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Title: Red Rose and Tiger Lily
       or, In a Wider World

Author: L. T. Meade

Release Date: October 13, 2007 [EBook #23022]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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 RED ROSE AND
 TIGER LILY

 Or, In a Wider World


 By
 MRS. L. T. MEADE


 AUTHOR OF

 A BUNCH OF CHERRIES, A RING OF RUBIES,
 BAD LITTLE HANNAH, ETC.


    "Nothing is required but to set the right way to work,
    but of course the really important thing is to succeed."
                       --_Story of the Poor Tailor._


 NEW YORK
 GROSSET & DUNLAP
 PUBLISHERS



 COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY

 THE CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY

 _All rights reserved_

[Illustration: NAN AND ANNIE ARRIVE. _Red Rose and Tiger Lily._
_Frontispiece_--(_Page_ 4.)]





CONTENTS.


CHAPTER                                            PAGE

     I. NAN'S GOLDEN MANE                            1

    II. CRUSHED                                      8

   III. TWO PROVERBS                                16

    IV. THE COLTS--ROBIN AND JOE                    23

     V. NOT MISSED                                  32

    VI. FRIAR'S WOOD                                42

   VII. THE STORY BOOK LADY                         53

  VIII. ALONE IN THE WOOD                           63

    IX. "I BROKE MY WORD," SAID ANNIE                70

     X. AN AWFULLY FRIVOLOUS GIRL                   79

    XI. THE DIAMOND RING                            88

   XII. THE LAND OF PERHAPS                         97

  XIII. THE FANCY BALL                             113

   XIV. POOR MRS. MYRTLE                           124

    XV. "THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS"                 132

   XVI. PERHAPS                                    143

  XVII. FAIRY AND BROWNIE                          152

 XVIII. THE LORRIMERS OF THE TOWERS                161

   XIX. TOPSY-TURVEY                               171

    XX. THE NEW OWNERS                             179

   XXI. HESTER SPEAKS HER MIND                     194

  XXII. ANTONIA'S GIFT                             207

 XXIII. TRUTH AND FIDELITY                         215

  XXIV. A WET SPONGE                               222

   XXV. MOLLY'S SORROW                             234

  XXVI. PLOT THICKENS                              245

 XXVII. NELL IS IN TROUBLE                         252

XXVIII. THE LION AND MOUSE                         262

  XXIX. GOD BLESS ANTONIA                          274




RED ROSE AND TIGER LILY

OR

IN A WIDER WORLD




CHAPTER I.

NAN'S GOLDEN MANE.


It was a perfect summer's evening. The sun had just set, and purple,
gold, violet, rose colour still filled the sky in the west. There was a
tender new moon, looking like a silver bow, also to be seen; before long
the evening star would be visible.

Hester Thornton stepped out of the drawing-room at the Grange, and,
walking a little way down the broad gravel sweep, began to listen
intently. Hester was about seventeen--a slender girl for her age. Her
eyes were dark, her eyebrows somewhat strongly marked, her abundant
hair, of a much lighter shade of brown, was coiled in close folds round
her well-shaped head. Her lips were slightly compressed, her chin showed
determination. Hester had not been beautiful as a child, and she was not
beautiful as a girl, but her face was pleasant to look at, very bright
when animated, very steadfast and sweet when in repose. The air was like
nectar to her cheeks. She was naturally a pale girl, but a faint rose
colour was now discernible in her complexion, and the look of
expectation in her dark eyes made them charming.

A step was heard on the gravel behind, and she turned quickly.

"Is that you, father?" she exclaimed.

"Yes. Are not you very imprudent to come out at this hour in your thin
house shoes, and with nothing on your head? There is a very heavy dew
falling."

"Oh, I never take cold," replied Hester with a smile, which showed her
even and pretty white teeth; "and I certainly shan't to-night," she
continued, "for I am feeling far too excited."

Sir John Thornton was considered by most of his acquaintances (he could
boast of scarcely any friends) as a reserved and almost repellent
person, but now, as his eyes rested on his young daughter, something
seemed to soften their expression; he took her slight hand and drew it
affectionately through his arm.

"It takes a small thing to excite you, my love," he said; "but you
always were of a turbulent disposition--just your poor mother over
again."

Hester sighed faintly when Sir John spoke of his wife, then she quickly
cheered up and said in an eager voice--

"You don't call it a little thing, father, to know that in a minute or
two I shall welcome Nan back from school? Nan comes to-night--Annie
Forest to-morrow. It would be difficult for any girl to want more to
make her perfectly happy."

Sir John raised his brows.

"I only know Miss Forest by hearsay," he said, "so I will reserve my
judgment upon her; but I do know Nan. She will upset the entire _regime_
of the house. I like order, and she likes disorder. I like quiet meals,
she likes uproarious ones. I hate shocks and she adores them. I am glad,
of course, to welcome the child home, but at the same time I dread her
arrival. I cannot possibly understand how it is that Mrs. Willis, who is
supposed to be such a splendid instructor of youth, should not have
brought Nan a little better into control. Now, you, my dear Hetty, are
very different. You have passions and feelings--no one has them more
strongly--but you keep them in check. Your reticence and your reserve
please me much. In short, Hester, no father could have a more admirable
daughter to live with him. I am pleased with you, my dear; the
experiment of having you home from school to look after my house has
turned out well. There is nothing I would not do to please you, and
while your friend Miss Forest is here, I will do my best to render her
visit a success. The only discordant element will be Nan. I cannot
understand why Mrs. Willis has not got Nan into the same control she had
you in."

"You forget," said Hester, "that I am seventeen and Nan only eight. No
one ever yet could say 'No' to Nan. Father, don't you hear the carriage
wheels? She is coming--I know she is coming. Please forgive me, I must
run to meet her."

Sir John released his daughter's hand, and Hester flew with the speed of
an arrow from a bow up the long avenue. She was not mistaken. Her keen
ears had detected the smooth roll of wheels. A landau drawn by a pair of
horses had even now entered the lodge gates. Hester, looking up, heard
some gay voices, some childish laughter. Then an imperious voice
shouted to the coachman to pull up the horses and Nan Thornton and
another girl sprang out of the carriage and ran to Hester's side.

Confused utterances, sundry embraces, the quick intermingling of
ejaculations, kisses, commands, explanatory remarks--all rose on the
sweet night air.

"Hetty, you look quite grown up. Please, Jenkins, you can drive on to
the house. I'm not getting in again. Aren't you glad to see me, Het? I
have come back a greater tease and torment than ever."

"Yes, Nan, delighted--more than delighted. Oh! you sweet, how nice it is
to feel you kissing me! Why, Annie, how did you happen to come to-night?
I didn't expect you until to-morrow. I was wondering how I could endure
the next twenty-four hours of expectation, even with Nan to keep me
company, and now you are here. Oh, how very, very glad I am."

"Kiss me, Hester," said Annie. "Nan and I concocted this little plan. We
thought we'd take you by surprise. Oh dear, oh dear, I feel so wild and
excited that I'm sure I shall be just as troublesome as I used to be
before you tamed me down at school. Now then, Nan, you are not to have
all the kisses. Hester, dear, how sweet and gracious and prim and
lady-of-the-manorish you do look!"

"I don't care what I look like, I only know what I feel," replied
Hester: "about the happiest girl in England. But don't let us stand here
talking any longer, or father will take it into his head that I am
catching cold in the night air. Here, Nan, take my arm. Annie, my other
side is at your disposal. Now, do let us come to the house."

The girls began to move slowly down the long winding avenue. Nan had the
pretty, soft dark eyes which used to characterise her as a little
child. Her abundant fluffy golden hair hung below her waist. Her baby
lips and sweet little face looked as charming as of old. She was a very
pretty child, and promised to be a beautiful woman by-and-by. Her
beauty, however, was nothing at all beside the radiant sort of
loveliness which Annie Forest possessed. She was a creature all moods,
all expression, all life, all movement. She had early given promise of
remarkable beauty, and this had been more than fulfilled. Hester glanced
at her now and again in the most loving admiration.

"It is good to have you back, Nan," she said, "and it is delightful to
know that you have come at last to pay your long, long promised visit,"
she continued, looking at Annie. "Well, here we are at home. Nan, you
must go up and show yourself to nurse this minute. Annie, let me take
you to your room."

"Dear old nursey," said Nan; she rushed up the stairs, shouting her old
nurse's name as she went; her quick footsteps flew down the long
corridor, she pushed open the baize door which separated the nurseries
from the rest of the house, and in a moment found herself in the old
room.

Nan's nurse was a cherry-cheeked old woman of between sixty and seventy
years of age.

"Eh, my darling, and how did you get back without me hearing the sound
of the carriage wheels!" she exclaimed. "Eh dear, eh dear, I meant to be
down on the front steps to greet you, Miss Nan. Eh, but you look bonny,
and let me examine your hair, dear--I hope they cut the points regular.
If they don't, it will break away and not keep even."

"Oh, don't bother about my hair now," said Nan. "What does hair signify
when a child has just got home, and when she wants a kiss more than
anything else in the world? Now, nursey, sit down in that low armchair
and let us have a real hug. _That's_ better; and how are you? You look
as jolly as ever."

"So I am, my pet; I'm as happy as the day is long since Miss Hetty has
come home and took the housekeeping over. I was in a mortal fret before,
with her at school and you at school, but now I think the danger is
past."

"What danger?" asked Nan; "you always were a dear old croak, you know,
nurse."

"Yes, pet, perhaps so; but I didn't fret without reason, you may be
quite sure of that."

"Well, what were you afraid of? You know I'm an awfully curious girl, so
you must tell me."

"It's a sin to be too curious, Miss Nan--it leads people into untold
mischief. Curiosity was the sin of Eve, and it's best to nip it in the
bud while you're young. Now let me brush out your hair, my darling, and
get you ready for supper."

"Yes, in a minute," said Nan. She pushed back the shady hat in which she
had traveled, and seated herself afresh on her nurse's knee.

"How do my kisses feel?" she asked, breathing a very soft one on each of
the old woman's cheeks.

"Eh, dear," said the nurse, "they're like fresh cream and strawberries."

"Well, you shall have six more if you tell me what your fears were."

Nurse looked admiringly back at Nan.

"You're just the audacious, contrary, troublesome bit of a thing you
always were," she said; "but somehow I can't resist you. There's no
fear now of anything happening, so you needn't be in a taking; but what
did put me out was this: I thought your father, Sir John, might be
bringing a new mistress here."

"What! a new mistress?--A housekeeper, do you mean?" Nan's brown eyes
were open at their widest.

"No, dearie, no, a wife--someone to take the head of the house. Men like
Sir John must have their comforts, and a house without a mistress isn't
as it ought to be. But there, Miss Hetty is here now, and that makes
everything right."

"But a new mistress," repeated Nan--"a new wife for father. Why,
she--she'd be a _stepmother_. Oh, how I'd hate her."

"Well, darling, there's not going to be any such person; it was only an
idle fear of your poor old nurse's that will never come to anything.
Forget that I said it to you, Miss Nan. Oh, my word! and there's the
gong, so supper is ready, and Sir John won't like to be kept waiting.
Let me brush out your hair, I won't be a minute. Now, there's my pretty.
It's good to have you back again, Miss Nancy. Only I misdoubt me that
you'll turn the house topsy-turvey, as you always and ever did."

While nurse was speaking, she was deftly and quickly changing Nan's
travel-stained frock for a white one, and was tying a coral pink sash
round her waist.

"Now you're ready," she said, giving the little figure a final pat.

Nan shook out her golden mane and went demurely downstairs--more
demurely than was her wont. The dawning of possible trouble filled her
sweet eyes. A new wife--a possible stepmother! Oh, no, by no
possibility could such a horror be coming; nevertheless, her full cup of
happiness was vaguely troubled by the thought.




CHAPTER II.

CRUSHED.


Sir John Thornton could be a very pleasant host. He was a reserved man
with a really cold nature. He disliked fuss and what he called
"ebullitions of affection;" he hated kissing and fondling. He liked to
treat even his nearest and dearest with ceremony, but he was a perfect
host--the little attentions, the small politenesses which the _role_ of
host requires, suited his character exactly. Hester and Nan, his only
children, were his opposites in every respect. It is true that Hester
inherited some of his pride, and a good deal of his reserve, but the
fire underneath her calm, the passionate love which she could give so
warmly to her chosen friends, she inherited from her mother, not from
her father. Nan had never yet shown reserve to anyone. As far as any
creature could be said to be without false pride, Nan was that
individual--she was also absolutely devoid of fear. She believed that
all the world loved her. Why not? She was perfectly willing to love all
the world back again. If it chose to hate her, she could and would hate
it in return with interest; but, then, why should it? The world was a
good place to Nan Thornton up to the present.

Now, Sir John dreaded his impulsive younger daughter more than words
can say. Perhaps somewhere in his heart he had a certain fatherly
admiration for her, but if so it did not show itself in the usual
fatherly way. Annie Forest was at the present moment absorbing his
attention.

Annie was between sixteen and seventeen years of age; she was still, of
course, quite a child in Sir John's eyes, but she was undoubtedly very
pretty--she had winning ways and bright glances. Her little speeches
were full of wit and repartee, and she was naturally so full of tact
that she knew when a word would hurt, and therefore seldom said it.

When Nan entered the room in which a hasty supper had been prepared for
the hungry travellers, she found her father and Annie talking pleasantly
to one another at one end of the table, while Hester presided over the
tea equipage at the other.

"Here you are, little whirlwind," said Sir John, slipping his arm round
his younger daughter's waist and drawing her for a moment to his side.

Nan looked at him soberly. She gazed into his eyes and examined the
curves of his lips, and noted with satisfaction the wrinkles on his
brow, the crows' feet at the corner of each eye, and some strong lines
which betokened the advance of years in the lower part of his face.

"You're too old," she said, in a contemplative voice. "I'm so
glad--you're much too old."

She stroked his deepest wrinkle affectionately as she spoke.

Now Sir John hated being considered old, and an angry wave of colour
mounted to his forehead.

