GIRLS OF THE FOREST

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GUARANTEE

The story in this book is complete as writtenand published by the Author

MACLELLAN ·N·Y· COMPANY

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GIRLS OF THE FOREST

L. T. MEADE

AUTHOR OF ALWYN'S FRIENDS, BEYOND THE BLUE MOUNTAINS, GOOD LUCK, PLAYMATES, PRETTY GIRL AND THE OTHERS, THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL, ETC. 

AKRON, OHIOMACLELLAN ·N·Y· COMPANYPUBLISHERS

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BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY

L. T. Meade (Mrs. Elizabeth Thomasina Smith), English novelist, was bornat Bandon, County Cork, Ireland, 1854, the daughter of Rev. R. T. Meade, rector at Novohal, County Cork, and married Toulmin Smith in 1879. Shewrote her first book, _Lettie's Last Home_, at the age of 17, and sincethen has been an unusually prolific writer, her stories attaining widepopularity on both sides of the Atlantic. 

She worked in the British Museum, lived in Bishopsgate Without, makingspecial studies of East London life, which she incorporated in herstories. She edited the _Atlanta_, a magazine, for six years. Herpictures of girls, especially in the influence they exert on theirelders, are drawn with intuitive fidelity, pathos, love, and humor, as in_Girls of the Forest_, flowing easily from her pen. She has traveledextensively, and is devoted to motoring and other outdoor sports. 

Among more than fifty novels she has written, dealing largely withquestions of home life, are: _A Knight of To-day_ (1877), _Bel-Marjory_(1878), _Mou-setse: a Negro Hero_ (1880), _Mother Herring's Chickens_(1881), _A London Baby: The Story of King Roy_ (1883), _Two Sisters_(1884), _The Angel of Life_ (1885), _A World of Girls_ (1886), _SweetNancy_ (1887), _Nobody's Neighbors_ (1887), _Deb and The Duchess_ (1888), _Girls of the Forest_ (1908), _Aylwyn's Friends_ (1909), _Pretty Girl andthe Others_ (1910). 

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GIRLS OF THE FOREST. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE GUEST WHO WAS NEITHER OLD NOR YOUNG. 

It was a beautiful summer's afternoon, and the girls were seated in acircle on the lawn in front of the house. The house was an oldElizabethan mansion, which had been added to from time to time--freshadditions jutting out here and running up there. There were all sorts ofunexpected nooks and corners to be found in the old house--a flight ofstairs just where you did not look for any, and a baize door shuttingaway the world at the moment when you expected to behold a long vistainto space. The house itself was most charming and inviting-looking; butit was also, beyond doubt, much neglected. The doors were nearlydestitute of paint, and the papers on many of the walls had completelylost their original patterns. In many instances there were no papers, only discolored walls, which at one time had been gay with paint andrendered beautiful with pictures. The windows were destitute of curtains;the carpets on the floors were reduced to holes and patches. The oldpictures in the picture gallery still remained, however, and looked downon the young girls who flitted about there on rainy days with kindly, orsearching, or malevolent eyes as suited the characters of those men andwomen who were portrayed in them. 

But this was the heart of summer, and there was no need to go into themusty, fusty old house. The girls sat on the grass and held consultation. 

"She is certainly coming to-morrow, " said Verena. "Father had a letterthis morning. I heard him giving directions to old John to have the trappatched up and the harness mended. And John is going to Lyndhurst Road tomeet her. She will arrive just about this time. Isn't it too awful?"

"Never mind, Renny, " said her second sister; "the sooner she comes, thesooner she'll go. Briar and Patty and I have put our heads together, andwe mean to let her see what we think of her and her interfering ways. Theidea of Aunt Sophia interfering between father and us! Now, I should liketo know who is likely to understand the education of a girl if her ownfather does not. "

"It is all because the Step has gone, " continued Verena. "She told uswhen she was leaving that she meant to write to Aunt Sophia. She wasdreadfully cross at having to go, and the one mean thing she ever did inall her life was to make the remark she did. She said it was very littleshort of disgraceful to have ten girls running about the New Forest attheir own sweet will, without any one to guide them. "

"Oh, what a nuisance the Step is!" said Rose, whose pet name was Briar. "Shouldn't I like to scratch her! Dear old Paddy! of course he knows howto manage us. Oh, here he comes--the angel! Let's plant him down in ourmidst. Daisy, put that little stool in the middle of the circle; thePadre shall sit there, and we'll consult as to the advent of preciousAunt Sophia. "

Patty, Briar, and Verena now jumped to their feet and ran in thedirection where an elderly gentleman, with a stoop, gray hair hangingover his shoulders, and a large pair of tortoise-shell spectacles on hisnose, was walking. 

"Paddy, Paddy! you have got to come here at once, " called out Briar. 

Meanwhile Verena took one of his arms, Patty clasped the other, Briardanced in front, and so they conducted him into the middle of the group. 

"Here's your stool, Paddy, " cried Briar. "Down you squat. Now then, squatty-_vous_. "

Mr. Dale took off his spectacles, wiped them and gazed around him inbewilderment. 

"I was construing a line of Virgil, " he said. "You have interrupted me, my dears. Whatever is the matter?"

"We have brought the culprit to justice, " exclaimed Pauline. "Paddy, forget the classics for the time being. Think, just for a few moments, ofyour neglected--your shamefully neglected--daughters. Ten of them, Paddy, all running wild in the Forest glades. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?Don't you feel that your moment of punishment has come? Aunt Sophiaarrives to-morrow. Now, what have you got to say for yourself?"

"But, my dear children, we can't have your Aunt Sophia here. I could notdream of it. I remember quite well she came here once a long time ago. Ihave not got over it yet. I haven't really. "

"But she is coming, Paddy, and you know it quite well, for you got theletter. How long do you think you can put up with her?"

"Only for a very short time, Pauline; I assure you, my darling, she isnot--not a pleasant person. "

"Describe her, Paddy--do, " said Verena. 

