to find fault with something. And we hate tell-taleing; girls don't think of it the same way.'

'I do,' said Rosamond, flushing a little. 'If you think I'd be a tell-tale I'd rather not go with you.'

'Oh nonsense,' said Archie. 'I'm sure Jus can't think that. Anybody can see you're not that sort of a girl.'

All these remarks put the little girl on her mettle, and, besides this, she was most anxious to gain the good opinion of the two elder boys and to get on happily with them as her aunt had so much wished. Nor was she by nature in the least a cowardly child.



Still when they reached the little cottage on the moor, and she caught sight of Nance standing in the doorway as if looking out for them, she could not help giving a tiny start, for no doubt the old woman was a very strange-looking person.

'She really does look like one of the witches in my picture fairy-book,' thought Rosamond.

But with the first words that fell from Nance's lips, the slight touch of fear faded away. There was something singularly sweet in the old woman's voice when it suited her to make it so, and she was evidently very pleased to see the little stranger.

'Welcome, missie dear,' she said. 'I was thinking you'd be coming to-day, and proud I am to see you all.'

Rosamond felt a little surprised at finding herself expected, but no doubt, she thought to herself, the boys had told the old woman that they would bring her.

'Thank you,' she said, in her pretty, half-shy way. 'I wanted to come very much. I think it must be so nice to live on the moor as you do.'

'Nance has always lived on a moor,' said Archie, 'ever since she was quite a little girl. That's why she came here instead of going to the village.'

'Aye, Master Archie,' said the old woman, 'I'd choke in a village, let alone a town, but there was a time that I was far away from moorland, though my life began on one and 'twill end on one too. But won't you come in, my dears. I was baking this morning—there's some little cakes maybe you'd like a taste of, and some nice fresh milk.'

None of the children had any objection to an afternoon luncheon of this kind, and Nance's little cakes were certainly very good. Miss Mouse felt exceedingly happy. The inside of the cottage was beautifully clean, and uncommon-looking in some ways, for Nance had trained a creeping plant so well that one side of the room was nearly covered by it, and, besides this, there was a kind of rockery in one corner with smaller plants growing in its crannies. The furniture, though plain and strong, was of quaint, uncommon shapes, and on the high mantelshelf stood some queer pieces of china, more rarely to be seen in those days than now, when the curiosities of the East can be bought by any one for very little. Rosamond knew more about such things than the boys, as her father had been so much in India, and she thought to herself that perhaps the old woman had had sons or brothers who were sailors.

The little room was pleasantly warm without being too hot; indeed Nance loved fresh air so much that it was rarely her door was shut closely even in winter. The fire was dancing brightly, and there was a peculiar fragrance which seemed to come from it.

'I've been burning pine-cones and other sweet-smelling things,' said Nance.

Rosamond gave a sigh of satisfaction.

'It's perfectly lovely in here every way,' she said. 'It's like a fairy-house.'

'Oh, that reminds me,' said Pat, 'you promised to tell us a fairy story, Nance, at least I think it was to be a fairy one. Anyway it was about the great big moor where you lived when you were a little child.'

Pat had seated himself comfortably in his favourite corner near the fire, Miss Mouse and Archie opposite him, but Justin was fidgeting about in his usual way; he was the most restless boy possible.

'I say, where is Bob?' he asked suddenly.

Nance stepped to the door and looked out.

'He should be coming by now,' she said. 'He went about your ferrets to another place, Master Justin. He's been in a fine way at not getting them for you before. Ah! yes, there he is,' and she pointed to a black speck appearing on one of the little white paths at some distance.

'I'll go and meet him,' exclaimed Justin, 'perhaps he's bringing them with him. I don't care about fairy stories. So when you're ready to go,' he went on, turning to his brothers, 'you can call me. I'll be somewhere about with Bob,' and he ran off.

Nance stood looking after him for a moment. Then she came in, half-closing the door.

'That's right,' said Archie, 'now we'll be very comfortable without Jus fidgetting about. Go on, Nance, we're all ready.'

Nance drew forward a stool, and seated herself upon it, between the children, in front of the fire. She had a pleasant, rather dreamy smile upon her face.



'I've plenty of stories in my head,' she said. 'The one I was going to tell you the other day was an old one of my grandmother's. It was about a moor, though I can't say for certain if it was the one I remember best myself. It was told her by the one that was best able to tell it, and that was the very man it had happened to many years before, when he was a boy. They were poor folk, very poor folk, and they had hard work to keep the wolf from the door. The father was dead, and there were several little ones. This boy, Robin was his name, was the eldest, and the only one fit for regular work, and he was but twelve. He must have been a right-down good boy, though he didn't say so of himself, for he worked early and late and brought every penny home to his mother. Well, one night, 'twas the beginning of winter too, like it is now, he was going home from the farm where he worked, right across the moor. It was a good long way to the farm, for it was a lonely place where his home was, but there was no rent to pay for the bit of a place, so they stayed there, lonesome as it was, and worse than that sometimes, for the children were delicate, from want of good food most likely, and more than once the poor mother had had a sad fright, thinking the baby, the frailest of them all, would have died before the doctor could come to them. In the summer-time they got on better, and, putting one thing with another, they'd have been sorry to move.

'This winter promised to be a very hard one—all the wise folk had said so, and they weren't often mistaken. There were signs they could read better than people can nowadays, and Robin's heart was heavy. For if the snow came his work might stop, or it might be almost impossible to go backwards and forwards to it. There had been times when for days together the moor could not be crossed. The boy was tired too, and hungry, and he knew well there was not much of a meal waiting for him at home. But at least there would be shelter and warmth, for there was no lack of fuel ready to hand—same as we have it here. The wind whistled and moaned, and felt as if it cut him. More than once he put his hands up to his ears, just to feel like if they were still there and to shut out the dreary sound for a moment. And one time after doing so, it seemed to him that he heard a new sound mixing with the wind's wail. A cry, with more in it than the wind was telling: for it sounded like the cry of a living being. He hurried on, feeling a little frightened as well as troubled——'

'Were there wolves about that place then, do you think, Nance?' Archie interrupted eagerly. 'I have read in stories that they make a sort of a cry—a baying cry. Perhaps the boy thought it was wolves?'

Nance shook her head.

'There's been no wolves in this country, Master Archie, since much farther back than my grandmother's time. No, it wasn't that sort of a cry. He heard it again and again. And each time it grew plainer and plainer to him that it was some creature in trouble, and bit by bit it came stronger upon him that he must seek it out whatever it was; that he would be a cruel boy if he didn't. So he stood quite still to listen, and through and above the wind he heard it still clearer, and then he turned to the side where it seemed to come from, though it was hard to make his way. But strange to say he hadn't gone many steps before he felt he was on a path, and, stranger still, all of a sudden the moon came out from behind the clouds, and he heard the cry almost at his feet, though before then it had seemed a good way off. He went on a few steps, peering at the ground, and soon he saw a little white shape lying huddled up among the withered heather, and sobbing fit to break your heart to hear. It was a little girl; she seemed about two years old, and when she felt him trying to lift her up, she stopped crying and wound her tiny arms about his neck, so that, if he had wanted to set her down again, he could scarce have done so. And before he knew where he was there she had settled herself in his arms as content as could be. He spoke to her, thinking she might understand.

'"Who are you, baby?" he said, "and where have you come from? And what am I to do with you?"