"As usual, you are a most impolite little girl," he said. "I do not
trouble myself to inquire what your sage remark means, nor why you
rejoice in the fact of my possessing the infirmities of years; but I
wish to repeat to you a proverb which I hope you will bear in mind, at
least, when in _my_ presence during the holidays, 'Little girls should
be seen and not heard.' Now go to your seat."

Sir John released his hold of Nan's broad waist and turned to Annie.

"Yes, a good deal of the country is flat," he said, "but we have some
pretty drives. Are you fond of riding?"

"I should be if I had a chance," replied Annie; "but the fact is, I
never was on horseback since I was five years old, so I cannot be said
to know much about it."

"I am sure you could quickly learn," said Sir John. "Hester has a very
quiet pony which she can lend you while you are here. By the way,
Hester, Squire Lorrimer called to-day. I said you would go to the Towers
to-morrow morning--you can take Miss Forest with you. The Lorrimers are
a very lively household, and it will amuse her to know them."

"I should think they are lively," burst from Nan at the far end of the
table. "How is Kitty Lorrimer, and how is Boris? And have they got as
many pets as ever? Oh, _can_ you tell me, please, father, if the
dormouse has awakened yet? It was fast asleep when I was home at
Christmas, and Boris said it mightn't wake again until May. Boris was so
sorry it wasn't quite dead, because he wanted to stuff it; but he
couldn't if it was alive, could he? That would be cruel, wouldn't it?
Father, can you tell me if the dormouse is awake?"

Sir John fixed a cold eye upon Nan.

"I am unacquainted with the state of the dormouse's health," he
said--"disgusting little beasts," he added, turning for sympathy to
Annie, whose bright dark eyes danced with fun as she watched him.

"They're not disgusting; they're perfectly heavenly little darlings,"
came from Nan in an indignant voice. "Oh, and what about the white rats?
Boris had four in a box when I went last to the Towers, and Kitty had
one all to herself, and Boris and Kitty were always fighting as to which
were the most beautiful--the one rat or the four. Did you ever see a
white rat, Annie? They _are_ pets, with long tails like worms."

"Hester," exclaimed Sir John, "will you induce Nan to hold her tongue
and eat her supper in peace?"

Hester bent forward and whispered something to Nan, who shrugged her
shoulders indignantly. Her face grew crimson.

"I can't learn that proverb," she said, after a pause. "I can't obey it,
its no use trying. Father, do you hear? I can't be one of those
seen-and-not-heard girls. Do you hear me, father?"

"I do, Nan. If we have finished supper, shall we go into the
drawing-room?" he added, turning to Annie.

Nan lingered behind. She slipped her hand through her sister's arm and
dragged her on to the terrace.

"I feel so wicked that I think I'll burst," she exclaimed. "Why is
father always throwing a damp cloth over me?"

"Nan, dear, you irritate him a good deal. Why do you talk in that silly
way when you know he cannot bear it?"

"Because I'm Nan," answered the child, pouting her lips.

"But Nan can learn wisdom," said Hester, in her sweet elder-sisterly
tone. "Even though you are the liveliest, merriest, dearest little girl
in the world, and though it is delicious to have you back"--here there
came an ecstatic hug--"you need not say things that you know will hurt.
For instance, you are perfectly well aware that father does not like his
age commented on."

"Oh, _that_," said Nan, some of the trouble which nurse's words had
caused coming back to her eyes. "Oh, but I really said what I _meant_,
then--it was not mischief. I was so glad to see that he is old. I love
those wrinkles of his--I adore them."

"What can you mean, you queer little thing?"

"Why, you see, Hetty, he won't be attractive, and there'll be no fear."

"No fear of what?"

"Nurse said that perhaps he'd be having a wife, and giving us a
stepmother."

"Oh, what nonsense!" said Hester, in a vexed tone. "What a silly thing
for nurse to say. I am quite surprised at her. As far as I can tell our
father has no intention of marrying again; but if he did?"

"If he did," repeated Nancy, "nurse says that you wouldn't be mistress
of the Grange any longer."

A wistful sort of look, half of pain, half of suppressed longing, filled
Hester's dark eyes for a moment.

"I might go out into the world," she said, "and have my heart's desire."

"But aren't you happy here?"

"Yes, oh yes! I am talking nonsense. My duty lies here, at least at
present. Mrs. Willis has taught me always to put duty first. Now, Nan,
let us forget what is not likely to happen. It is nearly time for you to
go to bed; you look quite tired; there are black rings under your eyes;
but first, just tell me about Mrs. Willis and the dear old school."

"Mrs. Willis is well," said Nan, with a yawn, "and the school is in
_statu quo_. I am in the middle school now, and perhaps I shall get a
drawing-room to myself before long. I'm not sure though, for I never can
be tidy."

"I wish you could be; it's a pity not to curb one's faults."

"Oh, bother faults. I don't want you to lecture me, Hetty."

"No, darling, I don't wish to; but I thought you were so fond of Mrs.
Willis. I thought you would do anything to please her."

"Yes, of course. I think I do please her. She gave me two prizes at the
break up--one for French and one for music. She kissed me, too, quite
half-a-dozen times. Look here, Hetty, I don't want you to ask Annie
Forest a lot of questions about me. I can't help having a romping time
now and then at school; and there are two new girls--Polly and Milly
Jenkins; they are so killingly funny; nearly as good as Boris and Kitty
Lorrimer. I always had a little bit of the wild element in me, and I
suppose it must come out somehow. Annie was wild enough when she was my
age, wasn't she, Hester?"

"Annie will be gay and light-hearted to the end of the chapter!"
exclaimed Hester.

"But she was naughty when she was my age, wasn't she?"

"She is not naughty now."

"Well, no more will I be when I am sixteen. Now, good-night, Het. Am I
to sleep in your room?"

"Yes."

"How scrumptious. Look out for a fine waking early in the morning."

Nan hugged Hester in her usual rough-and-ready manner, and danced
upstairs, singing as she went--

    "_Old Daddy-long-legs wouldn't say his prayers,
    Catch him by his left leg and throw him downstairs._"

This was one of Nan's rhymes which Sir John detested. Her voice was loud
and somewhat piercing. He heard it in the drawing-room, and went
deliberately and shut the door.

"Miss Forest," he said to his young guest, "there are moments when I
feel extremely uneasy with regard to the fate of my youngest daughter."

"About Nan's fate?" exclaimed Annie, raising her arched eyebrows; "why,
she is quite the dearest little thing in the world. I wish you could see
her at school; she is the pet of all the girls at Lavender House."

"That may be," said Sir John, with a slightly sarcastic movement of his
thin lips; "but it does not follow that school pets are home pets. If my
good friend, Mrs. Willis, finds Nan's society so agreeable, I wish she
would arrange to keep her for the holidays."

Annie's young face, so round, so fresh, so charming, was fixed in grave
surprise on her elderly host.

"Don't you love Nan at all?" she asked, wonder in her tone.

Sir John had been giving Miss Forest credit for great tact. Up to this
moment, he had considered her a very pretty, agreeable little girl, who
would be an acquisition in the house. Now he winced; she had trodden
very severely on one of his corns.

"I naturally have a regard for my child," he said, after a pause, "and I
presume that I show it best by having her properly educated and
disciplined in her youth."

"Oh, no, I don't think you do," said Annie. "You must forgive me for
saying frankly what I really think. I used to be like Nan when I was a
little girl, and I'd never have changed--never--never, I'd never have
become thoughtful for others, I'd always have been an unmitigated horror
to all my friends if my father had treated me like that. He's not a bit
like you, Sir John. I don't mean to compare him to you for a moment. He
is quite a rough sort of man, and he has led a rough life; but, oh dear
me, from the time he came back from Australia, and I knew that I had a
living father, I cannot tell you what a difference there has been in my
life. I have generally spent my holidays with him, and he has loved me
so much that I have loved him back again, and have learnt to know
exactly what will please him and make him happy. Nothing tamed me so
much as the knowledge that I was necessary to my father's happiness. I
am sure," added Annie in a low voice, and with a suspicion of tears in
her eyes, "that it would be just the same with dear little Nan."

She broke down suddenly, half afraid of her own temerity. There was
silence for nearly half a minute then Sir John rose from his chair,
and, going over to a lamp which was slightly smoking, turned it down.

"If your father has been in Australia," he said, turning again and
looking fixedly at his young visitor, "you will be interested in books
on that country. I have got all Henry Kingsley's novels. You will find
them in the library. Ask Hester to show you the book-case."

He strode deliberately out of the room, and Annie had to own to herself
that she felt crushed.




CHAPTER III.

TWO PROVERBS.


Hester Thornton and Annie Forest had been educated at the same
school--the well-known Lavender House. The fame of this school, the
noble character of its mistress, the excellent training which each girl
who went there received, formed a recommendation for each young student
in after life. Hester and Annie had gone through severe storms in these
early days. Their friendship had been cemented under the influence of
great trouble. It was exactly a year now since Hester had been suddenly
sent for from her busy and happy school life to take care of her father
through a dangerous illness. He found her company so sweet, her skill
and tact in managing his house so great, that he resolved not to allow
her to go back to school again. Annie Forest was now, therefore, the
head girl at Lavender House. She was Mrs. Willis's right hand; her help
and support in every way. Annie was as great a favourite as of old, and
as love and kindness had developed all the best side of her character,
she was no longer the tomboy of the school, nor the one who was
invariably the ringleader when mischief was afloat. She was still
impulsive, however--eager, impatient--for such a nature as hers must
fight on to the end of the chapter. She did not possess Hester
Thornton's steady principles, and would always be influenced, whether
for good or evil, by her companions. She was only to spend one more term
at school; the future, after that, was practically unknown to her.

"I wish you'd tell me about Nan," said Hester, on the first evening of
Annie's visit to the Grange. "I don't know why, but I feel a little
anxious about her."

"You need not be," replied Annie. "She is a dear, jolly little pet, and
as open as the day."

"She seems to get wilder and wilder," replied Hester. "You must have
noticed, Annie, how she irritates my father."

"Of course I did," replied Annie. "Do you know, Het, that I had the
unbounded cheek to give him a piece of my mind this evening?"

Annie was seated on the side of Hester's bed. She was in a blue
dressing-gown, and her dark hair, in a mass of rebellious curls, was
falling about her shoulders.

"I forgot that Nan was in the room," she said, putting her finger to her
lips and glancing in the direction of Nan's small bed. "The little
monkey may be awake, and I don't want her to hear my nonsense."

"She is sound asleep," replied Hester. "If she were awake, she would
soon acquaint us with the fact."

"Shall I tell you what I really said to your father?" continued Annie.

"I don't know that I want to hear. I hope you did not shock him, for he
is prepared to like you very much."

"I am prepared to like him. I think he is a delightful host; but, oh,
_how_ I should hate him for a father."

"Annie!"

Hester's delicate face flushed crimson, her eyes flashed an angry light.

Annie jumped off the bed and ran to her friend's side.

"Now you are angry with me," she said; "but if I told him the truth, I
may surely tell you. I know you are as good as an angel, but I am quite
certain that he ruffles you up the wrong way."

"Don't, Annie," said Hester, in a voice of pain.

She walked to the window as she spoke, drew up the blind, and looked
out. The night was dark, but innumerable stars could be seen in the
deep, unfathomable vault of the sky. Hester clenched one of her hands
tightly together. Annie stood and watched her.

"I would not hurt you for the world," she said. "I am sorry, very sorry;
the fact is, I love you with all my heart, but I don't understand you."

"Yes you do, too well," replied Hester; "but there are some things I
cannot and will not talk about even to you. Now let me take you to your
room, the hour is very late."

Annie's pretty room was just on the other side of the passage. Hester
took her to it, saw that she had every comfort, and wished her
good-night. She then stood for a moment, with a look of irresolution on
her face, in the corridor.

"I don't believe nurse is in bed; I will go and speak to her," she said
to herself. "I thought the day when I welcomed Nan back from school, and
when Annie came to visit me, would be quite the happiest day of my life,
but it would never do to make my father's home uncomfortable for him."
She reached the baize door, opened it, and soon found herself in the old
nursery. She was right, nurse was not yet in bed.

"Well, now, my deary!" exclaimed the old woman, "and why are you losing
your beauty sleep in this fashion? When I was young things used to be
very different. Girls had to be in bed by ten o'clock sharp to keep away
the wrinkles, but now they're all agog to burn the candle at both ends.
It don't pay, Miss Hetty, my pet, it don't pay."

"I'm all right, nursey," replied Hester. "I'm the quietest and most
jog-trot girl in the world as a rule. Of course I'm excited to-night,
because Nan has come back."

"Bless her dear heart!" ejaculated nurse; "but I'm not to say satisfied
about her hair, Miss Hetty. I don't believe it's pointed often enough. I
found a lot of split ends when I was combing it out to-night."

"Oh, I think Nan is all right in every way," replied Hester. "No one
could be kinder to her than Mrs. Willis, and she is very happy at
school. Nurse, I've just come here for a moment to ask you to be very
careful what you say to Nan about my father. You see, the object of my
life is to make him happy, and to be a good daughter to him, and, in
short, to try to take my mother's place."

"Eh, dear, we all know that," replied nurse, "and a sweeter young
mistress there couldn't be. Why, there isn't a servant in the house who
wouldn't do anything in the world for you, Miss Hetty; and everything in
apple-pie order, and the meals served regular and beautiful, and inside
and out perfect order, and all because there's an old head on young
shoulders. There, perhaps it isn't a compliment I'm paying you, my
dearie, but in one sense it is."

"Do you really think I manage well?" asked the girl, an anxious tone in
her voice.

"Manage well? You manage beautiful. Your own mother, if she were alive,
couldn't do better."

"I can never forget my mother," replied Hester, tears rising to her
eyes. "Well, nurse, you will be very careful what you say to Nan. The
object of my life is to make my father happy. If I can do that, I am
content."

"You do, you do," replied the old woman. "No mortal can do more than
their best, and you do that. Now, good-night, Miss Hester."