She spoke in her very gentlest tone, and held out one of her long whitehands and allowed her father to clasp it. Verena was decidedly thebest-looking of the eight girls sitting on the grass. She was tall; hercomplexion was fair; her figure was naturally so good that no amount ofuntidy dressing could make it look awkward. Her hair was golden and soft. It was less trouble to wind it up in a thick rope and hairpin it at theback of her head than to let it run wild; therefore she was not evenuntidy. Verena was greatly respected by her sisters, and Briar was ratherafraid of her. All the others sat silent now when she asked the old Padreto describe Aunt Sophia. 

"My dear, " he answered, "I have not the slightest idea what herappearance is like. My memory of her is that she was fashionable and veryconventional. "

"What on earth is 'conventional'?" whispered Pat. 

"Don't interrupt, Patty, " said Verena, squeezing her father's hand. "Goon, Paddy; go on, darling of my heart. Tell us some more. Aunt Sophia isfashionable and conventional. We can look out the words in the dictionaryafterwards. But you must know what she is like to look at. "

"I don't, my dears; I cannot remember. It was a good many years ago whenshe came to visit us. "

"He must be prodded, " said Briar, turning to Renny. "Look at him; he isgoing to sleep. "

"Excuse me, girls, " said the Squire, half-rising, and then sitting downagain as Verena's young hand pushed him into his seat. "I have just madea most interesting discovery with regard to Virgil--namely, that----"

"Oh, father! we don't want to know about it, " said Briar. "Now, then, Renny, begin. "

"Her appearance--her appearance!" said Verena gently. 

"Whose appearance, dear?"

"Why, Aunt Sophia's; the lady who is coming to-morrow. "

"Oh, dear!" said Mr. Dale; "but she must not come. This cannot bepermitted; I cannot endure it. "

"Paddy, you have given John directions to fetch her. Now, then, what isshe like?"

"I don't know, children. I haven't the slightest idea. "

"Prod, Renny! Prod!"

"Padre, " said Verena, "is she old or young?"

"Old, I think; perhaps neither. "

"Write it down, Briar. She is neither old nor young. Paddy, is she darkor fair?"

"I really can't remember, dear. A most unpleasant person. "

"Put down that she is--not over-beautiful, " said Verena. "Paddy, must weput on our best dresses when she comes--our Sunday go-to-meeting frocks, you know?"

"Children, wear anything on earth you like, but in Heaven's name let mego away now! Only to think that she will be here to-morrow! Why did MissStapleton leave us? It is really too terrible. "

"She left, " said Briar, her eyes twinkling, "because we would call herStep, which means step-mother. She was so dreadfully, dreadfully afraidthat you might find it out. "

"Oh, children, how incorrigible you are! The poor woman! I'd sooner havemarried---- I--I never mean to marry anybody. "

"Of course you don't, Padre. And you may go now, darling, " said Verena. "Go, and be happy, feeling that your daughters will look after you. Youare not lonely, are you, darling, with so many of us? Now go and be veryhappy. "

Eight pairs of lips blew kisses to the departing figure. Mr. Daleshambled off, and disappeared through the open window into his study. 

"Poor dear!" said Verena, "he has forgotten our existence already. Heonly lives when he thinks of Virgil. Most of his time he sleeps, poorangel! It certainly is our bounden duty to keep him away from AuntSophia. What a terror she must be! Fancy the situation. Eight nieces allin a state of insurrection, and two more nieces in the nursery ready toinsurrect in their turn!"

"Something must be done, " interrupted Pauline. "Nurse is the woman tohelp us. Forewarned is forearmed. Nurse must put us up to a wrinkle ortwo. "

"Then let's go to her at once, " said Verena. 

They all started up, and, Verena leading the way, they went through thelittle paddock to the left of the house, and so into a yard, veryold-fashioned and covered with weeds and cobble-stones. There weretumble-down stables and coach-houses, hen-houses, and buildings, usefuland otherwise, surrounding the yard; and now in the coach-house, whichfor many years had sheltered no carriage of any sort, sat nurse busy atwork, with two little children playing at her feet. 

"Don't mind the babies at present, " said Verena. "Don't snatch them upand kiss them, Briar. Patty, keep your hands off. Nurse, we have come. "

"So I see, Miss Verena, " said nurse. 

She lifted her very much wrinkled old face and looked out of deep-set, black eyes full at the young girl. 

"What is it, my darling child?"

"How are we to bear it? Shall we fall on our knees and get round you in alittle circle? We must talk to you. You must advise us. "

"Eh, dears!" said nurse. "I am nearly past that sort of thing. I'm not asyoung as I wor, and master and me we're both getting old. It doesn't seemto me to matter much now whether a body's pretty or not, or whether youdress beautiful, or whether a thing is made to look pretty or otherwise. We're all food for worms, dears, all of us, and where's the use offashing?"

"How horrid of you, nurse!" said Verena. "We have got beautiful bodies, and our souls ought to be more beautiful still. What about theresurrection of the body, you dreadful old nurse?"

"Oh, never mind me, dears; it was only a sort of dream I were dreaming ofthe funeral of your poor dear mother, who died when this dear lamb wasborn. "

Here nurse patted the fat arm of the youngest hope of the house of Dale, little Marjorie, who looked round at her with rosy face and big blueeyes. Marjorie was between three and four years old, and was a verybeautiful little child. Verena, unable to restrain herself any longer, bent down and encircled Marjorie with her strong young arms and claspedher in an ecstatic embrace. 

"There, now, " she said; "I am better. I forbid all the rest of you girlsto touch Marjorie. Penelope, I'll kiss you later. "

Penelope was seven years old--a dark child with a round face--not apretty child, but one full of wisdom and audacity. 

"Whatever we do, " Verena had said on several occasions, "we must not letPenelope out of the nursery until she is quite eight years old. She is somuch the cleverest of us that she'd simply turn us all round her littlefinger. She must stay with nurse as long as possible. "

"I know what you are talking about, " said Penelope. "It's about her, andshe's coming to-morrow. I told nurse, and she said she oughtn't never tocome. "

"No, that she oughtn't, " said nurse. "The child is alluding to MissTredgold. She haven't no call here, and I don't know why she is coming. "

"Look here, nurse, " said Verena; "she is coming, and nothing in the worldwill prevent her doing so. The thing we have to consider is this: howsoon will she go?"