'It was half like speaking to himself, and no answer did he get, except that she cuddled herself closer into his arms, and it came over him that take her home he must, whatever came of it, and in less than a minute she seemed to have fallen asleep. He drew what he could of his coat over her, for it was bitter cold, and it was hard work fighting against the wind, tired as he was too, and misdoubting him sorely as to what his poor mother would say, and small blame to her, when she saw what he had brought with him. But queer things happened during that walk; whenever his heart went down the most, he'd feel her little hand patting at his cheek, or one of her fair curls would blow across his lips, as if it was kissing him, and with that he'd cheer up again and his feet would feel new spring in them. So they came at last to his home, and there was his mother peeping out, wild night though it was, and listening for his coming, for she had been getting very frightened.

'"Is it you, Robin?" she called out, and sad as her heart was that evening, it gave a leap of joy when she heard her boy's voice in return.

'But it was as he had been fearing, when he came in and she saw by the firelight what he was carrying.

'"I couldn't help it, mother," he said, "nobody could have helped it," and he told his story.

'"No," said the poor woman, "you couldn't have left the baby to die all alone out on the moor a night like this. Though it's little but shelter and warmth we can give her. There's but a crust for your own supper, my poor Robin."

'She took the child from him and laid it down on the settle by the fire, and as she did so it opened its eyes and smiled at her, and for a minute her heart felt lightened, just as it had been with Robin. And the baby shook its pretty curls, and sat straight up, looking about it quite bright and cheery-like, and then it made signs that it was hungry, and Robin took the piece of bread waiting for him on the table, and give the biggest half to the little creature, who ate it eagerly. His two next brothers stood staring at her—the little sisters were in bed and asleep, his mother told him. They were so hungry, she said, 'twas the best place for them.

'"And how we're to get food for to-morrow, heaven only knows," she went on. "I've not a penny left, and if this wind brings the snow there'll be no getting across the moor even to beg a loaf for charity," and her tears fell fast.

'Robin felt half wild. Hungry as he was he couldn't bear to think of the little ones in bed without a proper meal, and he was half angry when he heard his little brothers give a shout of laughter.

'"Be quiet, can't you?" he was going to say. But what he saw made him stop short. There was the little stranger, as grave as a judge, taking turn about with the two boys at the crust of bread, and they were laughing with pleasure at her feeding them, and calling out that the bread had honey on it.

"They must be hungry to think that," said the mother; "but the little one has a kind heart, and maybe she's not very hungry herself, though she's so poorly clad," and both she and Robin felt happier to see how pleased the boys were.

'The good woman undressed the little child and put her to bed with her own, and with no supper but his half crust, Robin fell asleep that night, feeling, all the same, cheerier than might have been.

'"I'll be up betimes, mother," were his last words, "whatever the weather is. I must make sure of some food for you and the children before I go to work."

'He woke early the next morning, earlier than usual, tired though he was, and the moon was shining so brightly in at the little window that at first he thought it was daylight. And when he looked round the kitchen, for he slept in a corner of it, he could scarce believe it wasn't, for it was all tidied up, the fire burning beautiful, and everything spick and span as his mother loved to have it. "Poor mother," thought Robin, "why has she got up so early? and how sound I must have been sleeping not to hear her!"

'He called out to her, but there was no answer, and when he got up and peeped into the inner room, why! there they were all fast asleep, and as he turned back again, he saw something still stranger, for there was the table all spread ready for breakfast—better than that indeed, for the breakfast itself was ready. There was a beautiful, big, wheaten loaf, and a roll of butter, a treat they seldom tasted, and a great bowl full of milk, and on the hob by the fire stood the coffee-pot, and it was many a day since that had been used, with the steam coming out at its spout, and the nice smell of fresh ground berries fit to make your mouth water.

'There was no thought of going to bed again for Robin when he had seen all this, though he'd been half wishing he could, he was that tired from the night before, and by the clock he now saw that it was half-past six. He gave a cry of joy which awoke his mother, and brought her and the children in to see what had happened.'



CHAPTER VIII

NANCE'S STORY (continued)

'At the first glance,' continued Nance, 'the poor woman thought that it was all Robin's doing, but in another moment she saw that was impossible. The boy was only half-dressed and had plainly not been outside, and he was looking quite as surprised as the rest.

'"Mother, mother," cried Robin, "where has it all come from? Did you get up in the night? Has any one been here?"

'His mother was too surprised herself to know what to say. She glanced round at the children.

'"Let us get dressed quick and have some of this beautiful breakfast," said the little girls, "we are so hungry;" and the baby held out its arms and crowed, and then the mother bethought herself of the little visitor of the night before. She was the only one who had not been awakened by Robin's cry of joy—there she was still sleeping soundly, with a smile on her little fair face.

'"She has brought us good luck," said Robin and his mother, "whoever she is, and wherever she came from."

'But wonderful as it was they were too hungry to keep on thinking about it, and soon they were all seated round the table, enjoying themselves as they hadn't done for many a day.

'And that wasn't the end of it either. When the good woman carried the remains of the breakfast into the lean-to where their food was kept, when they had any, what did she find but a beautiful cut of bacon and a bowl full of eggs.

'"Why, Robin," she said, "there'd be no fear of our starving now, even if we couldn't cross the moor," and she looked out as she spoke, but the weather had taken a turn for the better, and Robin was able to go to his work with a light heart, feeling strong and fresh after his good night's rest and his good meal.

'"And you'll ask all about," said his mother, "if any one has lost their child. There must be sore hearts somewhere, I'm afraid," and she lifted the tiny waif for Robin to kiss her before he set off.

'But ask as he might there was nothing to be heard of a strayed child, and as the day went on the boy felt more and more puzzled. He had plenty to think of that day, for, to his great surprise, the farmer for whom he worked told him that he was so pleased with his industry and good-nature that, be the weather what it would that winter through, he might count on regular work and better wages.

'Robin was so eager to carry this news to his mother that he could scarce wait till the time came for him to go home, and once he set off 'twas more like dancing across the moor than walking, so happy did he feel.

'"And even if we can't find the baby's friends," he thought to himself, "mother'll be able to keep her, and glad to do it too, seeing the good luck she's brought us."

'As this passed through his mind he stopped short and looked about him. 'Twas just about the place where he had heard the cry the night before, but the evening was mild and clear, and though the sun had set it was not cloudy, and as the moon came sailing up he could see a long way round him, and what breeze there was, was soft and gentle compared to the storm wind of yesterday. And just then a sudden sound reached him. No cry of trouble this time, but a burst of pretty laughter, ringing and joyous as if it came from some little child bubbling over with fun—and mischief too! It seemed to be just in front of him, then just behind, then just at one side, then at the other. Wherever he turned it came from a different point, till he felt half-provoked to be so tricked. So he ran on at last all the faster, thinking he was bewitched, till he got within sight of his home, and there, coming to meet him, was his mother, with a look on her face half-pleased, half-vexed.

"She's gone, Robin," she called out, "the pretty baby's gone. But there's no call to be afraid for her. She ran off when she was playing with your little sisters in front of the house, and chase her as we might, we couldn't catch her. She danced away like a will-o'-the-wisp, laughing as I've never heard a child laugh, so fine and pretty and mischievous it was. And I've bethought me what it means. 'Twas the day for the moor-fairies to show themselves, it comes but once in seven years, and we've been in luck indeed."

'Then Robin told her of the laughing he, too, had heard, and of the good news he was bringing, and together they went on to the cottage, thankful that they had not missed the chance which had come to them by fear or selfishness. And from that day for seven years to come anyhow it did seem as if they were specially befriended, everything went well with them, and so far as I remember what my grandmother said, this good turn helped Robin on through his life. He was a grandfather himself when he told the story, much respected through the country-side—a good, kind man, as he had been a good, kind boy.'

Nance stopped. Rosamond gave a sigh of satisfaction.

'What a pretty story,' she said, 'and how nicely you've told it—Mrs. Crag,' for she did not quite know what to call the old woman.