Hester took up her candle and went away. Nurse stood and watched the
pretty young figure as it disappeared down the corridor.

"There," she said to herself as she began to prepare for her own bed.
"There's another victim. Don't I know what my mistress was, and don't I
know that Sir John's coldness and sharpness and no-heartedness just
hurried her into her grave? Never a bit of real hearty love could he
give to anyone. Just as just could be--righteous as righteous could be,
but hard as a flint. My mistress drooped and faded and died, and Miss
Hester will follow in her footsteps if I don't look after her.
Sometimes I wish the master _would_ marry again, and that he'd get a
tartar of a wife. He might think of another wife if things were a bit
uncomfortable here, but that they never will be while Miss Hetty is at
the helm. She's a born manager, bless her, with her gentle ways and her
firm words and her pretty little dignity. Miss Nan's business in life,
it seems to me, is to set places all in a muddle, and Miss Hetty's to
smooth them out again. Of course it's due to Miss Hetty to be mistress
of the Grange, but sometimes I fear the life is too much for her, and
she'll fret and fade like her mother before her; if I really thought
that, I'd set my wits to work, old as I am, to get a real _selfish wife_
for the master, who'd teach him a thing or two, for that's what he
wants."

At this stage in her meditations, nurse laid her head on her pillow and
was soon fast asleep.

The next morning promised a perfect day, and Hester, Annie, and Nan met
in high spirits in the breakfast-room. The post had not yet arrived, but
a letter was lying on Hester's plate.

"That's in dad's writing," said Nan, going up and examining it
critically; "now what's up?"

Hester took the letter and opened it. It contained a few brief words.
She read them with a sinking of heart which she could not account for--

     "MY DEAR HETTY,--Your young companions will make the house quite
     gay for you. I shall, therefore, take the opportunity of going from
     home for a few days. I will send you a line to let you know when
     you may expect me back.--Your affectionate father, JOHN THORNTON.

     "P.S.--I shall have left before you are down in the morning. Give
     my love to Nan, and wish Miss Forest good-bye for me. By the way,
     she is interested in Australia, so will you show her where Henry
     Kingsley's novels are to be found in the library?"

Nan, who had been peeping over Hester's shoulder while she was reading,
now suddenly clapped her hands, shouted "hurrah" at the top of her
voice, and, running up to Annie, began to waltz round and round the
breakfast-table with her.

"Oh, oh!" she exclaimed, "then little girls _may_ be heard as well as
seen. Annie, there are two proverbs which are the bane of my life. I
wonder dad has not had them both illuminated and framed and hung up in
my nursery. One of them is: 'Little girls should be seen and not heard.'
What a detestable old prig the person must have been who invented that
proverb! I ask you, Annie, what would life be without little girls and
their chatter? The other proverb is nearly as objectionable. This is it:
'Make a page of your own age.' According to dad, that only applies to
little girls, and it means that they must always be fagging round,
hunting for slippers and spectacles and newspapers and books for the
older people who are past the age for paging, and that no one is ever to
wait on _them_, however tired or however disinclined to stir they may
happen to be. Now there'll be no one to make me page, and no one to keep
me silent. Oh, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! what a dear old dad to absent
himself in this obliging manner."

"For my part, I am very sorry," said Annie, for Hester had passed her on
the letter to read.

Hester said nothing, and breakfast began, Nan wasting as usual a
prodigal amount of energy and spirits even over the operation of eating,
Hester looking a little pale and a little thoughtful, Annie in a state
of suppressed high spirits, which a slight awe which she still felt at
times for Hester Thornton kept rather in check.




CHAPTER IV.

THE COLTS--ROBIN AND JOE.


The Towers was situated exactly two miles away from the Grange. It was a
large, old house, with a castellated roof and a high tower at one end.
It was a very old family place, and the Lorrimers had lived there from
father to son for several hundreds of years. Like many ancient families,
their wealth had diminished rather than increased with the times. The
luxurious living, which has been in vogue more or less during the whole
of the present century, had obliged them to part with some of their fair
acres. The present owner had married for love, not for money. More lands
had to be sold to meet the wants of a large and vigorous family, and, at
the time when this story opens, the Lorrimers were, for their position,
decidedly poor, not rich.

Squire Lorrimer had one dread ever before his eyes. This was the fear of
having to part with the dear old Towers itself. If this blow fell, he
was certain that it would kill him. He trusted to be able to avert this
calamity by putting down expenses in all possible ways. There were too
few servants, therefore, for the size of the house, too few gardeners
for the size of the gardens, too few horses for the size of the stables.

Nevertheless, there was not in the whole length and breadth of the
county of Warwickshire, a jollier, happier, more rollicking household
than the Lorrimers. There were ten children, varying in age, from Molly,
who would be sixteen on her next birthday, to little Phil, who had not
yet attained the dignity of two years. There were six girls in the
family and four boys. The two elder boys went to a good grammar school
in the neighbourhood; the girls and Boris had a governess who taught
them at home. Neither boys nor girls were educated quite up to the
requirements of the times, but the father and mother were not going to
worry themselves over this fact. Mr. Lorrimer had very strong views with
regard to modern education. He had a hearty preference for big bodies
instead of big brains. He was intensely old-fashioned as regards all
modern views for the advancement of women, and said frankly that he
would rather his sons emigrated than spent their lives as city clerks.
He had a good deal of faith in things righting themselves naturally, and
as his wife believed him to be the cleverest and wisest man in the
universe, he was not tormented by any contrary opinions from her lips.

"The children will do very well," he used to say. "If I can only keep
the land together, and the old house for Guy to inherit after me, I
shall die a happy man. The girls are all pretty, unless we except poor
little Elinor, and she, in some ways, has the sweetest face of the
bunch; they are sure to find husbands by-and-by, and the younger lads
can fend for themselves in the colonies if necessary. You needn't fret
about the children, mother," he would add.

"I never fret about them," replied the soft-voiced, placid-looking
mother, raising her dove-like blue eyes to her husband's face. "I think
we are the happiest family in the world, and the children are the
dearest creatures. With all their high spirits they are never really
naughty. I have only one care," she added, looking at her husband
affectionately and slipping her hand through his arm, "and that is when
you talk of the possibility of selling the Towers."

"Well, Lucy, that hasn't come yet," he answered.

"What about that mortgage and the suretyship?"

"Oh, pooh! They are right enough yet. I make it a rule never to think of
evil days before they really come. We'll pull through--we'll pull
through, no fear. By the way, my dear, I had a splendid offer yesterday
for the colts Joe and Robin. I closed with it in double quick time, and
the dealer who has bought them will send over to fetch them this
morning."

"Very well," said Mrs. Lorrimer. She went to the window of the room
where the two were talking and stood there looking out.

She gazed on a lovely scene, composed of woodland, river, and gently
sloping meadows and lawns. Exactly opposite her eyes was a paddock, and
in the paddock the two colts which had just been sold were contentedly
grazing. As Mrs. Lorrimer stood and looked out, a girl was seen to enter
the paddock and go swiftly up to the colts, calling their names as she
did so. They both came to her immediately. She threw an arm round the
neck of one, while she fed them in turn with carrots and apples which
she had in her apron. She was a slightly-made girl, with dark hair and a
sallow face. Her hair hung heavily about her shoulders. She might have
been ten years old, but looked younger.

"There's Nell," said the mother. "I am sorry the colts are going, she
has always made such pets of them. I never saw her take to any
creatures before as she has done to those two, and they'll follow her
anywhere like lambs. I'm sorry you've got to sell them, Guy."

"Sorry!" retorted the Squire, with a sort of snort. "Didn't I tell you,
Lucy, that Simmons has given me a cheque for three hundred and fifty
pounds for the two. Of course, the creatures are thoroughbred, and may
turn out worth a great deal more; still, in these days no one gives a
fair price for anything, and three-fifty is not to be sneezed at when
your rents are always behindhand and your balance at the bank is
overdrawn."

The Squire left the room as he spoke, and Mrs. Lorrimer, with the
faintest of little sighs, presently followed his example. Meanwhile, the
girl in the paddock was having a thoroughly happy time. As soon as she
had finished feeding her favourites, and they had done rubbing their
noses against her face and shoulder, she looked eagerly round her, and
saw with satisfaction that there was no one watching her from any of the
many windows which blinked like eyes all over the old house. She now
approached one of the colts cautiously, laid her hand on his neck, and
with an adroit, quick movement sprang on his back. He was an untamed,
unbroken-in creature. He would have submitted to no burden at all
heavier or at all less dear than that of the slim child who had now
mounted him.

"Hey, Robin, dear," she said, bending forward, catching hold of a wisp
of his mane and almost whispering into his ear, "you'll take me round
the paddock three times, won't you, as swift as the wind, and then it
will be Joe's turn? As swift as you can fly you shall go, my bonny,
bonny Robin. And afterwards you shall have your russet apple; it's in my
pocket."

From the colt's attitude, he seemed perfectly to understand every word
that was addressed to him. He pricked his ear; his eye glanced backward
with loving intelligence. He pawed the ground impatiently--he would not
be off until Nell gave the signal, but when it came there was no doubt
that he would fly swiftly over the ground. Joe, the other colt, stood
near expectantly. His turn was to come, he knew. For him, too, there
would be the light weight of a loved little presence, followed by that
delicious russet apple when the ride was over. Meanwhile, he would
canter after Nelly and Robin, taking care not to go too near nor in any
way to intrude himself mischievously.

"Now," said Nell, sitting bolt upright, "now, Robin--one, two, three,
away!"

Away they went truly, mane and hair alike flying in the breeze--Nell's
short skirts puffed out by the wind, Nell's cheeks with red flames on
them, and Nell's dark grey eyes blazing like subdued fires.

Once round the paddock they flew--twice they went--three times. The
third round was the fastest and the most delirious of all. Nell was so
sure of her seat, so confident in Robin's powers, that she no longer
even clasped his arched neck. Up flew her hands in the air. The
delirious excitement rendered her giddy.

"Hurrah! hurrah!" she shouted.

The gay words were interrupted by eager words from approaching
spectators. The gate of the paddock was pushed open, and Kitty, aged
nine, followed by Boris, who was only seven, rushed on the scene. The
children were followed by a couple of grooms and a strange,
horsey-looking man.

"Oh, Nell, Nell!" exclaimed Kitty.

"They're sold, Nell," said Boris, in a gloomy voice. "You'd better get
down. That fellow there has come"--waving his hand with immense dignity
in the direction of the horsey man--"that fellow has come to take them
away; they're sold."

"I don't believe it," said Nell.

Robin, who obeyed her slightest word, stood stock still when she told
him. She dropped off his back with the lightness of a bird.

"Who says they're sold?" she asked. "I don't believe it."

She pressed her hand to her heart as she spoke, a pang of keen pain had
shot through it; she turned pale, and her eyes still blazed.

"I don't believe it a bit," she said. "I'll go and find father and ask
him if its true; I know it isn't true."

"There's father coming into the field," said Boris. "Yes, it's true
enough, but you can ask him."

"Well, my man," said the Squire, who came upon the scene at this moment,
"your master has sent you for the colts, I suppose? Here they are,
as----Why, what's the matter, Nell? How white you are, child, and--not
so tight, Nell, not so tight, you're half strangling me! What is it, my
love--what is it?"

"You haven't sold Robin and Joe, father?"

"Oh, now, my little girl"--the Squire began to pat Nell's trembling
hands soothingly. He looked hard into her quivering face, then, bending
down, whispered something in her ear.

No one else heard the words.

Nell's frantic grasp relaxed; she let her hands fall to her sides and
looked piteously round.

Robin and Joe had both followed her across the paddock. Robin expected
his russet apple--Joe looked for his canter with Nell on his back.

"There's a brave little girl," said her father. "'Pon my word, I
wouldn't do it if I could help it."

"No, father dear; of course not."

"You're a plucky young 'un," said her father admiringly. Boris and Kitty
came close; the grooms and the horse-dealer also approached. There was a
sort of ring round Nell and the colts.

"Please, father, may I give Robin his apple?" she asked. "He has earned
it. May he have it?"

The Squire nodded.

"Of course he may," he said; then he turned to the horse dealer.

"My little girl is fond of these creatures," he said. "I hope you will
have patience for a moment or two."

The man touched his hat respectfully.

"Certainly, sir," he answered, "as long as the young lady likes; there's
no manner of hurry, and perhaps little miss would like to have another
canter. I never see'd no one sit so bird-like on a horse--never, in the
whole of my born days."

"Do you hear that, Nell?" said her father. "Would you like another
canter? I didn't know you could ride bare-backed."

She smiled up at him, a perfectly brave smile; there were no tears in
her eyes, although there were black shadows under them, and her face was
as white as a little snowflake.

Robin munched his apple, and Joe came close to Nell and rubbed his head
against her shoulder.

She fed him also, to his own great surprise, for he did not think that
he had earned a morsel, and then, without a word, turned and walked out
of the paddock.

Boris ran after her.

"I say, Nell!" he exclaimed, panting. "Would you like a white rat? I
have four, and I--I'll give you one if you'll promise not to forget to
feed it."

Nell stood still when Boris made this offer, and looked down into his
ruddy, brown, sunburnt face. Boris had bright eyes, as round as two
moons. The giving up of one of his white rats meant a great deal to him.
Nell carefully weighed the value of the offer.

"No," she said at last in a deliberate tone. "I might forget to feed the
rat, and I don't think I ever could love it; but thank you all the same,
Boris."

"Don't mention it," said Boris, in his most polite tone; he was
immensely relieved by Nell's declining his offer.

She walked slowly towards the house, and Boris turned to Kitty, who had
followed him.

"I offered her a rat," he said; "but she wouldn't have it. Do you think
she will be very bad for a bit?"

"Yes, I do," said Kitty. "She'll creep up into one of the lofts and
burrow in the hay all by herself, and if she can have a right good cry
perhaps she'll be better, but if she hasn't a cry, she'll fret awfully,
and perhaps she'll turn sulky; but never mind about her now. I'm ever so
glad she didn't take the rat. Let's run and feed them before we go to
lessons."