"She'll go, I take it, " said nurse, "as soon as ever she finds out sheain't wanted. "

"And how are we to tell her that?" said Verena. "Now, do put on yourconsidering-cap at once, you wise old woman. "

"Yes, do show us the way out, for we can't have her here, " said Briar. "It is absolutely impossible. She'll try to turn us into fine ladies, andshe'll talk about the dresses we should have, and she'll want father toget some awful woman to come and live with us. She'll want the wholehouse to be turned topsy-turvy. "

"Eh!" said nurse, "I'll tell you what it is. Ladies like Miss Tredgoldneed their comforts. She won't find much comfort here, I'm thinking. She'll need her food well cooked, and that she won't get at The Dales. She'll need her room pretty and spick-and-span; she won't get much ofthat sort of thing at The Dales. My dear young ladies, you leave thehouse as it is, and, mark my words, Miss Tredgold will go in a week'stime at the latest. "

CHAPTER II. 

A HANDFUL. 

The girls looked full at nurse while she was talking. A look ofcontentment came into Verena's face. She shook herself to make sure shewas all there; she pinched herself to be certain that she was notdreaming; then she settled down comfortably. 

"There never was anybody like you, nursey, " she said. "You always see thecommon-sense, possible side of things. "

"Eh!" said nurse. "If I hadn't seen the common-sense, possible side ofthings many years ago, where would I be with the handling and bringing upof you ten young ladies? For, though I say it that shouldn't, there ain'tnicer or bonnier or straighter children in the whole Forest; no, norbetter-looking either, with cleaner souls inside of them; but for allthat, anybody else"--and here nurse gave a little sort of wink that setPauline screaming--"anybody else would say that you were a handful. Youare a handful, too, to most people. But what I say now is this. Youneedn't take any notice of me; you can keep your own counsel and saynothing; but if you want her to go--the lady that has no call to behere--the lady that's forced herself where she ain't wanted--why, youhave _got_ to be handfuls. And now I'll go into the house with my twoprecious lambs. "

The elder "precious lamb" looked very cross at being suddenly informedthat she was to go indoors while the sun shone so brightly and the summerwarmth surrounded her. 

"No, I won't, " said Penelope. "I am going to stay out with the others. I'm a very big girl; I am not a baby any longer. And you aren't to keepme in the nursery any longer, Verena. And I won't be naughty. I'll makeup to Aunt Sophia like anything--that I will--if you keep me in thenursery any longer. "

This was such a daring threat that, although Penelope was not thoughtmuch of as a rule, the girls looked at her now with a sort of awe. 

"She might as well stay for a quarter of an hour longer, mightn't she, nursey?" said Briar. 

"No, that she ain't to do, Miss Rose. She comes right indoors andprepares for her bed like a good child. Is it me that's to be shortenedof my hours of rest by a naughty little thing like this? Come along thisminute, miss, and none of your nonsense. "

So Penelope, her heart full of rage, retired into the house with nurseand baby Marjorie. 

"I hope she won't do anything mean and nasty, " said Pauline. "It's thesort of thing she would do, for she's frightfully clever. "

"Oh, we needn't consider her, " said Verena. "Do let's make up our mindswhat to do ourselves. "

"I have all sorts of things in my head, " said Patty. "The pony-carriagemight break down as it was coming from the station. I don't mean her tobe badly hurt, but I thought she might get just a little bit hurt, sothat she could stay in her bed for twenty-four hours. An aunt in bedwouldn't be so bad, would she, Renny?"

"I don't know, " said Verena. "I suppose we must be polite. She ismother's half-sister, you know. If mother were alive she would give her awelcome. And then Padre will have to talk to her. He must explain thatshe must go. If he doesn't, we will lead him a life. "

The girls talked a little longer. They walked round and round the ugly, ill-kept lawn; they walked under the beautiful trees, entwined their armsround each other's waists, and confabbed and confabbed. The upshot of itall was that on the following day a very large and very shabby bedroomwas got ready after a fashion for Miss Tredgold's arrival; and John, thesole factotum of the establishment--the man who cleaned the boots andknives, and swept up the avenue, removed the weeds from the flower-beds, cleaned the steps whenever they were cleaned, and the windows wheneverthey were cleaned--appeared on the scene, leading a tumble-down, knock-kneed pony harnessed to a very shabby pony-cart. 

"I'm off now, miss, " he said to Verena, pulling a wisp of hair as hespoke. "No, miss, there ain't any room. You couldn't possibly sit on theback seat, for it's as much as ever I'll do to bring the lady home inthis tumble-down conveyance. Our own is too bad for use, and I had toborrow from Farmer Treherne, and he said he wouldn't trust any horse butold Jock; this carriage will just keep together until the lady's here. "

"But whatever he thinks, " said Verena, "do you suppose we can have asmart, neat carriage ready to take Miss Tredgold back again this dayweek? You will see about that, won't you, John?"

"I will, miss. There'll be no difficulty about that; we'll get the ladyaway whenever she wants to go. "

"Very well. You had better be off now. You must wait outside the station. When she comes out you are to touch your hat and say, 'This is thecarriage from The Dales. ' Be sure you say that, John. And look asimportant as ever you can. We must make the best of things, even if weare poor. "

"You never saw me, miss, demeaning the family, " said John. 

He again touched his very shabby hat, whipped up the pony, anddisappeared down the avenue. 

"Now, then, " said Briar, "how are we to pass the next two hours? It willtake them quite that time to get here. "

"And what are we going to give her to eat when she does come?" saidPatty. "She'll be awfully hungry. I expect she'll want her dinner. "

"Dinner!" cried Josephine. "Dinner! So late. But we dine at one. "

"You silliest of silly mortals, " said Verena, "Aunt Sophia is afashionable lady, and fashionable ladies dine between eight and nineo'clock. "

"Do they?" said Josephine. "Then I'm glad I'm not a fashionable lady. Fancy starving all that long time! I'm always famished by one o'clock. "

"There's Penelope!" suddenly said Patty. "Doesn't she look odd?"

Penelope was a very stout child. She had black eyes and black hair. Herhair generally stood upright in a sort of halo round her head; her facewas very round and rosy--she looked like a kind of hard, healthywinter-apple. Her legs were fat, and she always wore socks instead ofstockings. Her socks were dark blue. Nurse declared that she could not befashed with putting on white ones. She wore a little Turkey-red frock, and she had neither hat nor coat on. She was going slowly andthoughtfully round the lawn, occasionally stooping and picking something. 