Nance smiled, well pleased. It was true; she had a real gift for story-telling, and though her accent sounded strange, her words were so correctly chosen, and her whole tone had so much charm about it, that it was almost difficult to believe that she had not at some time of her life been in a much better position than now.

'I'm right glad that you've liked my old story,' she said. 'But don't call me Mrs. Crag, missie dear; it doesn't suit me. Say "Nance," like the young gentlemen. I've plenty more stories packed away somewhere in my head that I can get out for you if you care to hear them.'

'I wonder,' said Pat, 'if the fairies were seen again ever? Do you think they kept coming back every seven years, Nance?'

The old woman shook her head.

'I can't say, Master Pat,' she replied, 'but I'm afraid those days are over now, the world's too changed, and all the new-fangled ways frighten the good people away.'

'Do you think there were ever fairies on this moor?' said Archie. 'It says in our story-books that there are ever so many different kinds, some in forests, some in brooks and rivers, but I never heard of moor ones before. Are you sure, Nance, that if we sat up all night, or got up very, very early in the morning some particular day, we mightn't see something queer, or hear something? Like the boy, Johnnie— Somebody? who climbed up the mountain on Midsummer's eve.'

'No, no, Master Archie,' said Nance. 'Times are changed, as I told you. You'd catch nothing but a bad cold. You mustn't try any of those tricks, my dear, or you'll be getting old Nance into trouble for filling your head with nonsense, and then you'd not be let come to see me, which would be sad for me,' and she gave a little sigh. 'Promise me, you'll never do anything your dear papa and mamma wouldn't like.'

Archie laughed.

'I was really half joking,' he said. 'I know there aren't really any fairies, nowadays anyway. Pat, don't you go and tell Justin what I was saying, or he'd make fun of me.'

'I'm not going to,' said Pat. 'Jus doesn't care about things like that.'

'I think they're lovely,' said Miss Mouse. 'Fancying about pretty things is almost as nice as having them really, don't you think?'

There was no time, however, for any more talk, for at that moment Justin, followed by Bob, made his appearance at the door.

'I say,' he called out, 'I'm going home, and you'd better all come with me.'

'It's not late,' objected Pat, who was feeling very comfortable and disinclined to move, 'and we had leave to stay out later.'

'I can't help it,' said Justin. 'I want to go back now. I've a reason for it. I'll tell you about it as we go.'

The others had to give in to him, as was generally the case. They all said good-bye to their old friend, Rosamond holding up her little face to be kissed as she thanked Nance again, for which she was rewarded by a hearty—'Bless you, my sweet,' and then the whole party of children set off for Moor Edge, Bob making one of them.

'Why is he coming?' said Pat in a low voice to Justin, nodding his head backwards towards Bob, who was walking behind them.

'That's what I've got to tell you about,' said Justin in the same tone. 'It's about the ferrets. He's found a splendid pair after a lot of bother, but he must have the money. You've got yours ready, I suppose?'

'Bother,' said Pat. 'I don't care about the nasty little beasts. I did hope you'd give them up.'

'But you promised,' said Justin, ready to be angry. 'I've never spoken of giving them up, and you offered the money at the first. You seemed as if you wanted to have them as much as I did.'

'I'm not going back from my promise,' said Pat, half-sulkily, remembering his Aunt Mattie's advice to try to show more interest in the things Justin cared for. 'You can have the money whenever you like,' he went on in a brighter tone, as he remembered also that the ferrets, being kept at Bob's, would be a certain reason for frequent visits to the cottage, and more of Nance's stories; 'but do you mean,' he added, 'that we've got money enough to pay for them?'

Justin hesitated.

'No, of course not,' he said at last, 'your own sense might tell you that. We've not got much more than half.'

'Then they must be dearer than you thought at first,' said Pat sturdily. 'I remember quite well you counting that you'd have nearly enough.'

'But these are far better ones,' said Justin. 'You must expect to pay more for a better thing. They won't hurry about the rest of the money once they've got half, or rather more than half.'

'You'll have to pay up some time or other though,' said Pat. 'And I don't know where you'll get it from. I can't go on giving you all my pocket-money. There are other things I want to get.'

'Wait till you're asked,' said Justin sharply. 'I can manage my own affairs.'

Pat thought it better to say no more, though in his heart he did not think Justin's talk of independence was very well-timed. He did grudge the money now that the first feeling of generosity had had time to cool down. But he felt there was no help for it.

When they got to their own gate Justin told Bob to wait about outside till he came back again. This surprised Rosamond a little; it struck her as scarcely kind to the boy, who on his side had been so hospitable. But she said nothing, only when bidding Bob good-bye, she held out her hand to him, repeating how much she had liked her visit to the cottage. And from that moment Bob's wild, warm heart was completely won by the little lady.

They were not as late as Miss Ward had laid her account to their perhaps being, still, schoolroom tea was half over before Justin and Pat made their appearance, and both came in looking rather cross. Miss Ward glanced at them, seeming slightly annoyed.

'As you came in in good time,' she said, 'you should have come to tea punctually. Rosamond and Archie have been here for ten minutes at least. What have you been doing?'

The boys sat down without replying.

'Has Bob gone?' asked Miss Mouse innocently.

Justin glanced at her with a frown, and Pat, who was seated next to her, touched her foot under the table with his. She looked up in surprise, but nothing more was said, Miss Ward not having noticed the little girl's question. Tea was proceeding peacefully, though rather more silently than usual, when the door opened and Mrs. Caryll looked in.

'Are you nearly ready, dear?' she said to Rosamond, after a word of greeting to Miss Ward and the elder boys, whom she had not seen before that day. 'It's getting rather late.'

Rosamond jumped up.

'I can come now, auntie,' she said. 'I've had quite enough tea.' But this Mrs. Caryll would not allow.

'I can wait five or ten minutes longer,' she said, looking at her watch. 'Perhaps Miss Ward can spare me a cup of tea.'

Miss Ward was delighted to do so, and Archie was on his feet in an instant, ringing the bell and then running out into the passage to save time by meeting the servant and asking for another cup and saucer.

'And have you had a pleasant afternoon?' said Aunt Mattie, when she was seated at the table. 'Have you no adventures to tell me about, Jus? or you, Pat?'

She looked at the two boys a little curiously, for she had noticed that they were silent and rather gloomy.

'It was all right,' said Justin in his somewhat surly way. 'We didn't keep together all the time. I don't know what the others were doing.'

'Oh! it was lovely,' exclaimed Rosamond, 'Pat and Archie and I were——'

'Miss Mouse does so like the moor,' interrupted Pat, 'though there wasn't any sunset to speak of this evening.'

And again Rosamond felt a warning touch on her foot as Pat went on talking rather eagerly about the sunsets that were sometimes to be seen, which interested his aunt, and turned the conversation from what the children had been about that special afternoon.

The little girl felt uneasy and perplexed. Were the boys afraid of her 'tale-telling,' as they called it? And even if she had told everything that had happened that afternoon, what harm would it have done, or who could have found fault with it? Nothing could have been prettier or nicer than Nance's story, and Rosamond felt sure that she was a good old woman. She had been so afraid of their doing anything that Mr. and Mrs. Hervey might not like too, and her whole manner showed how much respect she felt for the boys' parents.

'I'm sure,' thought Miss Mouse, 'nobody could think it wasn't nice for us to go there. I don't understand what the boys mean. I suppose it's just that they've different ways from girls, and like to be very independent. And I promised them I wouldn't tell things over if they'd rather I didn't. So I won't, unless of course it was anything wrong, and then I'd have to, but I'd first tell them what I meant to do.'