"I wish there were no lessons," said Boris. "I hate them. I can't think
what use they are. What can it matter in a big world like this, crowded
up with boys and girls and men and women, whether I can spell right or
not? _I_ don't mind, and I don't see why anyone else should bother."

"I like spelling," said Kitty, who had a very intelligent face. "If I
were a man or an embryo man, which you are, Boris, I'd have ambition,
and I'd try to get on. I'd like to walk over the heads of the other
boys, if I were you, and to take their prizes from them, and to have
father and mother looking on, and a lot of grand ladies and gentlemen
all dressed in their best praising and cheering and bowing and smiling.
But boys are no good in these days. It's girls who do everything. Now,
do be quick and let's feed the rats."

"You talk such nonsense," said Boris. "You don't suppose that ladies and
gentlemen care whether boys and girls spell words right or not, and what
rubbish you do say about best clothes and smiling and bowing."

"I don't," said Kitty, crossly; "it's you who talk rubbish. You have
never been to school, so you can't possibly tell. You ask Nan Thornton,
and she'll soon tell you what's done at school. Oh dear, oh dear, I wish
I were at Lavender House instead of doing my lessons with stupid Jane
Macalister!"

"You talk very dis'pectful," said Boris.

"Do I? I don't care. Oh, I _am_ glad you didn't part with the white
rat!"




CHAPTER V.

NOT MISSED.


Jane Macalister was the governess. She was old--at least the Lorrimers
considered her old--she wore spectacles, and her hair was slightly
tinged with grey. She had a queer mixture of qualities. She was
affectionate and narrow; she was devoted to her pupils, and thought she
could best show her devotion by an unceasing round of discipline.
Fortunately, both for her and the little Lorrimers, this discipline
never extended beyond the hours devoted to lessons. It never showed its
stern visage in play hours, nor at meals, nor at night, nor on half
holidays, nor on Sundays. During all these times, Jane was the
intelligent and much belaboured companion. She was at everyone's beck
and call. She was to be found here, there, and everywhere--darning the
rent in Molly's frock, or helping Nora with her drawing, or trying to
find a story-book for Nell which she had not already read at least six
times, or healing the small squabbles with which Boris and Kitty helped
to beguile the weary hours. Mrs. Lorrimer consulted her with regard to
the cook and the servants generally. The Squire would shout to her to
spare him a quarter of an hour in the study to see if he had totted up
his accounts right. In short, Jane Macalister was as much part and
parcel of the Lorrimer household as if she were really one of
themselves. She was by no means educated up to the standard of the
latter half of the nineteenth century, but what she did know, she knew
thoroughly. She was methodical and helpful. The kind of person whom Mrs.
Lorrimer was fond of quoting as invaluable. The children, one and all,
loved her as a matter of course, but, in school hours, their love was
certainly mingled with awe. In school hours, Jane allowed no relaxing of
the iron rod.

Kitty and Boris, having just heard the dismal sound of the schoolroom
bell, started from their fascinating occupation of feeding the white
rats and ran as fast as their small feet could carry them in the
direction of the house. They went in by a side entrance, and with
panting breath and hot little steps began to mount the spiral staircase
which led to the schoolroom in the tower. They were late already, and
they knew that they could not possibly escape bad marks for
unpunctuality. They pushed open the green baize door which admitted them
to the sanctum of learning and came in. All the other children whom Miss
Macalister taught were already in the room. Kitty and Boris were the
sole delinquents--the only ones in disgrace; even Elinor was present.
Their faces fell when they saw her. They had built great hopes on having
at least Elinor's company in their disgrace. The swift thought had
darted through both their minds that she would be safe to be extra
naughty that morning, and in consequence would divert some of the storm
of Jane Macalister's wrath from their devoted heads; but no, there she
sat in her accustomed place, her hymn book open on her knee, marks of
tears on her cheeks, it is true, but in all other respects she looked a
provokingly model Elinor.

It was too bad; Kitty made a face at her across the schoolroom, and
even Boris gave her a reproachful glance.

Jane Macalister fixed two awful spectacled eyes upon the culprits, and,
scarlet blushes tingling in their cheeks, they took possession of their
vacant chairs.

The children all sang their usual hymn, although Elinor's voice was a
little husky and Boris held his book upside down.

    "_All things bright and beautiful,
      All creatures great and small,
    All things wise and wonderful,
      The Lord God made them all._"

"I wonder if He really made that dreadful horsey man," thought Nell, as
she looked out of the window.

Boris smothered a sigh as he reflected again over the problem which had
often before puzzled his small head--Why God, when he made everything so
beautiful, had forgotten to give Jane Macalister a beautiful temper in
school hours?

The singing was followed by the Bible reading, and then lessons began.
Molly and Nora acquitted themselves admirably, as was their wont--Nell's
dark grey eyes grew full of interest as she read the fascinating story
of the "Field of the Cloth of Gold" in her history book--Kitty worked at
her sums with fierce persistence and tried to fancy herself at
boarding-school, going up rapidly to the top of her class, while Boris
made more mistakes than ever over his dictation, and inked his fingers
unmercifully.

"What was the use of fussing over such a stupid, useless thing as
spelling?" This was his thought of thoughts.

The day was a warm one. Jane Macalister was icily cold, however, as
unapproachable as an iceberg. Boris watched her with anxiety. He knew
well that there was no chance for him and Kitty; they would both be
punished for being late for prayers.

Oh, dear, oh, dear; _why_ was Jane so unbeautiful, so unapproachable in
school hours?

"I know she'll keep Kitty and me in during the whole of the play hour,"
he muttered to himself. "I'm certain of it, because the tip of her nose
is getting red; that's a sign that she's worried, and when she's worried
she's twice as bad as she is at any other time."

"What noise is that? Oh!--I say--Miss Macalister----"

Jane Macalister was always spoken to in this correct fashion during
school hours.

"I say, there's a visitor!" burst from the eager lips of the little boy.

He started to his feet as he spoke, upsetting the ink-pot over his own
copybook and also over Kitty's white-frilled pinafore.

"Boris, you are incorrigible!" exclaimed Jane. "You lose all your
conduct marks for the week, and must stay indoors for an hour and learn
a piece of poetry after lessons."

Boris got very red and tried to smile. The blow had fallen, so he wasn't
going to whimper over it. He would stand up to his punishment like a
man. He meant to be a soldier some day, and felt exactly now as if he
were facing the guns. He met Elinor's full, troubled grey eyes, and
seated himself slowly once more in his chair.

The steps had come nearer, the schoolroom door was burst open, and Nan
Thornton rushed in.

"Here I am," she said. "I have come to torment you, Miss Macalister, and
to beg off lessons at once. How do you do, children? How are you, Kitty?
How are you, Boris? How do you do, Nell? Molly and Nora, I'll kiss you
when I can get breath. Oh, what a climb those stairs are! Why do you
have lessons in the tower? All the same, it's lovely when you _are_
here. What a view! What a darling, darling, heavenly, scrumptious,
_ripping_ view. Oh, dear! oh, dear! I am out of breath. Jane, aren't you
glad to see me? Aren't you glad to know that all the children are to
have a holiday immediately? Shut up your books, young 'uns, and let's be
off. You don't mind, do you, Jane?"

Certainly Jane Macalister did mind. The icy expression grew more marked
on her face. Boris gave her a glance, felt that he was very close to the
guns, and lowered his eyes. Nan began dancing about the room. Nan was in
white--white hat, white frock. Her fluffy golden hair surrounded her
like a cloud. Boris felt that she was something like a very naughty and
very beautiful angel. Why was she tempting them all when Jane Macalister
was like ice?

"I think, Nan," said Miss Macalister--"(how do you do, my dear? Of
course I'm glad to see you)--I think I must ask you to leave the
schoolroom for the present. Recess will be at half-past eleven, and then
you can talk to all the children except Boris, who I grieve to say will
have to undergo punishment. As to holidays, the summer holidays will
begin in a fortnight, until then I cannot permit any such indulgence. Go
away, Nan, for the present. Molly, I can attend to your German now.
Bring your exercise book with the grammar and history."

Nan was not accustomed to being vanquished, but she was very near defeat
then. The next moment she would have found herself ignominiously outside
the baize door if other steps had not approached, and Hester, looking
cool and sweet, Annie, all radiant and laughing, and Mrs. Lorrimer, with
her usual gentle motherly expression, had not appeared on the scene.

"Jane," said the mother, smiling round with her blue eyes at each of the
children, "Hester wants us to get up a hasty picnic to Friar's Wood. The
day is perfect, and this is the first of Nan's holidays, so I hope you
will not object, particularly if the children promise to work extra well
to-morrow."

Jane began to close up all the books hastily. Nan's petition was not to
be listened to for a moment. Mrs. Lorrimer's was law, and must be
cheerfully obeyed.

"Certainly," she said, in a pleasant tone, dropping her frozen manner as
if by magic. "It is a _perfect_ day for a picnic. Leave the schoolroom
tidy, my loves, and then go and get ready. You'd like me to see the
cook, wouldn't you, Mrs. Lorrimer? I can help her to cut sandwiches and
to pack plates and dishes."

"Jane, you're an angel," said Mrs. Lorrimer.

Jane Macalister kissed Hester, was introduced to Annie, and then rushed
down the spiral stairs, intent on housekeeping cares.

The Lorrimer boys and girls surrounded Hester and Annie. Nan flitted in
and out of the group, and was here, there, and everywhere. All was
excitement and laughter. Presently the children left the schoolroom in a
body.

No, there was one exception. Boris stayed behind. He looked wistfully
after the others as they streamed away. Miss Macalister had not said a
word about remitting his punishment, and he must be true to his colours.
He found it very difficult to keep back his tears, but he would indeed
think badly of himself if even one bright drop fell from his round blue
eyes.

It would have comforted him if Kitty had noticed him. Kitty might have
stayed if only to bestow a kiss of sympathy on him, but she was whirled
on with the others. No one gave him a thought. He was only Boris, one of
the younger children. He was alone in the schoolroom.

He looked at the clock; it pointed to half past eleven; he would not be
free until half past twelve. Picnics at the Towers were hastily
improvised affairs. Long before his hour of punishment was over the
others would all be off and away. It was scarcely likely that any of
them would even miss him. Kitty would be in such a frantic state of
excitement at having Nan Thornton to talk to, that she would not have
room in her heart to bestow a thought on him. He could not walk all the
way to Friar's Wood, the day was too hot. How delicious it would be
there in the shade. How interesting to watch the squirrels in the trees,
and the rabbits as they darted in and out of their holes. Well, well,
there was no use fretting. His heart felt sore, of course, but he
wouldn't be half a boy in his own opinion if he didn't take his
punishment without a murmur.

He drew his chair up to the table, pushed his ink-stained fingers
through his curly brown locks, and looked around him.

Miss Macalister had forgotten to set him any task, but he supposed he
could set himself something.

He was just wondering what would be the least irksome form of punishment
he could devise, when a small head was pushed in at the door, and a
voice, in accents of extreme surprise, shouted his name.

"Why, Boris, what are you doing? They'll be off if you don't look
sharp."

"I'm not going, Nell," said Boris; "but please don't fuss over it, it's
nothing."

"_Nothing!_" said Nell, coming into the room and seating herself by the
side of her little brother. "Don't you love picnics?"

"I _adore_ them," said Boris.

He shut up his lips as he spoke and winked his eyes.

"Don't make a fuss," he said again after a pause. "Do you think I might
learn a bit of the 'Ancient Mariner' for my punishment task? I like that
old chap, he's so grisly."

"It's a splendid poem," said Nell with enthusiasm, "particularly that
part about--

    _'Water, water everywhere,
    And not a drop to drink.'_

Can't you picture it all, Boris? The sea like a great pond, and the
thirsty old mariner looking at it, and longing, and longing, and longing
to drink it, and the dead people lying round. Sometimes at night I think
of it, and then afterwards I have a good, big, startling dream. A dream
that's not _too_ frightful is almost as good as a story-book. Don't you
think so?"

"No, I don't," said Boris. "I hate dreams. Perhaps I'd better learn the
first six verses of the 'Ancient Mariner,' and perhaps I'd better begin
at once. Jane Macalister is very stern, isn't she, Nell?"

"Awful in lesson times," said Nell.

"Well, the only way I can bear it," said Boris, "is this--I think of her
as the general of an army. I don't mind obeying her when I think of her
in that way. Soldiers have to promise obedience before anything else,
and I'm going to be a soldier some day. I'd better not talk now, Nell,
for I must get the first six verses of the 'Ancient' into me in an hour,
and I can't if you keep chattering. The general was rather sharp with me
this morning, I must say, for all my conduct marks are gone, too, and I
won't get sixpence on Saturday, and I'll have nothing to subscribe to
mother's birthday present; still, of course, 'tis 'diculous to fuss.
You'd best go, Nell. Why aren't you ready for the picnic?"

"I'm not going," said Nell. "I have a headache, and a drive in the sun
would make it worse. Besides, Nan Thornton does chatter so awfully."

"Chatter," repeated Boris; "you don't mean to say you mind her
chattering?"

"Yes, I do, when I have a headache."

"Well, I think she's sweet," said Boris.

"You had better learn your 'Mariner,' Boris, and I'll sit in the window
and look out."

The schoolroom was so high up in the tower that people who sat in one of
its windows had really only a bird's-eye view of what went on below.

Boris, in his rather tumbled sailor suit, sat with his back to Nell. He
kicked the rungs of the chair very often with his sturdy legs. His inky
fingers took fond clutches of his curls, his lips murmured the rhyme of
the "Ancient Mariner" in a monotonous sing-song. Nell pushed open the
lattice window and looked out. There was a waggonette drawn by a rather
bony old horse standing by the side entrance; behind the waggonette was
a pony-cart, a good deal the worse for wear. The pony, whose name was
Shag, stood very still and flicked his long tail backwards and forwards
to keep the flies away. Nell saw Miss Macalister and two of the servants
come out with those flat delicious picnic baskets which she knew so
well, and which had so often made her lips water in fond anticipation;
they were placed with solemnity in the waggonette. Then Molly and Nora,
in their white sun-bonnets, took their places, and Hester and Annie sat
opposite to them, and Mrs. Lorrimer took the seat of honour, and two or
three of the smaller children were packed in heterogeneously, while Nan
and Kitty and Miss Macalister bundled themselves into the pony-cart.