"She's a perfect mystery, " said Pauline. "Let's run up to her and ask herwhat she's about. "

Catching Patty's hand, the two girls scampered across the grass. 

"Well, Pen, and what are you doing now? What curious things are yougathering?" they asked. 

"Grasses, " replied Penelope slowly. "They're for Aunt Sophia's bedroom. I'm going to make her bedroom ever so pretty. "

"You little horror!" said Pauline. "If you dare to go against us you willlead a life!"

Penelope looked calmly up at them. 

"I'll make a bargain, " she said. "I'll throw them all away, and benastier than you all--yes, much nastier--if you will make me a schoolroomgirl. "

Pauline looked at her. 

"We may be low, " she said, "and there is no doubt we are very poor, butwe have never stooped to bribery and corruption yet. Go your own way, Penelope. If you think you can injure us you are very much mistaken. "

Penelope shook her fat back, and resumed her peregrinations round andround the lawn. 

"Really she is quite an uncomfortable child, " said Pauline, returning toher other sisters. "What do you think she is doing now? Picking grassesto put in Aunt Sophia's room. "

"Oh, let her alone, " said Verena; "it's only her funny little way. By theway, I wonder if Padre has any idea that Aunt Sophia is coming to-day. "

"Let's invade him, " said Patty. "The old dear wants his exercise; hehasn't had any to-day. "

The eight girls ran with whoops and cries round the house. Penelopepicked her grasses with more determination than ever. Her small, straightmouth made a scarlet line, so tightly was it shut. 

"I am only seven, but I'm monstrous clever, " she whispered to herself. "Iam going to have my own way. I'll love poor Aunt Sophy. Yes, I will. I'llkiss her, and I'll make up to her, and I'll keep her room full of lovelygrasses. "

Meanwhile the other girls burst into the study. A voice was heardmurmuring rapidly as they approached. A silvery-white head was bendingover a page, and some words in Latin came like a stream, with a verybeautiful pronunciation, from the scholar's lips. 

"Ah, Verena!" he said, "I think I have got the right lines now. Shall Iread them to you?"

Mr. Dale began. He got through about one line when Patty interrupted him:

"It can't possibly be done, Paddy. We can't listen to another line--Imean yet. You have got to come out. Aunt Sophia is coming to-day. "

"Eh? I beg your pardon; who did you say was coming?"

"Aunt Sophia--Miss Tredgold. She's coming to-day on a visit. She'll behere very soon. She's coming in an old cart that belongs to FarmerTreherne. She'll be here in an hour; therefore out you come. "

"My dears, I cannot. You must excuse me. My years of toil have brought tolight an obscure passage. I shall write an account of it to the _Times_. It is a great moment in my life, and the fact that---- But who did yousay was coming, my dears?"

"Really, Paddy, you are very naughty, " said Verena. "You must come out atonce. We want you. You can't write another line. You must not even thinkof the subject. Come and see what we have done for Aunt Sophia. If youdon't come she'll burst in here, and she'll stay here, because it's themost comfortable room in the house. And she'll bring her work-baskethere, and perhaps her mending. I know she'll mend you as soon as shearrives. She'll make you and mend you; and you need mending, don't you, dear old Padre?"

"I don't know, my dears. I'm a stupid old man, and don't care aboutdress. Who is the person you said was coming? Give her some tea and sendher away. Do you hear, Verena? Give her tea, my darling, and--and toastif you like, and send her away. We can't have visitors here. "

"Patty!" said Verena. 

Patty's eyes were shining. 

"Pauline!"

The two girls came forward as though they were little soldiers obeyingthe command of their captain. 

"Take Padre by the right arm, Pauline. Patty, take Padre by the left arm. Now then, Paddy, quick's the word. March!"

Poor Mr. Dale was completely lifted from his chair by his two vigorousdaughters, and then marched outside his study into the sunshine. 

"We are not going to be cross, " said Verena, kissing him. "It is onlyyour Renny. "

"And your Paulie, " said the second girl. 

"And your Rose Briar, " said the third. 

"And your Patty, " said the fourth. 

"And your Lucy, " "And your Josephine, " "And your Helen, " "And yourAdelaide, " said four more vigorous pairs of lips. 

"And we all want you to stand up, " said Verena. 

"Good heavens! I did think I had come to the end of my worries. And whaton earth does this mean? Penelope, my child, what a hideous bouquet youhave in your hand! Come here and kiss father, my little one. "

Penelope trotted briskly forward. 

"Do you like my red frock, father?" she asked. 

"It is very nice indeed. "

"I thought it wor. And is my hair real tidy, father?"

"It stands very upright, Penelope. "

"I thought it did. And you like my little blue stockings, father?"

"Very neat, dear. "

"I thought they wor. "

"You look completely unlike yourself, Penelope. What is the matter?"

"I want to be a true, kind lady, " said the little girl. "I am gatheringgrasses for my aunty; so I are. "

She trotted away into the house. 

"What a pretty, neat, orderly little girl Penelope has become!" said Mr. Dale. "But---- You really must excuse me, my dear girls. You are mostcharming, all of you. Ah, my dears!--so fresh, so unsophisticated, so--yes, that is the word--so unworldly. But I must get back to mybeloved Virgil. You don't know--you can never know--what a moment oftriumph is mine. You must excuse me, darlings--Verena, you are nearlygrown up; you will see to the others. Do what you can to make themhappy--a little treat if necessary; I should not mind it. "

"Give us fourpence to buy a pound of golden syrup for tea, please, Padre, " suddenly said Briar. "If there is a thing I love, it is goldensyrup. A pound between us will give us quite a feast--won't it, Renny?"

"Only we must save a little for the aunt, " cried Patty. 

"I do hope one thing, " said Pauline: "that, whatever her faults, shewon't be greedy. There isn't room for any one to be greedy in this house. The law of this house is the law of self-denial; isn't it, Padre?"

"I begin to perceive that it is, Pauline. But whom are you talking of?"