And with this decision in her mind the little girl's face cleared, and she felt quite happy again.

She was bright and cheerful during the drive home, so that the very slight misgiving which the elder boys' manner had caused Mrs. Caryll quite faded away, and she talked happily to her little niece of plans for other half-holidays. It would be nice sometimes, she said, to invite the Moor Edge party to Caryll for a change, 'though,' as she added with a smile, 'they all say they don't care for anything there half as much as for running wild on their dear moor.'

'The moor is nice, isn't it, auntie?' said Rosamond. 'Such a beautiful place for fancying things, with its being so wild and lonely.'

'You mustn't get your little head too full of fancies,' said her aunt. 'Has Pat been entertaining you with his pet stories? It is a pity that he and Justin cannot be mixed up together, one is so much too dreamy, and the other too rough and ready. But I hoped they were getting on better together lately, though I was rather disappointed this evening, Justin looked so cross.'

'I think Pat tries to be very nice to Justin,' said Miss Mouse. 'And Justin wasn't at all cross when we were out.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said her aunt. 'There is certainly room for improvement in him. But I trust it is beginning. He has never been rude or unkind to you, dear, I hope?'

'Oh no, auntie, though of course I've not seen much of him till to-day,' answered Rosamond. 'I like him quite well—though not so much as Archie, or—' with a little hesitation—'or Pat.'



CHAPTER IX

MISS MOUSE 'AT HOME'

The next half-holiday came on a Saturday—the Saturday of that same week—and as the weather was lovely just then, Aunt Mattie begged her sister to allow the three elder boys to spend it at Caryll, as she had planned with Rosamond.

So it was arranged that, as soon as morning lessons were over, the four children should walk back together in time for early dinner at Rosamond's home. In one sense it was scarcely correct to call Saturday a half-holiday, as the boys did not go to the vicarage at all that day, though they were supposed to spend two hours at home in preparation of Monday's lessons.

By twelve o'clock they were all under way, Rosamond feeling not a little important at the prospect of acting hostess to the Hervey boys.

'How shall we go?' said Archie, as they stood on the drive for a moment or two looking about them.

'By the moor, of course,' said Justin at once, 'turning down the path that brings us out near the cross-roads—the way we go on middling days, you know,' he added to Rosamond.

'I think it would be more of a change to go all the way by the road,' said Pat. 'We've gone so much by the moor lately with its being so fine. You can't be wanting to see Bob again to-day, you'd quite a long talk with him on our way home yesterday.'

'As it happens,' said Justin, 'I do want to see him, and he'll be on the look-out for us,' and without saying more he turned towards the kitchen garden, from which a door in the wall opened on to the fields, beyond which lay the moor.

The others followed without saying anything more; cool determination to have your own way reminds one of the old saying that 'possession is nine points of the law'—it generally carries the day, as Justin had learnt by experience.

Rosamond did not care particularly which way they went, but she did mind Justin's masterful manner of settling things according to his own wishes, so there was a slight cloud over the little party following him, and some half-muttered 'too bads' and 'never lets us choose,' from Pat and Archie. But once out on the moorland the bright sunshine and fresh bracing air blew away all cobwebs of discontent.

'How very pretty it is to-day!' said Miss Mouse eagerly, 'I've never seen it like this—the sunshine makes all the colours different, but, oh! how cold it must be in winter when it snows! I couldn't help thinking ever so many times of old Nance's story of the poor boy crossing it that winter night. I do so want to hear some more of her stories. Of course we can't stop at the cottage to-day, but don't you think we might next Wednesday perhaps?'

'That depends on those horrid little beasts of Justin's,' said Pat crossly, 'if Bob's got them by then Justin will always be wanting to go there.'

'Hasn't he got them yet?' asked Rosamond in surprise. 'I thought it was all settled about them.'

'Settled enough if we'd got the rest of the money,' said Justin gruffly. 'But the people won't give Bob credit. You see he hasn't told whom he's getting them for, or they'd add on to the price thinking papa would pay. But he was to see them again this morning and try to get them to say they'd wait a week or two for the rest of it.'

'How much are you short?' asked Miss Mouse.

'Half, or as good as half,' answered Justin. 'They cost twelve shillings, and we've only got six and fourpence, or fivepence, I forget exactly.'

'Nearly six shillings,' repeated the little girl; 'that's a lot of money. I've never had as much at a time, except——'

'Except when?' asked Justin, eyeing her rather curiously.

'Except when I was collecting for something,' she replied, 'for papa's or mamma's birthday, or something like that.'

'Are you collecting just now?' asked Justin.

Rosamond's little face grew pink.

'I'd rather——' she began, 'rather not——' and then again she hesitated. 'It's a sort of a secret.'

'Well, you might as well tell us about it,' said Justin. Rosamond looked distressed.

'I think it's not fair of you to tease her, Justin,' said Archie indignantly. 'You don't like people prying into your secrets, I know that,' and Justin looked a little ashamed of himself, while Miss Mouse gave Archie's hand a grateful squeeze.

They had been walking fast all this time as well as talking, and they were now within sight of the cottage, but no Bob was to be seen, and when they came nearer they saw to their surprise that the door was shut, and the usually open window closed also.

'Where can they be?' said Justin, stopping short in front of the hut. 'I told Bob we'd be passing about now, and he said he'd be sure to be back. I wonder if the old woman knows?' and he was preparing to knock at the door when Pat stopped him.

'It's no good, Jus,' he said, 'there's no one there. I know how it is, it's Saturday morning, and Nance has gone to buy her marketings for the week. You see we never come by on Saturdays, so we've not noticed it before.'

'It's too bad of Bob,' said Justin, falling back. 'I'll come home this way, for I must see him to-day.'

'You can come by yourself then,' said Pat. 'I wish to goodness I hadn't given you my money. You worry one's life out when you take a thing in your head.'

Justin was about to make an angry reply, pretty sure to be followed by a quarrel, when Rosamond interposed.

'Much the best thing would be to make some plan for getting more money,' she said, 'and then it would be all right, wouldn't it? I'm sure poor Bob has done his best. If you want the ferrets so very much why don't you ask your papa to lend it to you, and you would pay it back by degrees out of your pocket-money?'

'He'd never do that,' said Justin,' at least not to help me to get ferrets.'

Rosamond opened her eyes very wide.

'Why, he doesn't mind you having them, does he?' she said.

'He doesn't want us to have them at home,' the boy replied. 'You see mamma doesn't like them, but there's no reason why we shouldn't keep them somewhere else; besides——' but here he stopped and began talking of other things.

They had a pleasant walk to Caryll Place, and a pleasant afternoon followed. Uncle Ted was at home, and both he and Aunt Mattie did their utmost to make the children happy. And there were plenty of nice things at Caryll to make up to the boys for its being farther away from the moor. First and foremost among these was a little boat on the lake, which the boys were allowed, to their great delight, to row about in two at a time. This boat was a novelty, as their uncle had only just got it, and as the lake was shallow there was no danger of anything worse than a good wetting even if it did capsize, and when the afternoon began to get chilly, and Aunt Mattie was afraid of Rosamond's remaining out any longer, she brought them into the hall, which was a big square one, and let them have a capital game of blind man's buff, in which even Justin did not think it beneath him to join, as Uncle Ted proved the best blind man of them all.

Miss Mouse had never seen Justin to such advantage. He was really quite pleasant and hearty, and she began to think him a much nicer boy than she had yet done. No doubt the improvement was greatly owing to his uncle's presence, but this did not strike the kind-hearted little girl, and Aunt Mattie was very pleased to see the two on such good terms. For it was on Justin and Pat especially that she hoped much, in different ways, from her little niece's good influence.