Nell's heart beat high as she watched. Was no one going to think of her
and Boris? Was no one going to miss them?

Apparently no one was.

The gay cavalcade got under weigh and disappeared from view down the
long and lovely beech avenue.

Nell did not wish to go to the picnic, not to-day with her heart so
sore, but it made that heart feel all the sorer not to be missed.




CHAPTER VI.

FRIAR'S WOOD.


As a matter of fact, the picnic party imagined that Boris and Nell
intended to follow on later in the donkey-cart. The Lorrimer picnics
were well known in the neighbourhood. They always passed through the
village in the following order--first the waggonette, drawn by the bony
horse and packed to overflowing with baskets and young people, who waved
their arms and shouted in high glee as they went by; then the pony-trap,
driven sometimes by Jane Macalister, sometimes, when Jane was in a very
good humour, by Kitty or even Boris; and last, at an interval of about
half an hour, the donkey-cart. The donkey-cart as a rule contained
kettles and pots, for the Lorrimers would consider a picnic only half a
picnic if they did not boil their own potatoes out of doors and make
their own tea in the woods. Consequently, the coarser utensils which
were required for the feast were usually reserved for the donkey-cart.
The donkey, as a rule, was driven, or rather led, by Guy, the tall
schoolboy, aged thirteen, who would be owner of the Towers, if it were
not sold over his head, some day. Harry, the brother next in age, would
also accompany the donkey-cart, and sometimes one or two of the younger
children would prefer this rough mode of travelling to the more refined
waggonette or the fleeter pony-carriage. The donkey-cart had of course
to be late, as Guy and Harry would not be home from school until quite
an hour after the rest of the party had started.

"Where is Boris?" asked Hester, addressing herself to Molly when they
had driven about half of the distance.

Molly had tranquil blue eyes, like her mother.

"Isn't he in the pony-carriage?" she asked.

"Who is Boris?" interrupted Annie Forest. "Is he the pretty little
round-faced boy in the sailor suit?"

"Yes," said Nora, joining in the conversation.

"Then he's not in the pony-trap," replied Annie. "I don't think he left
the schoolroom."

"Cute little beggar," laughed Nora. "He wants to come in the
donkey-cart."

Annie raised her brows in inquiry; the mystery of the donkey-cart was
explained to her, and no further questions were asked with regard to
Boris.

Elinor had not yet been missed.

Friar's Wood was a perfect place for a picnic, and in due course of time
the happy cavalcade arrived there. The younger children and Miss
Macalister began to make preparations for the first meal. The Lorrimers
always had two hearty ones whenever they went on a picnic. Kitty, Nora,
and Annie Forest went off to explore the Fairies' Glen, a lovely spot
about a quarter of a mile away. Mrs. Lorrimer took out her knitting and
sat with her back against a great beech tree, and Molly and Hester found
themselves thrown together.

"That's right," exclaimed Molly. "I wanted to have a talk with you,
Hetty. Will you come to the top of the knoll with me? We can sit there
and cool ourselves. There is not the faintest chance of dinner being
ready for quite an hour."

The girls set off at once. Molly was not yet sixteen, Hester was past
seventeen, nevertheless they had been intimate friends for a long time.

"Why have you got that little frown between your brows, Molly?" asked
Hester.

It smoothed out the moment Hester spoke.

"I surely ought not to have a frown to-day," retorted Molly. "The
weather is glorious, we are all in perfect health, we are out for a
picnic, you are here, you have brought your friend, Annie, about whom we
have always heard so much, and Nan is home from school. Yes, I certainly
ought not to frown; but let me retort on you, Hester. Why have you those
grave lines round your lips?"

"Because I'm a goose," answered Hester. "Sit down here, Molly. You have
not got me up to the top of this knoll just to make me recount my
grievances. Out with yours; you know you have one at least."

"Well, yes, I have one," said Molly. "A horrid little cankering jade--a
sort of black imp. I thought I had tucked him up snug in bed until the
evening, and there, you have loosened the sheets, and he has sprung up
again to confront me."

Molly's honest face was undoubtedly troubled now, and there was a
suspicion of tears in the blue eyes, which were nearly as frank and
round as Boris's.

"I suppose I must confess," she said: "it's only that the colts, Joe and
Robin, have been sold."

"I don't think I know them," said Hester.

"Well, you must imagine them. They are not broken-in yet. They were born
at the Towers, and we used to feed them when they were foals. Then one
day Robin got rather wild, and kicked Boris severely, and father said
we were to leave them alone; but Nell somehow managed to evade the
order; she never could be got to fear any four-footed creature. She
spent almost all her leisure time with the colts, and I believe she used
to ride them bare-backed. Well, they were sold this morning, and Nell
will fret awfully. Fretting is very bad for her, for she is not at all
strong, you know. That is one thing that troubles me," continued Molly,
after a brief pause. "I am sorry the colts are sold, on account of Nell,
for I know, although she won't pretend to fret a bit, how she will
secretly grieve and grieve; and the other reason is, that I know father
would not have sold them if he had not been hard up for money again. Oh,
I wish, I wish," continued Molly, her face turning crimson, "that there
was no such thing as money in the world."

Hester looked at her with a mingling of sympathy and surprise.

"I think you must be wrong," she said slowly. "I mean, of course, that I
know you're not rich as my father is rich, for you are such a large
family, and father has only Nan and me; but still, it cannot be true
that your father wants money to the extent of having to sell the colts
to get it, Molly."

"I'm afraid it is true," said Molly, in a sad voice. "I wish it were
only my imagination. You would never take me for a fanciful girl, would
you, Hester? I am always called matter-of-fact, and I think I am. I
really don't care a bit for poetry, and not much for music, and even
story-books don't amuse me unless they're the downright sort, like
'Little Women,' or unless they tell all about housekeeping and that sort
of thing. I love cooking, and I rather like accounts, and I delight in
overhauling the linen cupboard, and I am not a bad hand at darning the
linen. I'm just a commonplace, matter-of-fact sort of girl; it isn't in
me to imagine things."

"Well?" said Hester, for she saw that Molly was intensely in earnest.

"I know I'm right about the money," said Molly. "You cannot think how
troubled father looks sometimes; and mother told me only yesterday that
we were not to go to the seaside this year, and she thinks our shabby
old hats will do quite well for church. You don't suppose I care about
shabby hats, or even about the seaside, but I do care when I see father
looking troubled. Once a stranger came to see him, and they were shut up
together in the library for a long time, and when he went away I noticed
that father looked quite old. Oh, I know there are money troubles, and I
am sure things will get worse. I know what father dreads, and dreads and
dreads. Oh, Hester, if it happens it will kill him!"

"Molly, dear, how white you are. If what happens?"

"Don't whisper it, Hester; but I dread it. If he has to sell the Towers
it will kill him."

"To sell the Towers!" echoed Hester. "I should think so, indeed;
but----"

"What are you two doing up there?" shouted the voice of Nora from below.
"Come down at once and make yourselves useful. The donkey-cart has come,
and so have Guy and Harry, and we are washing the potatoes and want you
to rub them, Molly. Come along down and help, you lazy good-for-nothings."

The girls hastened to obey. As if by magic all trace of a cloud left
Molly's face. It became radiant, smiling, and dimpled. She was once more
matter-of-fact, charming, capable Molly, who could work with a will and
never once think of herself. Molly was so generally self-forgetful, that
her happiness was not put on. Good-nature shone from her eyes. She was
not a particularly brilliant or witty girl, but she was a strong rock to
rely upon, as all the other Lorrimers knew well.

Nora, who was very pretty and very gay, gave herself up to heedless
enjoyment as soon as Molly appeared upon the scene. The potatoes would
certainly be done to a turn now. The table-cloth would be laid in that
part of the wood where the midges were least troublesome. Jane
Macalister would not have to complain of no one helping her. Guy, who
was very like Molly, and nearly as good-natured, would also do his best
to make the picnic lively, and Nora, one year Molly's junior, could give
herself up to the fascinations of Annie Forest's society.

Nora had never before found herself in the company of such a completely
grown-up and such a very pretty girl. Nora could give herself little
airs when occasion required. She could put on rather a killing grown-up
sort of would-be society manner. She never dared adopt it when Guy and
Harry were near, but she contrived to get Annie away by herself, and
then indulged in what the other children called her "high-falutin" talk.

It was nipped in the bud, however, by Annie herself. Annie Forest was
nothing if she was not frank and fearlessly matter-of-fact. She quickly
discovered how hollow and insufficient poor Nora's attempts to maintain
a worldly conversation really were. She crushed her by telling her that
she had never been in society herself in the whole course of her life,
that she knew nothing whatever of it or its ways, that she had just left
school, and that in all probability she would have to earn her bread in
the future.

"But, look here, Nora!" she exclaimed, suddenly, "why should we two
stand here chattering? I'm sure we ought to help the others."

"Oh, no; there's nothing really to be done," replied Nora, in a languid
voice. "I like picnics, but I hate the fuss of preparing the meals, and
as all the others adore it, I generally leave it for them to do. Won't
you sit here? There is a charming little peep between those two oak
trees. You can just see the Towers from there, and I think the Grange
also. Don't you think the Grange a very beautiful place?"

"Yes; but not half as beautiful as the Towers."

"Don't you, really? Well, I am surprised! Of course, the Towers is very
old. We are quite one of the very oldest of the county families round
here, but my father likes us to live quietly just at present. Molly and
I will have to be presented by-and-by. It is a pity father and mother
don't think more about society, but they'll have to when we are grown
up, and Molly is sixteen now. Hester will be very rich, and so will Nan.
I'm surprised that you prefer the Towers to the Grange."

"I beg your pardon," said Annie, "but did not the donkey-cart arrive
about half an hour ago?"

"Yes, of course."

"And two of your brothers with it?"

"Yes," replied Nora, suppressing a yawn, "Guy and Harry. How hot it is
to-day--the heat makes one dreadfully languid, does it not?"

"I must go and tell Hester that Boris has not come," exclaimed Annie.

She put wings to her feet as she spoke, and left the astonished and
indignant Nora to her own reflections.

Annie ran quickly through the wood. The sound of many voices floated on
the summer breeze to greet her. She had almost reached the party when
she suddenly came upon Kitty, who was standing alone. Kitty had just had
a furious quarrel with Nan, and was in consequence feeling considerably
out in the cold. Kitty knew that Boris was not of the party. She had
known this from the beginning, but in the excitement and fun of having
Nan Thornton to herself had been too selfish to mention the fact. Kitty
guessed why Boris had remained behind. She remembered the severe
punishment which Jane Macalister had inflicted upon him--a punishment
which Jane had doubtless forgotten, but which Boris himself remembered.

Kitty thought of Boris now as she stood by a blackberry-bush, and
pricked her finger on purpose against one of the thorns. Nan had been
very snubbing and very disagreeable, and Kitty cordially hated her for
the time being, and wished with all her heart that Boris was there. She
could snub Boris, who would never retort, but now there was no one for
her to play with.

"What is your name?" asked Annie, stopping and looking at her kindly;
"you are one of the Lorrimers, of course, but I have not caught your
name yet. Do you mind telling it to me?"

"I'm Kitty," answered the little girl; she raised her brown eyes and
looked full at Annie. She had never seen anyone so lovely as Annie
before. She had never even imagined that the world could contain anyone
so sparkling and so gay.

"You're Kitty; that is capital," replied Annie. "Then, Kitty, I am sure
you will do just as well as Hester. Can you tell me why your dear little
brother Boris has not come to the picnic?"

"I was thinking of him," said Kitty. Tears slowly welled up into her
eyes; her heart began to ache; she tried to prick her finger again to
relieve the pain inside.

"Boris has not come," she replied. "I'll tell you why. He spilt some
ink, and Jane Macalister said he must be punished by staying indoors for
a whole hour after lessons were over. I expect she forgot all about
Boris when we got a holiday so suddenly, but Boris didn't forget, and he
stayed behind."

"Dear little Boris!" exclaimed Annie; "dear, good, plucky little Boris!
The moment I looked at him I knew I should adore him. But see here,
Kitty, the hour is up now, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, of course; some time ago."

"Then he'll follow us, won't he?"

"How can he? He can't come alone; it's nearly an hour's drive to Friar's
Wood."

"Of course he cannot walk," said Annie, impatiently; "but haven't you
got a trap or carriage, or horse, or something?"

"No, I'm afraid we haven't," said Kitty, looking very sorrowful.
"There's only old Rover, who draws the waggonette, and Dobbin the pony,
and Jacko the donkey. Of course, there's father's mare, she's quite a
beauty; but we are none of us allowed to have anything to do with her."

"Then we are not to have dear little Boris at the picnic?" said Annie;
"I declare I shan't enjoy it a bit. I want him to be my own special
knight."

"What do you want a knight for?" asked Kitty, looking up with interest.

"What do I want a knight for? You silly child, all fair ladies want
their own true knights."

"You are a very fair lady," said Kitty. "At least, I mean you're a very
lovely lady--very, very lovely; but can't you do with Guy or Harry for a
knight?"

"No; I have fallen in love with Boris, and I won't have anyone else.
Kitty, can't we manage to get him to the picnic?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. He could ride Harry's bicycle, but I don't
think it would once enter into his head."

"It would if I went back and told him to."

"How can you go back? You can't walk."

"Yes, I am a splendid walker. Besides, I am sure the road is longer than
by the fields, and you could take me part of the way and show me the
short cuts."

"It would take a long, long time," said Kitty, "and when you came back
dinner would be over, and you'd have lost quite half the fun."