"Now, Padre, " said Verena, "if you don't wake and rouse yourself, and actlike a decent Christian, you'll be just prodded--you'll be just shaken. We will do it. There are eight of us, and we'll make your life a burden. "

"Eh--eh!" said Mr. Dale. "Really, girls, you are enough to startle a man. And you say----"

"I say, Paddy, that Miss Sophia Tredgold is on her way here. Each instantshe is coming nearer. She is coming in the old pony cart, and the oldpony is struggling with all his might to convey her here. She is comingwith her luggage, intending to stay, and our object is to get her to goaway again. Do you hear, Padre?"

"Yes, my dear, I hear. I comprehend. It takes a great deal to bring a manback down the ages--down--down to this small, poor, parsimonious life; ittakes a great deal. A man is not easily roused, nor brought back; but Iam back now, darlings. --Excuse me, Briar; no more prodding. --Hands off, Pauline. --Hands off, Patty. Perhaps I had better tidy myself. "

"You certainly would look nicer, and more like the owner of The Dales, ifyou got into your other coat, " said Briar. 

"Shall we all come up and help you, Padre?" called out the eight in abreath. 

"No, no, dears. I object to ladies hovering about my room. I'll run awaynow. "

"Yes, yes; and you'd better be quick, Padre, for I hear wheels. "

"I am going, loves, this moment. "

Mr. Dale turned and absolutely ran to the shelter of the house, for thewheels were getting near--rumbling, jumping, uncertain. Now the rumblingand the jumping and the uncertainty got into the avenue, and came nearerand nearer; and finally the tumble-down pony cart drew up at the house. The pony printed his uncertain feet awkwardly but firmly on theweed-grown sweep in front of the unpainted hall door, and Miss Tredgoldgazed around her. 

Miss Tredgold was a very thin, tall woman of about forty-five years ofage. She was dressed in the extreme of fashion. She wore a perfectlyimmaculate traveling dress of dark-gray tweed. It fitted herwell-proportioned figure like a glove. She had on a small, very neatblack hat, and a spotted veil surrounded her face. She stepped down fromthe pony cart and looked around her. 

"Ah!" she said, seeing Verena, "will you kindly mention to some of theladies of the family that I have arrived?"

"I think I need not mention it, because we all know, " said Verena. "I amyour niece Verena. "

"You!"

Miss Tredgold could throw unutterable scorn into her voice. Verenastepped back, and her pretty face grew first red and then pale. What shewould have said next will never be known to history, for at that instantthe very good child, Penelope, appeared out of the house. 

"Is you my Aunty Sophy?" she said. "How are you, Aunty Sophy? I am verypleased to see you. "

Miss Sophia stared for a moment at Penelope. Penelope was hideouslyattired, but she was at least clean. The other girls were anyhow. Theywere disheveled; they wore torn and unsightly skirts; their hair wasarranged anyhow or not at all; on more than one face appeared traces ofrecent acquaintance with the earth in the shape of a tumble. One littlegirl with very black eyes had an ugly scratch across her left cheek;another girl had the gathers out of her frock, which streamed in the mosthopeless fashion on the ground. 

"How do you do?" said Aunt Sophia. "Where is your father? Will you havethe goodness, little girl, to acquaint your father with the fact that hissister-in-law, Sophia Tredgold, has come?"

"Please come into the house, Aunt Sophy, and I'll take you to father'sstudy--so I will, " exclaimed champion Penelope. 

CHAPTER III. 

PREPARING FOR THE FIGHT. 

Penelope held up a chubby hand, which Miss Tredgold pretended not to see. 

"Go on in front, little girl, " she said. "Don't paw me. I hate beingpawed by children. "

Penelope's back became very square as she listened to these words, andthe red which suffused her face went right round her neck. But she walkedsolemnly on in front without a word. 

"Aunties are unpleasant things, " she said to herself; "but, all the same, I mean to fuss over this one. "

Here she opened a door, flung it wide, and cried out to her parent:

"Paddy, here comes Aunt Sophia Tredgold. "

But she spoke to empty air--Mr. Dale was still busy over his toilet. 

"Whom are you addressing by that hideous name?" said Miss Sophia. "Do youmean to tell me you call your father Paddy?"

"We all do, " said Penelope. 

"Of course we do, " said Verena, who had followed behind. 

"That is our name for the dear old boy, " said Pauline, who stood justbehind Verena, while all the other children stood behind Pauline. 

It was in this fashion that the entire party invaded Mr. Dale's sanctum. Miss Tredgold gazed around her, her face filled with a curious mixture ofamazement and indignation. 

"I had an intuition that I ought to come here, " she said aloud. "I didnot want to come, but I obeyed what I now know was the direct call ofduty. I shall stay here as long as I am wanted. My mission will be tobring order out of chaos--to reduce all those who entertain rebellion tosubmission--to try to turn vulgar, hoydenish little girls into ladies. "

"Oh, oh! I say, aunty, that is hard on us!" burst from Josephine. 

"My dear, I don't know your name, but it is useless for you to make thoseugly exclamations. Whatever your remarks, whatever your words, I shalltake no notice. You may struggle as you will, but I am the stronger. Oh!here comes---- Is it possible? My dear Henry, what years it is since wemet! Don't you remember me--your sister-in-law Sophia? I was but a littlegirl when you married my dear sister. It is quite affecting to meet youagain. How do you do?"

Miss Tredgold advanced to meet her brother-in-law. Mr. Dale put both hishands behind his back. 

"Are you sorry to see me?" asked Miss Tredgold. "Oh, dear, this isterrible!"

The next instant the horrified man found that Miss Tredgold had kissedhim calmly and with vigor on each cheek. Even his own children were neverpermitted to kiss Mr. Dale. To tell the truth, he was the last sort ofperson anybody would care to kiss. His face resembled a piece ofparchment, being much withered and wrinkled and dried up. There was anoccasion in the past when Verena had taken his scholarly hand and raisedit to her lips, but even that form of endearment he objected to. 

"I forgive you, dear, " he said; "but please don't do it again. We canlove each other without these marks of an obsolete and forgotten age. Kissing, my dear, is too silly to be endured in our day. "

That Miss Tredgold should kiss him was therefore an indignity which themiserable man was scarcely likely to get over as long as he lived. 

"And now, girls, " said the good lady, turning round and facing herastonished nieces, "I have a conviction that your father and I would havea more comfortable conversation if you were not present. Leave the room, therefore, my dears. Go quietly and in an orderly fashion. "

"Perhaps, children, it would be best, " said Mr. Dale. 