So it was with very cheerful feelings that their aunt watched the three boys set off on their return home.

For some distance there was no question as to which way they should choose, so they walked on very friendlily.

'I say, we have had a jolly afternoon at Caryll for once, haven't we?' said Archie.

'Not so bad,' Justin allowed; 'I'm glad Uncle Ted's had the sense to get a boat at last.'

'I have always liked Caryll awfully,' said Pat, 'even when you two thought it dull. Everything about it is so pretty, and there are such jolly books in the library too. Rosamond's got some very nice ones of her own; she took me up to her room to see them just before tea, while you and Archie were still in the boat. She's got a splendid Hans Andersen, for one; she's going to lend it to me. It's got ever so many more stories in it than ours.'

'She's a spoilt little thing,' said Justin, rather crossly. 'I don't suppose she's ever wanted anything that she didn't get.'

'She's not spoilt,' said Pat. 'Several of the books she bought with her own money, that she'd saved up on purpose. She told me so.'

'I wonder if it's something like that she's saving for now,' said Justin quickly. 'I've a good mind to ask her. It wouldn't hurt her to wait a little while to buy a book, and then she could lend me the money. She might have done worse than offer it already, when she heard that we were short of some.'

'Don't say "we," if you please,' replied Pat. 'I don't want to have anything more to do with your nasty animals, and I think it would be horribly mean to borrow from a girl.'

'Yes,' chimed in Archie, 'I wonder you can think of such a thing, Jus.'

'I'd pay her interest,' said Justin indignantly, 'a penny a month on each shilling. That would be awfully high interest, I know.'

'She wouldn't want your interest,' said Pat. 'She'd want her own money, and I'd be ashamed of you if you borrowed it from her.'

Justin made no reply, and they walked on in silence till they came to the point at which they had to choose their way home.

'I'm going back by the moor,' said Justin abruptly.

'I'm not then,' said Pat, marching straight on as he spoke, Archie, as often happened, standing wavering between the two, for he loved to keep on good terms with everybody. But this time his sympathy was decidedly with Pat, and he was much relieved when Justin called out to him, not too amiably, that he didn't want him.

'I'd rather go by myself, and manage my own affairs,' he called out, walking off without replying to Archie's good-natured reminder not to be very long, and then the younger boy ran on to overtake Pat.

The two boys were glad they had kept to the road, for when they reached their own door they were met by Hec, who told them that their mother had been wondering why they were so late.

'Where's Jus?' he added. 'Papa wanted him for something or other.'

'He's coming round the other way,' said Archie, and as he spoke his father looked out of his study door, and caught the words. He looked annoyed.

'When you go out together, I expect you to come home together,' he said. 'How did you two come?'

'By the road,' said Pat.

'Then that means that Justin is coming by the moor. I hope he doesn't see too much of that Crag boy; I don't hear any too good an account of him. I must speak to Justin about it,' said Mr. Hervey, as he turned back into his room again.

Archie followed him before he shut the door, feeling somehow a little guilty for having deserted Justin, and a little uneasy too at what his father had said of poor Bob.

'Hec said there was something you wanted one of us to do for you, papa,' he began. 'Can I do it?'

Mr. Hervey, already seated at his writing-table, looked up.

'Well, yes,' he said, 'I want a message taken out to Griffith. Tell him he must keep your mother's pony in the stables altogether, till the second vet has seen it on Monday.'

'Is it worse?' asked Archie. 'Is that why you are going to get another vet, papa?'

'Never mind,' said Mr. Hervey, rather sharply. He had been annoyed at several things that afternoon, and the best of papas cannot always be perfectly gentle. 'Run off with my message, and when Justin comes in tell him—no, don't tell him anything,' for their father knew by experience that messages through one boy to another were very apt to 'grow' on their way.

Off ran Archie, stopping some minutes to chatter about the pony with Griffith after executing his errand, in consequence of which he came across Justin making his way in by the back gate from the fields.

'I say, Jus,' he began, 'you'd better look sharp. Papa didn't tell me to say so, but I know he's vexed at you for not coming back with Pat and me.'

'You needn't have put yourselves in the way then,' said Justin.

'We didn't—he was in the hall, or at least he looked out of his door when we came in. And— I say, Jus——'

'Well—what next? Why don't you go on?'

'I was thinking if I should tell you or not. I mean whether I've any right to,' said Archie, who was very honest and truthful, 'for papa did say "don't tell Justin anything." But that was after he'd said it.'

'It,' repeated Justin, growing impatient. 'What?'

'Something about not wanting you to see much of Bob—people aren't speaking too well of him.'

'Is that all?' said his elder brother with some contempt. 'People never have spoken too well of him. But papa has always known that, and I can't be horrid to Bob just when he's been taking a lot of trouble to please me. He needn't ever come about here if papa doesn't want him to. And I don't suppose he wants to. Our servants are beastly to him. But I can go to see him if I choose— I've never been told not to. And he's not a bad fellow at all.'

'No, I don't think he is,' Archie agreed. 'But if papa orders you not to go there?'

'He won't, unless somebody tells tales or meddles,' said Justin. 'If I catch you or Pat at that sort of thing, I'll——' but he said no more. It was best to let sleeping dogs lie. 'Papa won't think any more about it, I don't suppose.'

'Perhaps not,' said Archie, not feeling quite easy in his mind all the same. 'Were you there just now, Jus?' he added, for he had rather a big bump of curiosity.

'Only for a minute. I didn't go in. Bob was looking out for me,' and here Justin's tone became very friendly and confidential. 'You needn't go talking about it,' he said, 'but, Archie, Bob's got them. He's to fetch them on Monday morning. Isn't it splendacious?'

'You mean the ferrets,' said Archie, growing excited in spite of himself, for both he and Pat had been getting rather tired of the subject. 'He's actshally got them!'

Justin nodded.

'And what about the money—the rest of it—what's short, you know?' Archie went on.

'Oh—that'll be all right. We'll manage it somehow. The people'll wait a week or two. Don't you tell any one. Where's Pat? I want to tell him myself.'

'He went upstairs to look for mamma and the little ones,' said Archie. 'Mamma was wondering why we were so late.'

'It isn't late,' said Justin, 'anyway I've not finished my Monday lessons,' and he went off to the schoolroom, turning back to say to Archie that if he heard their father asking for him again he was to reply,'Oh yes, Jus has been in some time.'

Archie made no promise, but he resolved to keep out of the way, for though there was no actual untruth in what Jus denoted, he felt that his brother's motive rather savoured of wishing to mislead, and anything of that kind went against his own instincts.

But no more inquiries about Justin reached him. Mr. Hervey, as Justin had thought probable, seemed to have forgotten all about the matter—as often happened, he was absorbed by his own reading and writing, and the warnings he had received about Bob Crag went out of his head for the time being.

Sunday morning broke clear and bright, but increasingly cold.

'It might really be Christmas already,' said the boys' mother at breakfast-time. 'I am afraid it looks like a very severe winter, the cold beginning so early.'

'Yes,' Mr. Hervey agreed, 'I fancy we shall have it pretty sharp this year.'

'All the better,' said Justin, 'if it gives us lots of skating,' which put it into Hector's head to ask if he mightn't have skates this winter. Hec always wanted to do whatever Justin did.

'It wouldn't matter if they got too small for me soon,' he added, 'for they'd do for Ger after me.'

'I don't never want to thkate,' said Gervais—all five boys had breakfast downstairs on Sunday morning—'you have to go so fast.'

Ger was fat and round and slow in his movements.

'Oh you lazy boy,' said his mother, laughing, as she kissed his firm, plump cheeks. Ger was rather spoilt, but then of course he was the baby.

She got up as she spoke.