"No, you dear little thing, I wouldn't. I mean to go and fetch Boris;
virtue shall be rewarded, and the knight shall be rescued by the lady.
Now, come with me part of the way and show me the short cuts. Why, I'm
as strong as a lion. You don't suppose a walk of a few miles tires me?
Come along, Kit, we are wasting time."

In reality, Kitty was charmed beyond words with any move which was to
bring Boris on the scene. The moment Boris seemed at all unattainable,
he became wonderfully precious in Kitty's eyes. She would, of course,
snub him in five minutes after he did arrive, but that really did not
matter. The fascination of Annie's secret mission also delighted her
much, and she skipped along now by the side of this beautiful lady in a
state of high good-humour.

"I'll show you a lovely short cut," she said. "It will take two miles
off the distance. There's a bog, and a sunken ditch, and a wire fence;
but you won't mind them, will you?"

"Not a bit," said Annie, laughter in her eyes.

"And there's farmer Granger's bull-dog, and perhaps the bull himself may
be in the four acre field; but you won't mind," continued Kitty.

"Not a bit, not a bit."

"Well, let's run down into this little dell. I'll start you from the
wicket gate at the end of the dell."

"It sounds quite Pilgrim's Progressy," said Annie.

"Annie," said Kitty, in an ecstatic whisper, "is it to be a secret?"

"Of course; if you dare to reveal it my knight shall execute vengeance
on you."

"Oh, Annie!" said Kitty, "I do love you; its so perfectly delicious to
have a secret."

"Well, see you keep this one faithfully. Now we have come to the wicket
gate. How shall I go? Can I see the bull from here?"

"No."

"Can I hear the bull-dog bark?"

"No."

"Kitty, you little wretch, you've been trying to frighten me with
imaginary dangers. Yes, I see my road. I follow the winding path
wherever it leads. Keep a bit of dinner for me, Kitty. I'll be back in a
couple of hours."

Kitty promised, and Annie started with great vigour on her long walk.

Kitty stood at the stile and watched her. Suddenly she raised a cry.

"Annie."

Annie turned.

"You'll find Nell at home, too, Annie."

"Is Nell another Lorrimer?"

"Yes; the ugly one of the family; the duckling, we call her most times."

"Well, the duckling shall come, too," shouted heedless Annie; and Kitty,
with the full weight and delirious importance of her secret radiating
all over her stout little person, slowly returned to the other members
of the picnic party.




CHAPTER VII.

THE STORY BOOK LADY.


Annie found the road hot and the way long. As she said, she was a very
good walker, and was never daunted by difficulties or dangers either
real or imaginary. She was impressed by Boris's bright little face, and
Kitty's story of his fidelity to the path of duty touched her quick and
affectionate nature. Annie Forest, the grown-up girl, was very like
Annie Forest, the child. She was still intensely impulsive, wayward, and
eager. Her faults were in a great manner subdued, but they were not
eradicated. She was intensely affectionate, brave, and true as steel;
but she was apt to be both heedless and thoughtless. When rushing away
to rescue Boris, it never once entered into her head that the secret of
her absence might prove very troublesome to poor Kitty, and that the
rest of the party might suffer uneasiness on her account. Without any
adventure from bull or bull-dog, without endangering her life in the
bog, which turned out to be almost non-existent at this time of year,
she reached the Towers at the most sultry time of the day, and appeared
upon the scene between one and two o'clock, a tired, flushed, and very
thirsty Annie. All during her walk she pictured Boris's state of
despair. She saw in her mind's eye a vision of his little, flushed,
tear-stained face. She thought of Nell, too, and imagined the rapture
with which the ugly duckling would greet her, the deliverer of the
oppressed.

Annie entered the Towers by a side entrance, and, skirting a pretty,
shady lawn, approached the house by the nearest way. As she did so, she
was attracted by voices which seemed to proceed from out of a clump of
trees. She stepped close to the spot from where the sound proceeded,
and, craning her neck, looked over the thick laurustinus bushes, which
enclosed a very tiny lawn or plot of grass.

Seated here, in the utmost peace and apparent contentment, were the poor
victims for whom she had exerted herself so terribly. Nell was lying
full length on her back on the grass. Boris was seated tailorwise on the
ground a little way off. Nell had a white rat curled up in her hair and
another nestling in her neck. Boris was feeding some white hares and
some pet rabbits. The children were eagerly talking to their animals,
and Annie had to own to herself that there was nothing in the least
unhappy or even morbid in the sound of either of the voices.

For a moment the children's perfect happiness almost vexed her. It
seemed provoking to have taken that long, exhausting walk for nothing,
and oh! how hungry and thirsty, how very hungry and thirsty she felt.

The next instant, however, her good-nature asserted itself. She said
"Hullo!" pushed her way through the laurustinus hedge, and stood in the
midst of the group.

Nell started into a sitting position, tumbling the white rats on to her
lap. She looked up at Annie. What a tumbled, dishevelled, hot, but oh,
what a pretty strange lady was this! Nell worshipped beauty with the
passion of a very hot and fervent little soul. She had scarcely noticed
Annie in the schoolroom, but now her heart went out to her with a great
throb.

"Who are you?" she said. "Where do you come from? What is your name?"

"Oh, I'm not a fairy, my good child!" said Annie. "I'm a poor, exhausted
girl, who thought she was performing a very heroic feat and finds
herself mistaken."

"Pray come in and take a seat," said Boris, who was always the soul of
gentlemanly politeness. He stood up as he spoke, tumbling his rabbits
and hares helter skelter in all directions, and tried to push back the
laurustinus hedge for Annie. She squeezed through, tearing her cotton
dress as she did so.

"Oh, dear, dear, your sweet dress is spoiled!" said Nell, in a tender
voice.

"Never mind," answered Annie; "one must lose something to attain to this
perfection."

"Won't you seat yourself?" said Boris.

He pointed to the grass, and Annie sat upon it with a sense of delight.

"How hot you are," said Nell. "What can we do for you? Would it soothe
you to stroke one of the rats? This darling, for instance. His name is
Crinklety."

Annie took the rat on her lap and looked at it reflectively.

"It's a darling," she said, "and so are the rabbits, and so are the
hares; but oh, I'm so hot and so thirsty! and oh, children, don't you
know what I've come about, and don't you know who I am?"

"No, I'm sure we don't," answered Boris. Nell stared solemnly; she did
not speak.

"Well," said Annie, "I see I must introduce myself. I am Annie Forest.
I'm Hester Thornton's friend, and I came here this morning with Hetty
and Nan, and we all started on a picnic, and when we came to Friar's
Wood, I found that you, Boris--you see I know your name--and you, Nell,
were left behind, and I could not stand it somehow; it seemed too cruel
and unfair, so I--I came back for you."

"How did you come?" asked Boris. "Did you drive back with Dobbin or
Jacko?"

"No; they will have plenty to do this evening, and why should I give
them double work, poor dears? No; I came back with these," she pushed
out her dainty, but very dusty, feet as she spoke.

"You mean that you _walked_?" said Nell. "You walked all that long way
just because of us two children that you knew nothing about. I didn't
believe it was true. I never believed anything so perfectly splendid
could be true out of a story book. Boris, do you hear? She walked from
Friar's Wood all by herself."

"Are you awfully dead beat?" asked Boris, standing in his sturdy
attitude in front of Annie and looking at her with immense attention.

"Yes; I never was hotter in my life, and I don't think I ever felt more
tired. It is such a blazing day."

"Then you don't want to walk back again?"

"Well, I suppose I must, only I think I'll rest a little bit first, and
perhaps one of you can bring me a glass of water. I consulted Kitty
about it, and Kitty said you could ride your brother's bicycle, Boris.
She only told me about Nell just when I was starting, but perhaps Nell
can get on the bicycle sometimes, too. I'm not quite sure how it can be
managed."

"You need not trouble about me," said Nell, "for I'm not going to the
picnic. I don't wish to."

"And I don't wish to either," said Boris; "there's nothing to go for
now, for dinner will be over. I always think the fun of a picnic is
washing the potatoes and lighting the bonfire, and they'll be all over
long ago."

"Well, then," said Annie, "I see that I have made myself a martyr in an
unnecessary cause. You bad children, you are not a bit unhappy at
staying at home, and I pictured you both such miserable little victims."

"Would you rather have seen us miserable?" asked Boris.

"Of course I'd much rather have seen you miserable, you little wretch.
How dare you look at me with those smiling, bright blue eyes? If I had
seen you and Nell pale and wretched, and a little bit withered up, I'd
have felt that my walk had been taken for a good purpose; but now----"

"Perhaps you think," said Nell, looking at Annie with great earnestness,
"that you did nothing when you took that walk and when you made the
story books come true. You did a great deal for me. We are Lorrimers,
Boris and I, and it isn't the fashion for a Lorrimer ever to fret when
things can't be helped. Boris would have liked to go to the picnic, and
I'd have liked it, too, if it had happened on another day, but as we
couldn't go, we meant to have a picnic at home. Will you stay with us
and help us to make up a jolly picnic at home?"

"Of course I will, only too gladly."

"Then, Boris," said Nell, "we had best fetch the food while the story
book lady is resting."

The children disappeared, and Annie lay back on the grass and laughed to
herself. She was absorbed as usual with the fascination of the moment,
and forgot all about Kitty, who would be carefully guarding her secret
far away in Friar's Wood.

The picnic, which was partaken of by Annie, Nell, and Boris on the tiny
lawn, surrounded by the laurustinus hedge, was a truly gay affair. The
white hares, the rabbits, the rats, joined the company of diners, and
Annie became her gayest and wildest self. When dinner was over, Boris
reluctantly took his pets back to the out-house where they were kept,
and then returned once more to the fascination of strawberries, cream,
and Annie Forest's society.

Meanwhile, in Friar's Wood, Kitty was keeping an eager look-out. It was
almost time for Annie to come back, and all the other members of the
party who did not know where she had gone were becoming anxious about
her. They would have been much more so but for Hester and Nan. But
Hester and Nan were both well accustomed to Annie's many vagaries.

"If it were anyone else, I should fret about her," said Hester,
answering Nora's eager inquiry for about the twentieth time. "She has
wandered away in the wood by herself and will come back when she
pleases, or perhaps she may have gone straight back to the Towers or to
the Grange. Annie is grown up now, and she can take care of herself.
There is no manner of use in fretting about her."

"If you only knew Annie at school!" exclaimed Nan. "Why there is quite a
proverb about Annie at school. Let me see, this is it: 'The only thing
to be expected of Annie Forest is the unexpected.' Now don't let's talk
of her any more. She is a dear old Annie; but why should she spoil this
lovely, perfect day, the first of my holidays? Guy, I wish you'd come
and sit next me. Let us get up a jolly game of hide and seek."

"No," said Guy, "It's too hot at present. We will presently, when the
sun gets a bit lower."

"Then tell me a story, there's a darling Guy."

Guy complied rather lazily. Nan moved a little apart with him, and the
two began an eager, whispered conversation. Molly and Hester once more
joined forces and resumed the interrupted talk of the morning. The
others wandered away in different directions, and Nora and Kitty found
themselves together. Nora felt rather discontented. She missed Annie
Forest, not because she particularly liked her just now, but because
Annie's conduct during their morning walk had rather piqued her. Nora
was quite sharp enough to read Kitty's secret in her troubled, demure,
watchful and impatient eyes. She thought it would be rather good fun to
bully Kitty a little.

"What are you staring through that long line of trees for?" she said.
"Come here, and out with it at once. You know you're bursting with a
secret. If you don't tell soon you'll explode, and there'll be nothing
left of you. Come here, I say, and out with it."

Nora thought it quite unnecessary to put on her society manners for
Kitty's benefit.

"Come here, Kit, at once, when I call you," she said, in a cross voice.

"I needn't come if I don't like," answered Kitty. "I'm not obliged to
obey you, so don't you think it."

"Highty tighty. Do you suppose I'm going to take impertinence from a
little chit like you? You know perfectly well where Annie Forest has
gone, and it is your duty to tell."

"I won't tell. There!"

"Ah!" laughed Nora, now thoroughly exasperated. "I guessed you had a
secret. I knew it when I saw you shutting up your lips so straightly,
and putting on that little demure expression whenever Annie's name was
mentioned. Now you have confessed it."

"I have confessed nothing," said Kitty in alarm.

"Yes, you have; you said you wouldn't tell. How could you say you
wouldn't tell if you had nothing to tell? I know mother is uneasy about
Annie, and I know Jane Macalister is uneasy, and you know where she is
and you dare to keep them in suspense. Come along to mother at once.
She'll soon get this secret out of you."

"I won't go, Nora--I won't. I'll climb up into this tree, where you
can't catch me. Here," continued Kitty, suiting the action to the word,
"you can't catch me up here; you can't. I won't go to mother--no, I
won't."

"You will if I make you," said Nora. "You think I can't climb."

"You wouldn't dare to climb!" exclaimed Kitty, shouting down from the
foliage of the tree into which she had hastily swung herself. "You'll
get your frock all torn, and Molly and Jane will be just mad. You
daren't climb, Nora--you daren't. You can't catch me Nora--you can't."

Nora had a quick temper, and Kitty's manner was most exasperating. Under
ordinary circumstances the ladylike Nora would have hated climbing
trees, but now all was forgotten in her fierce desire to lay hold of the
daring, exasperating little Kitty and to force her secret out of her.
How dared Annie Forest snub Nora and then confide in a baby like Kitty?

"Unless you come down this minute, I'll follow you into the tree and
drag you down," said Nora. "Now you know what I mean to do, so come down
this instant."

"Not I, not I," laughed Kitty. She had been rather frightened while Nora
was taunting her on the ground, but now she felt so secure that she
could afford to laugh, and even in her turn to use taunting words.

"I knew you were too much of a coward, fine, ladylike Miss Nora, to
climb up here," she said; "and I'm going to stay here just as long as I
please."