He felt as though he could be terribly rude, but he made an effort not toshow his feelings. 

"There is no other possible way out of it, " he said to himself. "I mustbe very frank. I must tell her quite plainly that she cannot stay. Itwill be easier for me to be frank without the children than with them. "

So the girls left the room. Penelope, going last, turned a plump andbewildered face towards her aunt. 

But Miss Tredgold took no more notice of Penelope than she did of theothers. When the last pair of feet had vanished down the passage, shewent to the door and locked it. 

"What are you doing that for?" asked Mr. Dale. 

"My dear Henry, I locked the door because I wish to have a quiet wordwith you. I have come here--I will say it plainly--for the sole purposeof saving you. "

"Of saving me, Sophia! From what?"

"From the grievous sin you are committing--the sin of absolutely andcompletely neglecting the ten daughters given to you by Providence. Doyou do anything for them? Do you try in the least to help them? Are youin any sense of the word educating them? I scarcely know the childrenyet, but I must say frankly that I never came across more terriblyneglected young people. Their clothes are in rags, they are by no meansperfectly clean in their persons, and they look half-starved. Henry, youought to be ashamed of yourself! I wonder my poor sister doesn't turn inher grave! When I think that Alice was their mother, and that you arebringing them up as you are now doing, I could give way to tears. But, Henry, tears are not what are required. Action is the necessary thing. Imean to act, and nothing will turn me from that resolution. "

"But, my dear Sophia, I have not met you for years. To be frank with you, I had almost forgotten your existence. I am a terribly busy man, Sophia--a scholar--at least, I hope so. I do not think the children areneglected; they are well, and no one is ever unkind to them. There is nodoubt that we are poor. I am unable to have the house done up as poorAlice would have liked to see it; and I have let the greater part of theground, so that we are not having dairy produce or farm produce atpresent. The meals, therefore, are plain. "

"And insufficient; I have no doubt of that, " said Miss Tredgold. 

"They are very plain, " he answered. "Perhaps you like dainty food; mostladies of your age do. I must be as frank with you as you are with me. You won't like our table. Sometimes we do without meat for a week at atime. "

"I do not care if you never touch meat again, " said Miss Sophia. "Thankgoodness, with all my faults, I am not greedy. "

"What a pity!" murmured Mr. Dale. 

"What was that you said? Do you like greedy women?"

"No, Sophia; but I want to put matters so straight before you that youwill consider it your bounden duty to leave The Dales. "

"Where my duty calls me I stay, whatever the circumstances, and howevergreat the inconveniences, " remarked Miss Sophia. 

"Well, Sophia, your attitude and manner and words distress meconsiderably. But I must speak to you again. I am busy now over a mostimportant matter. I have just discovered----"

"A gold mine on your estate?"

"No; something fifty times more valuable--a new rendering----"

"Of what, may I ask?"

"'The noblest meter ever moulded by the lips of man. ' Bowen is quitewrong in his translation; I am about to prove it. I allude to Virgil's_Æneid_. "

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Miss Tredgold, "is the man staring mad? Now, mydear fellow, you have got to put up with me. I can tell you plainly thatit will be no treat to live with you. If it were not for my sister Iwould leave this house and let you and your family go your own way todestruction; but as Alice was so fond of me, and did her best for me whenI was a little girl, I mean to do my best for your children. "

"But in what way, Sophia? I told you I was poor. I am poor. I cannotafford a governess. Verena can darn quite nicely, and she knows a littleabout plain needlework. She turned a skirt of her own a month ago; herwork seemed quite creditable, for I did not notice it one way or theother. "

"Oh, you man--you man!" said Miss Tredgold. 

"And the other children are also learning to use the needle; and most ofthem can read, for all the novels that I happen to possess have beenremoved from the bookshelves. The girls can read, they can write, andthey can use their needles. They are thoroughly happy, and they arehealthy. They do not feel the heat of summer or the cold of winter. Thefood is plain, and perhaps not over-abundant, but they are satisfied withit. They don't worry me much. In short, it is only fair to say that I amnot well enough off to keep you here. I cannot possibly give you thecomforts you require. I should be glad, therefore, my dear Sophia, if youwould be kind enough to leave The Dales. "

"Now listen to me, Henry. I have resolved to stay, and only force willturn me out. My heavier luggage is coming by the carrier to-morrow. Ibrought a small trunk in that awful little conveyance which you sent tomeet me. As to the money question, it needn't trouble you, for I shallpay for all extras which my presence requires. As to luxuries, I amindifferent to them. But I mean the girls to eat their food like ladies, and I mean the food to be well cooked; and also everything in the houseshall be clean, and there shall be enough furniture in the rooms for theordinary requirements of ordinary gentlefolks. I shall stay here for atleast three months, and if at the end of that time you do not say to me, 'Sophia, I can never thank you enough for what you have done, ' I shall besurprised. Now I have stated exactly the position of things, and, my dearHenry, you are welcome to go back to your work. You can study yourbeloved Virgil and gloat over your discovery; but for goodness' sake cometo dinner to-night looking like a gentleman. "

"My wardrobe is a little in abeyance, Sophia. I mean that I--I have notput on an evening coat for years. "

"You probably have one at the back of nowhere, " said Miss Tredgold in acontemptuous tone. "But, anyhow, put on the best you have got. Believeme, I have not come to this house to sit down with my hands before me. Ihave come to work, to renovate, to restore, to build up. Not anotherword, Henry. I have put the matter into a nutshell, and you and yourchildren must learn to submit to the arrival of Sophia Tredgold. "

At these words the good lady unlocked the door and stepped out. 

As she walked down the passage she heard the quick trampling of manyfeet, and it occurred to her that some of the girls must have beenlistening at the keyhole. 

"I can't allow that sort of thing again, " she said to herself. "Butnow--shall I take notice?"

She stood for a moment thinking. The color came into her cheeks and hereyes looked bright. 

"For my sister's sake I will put up with a good deal, " was her finalcomment; and then she went into the hall. 

There was a wide old hall leading to the front stairs, and in this hallnow stood the good child Penelope. She had brought in a quantity of freshgrasses, and had a piteous and beseeching expression on her face. MissTredgold took no notice of her. She stood by the open hall door andlooked out. 