'Now don't be late any of you this morning,' she said. 'A quarter past ten punctually. And Hec and Ger, take care that you are warmly wrapped up, for you know you are going to dine at Caryll, and very likely auntie will send you home in the pony-cart, which will be colder than walking.'

'How nice for you,' said Archie to the little ones. 'I didn't know you were going home from church with Aunt Mattie.'

'Well, you were there yesterday,' said Hec. 'It's only fair we should have our turn. Miss Mouse asked for us—to make up, you know, for our not going with you on Saturday.'

'Mith Mouse is very kind,' said Ger.

And so she was. Rosamond loved children younger than herself. Her face was all over smiles when, after church, she stood waiting for the two little boys in the porch with her aunt, and set off with a small cavalier at each side to walk home to Caryll Place.

It was the first visit Hec and Ger had paid there since Miss Mouse's arrival, and they had lots of things to see and ask about. Several of their little friend's treasures made them rather envious, especially a new kind of ball, an india-rubber one—and india-rubber or gutta-percha toys were then something quite new—as round and plump as his own cheeks, filled Ger's heart with great longing.

'It is a beauty,' he said. 'Hec, if anybody asks you what you think I'd like for a Chrithiemuss present, just you tell them a ball like Mith Mouse's, only p'raps even a little bigger. Do you think, Mith Mouse, that they cost a great lot of money?'

Rosamond shook her head.

'Not such a very great lot, I don't think,' she replied. 'When I was in London with papa and mamma, just before I came here, I saw balls like that in several of the toyshops, and I think, but I'm not quite sure, that the other day when I was out with auntie, and I was waiting for her in the carriage at Crowley— I think I saw some like it in that shop opposite the church. It's not exactly a toyshop, you know, but they have toys in one window.'

'Oh, I know where you mean,' said Hec. 'It's Friendly's—it's a mixty sort of shop.'

'Do look again, Mith Mouse,' said Gervais, 'the venny first time you go that way, and p'raps somebody will give me one at Chrithiemuss.'

He heaved a deep sigh of hope and anxiety in one. And Rosamond smiled to herself as she made a little plan.



CHAPTER X

THE STORY OF THE LUCKY PENNY

The winter was not going to set in just yet after all. That bright, clear, cold Sunday was followed by a week or two of milder but very disagreeable weather—almost constant rain and very few glimpses indeed of blue sky or sunshine. Miss Mouse arrived every morning muffled up almost to her eyes to keep her dry in the pony-cart, and most afternoons the close carriage was sent from Caryll to fetch her.

There was no question of the boys going to the vicarage across the moor, and even by the road, which dried quickly, every time they walked home they could not help getting very muddy and splashed, and they could not have their own pony cart as much as usual, as their mother's pony was laid up, and old Bobbin had extra work on this account.

On the first half-holiday of this rainy weather the three elder boys went off after dinner and did not come in till tea-time, in consequence of which Pat woke next morning with a bad cold, and Archie with a slight one. So orders were issued that there were to be no more expeditions or long walks till the wet days were over—indeed, Pat had to stay indoors altogether for nearly a week, as he had a delicate throat, which was apt to get very sore when he caught cold.

'And if you go out, Justin,' said his mother, 'you must be in early, and not hang about with damp things on.'

She knew that a 'whole half-holiday,' as the boys called it, in the house would be a terrible trouble to Justin, and even worse for other people, and as he was very strong and had never had a cold in his life, there was not much fear of his getting any harm.

'All right, mamma,' he replied. 'I'll take care of myself. I don't want to get soaked, it's so uncomfortable— I can amuse myself about the out-houses. But mayn't Archie come with me?'

This was on the first Wednesday.

No—Mrs. Hervey shook her head—Archie must not go out again to-day, as the walk to Whitcrow in the morning had been a wet one. But if Saturday was finer he might go out with Justin as usual.

'I really think Justin is improving,' she thought to herself with satisfaction, 'he gives in so much more readily, instead of arguing and discussing.'

The truth was that Justin was very much afraid of a talk with his father, which would probably have put him under orders to keep away from Bob Crag altogether, and this would not have suited Master Justin at all, now that the ferrets had arrived and were comfortably installed at the Moor Cottage.

So for one or two half-holidays Justin went off on his own account, returning home in good time, and as no complaints reached Mr. Hervey about him, I suppose his father took for granted that everything was right. Very likely, for Mr. Hervey was rather absent-minded at times; he thought that he had warned Justin, forgetting that it had been Archie and not his eldest brother to whom he had spoken of Bob that Saturday evening.

After a time the weather 'took up again,' as the country folk say. Pat's cold got better, and then came a Wednesday morning on which Rosamond asked and received leave to spend the afternoon with the big boys, her aunt saying she herself would drive over to fetch her, as she had not seen her sister, Mrs. Hervey, for some days.

There was no discussion between the four children as to where the afternoon should be spent. Almost without a word they all turned in the direction of the moor.

'Justin will be off with Bob and the ferrets, of course,' said Pat to Rosamond. 'So you and I can have a jolly time with old Nance and make her tell us some more stories.'

'And Archie?' inquired the little girl.

'Oh, he can do whichever he likes,' said Pat. 'I daresay he'll stay with us. He's been once or twice with Jus while my throat was bad, you know, but I don't think he cared about it much.'

And so it proved. When they got to the Crags', Bob, as well as his grandmother, was on the look-out for them, old Nance's face lighting up with pleasure.

'Are you glad to see us again?' asked Archie. 'I hope you've got some stories for us. If you know so much about fairy things, Nance, why don't you manage to get us nice fine days for our half-holidays?'

The old woman smiled.

'It's a fine day for me when I see your faces, Master Archie,' she replied, 'and that you know well enough. But to be sure the weather has been contrary the last week or two. Come in, come in, missie dear—there's some of my little cakes all ready. Won't you come in too, Master Justin, before you go off with Bob? I've been fearing you might have got cold when you were here last week; it was such a very wet day.'

'No fear,' said Justin amiably. 'Bob and I aren't made of sugar or salt, are we, Bob? I'll come in for a minute, thank you, Nance, but we mustn't be long, or we'll have no fun. It gets so soon dark now, and papa's vexed if we don't all go home together.'

'To be sure,' said the old woman, 'and quite right too. You'll never find me wanting you to do anything your dear papa and mamma wouldn't like, my dears.'

So saying she led the way into her quaint little kitchen, all tidied up and bright as the children always found it—the cakes and a large jug of milk set out as before on a small table near the pleasantly glowing fire.

'Are you coming with Bob and me, Archie?' Justin inquired. 'Pat's a donkey—no use asking him.'

Pat took this uncomplimentary speech very calmly. Archie hesitated.

'Come along,' said Justin, 'that's to say if you're coming,' for having made away with at least three of the tempting little cakes, he was now in a hurry to be off.

'Don't go, Archie,' said Rosamond, speaking low, so that the elder boys could not hear, and her words decided Archie.

'I'd rather stay here, thank you, Jus,' he said. 'You've got Bob, so you don't really need me.'

'You are a softy,' said Justin as he ran off, but Archie, backed by Pat and Rosamond, did not care.

'Now, Nance,' said Pat, when most of the cakes and milk were disposed of, 'we're ready for your stories.'

The old woman had drawn a stool to the fire and was sitting there facing it, the reflection casting a pleasant glow on her sunburnt cheeks and keen bright eyes. She was always a nice-looking old woman, but just now she really looked quite pretty.

'How fond you are of the fire, Nance,' said Archie; 'do you have one all the year round?'