"Oh, are you?" said Nora. "There'll be two people to decide that point."
She was in a blind fury now, and, before Kitty could say another word,
began to swarm up the tree. She managed to catch the branch where Kitty
had planted herself, and in another instant would have caught hold of
the little girl's dress; but Kitty and Boris could both climb like
monkeys, and it did not take the little girl an instant to swing herself
on to a higher branch. Nora's mettle was now up. She was resolved that
Kitty should not conquer her. The spirit of defiance in Kitty made her
resolve to die rather than be taken.

"You shan't catch me--you shan't," screamed the child. "I'm lighter than
you. I'm going to creep on to the end of this bough; it will bear my
weight, but it won't bear yours, Nora. Don't attempt to get on it, Nora;
if you do the bough will break."

Kitty, as good as her word, crept on to a dead branch of the forest
beech tree; it was high above the ground and nearly bare of leaves. It
looked what it was, thoroughly rotten; but it bore Kitty's light weight
without strain. She reached almost the end, and turned her flushed,
laughing, defiant face towards Nora. Nora had reached the bough, but
hesitated a moment before trusting herself on it.

"Who said I was going to be caught?" exclaimed Kitty. "Hurrah! hurrah!
I'm safe enough."

"I will catch you!" exclaimed Nora. "You horrid, sneaking little cheat.
This bough looks firm enough. It will hold me as well as you; anyhow,
I'm going to try."

"Don't, don't!" screamed Kitty. She was really frightened now, for she
saw the danger from the position where she was sitting far more plainly
than Nora did. "Don't do it, Nora," she shrieked. "I'd rather come back
to you. I would really, really. You'll be killed--we'll both be killed
if you get upon this rotten bough. Oh, dear! oh, dear! Nora, are you
mad? Are you mad?"

Blind passion had made Nora almost mad. She did not believe Kitty's
words. The bare bough looked safe enough from her position. She
stretched out one cautious hand, then another, and propelled herself
slowly along. Her whole weight was now upon the bough. It was thoroughly
rotten and very brittle. Kitty gave a shriek of terror, and, with a wild
leap, managed to throw her arms over the bough just above. She was not a
minute too soon. The rotten branch cracked and broke with a loud report,
and poor Nora was hurled with great violence to the ground.




CHAPTER VIII.

ALONE IN THE WOOD.


There was a dizzy moment for Kitty when she seemed to hang between
heaven and earth, and everything swam in circles before her dazed eyes.
Then, with a supreme effort, she managed to clutch the bough, to which
she clung with a firmer grasp, and slowly but surely to drag herself up
into safety on its broad, firm stem.

"I'm coming, Nora. I'll be down in a minute," she shouted.

She crept along the bough, and soon, much scratched and covered with
moss and leaves, her dress torn, her face hotly flushed, she reached the
ground and rushed to Nora's side.

Poor Nora had fallen from a height of nearly twenty feet. Her fall had
been slightly broken by the rotten bough which had come to the ground
with her; but, notwithstanding this fact, she lay now on her back, faint
and sick and moaning, as if she were in great pain.

Poor Kitty's repentance was intense.

"Oh, Nora, Nora!" she sobbed, bending over her, "are you hurt badly?
Can't you get up? Oh, dear! oh, dear! you do look ill, and it's my fault
of course. Why did I have a secret? and why did I tease you? Oh, Nora!"
she added, terror in her tone as she noticed the increasing whiteness of
Nora's pretty face, "are you in dreadful, shocking pain?"

"I feel sick," said Nora, "and--and faint. Can't you fetch some water.
Oh, everything seems miles away. What shall I do?"

"I'll go for mother," said Kitty. "Lie very still, Nonie, darling; you
have got an awful shake from that fall, but you'll be all right
soon--I'm sure you will; and, oh, here's some water in one of the picnic
bottles."

Kitty sprang towards this welcome sight, wetted a handkerchief with part
of the contents and put it on Nora's forehead, and then gave her a
little to drink.

The cold refreshing water revived the poor girl; but when she attempted
to sit up, she fell back groaning and very faint once more.

"You _must_ let me fetch mother," said Kitty. "I won't be a minute. I'll
go as if I were a bird. I'll be back in no time, really."

"No; I can't be left alone," said Nora. "It--it's awful. The pain in my
back gets worse and worse. Kitty, don't leave me. Kitty, I'm frightened.
I'm sorry I was so cross to you."

"And I'm sorry I aggravated you," said Kitty; "but, oh, dear! what's the
use of being sorry? That won't mend your poor back. I wish you'd let me
get mother."

"No, no; you mustn't leave me."

Nora tried to stretch out one of her hands, but the pain of the least
movement was extreme, and she was forced to lie absolutely still, while
Kitty wetted her lips at intervals with a few drops of the precious
water left in the bottle.

Nora was in too great pain to care anything about the loneliness of
their position. She was in too great suffering even to be keenly sorry
for her own wrongdoing. The one only desire she had was to keep Kitty by
her side. But poor Kitty's little heart was full of absolute terror. She
had never seen anyone look so ill as Nora. Her face was white; her lips
were blue; she was evidently in severe pain; but, with the pain, there
was a strange faintness, which Kitty had never encountered before in the
whole course of her ten sturdy years.

Many and many a fall had both Kitty and Boris had in the wild
expeditions and daring feats which they performed in each other's
company. Kitty knew of the fall which stings; of the fall which shakes
you all over, which raises a great bump and causes great soreness of the
injured part; she knew of the fall which scratches and even renders you
giddy; but she had never before seen the effects of such a serious fall
as poor Nora's.

Friar's Wood was a very lonely place, and when, in utter exhaustion and
pain, Nora closed her eyes, poor Kitty felt almost as if she were
sitting alone in this great solitude with a person who was dead.

Oh, suppose pretty Nora was dead. Pretty Nora, who had been so mocking
and full of life only ten minutes ago. If this were the case, to her
dying day Kitty would feel that she had killed her by tempting her on to
a rotten bough. It was terrible, terrible to be here alone with Nora,
who might be going to die. Why could not she slip away and fetch someone
to her aid?

Nora had clutched a very tight hold of Kitty's hand when first the
little girl had proposed to fetch her mother, but now, in the kind of
torpor of pain into which she had sunk, she relaxed the firm grip, and
Kitty found that by a very gentle movement she could release her hand
altogether.

She did so, and rose slowly to her feet.

Nora felt the movement and spoke.

"Kitty."

"Yes."

"You're not going away?"

"I'm only looking to see if there's anyone coming."

"Well, don't go away."

Nora's voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and Kitty's terrors and her
certain fears that Nora was about to die became greater than ever.

She looked all around her, to right and left, before and behind.

No one was in sight. Not even the voice of a living creature broke the
stillness. The birds were silent, the creatures of the wood seemed to be
all asleep, the other members of the picnic had evidently wandered far
afield; but, hark, what sound was that? Oh, joy! Who was this coming
swiftly through the trees? Kitty's heart gave a bound of rapture, and
then, forgetting all Nora's injunctions to keep by her side, she flew
with lightning speed towards the figure of a horseman who was riding
through the wood.

The man on horseback was Squire Lorrimer himself.

He had promised to join the children in time for dinner, but had not
turned up. It was not his custom, however, on any occasion to disappoint
his young people, and although late in the day he was now hastening to
the scene of revelry.

Kitty's frantic speed in his direction by no means surprised him.

"Well, little woman," he said, pulling up the mare as he spoke. "Shall I
give you a mount on Black Bessy's back? and where are all the others? I
expected quite a swarm of you to rush forth. Where is Molly, and where
is Nora, and where is the beautiful Annie Forest, whom everybody seems
to rave about, and mother and Jane Macalister? Are they all hiding and
ready to rush out upon me with wild whoops?"

Kitty panted visibly before she replied.

"No, father, it isn't that," she said. "I and Nora are alone, I--get
down please, father, won't you?"

"Why, what's the matter with you child?" The Squire hastily dismounted.
"Are you hurt, Kit? What a red, excited face."

"No, 'tisn't me, it's Nora. She fell; I think she'll die. It was my
fault. The beech tree had a rotten bough, and I crept out on it, as I
didn't wish to be caught; and Nora followed me, and the bough broke, and
she's lying on her back now and she can't move, and I think she'll die,
and they're all away--I don't know where--somewhere else in the wood,
and I think she's going to die, and it's my fault."

"There, Kitty, keep your pecker up," said the Squire. "I'm glad I came
round this way; it was a lucky chance. Wait a minute until I tie Black
Bess to this tree. Where is Nora?"

"Over there, lying on that knoll of grass. I think she'll die."

"Tut, tut, monkey, what do you know about people dying? Give me your
hand, and bring me to her."

Oh, the comfort to Kitty of that firm, cool, strong hand of
father's--oh, the support of looking into his face. A burden as of black
night was lifted from her. She ran in eager accompaniment to his great
strides. He was bending over Nora in a minute.

"Now, my poor little maid, what is this?" he asked, dropping on one knee
and trying to put his hand under her head as he spoke.

Nora opened her pretty, dark eyes.

"Oh, father, is it you? I'm glad," she said in a faint voice. "I've been
naughty, father; I--I'm sorry."

"Well, you can't be more than sorry, can you, Nonie? Don't bother about
anything now, but just tell me where you are hurt."

"Oh, it's my back. Oh, don't touch me; it's dreadful!"

Squire Lorrimer's face looked very grave.

"Where did she fall from, Kitty?" he asked.

Kitty pointed to the gash made in the beech-tree by the broken bough.

"Over twenty feet," murmured the Squire to himself. "God help my poor
little girl!"

"Look here, Kitty," he said aloud, "Nora is in a good deal of pain; but
I hope we'll soon have her easier. We must try and get her home somehow,
and it would be a good thing if your mother were here; you had better
fetch her. Don't frighten her, Kit, for Nora may not be badly hurt after
all; but bring her here as quickly as you can, and Guy, too, and Molly;
they are both strong, and have their wits about them. We must contrive a
litter of some sort. Now, be quick and find the folks."

"Yes," replied Kitty, who was almost happy again under the influence of
her father's encouraging words.

She was soon out of sight, and in less than half an hour Mrs. Lorrimer,
Jane Macalister, and every other member of the picnic party, were
gathered round the prostrate figure of little Nora.

She was more conscious now, and looked eagerly for one face, the solace
of all sick children.

"Let Mummie hold my hand," she said.

Mrs. Lorrimer took it, bent down, and kissed her; Nora smiled as if a
load had been lifted from her heart.

A rough litter was presently constructed, and with great difficulty the
poor child was lifted into it. The pain of even this slight move,
however, caused her to faint completely away.

It was at this juncture that Hester Thornton came forward with a
suggestion.

"The Grange is nearly three miles nearer than the Towers," she said;
"had not we better bring her there? And had not Guy better ride off at
once to Nortonbury for the doctor?"

"That is a good idea," said Mr. Lorrimer. "Guy, mount on Black Bess's
back and off with you. Bring Dr. Jervis back with you to the Grange if
you can."

The merry little picnic party looked dismal enough as they slowly, and
almost in funereal fashion, left the scene of festivity. The strongest
of the party had to take turns to carry poor Nora's litter, for she
could not endure any less easy movement.

Nan came up to Hester and took her hand.

"I don't know what the meaning of all this is," she said; "but, somehow
or other, I think Annie must be at the bottom of it."

"Where is Annie?" queried Hester. "How completely she seems to have lost
herself. Oh, how miserable poor little Kitty looks. Come here, Kitty,
dear, and tell me all about the accident."

"I cannot," said Kitty. "Don't ask me; it's part of the secret."

"I knew Annie Forest was at the bottom of it," murmured Nan. "Oh, what a
horrid, horrid, dreadful ending to the first of my holidays!"




CHAPTER IX.

"I BROKE MY WORD," SAID ANNIE.


In utter ignorance of the tragic events which were happening in Friar's
Wood, Annie Forest and her two little companions were having a gay time
at the Towers. Annie's old passion for children had not deserted her.
She was often heard to say that she was happier with a frank, original
child than she was with most grown people. Boris was certainly frank;
Nell was certainly original. Annie's beauty and brightness had won
Boris's heart from the moment of her arrival; Nell's affections went out
to her also, but for a different reason. Nell lived in a world of
romance, and Annie's conduct in giving up her own pleasure had seemed to
Nell to fit in with her fairy tales and other story-books. The three
were, therefore, supremely happy during that long afternoon. The picnic
behind the laurustinus hedge being quite a thing of the past, they
proceeded to explore the tower, the old ruined chapel, where services
used to be held morning and night more than three hundred years ago, the
dungeon under the chapel, and all the other places of historic interest.
Then the children's gardens were visited; and, finally, Annie was
persuaded to seat herself in the swing and be sent up into space as high
as Boris's and Nell's united efforts could accomplish. In their turn
they were swung by Annie; and then followed tea in the play-room, where
Nell presided, sitting solemnly in front of the dolls' tea-service and
helping Annie and Boris and herself to unlimited weak tea, with heaps of
cream.

The heat of the day was over at last, a perfect summer's evening had set
in.

"When are they all likely to be back?" asked Annie.

"Not until night, dark night," said Boris with a little sigh.

"What are you sighing for?" asked Annie. "You look quite sad, and I
don't like you sad; I like you with your eyes smiling and your face
puckered up with laughter. Nell looks pale and sad, too. What is it
Nell? what is it Boris?"

"I'd like to be at the picnic now," said Boris, "I didn't mind it in the
daytime when it was so hot; but now they're lighting another bonfire
and they're going to have tea, and after tea Guy will tell stories."

"All about bogies," struck up Nell; "yes, I wish I were there."

Annie looked at them both reflectively. She never cared to be with
children unless she could succeed in making them almost boisterously
happy.

"But it doesn't matter a bit," said Nell, seeing the shadow cross her
face; "I shouldn't be very happy in any case to-night."

"Why?" said Annie.

"I'd rather not say, please. You have been good to us; you have helped
us to have a beautiful day; we are grateful to you, aren't we, Boris?"

"We love her," said Boris.

"You are two darlings," said Annie. "Well, now, suppose we have a bit of
fun on our own account. How far is it from here to the Grange?"