"Might be made a pretty place, " she said aloud. 

Then she turned to go upstairs, sighing as she did so. Penelope echoedthe sigh in a most audible manner. Miss Tredgold was arrested by thesound, and looked down. 

"Ah, little girl!" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought perhaps you'd like me to help you, " said Penelope. "I worwaiting for you to come out of Pad's room. "

"Don't use that hideous word 'wor. ' W-a-s, was. Can you spell?"

"No; and I don't want to, " said Penelope. 

"We'll see about that. In the meantime, child, can you take me to myroom?"

"May I hold of your hand?" said Penelope. 

"May you hold my hand, not _of_ my hand. Certainly not. You may go on infront of me. You have got clearly to understand---- But what did you sayyour name was?"

"Penelope. "

"You must clearly understand, Penelope, that I do not pet children. Iexpect them to be good without sugar-plums. "

Now, Penelope knew that sugar-plums were delicious. She had heard ofthem, and at Christmas-time she used to dream of them, but very few hadhitherto come into her life. She now looked eagerly at Miss Tredgold. 

"If I are good for a long time without them, will you give me two orthree?" she asked. 

Miss Tredgold gave a short, grim laugh. 

"We'll see, " she said. "I never make rash promises. Oh! so this is myroom. "

She looked around her. 

"No carpet, " she said aloud; "no curtains; no pictures on the walls. Adeal table for a dressing-table, the muslin covering much the worse fordirt and wear. Hum! You do live plain at The Dales. "

"Oh, yes; don't us?" said Penelope. "And your room is much the handsomestof all the rooms. We call it very handsome. If you wor to see ourrooms----"

"Were to see----"

"Yes, were to see, " repeated Penelope, who found this constant correctionvery tiresome. 

"And may I ask, " exclaimed Miss Tredgold suddenly, not paying any heed tothe little girl's words, "what on earth is that in the blue mug?"

She marched up to the dressing-table. In the center was a large blue mugof very common delft filled with poor Penelope's grasses. 

"What horror is this?" she said. "Take it away at once, and throw thoseweeds out. "

At that moment poor Penelope very nearly forsook her allegiance to AuntSophia. She ran downstairs trembling. In the hall she was received by abevy of sisters. 

"Well, Pen, and so you have bearded the lion! You took her to her room, did you? And what did she say? Did she tell you when she was going away?"

"Yes, did she?" came from Verena's lips; and Pauline's eager eyes, andthe eyes of all the other children, asked the same question. 

Penelope gave utterance to a great sigh. 

"I thought I'd be the goodest of you all, " she said. "I maded up my mindthat I just would; but I doesn't like Aunt Sophia, and I think I'll bethe naughtiest. "

"No, you little goose; keep on being as good as you can. She can'tpossibly stay long, for we can't afford it, " said Verena. 

"She'll stay, " answered Penelope. "She have made up her mind. She throwedaway my lovely grasses; she called them weeds, my darlings that I didstoop so much to pick, and made my back all aches up to my neck. And shesaid she hated little girls that pawed her. Oh, I could cry! I did sowant to be the goodest of you all, and I thought that I'd get sugar-plumsand perhaps pennies. And I thought she'd let me tell her when you was allbad. Oh, I hate her now! I don't think I care to be took out of thenursery if she's about. "

"You certainly are a caution, Penny, " said Verena. "It is well that youhave told us what your motives are. Believe me, there are worse placesthan that despised nursery of yours. Now, I suppose we must get some sortof dinner or tea for her. I wonder what Betty is doing to-day, if herhead aches, and if----"

"Oh, come along; let's go and find out, " said Pauline. "I feel sodesperate that I have the courage for anything. "

It is to be owned that the Dales did not keep an extensive establishment. Old John pottered about the gardens and did what little gardening hethought necessary. He also did odd jobs about the house. Besides John, there was Betty. Betty ruled supreme as cook and factotum in the kitchen. Betty never asked any one for orders; she got what she considerednecessary from the local tradesmen, or she did without. As a rule she didwithout. She said that cooking was bad for her--that it made her head andback ache. On the days when Betty's head or back ached there was neverany dinner. The family did not greatly mind. They dined on theseoccasions on bread, either with butter or without. Betty managed to keepthem without dinner certainly at the rate of once or twice a week. Shealways had an excellent excuse. Either the boiler was out of gear, or therange would not draught properly, or the coals were out, or the butcherhad failed to come. Sometimes the children managed to have jam with theirbread-and-butter, and then they considered that they had a very fine mealindeed. It mattered little to them what sort of food they had if theyonly had enough; but sometimes they had not even enough. This moreconstantly happened in the winter than in the summer, for in the summerthere was always plenty of milk and always plenty of fruit andvegetables. 

When Betty heard that Miss Tredgold was coming to stay she immediatelygave Verena notice. This was nothing at all extraordinary, for Betty gavenotice whenever anything annoyed her. She never dreamed of acting up toher own words, so that nobody minded Betty's repeated notices. But on themorning of the day when Miss Tredgold was expected, Betty told nurse thatshe was about to give a real, earnest notice at last. 

"I am going, " she said. "I go this day month. I march out of this house, and never come back--no, not even if a dook was to conduct me to thehymeneal altar. "

Betty was always great on the subject of dukes and marquises. She wasseldom so low in health as to condescend to a "hearl, " and there had evenbeen a moment when she got herself to believe that royalty might aspireto her hand. 

"She must be really going, " said Verena when nurse repeated Betty'sspeech. "She would not say that about the duke if she was not. "

"You leave her alone, " said nurse. "But she's dreadful put out, MissRenny; there's no doubt of that. I doubt if she'll cook any dinner forMiss Tredgold. "

Verena, Pauline, and Penelope now rushed round to the kitchen premises. They were nervous, but at the same time they were brave. They must seewhat Betty intended to do. They burst open the door. The kitchen was nottoo clean. It was a spacious apartment, which in the days when the oldhouse belonged to rich people was well taken care of, and must have sentforth glorious fires--fires meant to cook noble joints. On the presentoccasion the fire was dead out; the range looked a dull gray, piles ofashes lying in a forlorn manner at its feet. Betty was sitting at theopposite side of the kitchen, her feet on one chair and her capaciousperson on another. She was busily engaged devouring the last number ofthe _Family Paper_. She had come to a most rousing portion in herstory--that part in which the duke marries the governess. Betty was, asshe said, all in a twitter to see how matters would end; but just at thiscrucial moment the girls burst in. 