'Mostly so, Master Archie,' she replied. 'You see old folk like me grow chilly. It's not often I feel too hot, even in the midsummer days. And here on the moorside there's always a breeze more or less. Yes, I love my bit o' fire, Master Archie—you're about right there, but all the same I'd rather face cold than be choked in a town and have no fresh air, like some poor things have to bear their lives.'

'Nance,' said Miss Mouse suddenly; she had been sitting silent watching Bob's granny, 'it's so funny, it seems to me that when you stretch out your hands to the flames they give a little jump towards you and then dance up the chimney ever so much higher than before. Are you a sort of a fairy, dear Nance?'

Pat glanced at the little girl half uneasily. He knew that some of the people about called Mrs. Crag a witch, and 'uncanny,' and words like that, just because she was a stranger and different in her ways and looks from her present neighbours, and he was afraid that Nance's feelings might be hurt by little Rosamond's question.

But it was not so—on the contrary the old woman seemed pleased, and smiled brightly.

'You must have a bit of the fairy knowing yourself, missie dear, to have noticed it,' she said. 'I've been told I get it from my grandmother, who had fairy ways, there's no denying. And no harm in them either, if one doesn't think too much of them, or fancy oneself more than one is. But I've always had a kind of luck, hand-in-hand with troubles, for troubles I've had, and many of them, in my long life. More than once when I've thought they'd be too much for me there's come a turn I had little hope of. Maybe the good people aren't gone so far as we think, after all,' and old Nance smiled at the idea.

'Tell us some story of your good luck,' said Pat suddenly. 'It's always so nice to hear a story from the person it really happened to.'

Nance considered. Then she suddenly slipped her hand inside the front of her bodice and drew out a tiny little chain; it was only a steel chain, but very finely worked, so that it looked more like a silver thread, and on it hung a tiny coin with a hole in it through which a ring had been passed. She held it out for the children to see.

'Oh what a weeny, weeny little sixpenny, or threepenny—which is it?' exclaimed Rosamond.

'It's neither, missie dear,' the old woman replied. 'It's a lucky penny, and if you like I'll tell you the story of how I came by it.'

'Oh do, do,' said all three together; Archie adding, 'Did you really get it from the fairies, Nance?'

'You shall hear,' she replied, smiling, and then they all settled themselves to listen.

'When I was a little girl,' she began, 'you'll remember, my dears, that my home was on the edge of a moor, something like this, but wilder and far larger and farther away from any village or town—railways I needn't speak of, for such a thing hadn't even been dreamt of in these long-ago days,' and the far-away look came into the old woman's eyes as she stopped speaking for a moment.

'Is it a hundred years ago since you were a little girl?' asked Miss Mouse.

Nance smiled again.

'Not quite,' she replied, 'though none so far off it either. But long ago as it is, I remember that first part of my life so well, so clear and distinct it seems sometimes that I could fancy it much nearer than things that happened a few years back only. I was an orphan, like my poor Bob now, and I lived with my granny, same as Bob lives along wi' me. 'My granny had come of——' here Nance hesitated, but went on again—'after all there's no shame in it,' she said—'she'd come of gipsy-folk, and when her husband died—he was a steady, settled sort of man, a gardener at some big house, but he died young—she was that lonely and lost-like, she went back to her own people with her little son, and he married among them, so I'm three parts gipsy, you may say. Both father and mother of mine died too—there's many that dies young among our people, and some that lives on and on till you'd think death had forgotten them, and that was the way with my granny. But she wasn't so very old when the feel took her that she'd like to settle down again, she'd got into the habit of a home of her own while her husband lived. So one time when the vans were passing near by where had been her little place, she takes a sudden thought that she'd like to see the fam'ly again, and what did she do but she carried me in her arms and walked some miles to the big house. The Squire was dead, but his lady was living in the Dower House hard by, and the young Squire—none so young by now—was at the hall with his wife and children. And they were pleased to see her and kindly sorry for her troubles, and the Squire said she should have a cottage if there was one to be had, if she'd settle down near them. For my grandmother, for all her gipsying, was a clever, useful woman, as good as a doctor for the cures and comforts she could make with her knowledge of herbs and wild growing things, and where she once gave her faithfulness she'd never draw it back again. So it was fixed that she should make her home there again, though her own folk were none best pleased to lose her.

'At first we lived in two rooms in the village, but granny felt choked like, and she found a bit of a place on the moorside which had once been used for the gentry to eat their lunch in when they were out shooting, and the Squire was very kind and did it up for us quite tidy, and there we lived, though it was sometimes harder than any one knew; for all we had was what granny made by odd days' work here and there, and by selling her dried herbs and drinks she made of them. But as I got bigger the quality at the big house were very kind to me—it was seldom granny needed to buy clothes for me, and the housekeeper taught me nice ways about a house, so that when the time came I was ready for a good service. That's neither here nor there, though, that came afterwards; the time I got my lucky penny I was still a slip of a child, nine or ten at most.

''Twas haymaking—a beautiful dry haymaking, hot and sunny, I remember well. Granny was out with the best of them, hard at work early and late. I went to school in the village, but there wasn't much schooling that week or two. 'Twasn't so strict as now—an hour or two in the morning and then we'd be told we might all run home, to help while the splendid weather lasted. Grandmother worked for the Squire; I was always sure to find her about the fields and have my bite of dinner with her, and then the little ladies and gentlemen would have me play with them at what they called "haymaking," though it was a funny kind enough—more tossing and tumbling and laughing and shouting than any help to the haymakers. But we did enjoy it.

'Well there came an afternoon that my granny was off working in a field a good bit farther away than usual. She told me in the morning not to go after her, for she didn't care for me to walk so far in the hot sun—she was very careful of me, poor dear—and she'd asked the housekeeper if I might have a bit of dinner at the big house, seeing that the young ladies and gentlemen wanted me to make hay with them in what they called their own field, a paddock just outside the kitchen garden. And there I found them, and a rare good play we had that afternoon, finishing up with a nice treat of cakes and milk when we were too tired and hot to play any more.'

'Were the cakes like those you make for us?' asked Rosamond.

Nance nodded, well pleased.

'You've guessed it, missie,' she said. 'They're the very same. 'Twas there I learnt to make them. And then I was starting to go home when I heard a cry from Miss Hetty, the youngest and sweetest, to my thinking, of all the young ladies. "My ring, oh my ring, with the blue stone," she called out. "My birthday ring! I've lost it. I pulled it off and was trying if it would swing on a blade of grass—oh, do help me to find it—my dear little ring."

'Poor Miss Hetty—she'd only had the ring since her birthday the week before, when her mamma had given it her, telling her to be sure not to lose it, for it was one that had been a long time in the family. So no wonder she was vexed about it. How we did hunt for it—we searched and we searched where we had been playing, though feeling all the time there was scarce any use looking for so small a thing in such a place. And Miss Hetty cried till her eyes were all swollen at the thought of having to go home to tell her mamma. And when I went back to my granny and told her about it, it was all I could do not to cry too.

'Granny had her own thoughts about most things.

'"Go to bed, lovey," she said, "and I'll wish a wish for you into your pillow and see what'll come of it."

'And sure enough the next morning I'd a strange dream to tell her.



'"Granny," I said, "this was the dream that came out of my pillow. I thought I was standing on the moor watching the sun set, and I kept looking at it and the beautiful colours in the sky till my eyes seemed to be full of them, and whichever way I turned there was little suns dancing about—on the ground and everywhere. And then I caught sight of an odd-looking figure stooping down as if looking for something. It was a little old hunch-backed man, and I knew without being told that he was one of the good people. All of a sudden he stood straight up and began throwing things at me for me to catch—it was the little suns! They came flying towards me, red and yellow and all colours, but like soap-bubbles they melted before I could catch them, till at last, to my great delight, I did catch one and held it tight in my hand, when it felt firm and hard, like a round coin.