"By the road, three miles," said Boris; "but across the fields, only a
mile and a half."

"We'll go to the Grange across the fields," said Annie. "I heard Hester
say this morning that she was going to try and induce you all to come
back to the Grange to supper, so we three will join the rest of the
party at supper, and if we start at once well be ready to welcome them
when they arrive."

"What a spiffin' plan," said Boris; "do let's start at once."

Nell clapped her hands.

"Now I've made you happy again, that's all right," said Annie. She took
a hand of each child, and they started on their pleasant walk. Boris was
very messy and untidy, his face was stained with fruit and his hands
were dirty. Nell's blue cotton frock was also considerably out at the
gathers round the waist, but the children did not give a thought to
their clothes or personal appearance in the sudden rapture with which
they hailed Annie's suggestion.

The walk across the fields in the sweet freshness of the summer's
evening was all that was delightful, and in an incredibly short space of
time, the three found themselves at the other side of the turnstile
which led into the grounds of the Grange.

"We'll be there long before the others," said Boris. "Suppose we light a
great bonfire on the lawn to welcome them." But even wild Annie did not
see the propriety of this suggestion.

"No, we won't do that," she said. "If the Grange were our own place we
would. We'll just go and sit on the terrace and watch for them."

"Won't Kitty jump when she sees us?" said Boris, a look of satisfaction
radiating all over his face. "She'll see that we have had our lark as
well as the rest of them; oh, I call it real spiffin' fine."

They were walking rapidly through the shrubbery now, and as Boris
finished his speech they came out on the broad sweep in front of the
house.

Just before the entrance a brougham was standing, and instead of
solitude they found themselves surrounded by familiar figures.

Kitty was the first to observe them. She gave a stifled sort of scream,
and pushing aside Boris, who was prepared to rush into her arms, came up
to Annie, took one of her hands, and looked into her face.

"I kept the secret true as true," she said; "but it almost killed me,
and it has nearly quite killed Nora." Her poor little voice broke with
these last words, and she burst into the frantic sobs which she had
bravely kept back until now.

"What in the world is the matter?" said Annie, kneeling down and putting
her arm round the excited child.

"Why, that's Dr. Jervis's carriage," shouted Boris. "What can be up?"

"Why are you back so early from the picnic?" asked Nell.

But Kitty sobbed on unable to reply.

She felt the comfort of Annie's arms round her, and presently she laid
her hot, flushed, little face on Annie's neck and wetted her frill with
her plentiful tears, but no information could be got at present from
poor Kitty's lips.

"There's Molly, and there's Hester," exclaimed Boris, "they'll tell us;
oh, and there's Nan, too. Hullo Nan, come here and tell us what the
rumpus is about."

Nan rushed up excitedly.

"Nora is nearly killed," she said; "she fell from a tree over twenty
feet from the ground, and her back is hurt awfully, and Hester said
she'd better come here, and she's lying in the library and Dr. Jervis is
there. I haven't the faintest idea how it happened," continued Nan;
"only it seems to be your fault, Annie; it seems to have something to do
with you and a secret, only Kitty won't tell."

Kitty ceased to cry; she raised her face and looked at Annie. Annie
struggled to her feet.

She was about to reply to Nan when Hester came up and spoke to her.

"Oh, Annie," she said, "where have you been all day? We have been
dreadfully anxious about you; and poor Nora has been hurt, and Kitty
seems in trouble of some sort, and says that she won't tell her secret.
What can it all mean?"

"Well, really!" said Annie. She paused a minute; the rich colour mantled
her cheeks; her bright eyes seemed to flash fire.

"I'm awfully sorry about Nora," she said; "but I fail to see how I am to
blame. From your manner, Nan, and yours, Hester, I seem to be accused of
something. What is it, pray?"

"Oh, it's nothing, indeed," said Molly, who had come up now and joined
Hester. "What does it matter, Hetty, when we are all so awfully
wretched? Poor Annie did not mean anything. Do let her alone!"

"I did not mean anything?" echoed Annie. "I'm afraid I can't allow
myself to be let alone. I must find out what I'm accused of. Kitty, you
say you kept my secret safely. Speak now and tell everybody."

"I can't stay to listen," said Molly, turning away; "it's too--too
trivial!"

Hester and Nan, however, still stood facing Annie, and the boys, Guy and
Harry, also came and joined the group.

"Speak, Kitty," said Annie.

"You were kind," said Kitty; "it's wicked to say you weren't kind. You
found out that Boris hadn't come to the picnic, and you said you'd go
back for him; you'd walk back all in the heat, and you didn't mind the
bull, nor the bull-dog, nor--nor--anything; and you said I wasn't to
tell, and 'twould be a surprise when you came back with Boris and,
perhaps, Nell, too--and I promised. Then we had dinner, and you weren't
there, and everybody asked for you and everybody wondered where you
could be; but Hester said you were a sort of 'centric girl, and that you
was grown up and we needn't fret; and Nan said you was nothing if you
wasn't unexpected; so nobody fretted, and I kept my secret locked up
tight. But Nora wanted you more than the others, and she saw my lips
shut tight and my eyes watching for you through the trees, and she
guessed I had a secret; and I said I had, but I wouldn't tell; and she
said she'd take me to mother, and that mother would make me tell, and so
I climbed up into the beech-tree to get away from her; and I was naughty
and cross, and she was naughty and cross, too, and she followed me up
into the beech-tree, and I got out upon a rotten bough, where I thought
she'd be sure not to come; but she did come, cause I was real naughty
and I taunted her; and the bough broke and she fell, but I didn't fall
'cause I caught on to a bough higher up. It's been dreadful ever since,"
continued Kitty, pressing her hands tightly together. "Worse than when I
forgot to give water to Harry's canary and it died, and worse than when
I pulled up all Guy's canariensis in mistake for weeds; its been awful,
but I did keep the secret."

"Is that all?" said Annie.

"Yes, that's all," replied Kitty. "I did keep the secret."

"I understand," said Annie. "I should have come back, of course. I did
not remember that I might get you into trouble, Kitty; it did not occur
to me that you were the plucky sort of child you are."

"Plucky?" echoed Guy with some scorn. "I don't call it plucky to be
just decently _honourable_. We don't tell lies. Kitty would have told a
lie if she had broken her word."

"And I promised to come back, and I broke my word," said Annie. "Yes, I
fully understand; it's just like me."

She turned away as she spoke, and, plunging into the shrubbery, was lost
to view.

"Leave her alone, children," said Hester to the astonished children, who
were preparing to follow her. "I knew it would cut her to the heart, but
it can't be helped. She'll be all right by-and-by, but she can't stand
any of you now; you must leave her alone."

Boris came up to Kitty, put his arms round her neck, and kissed her. His
kiss was of the deepest consolation to her; she walked away with him
slowly, and Nell took Hester's hand. Nell's face was like a little white
sheet; she was trembling in her agitation.

"Oh, what is the matter?" she gasped. "Is Nonie awfully hurt? Is it
dangerous? Oh, Hetty, it's worse than the colts! Oh, I felt bad this
morning, but it was nothing to this--nothing! May I stay with you for
the present, Hetty?"

"Yes, darling," said Hester in her kindest voice. "Come into the house
with me. We are all very anxious until we get the doctor's opinion. Your
father and mother are both with Nora; and Dr. Jervis is there and Jane.
Everything is being done that can be done, and we know nothing at
present. Come, Nell, we must be brave--and here is Molly; she is just as
anxious as you."

Nell looked at Molly, who was standing in the porch; she flew to her
eldest sister's side, clasped her arms round her neck, and shed a few
of those silent, rare tears which only came to her now and then, for
Nell was no ordinary child, and rarely showed her deepest feelings.

"I don't know how I'm to live through this suspense," said poor Molly.

But even as she spoke it came to an end.

Mr. Lorrimer came out of the study, closing the door softly behind him.
He strode quickly through the hall, and entered the porch where the
three girls were standing. Molly stepped forward quickly and seized his
arm.

"Well?" she asked.

He gave her a quick look; his face was very pale, and a sudden
contraction of pain flitted across his brow.

"Well, my loves," he said, "we must all try to be as cheerful as we can
and not break down; there isn't a bit of use in breaking down."

"But how is she, father?" asked Molly. "What does Dr. Jervis say?"

"He says, Molly, that poor Nora is very seriously hurt; but it is
impossible to form a reliable opinion on her case so soon. He wishes us
to get Dr. Bentinck from London to see her, and I am going to drive to
Nortonbury to telegraph to him to come at once. Now, don't keep me, my
dears. By the way, Molly, mother says you had better take the children
home as soon as ever you can."

"Oh, may I not stay?" asked Molly.

"No, my dear, I think not; there must be some head at home. Jane
Macalister will stay and help your mother to-night until we can get the
services of a proper nurse. Take the children back as soon as you can,
Molly. God bless you, my love."

The Squire stepped into the doctor's brougham and was driven rapidly
away. Molly raised her hand to her forehead.

"I feel stunned," she said. "Nora was the gayest and the brightest and
the prettiest of us all. Nothing ever seemed to happen to Nora, and now
she is so ill that I may not even see her."

"She will be better to-morrow, I am sure," said Hester.

"Oh, Hetty, if I could only stay here," cried poor Molly.

"I wish you could, Molly, with all my heart."

"We'll know nothing of how she's getting on at the Towers," continued
Molly. "I think it will drive me mad not to know."

"I'll come over very early in the morning and tell you, and perhaps
something may be arranged to-morrow so that you can stay here."

"I might stay instead of Jane. I know I could help mother far better
than Jane can. But there, I suppose I must have patience. Come, Nell."




CHAPTER X.

AN AWFULLY FRIVOLOUS GIRL.


Dr. Bentinck, the great London surgeon, arrived early on the following
morning. Poor Nora was quite conscious now, and in great pain. This
pain, however, was considered rather a good sign than otherwise, for had
the spine been much injured the little girl would have been numbed and
stupid. Dr. Bentinck examined his little patient with great tenderness
and care. His opinion, when it was given, was a great deal more
favourable than anyone dared to hope. He thought that Nora would
eventually be as well as ever again; but although he was sure that there
was no permanent injury to the spine, there was a great deal of present
distress and discomfort to be got through. The little girl must lie
perfectly still on her back for many weeks, and it would be many a long
day before the dancing, romping Nora of old would return to the Towers.

After the night of suspense and terror, however, which poor Mrs.
Lorrimer, by Nora's bedside, and Molly in her lonely little bedroom at
the Towers, had undergone, the great London doctor's news seemed all
that was delightful. Hester hurried to the Towers to put Molly's anxious
heart at rest, and Mrs. Lorrimer returned to the room where Nora was
lying very white and still.

Nora had received a shock the day before which must influence her during
all the remainder of her days. It seemed to shake all her little
artificial affected nature off and to reveal the real Nora, who was
frightened and weak and silly, and yet who had somewhere beneath her
frivolous exterior a real little heart of gold. If there was one person
whom Nora really adored, and in whose presence she was ever her truest
and best, it was her mother. She looked at her mother now as she
re-entered the room.

"Stoop down and tell me," she said in a whisper.

Mrs. Lorrimer bent over her.

"Yes, my love," she said. "What do you want to know?"

"Am I going to die, mother?"

"Die? not a bit of it, my darling. Dr. Bentinck has given us quite a
cheerful opinion of you. He says there is no very serious injury, and
that you will be your usual self by-and-by."

Nora's eyes brightened.

"I am very glad," she said. "I didn't want to die. I don't think I'm
quite fit."

"My little daughter will have learnt a severe lesson by this accident,"
said Mrs. Lorrimer; "but now you must lie still, love, and think of
nothing but how quickly you can get well again."

Nora closed her eyes, and Mrs. Lorrimer sat down in an easy chair by the
bedside.

The next day the little girl was considerably better, and Mrs. Lorrimer
proposed that she and Jane should return to the Towers and send Molly to
look after Nora. A good surgical nurse had arrived from town the evening
before; Molly's services, therefore, would only be of the lightest.

Mrs. Lorrimer went into the morning room, where Hester and Annie were
sitting together.

The moment she did so Annie jumped up and came to her.

"How is Nora?" she asked.

"She is much better, my dear; in fact, almost quite like her old self
to-day. She cannot, of course, move without the greatest pain, but when
she lies perfectly still she is tolerably easy."

"Then I may go to see her, may I not?" asked Annie.

"If you will promise to be very quiet. It would not do to excite her in
any way."

"There never was such a good nurse as Annie," exclaimed Hester. "She has
a soothing influence over sick people which is quite marvellous. Did I
ever tell you how she saved Nan's life years ago at Lavender House?"

"Oh, that's an old story," said Annie, laughing and reddening. "Well,
granted that I possess a sort of mesmerism, may I use it for Nora's
benefit?"

"Certainly, my love," said Mrs. Lorrimer, smiling affectionately at
Annie's bright face.

She ran off, singing as she went.

Nora was lying perfectly flat on the little bed which had been hastily
improvised for her in the study. The room was now turned into a
comfortable bedroom, but was also in part a sitting-room. A large screen
effectually shut away the bedroom part of the furniture and partly
screened Nora also.

Annie had not gone straight to the sick room. She had rushed first into
the conservatory and made frantic mad havoc amongst the roses there. The
choicest blooms, any quantity of unopened buds, were cut by her reckless
fingers. She gathered a whole quantity of maidenhair to mix with the
roses, and then, a tender colour on her own cheeks, her dark eyes bright
as well as soft, she appeared like a radiant vision before the tired,
sad eyes of the sick child.

Nora was just well enough to feel the monotony of her present position,
to think longingly of the life of active movement which was hers at the
Towers. Even lessons in the old schoolroom, even that hateful darning
and mending to which she had to devote a portion of her time each day,
seemed delightful in contrast to her present inertia. She was thinking
of Friar's Wood and of Annie's bright face just when Annie herself,
looking like a bit of the summer morning, appeared in view.

"Now, don't get excited," said Annie smiling at her. "You'll see such a
lot of me during the next few weeks that you need not get into a state
just because I've come into the room. I fe