'"'I've got it,' I cried, and the old man laughed.

'"'Keep it,' he said, 'it's not everybody that catches a lucky penny. And maybe it'll help you to get back missie's ring for her,' and with that I awoke. But oh, granny," I went on, "it can't be all a dream, for look here," and I held out my hand to her, "I have got something—see I've got a real little piece of money."

'And that very coin is the one I've worn round my neck for all these many, many years.'

'What did your granny say?' asked the children breathlessly.

'Not very much,' Nance went on, 'she smiled and told me I was a lucky girl, and I must think on what I'd been told by the old man in my dream. And so I did. Before the sun was any height in the sky, long before the young ladies at the big house would be stirring, I was up at the paddock again searching for the ring. And granny told me what to do. I was to put the lucky penny as near as I could guess in the very centre of the field and then to walk round it in widening circles, always looking carefully downwards while I said this rhyme to the good people—

Here's my lucky penny, take it an ye will, But give me back the treasure hidden by you still.

All this I did, and——'

'What? do say quick,' cried the children.

'Before I had made many circles I saw something glittering, and stooping down there it was—the tiny ring with the blue stone, sparkling in the morning sunshine. You can fancy how pleased I was, and how I hurried up to the house with the good news for Miss Hetty, who had just awakened. The ring was really hanging on a blade of grass, just as she said. Oh, she was delighted!'

'And how did you get the silver penny back again?' asked Pat. 'You couldn't have looked for it, for you see you had promised it to the fairies, hadn't you?'

'Yes, of course, and one must always keep to their bargain with the fairies,' said Nance. 'No, I didn't look for it, but late that evening when granny was closing the shutters, she called me to look at something sparkling in the moonlight on the window-sill. It was my lucky penny. And from that day to this I've never been without it, and many a time it's seemed to give me fresh courage and spirit in the midst of troubles, and one thing is true—all my life through I've never been brought to such a pass as to have to part with it, though now and then the need has come very near. But something's always turned up just in the nick of time to save it; I've always pulled through, though I had an ailing husband for many a year, and the father of poor Bob there, my only son, was cut down in the prime of life, he and his young wife, leaving me another young boy to bring up when I was more fit myself to be sleeping quiet and peaceful in the old churchyard.'

And old Nance wiped away a gentle tear or two that were struggling down her brown cheeks.

Little Rosamond stole her hand into Nance's.

'You've got friends now, haven't you? And I'm sure Uncle Ted or Mr. Hervey would help you about Bob any time if you needed help.'

'Yes, missie dear, I've much to be thankful for, and I hope and trust poor Bob'll take to steady ways like his father and grandfather before him, though there's times I worry about him a bit—he's a loving boy, but he's got the gipsy restlessness in him too.'



CHAPTER XI

A GREAT SACRIFICE

Nance's story had taken longer to tell than might seem the case. For she had stopped now and then, and the children had asked questions and made remarks. So they were all a little startled when, glancing out of doors, they saw how fast the daylight was fading and the twilight creeping on.

'We must be going,' said Pat, starting up, 'and there's Justin not back, and if he's late we'll all be scolded. Papa has made a regular rule that we're all to come in together.'

Nance looked anxious.

'Bob's that feather-brained,' she said, for she never liked to blame the Hervey boys. 'But you'd best start, my dearies, and I'll whistle. It'll bring them back if they're anywhere near, and I don't fancy they're farther off than one of the farms straight across from here. And will it be next holiday you'll come for some more of old Nance's little cakes and long tongue?'

'Not next half-holiday,' said Miss Mouse with some regret,' for Auntie Mattie is going to take me to—the town—where there are shops, you know—there's something I want to buy, very particular.'

'Ah, well, you'll always be welcome—welcome as the flowers in May whenever you do come,' said their old friend, and she stood at the door whistling, a curious clear whistle which carried far, as the three set off for home.

'I do hope Justin will overtake us,' said Miss Mouse. 'It would be such a pity if your papa was vexed, for then he might say we mustn't go to old Nance's any more. Wasn't it queer about the lucky penny? Do you think the fairy man really brought it back or that it was a sort of little trick of her granny's?'

'I don't know,' said Pat. 'I was wondering about it, but I wouldn't have liked to say to her that perhaps it was a trick.'

'I'll tell you what,' said Archie, with the tone of one who has quite settled the question, 'I believe the grandmother herself was partly a fairy—gipsies are a little like fairies, you know.'

Neither Pat nor Rosamond laughed at this, for in their hearts they had a feeling that Nance herself had something—I won't say 'uncanny,' for the old woman was too sweet and kind for that word quite to suit her—but something not quite like other people about her. But none of the three would have hinted at anything of the kind before Justin—he would only have made fun of it. And there was no time to say more, for almost as Archie left off speaking, they heard rapid footsteps behind them, and then a whistle and then Justin's voice, calling to them to stop till he came up to them.

'It's a good thing you've come,' said Pat. 'I don't know what we could have said to papa—he'd have been sure to ask why we hadn't kept all together. What have you done with Bob?'

'He's looking after the ferrets, of course,' said Justin. 'We were only at Bream's farm, and Bob heard Nance's whistle. We did have a jolly good rat-hunt,' and he was beginning a description, when the others stopped him.

'Archie and I don't want to hear about it,' said Pat, 'and I'm sure Miss Mouse doesn't.'

'She has a fellow-feeling for rats perhaps,' said Justin, laughing at what he thought his own wit.

'No girl would like horrid things like ratting,' said Pat, 'and if papa knew——' he stopped short.

'Doesn't Mr. Hervey know that you've got ferrets?' asked Rosamond.

'I don't suppose he's ever thought about it,' said Justin; 'he's never said we weren't to have them. It's our own money—the only thing was that mamma doesn't like them kept at home.'

'Oh then,' said Miss Mouse, 'you've managed to pay them, have you?'

'Not all the money,' said Justin, hesitating a little,' and indeed Bob was saying to-day we'll have to be thinking about it. He's had rather to keep out of the way of the place where he got them, for fear of the people bothering.'

'You won't let poor Bob get into any trouble, will you?' said Rosamond anxiously.

'Of course not,' said Justin; 'all the same it was he that made the bargain, and he knew we hadn't got all the money ready. Of course I don't want him to get into any bother.'

'You'd better take care,' said Archie, 'papa was saying that Bob's getting spoken against a good deal, though he didn't exactly say how. I don't believe the least bit that he's a naughty boy, but it would be too bad to let him get into a scrape for us—or for you, rather, Justin.'

'It's no more for me than for you,' said Justin. 'You're a turncoat, as I've told you, Archie. You were just as pleased about the ferrets as I was, at the beginning.'

Archie did not reply; and it certainly would not have been a good time to begin a quarrel—if ever there is a good time for a bad thing?—for they were just at home by now, and Hec and Ger met them on their way in with the news that Aunt Mattie had come for Miss Mouse and that schoolroom tea was quite ready. Rosamond had to hurry over her tea, as Mrs. Caryll did not think it worth while to 'put up,' and yet it was too chilly to keep the horse standing long.

'You shall have a little extra supper to-night, dear, to make up,' she said. 'You shall come in to pudding with Uncle Ted and me, instead of only to dessert.'

'Thank you, auntie,' said the little girl. 'I wasn't very hungry at tea-time, for I had two cakes at old Nance's and some beautiful milk.'

Mrs. Caryll turned round in some surprise—they were in the brougham on their way home—'Cakes and milk at old Nance's,' she repeated. 'I didn't know the boys were allowed to go there. Why have you never told me about it before, or is this the first time you have been?'