"Betty, do stop reading, " said Verena. "She's come, Betty. "

"I know, " cried Betty. "I'm not deaf, I suppose. John told me. He broughther, drat him! He says she's the sort to turn the house topsy-turvy. I'llhave none of her. I won't alter my ways--no, not a hand's-turn--for thelike of her, and I go this day month. "

"Oh, Betty!" said Verena. 

"I do, my dear; I do. I can't put up with the ways of them sort--nevercould. I like you well enough, young ladies, and your pa; and I'd stopwith you willing--so I would, honey--but I can't abide the likes of her. "

"All the same, she's come, Betty, and we must have something for dinner. Have you anything in the house?"

"Not a blessed handful. "

"Oh, Betty!" said Verena; "and I told you this morning, and so did nurse. We said we must have dinner to-night at seven o'clock. You should havegot something for her. "

"But I ain't done it. The stove's out of order; we want the sweep. I havea splitting headache, and I'm just reading to keep my mind off the pain. "

"But what are we to do? We must get her something. "

"Can't she have tea and bread-and-butter? We've half-a-pound of cookingbutter in the house. "

"Are there any eggs?"

"No. I broke the last carrying it across the kitchen an hour ago. Myhands were all of a tremble with the pain, and the egg slipped. "

"Betty, you are too dreadful! Won't you put that paper down and try tohelp us?"

Betty looked at the three faces. In their shabby dresses, and with theirpretty, anxious eyes, Verena having a frown between her charming brows, they made a picture that struck the cook's heart. With all her odd andpeculiar ways, she was affectionate. 

"Are you fretting about it, Miss Renny?" she asked. 

As she spoke she put down her feet and pushed the tempting number of the_Family Paper_ from her. 

"There!" she said; "poor little Miss Dunstable may marry the Dook ofMauleverer-Wolverhampton just as soon as she pleases, but I won't haveyou put out, Miss Renny. "

"I did want something nice for dinner, " said Verena. 

"Then I'll manage it. There ain't a better cook than I anywhere when I'mput on my mettle. Miss Penny, will you help me?"

"Certainly, " said Penelope. 

"Well, run into the garden and pick all the peas you can find. There's anice little joint in the larder, and I'll roast it, and you shall have abeautiful dinner. Now off you go, dears. You shall have custard-puddingand cream and strawberry-jam afterwards. "

"Oh, how nice!" cried Penelope, with a little gasp. "Be sure you give us_plenty_ of strawberry-jam, and make a very large custard-pudding, forthere's such a lot of us to eat the things, and I generally get theteeniest little bit. "

"You are a nursery child, and it's in the nursery you'll have your tea, "said Verena in a stern tone. "Go and pick the peas. "

"Not me, " said Penelope. 

She sat down just where she was, in an obstinate heap, in the middle ofthe floor. 

"If I are not to eat those peas I don't pick 'em, " she said. "I wor goingto be kind, but I won't be kind if I'm to be turned into a nurserychild. "

"Oh! do let her come to the dining-room just for to-night, " pleadedPauline. 

"Very well, then; just for once, " said Verena. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE LIFE OF MISRULE. 

Dinner went off better than the girls had expected. But to Miss Tredgoldit was, and ever would be, the most awful meal she had eaten in the wholecourse of her existence. The table was devoid of all those things whichshe, as a refined lady, considered essential. The beautiful old silverspoons were dirty, and several of them bent almost out of recognition. Alike fate had befallen the forks; the knives were rusty, the handlesdisgracefully dirty; and the tablecloth, of the finest damask, was almostgray in color, and adorned with several large holes. The use ofserviettes had been long abolished from The Dales. 

The girls, in honor of the occasion, had put on their best frocks, andVerena looked fairly pretty in a skimpy white muslin made in an obsoletestyle. The other girls each presented a slightly worse appearance thantheir elder sister, for each had on a somewhat shabbier frock, a littlemore old-fashioned and more outgrown. As to Mr. Dale, it had beennecessary to remind him at least three times of his sister-in-law'sarrival; and finally Verena had herself to put him into his very oldevening-coat, to brush him down afterwards, and to smooth his hair, andthen lead him into the dining-room. 

Miss Tredgold, in contradistinction to the rest of the family, wasdressed correctly. She wore a black lace dress slightly open at the neck, and with elbow sleeves. The children thought that she looked dazzlinglyfashionable. Verena seemed to remember that she had seen figures verylike Aunt Sophia's in the fashion books. Aunt Sophia's hair in particularabsorbed the attention of four of her nieces. How had she managed to turnit into so many rolls and spirals and twists? How did she manage the wavyshort hair on her forehead? It seemed to sit quite tight to her head, andlooked as if even a gale of wind would not blow it out of place. AuntSophia's hands were thin and very white, and the fingers werehalf-covered with sparkling rings, which shone and glittered so much thatPenelope dropped her choicest peas all over her frock as she gazed atthem. 

John was requisitioned to wait at table, and John had no livery for thepurpose. The family as a rule never required attendance at meals. On thisoccasion it was supposed to be essential, and as Betty refusedpoint-blank to stir from the kitchen, John had to come to the fore. 

"No, no, Miss Renny, " said Betty when poor Verena begged and implored ofthe good woman to put in an appearance. "No, you don't. No, you certainsure don't. Because you looked pretty and a bit coaxing I gave up MissDunstable and the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton two hours ago, but notanother minute will I spare from them. It's in their select society thatI spend my haristocratic evening. "

Verena knew that it would be useless to coax Betty any further. So Johnappeared with the potatoes in a large dish on a rusty tray, each potatohaving, as Betty expressed it, a stone inside. This she declared was theproper way to cook them. The peas presently followed the potatoes. Theywere yellow with age, for they ought to have been eaten at least a weekago. The lamb was terribly underdone, and the mint sauce was like no mintsauce that Miss Tredgold had ever dreamed of. The pudding which followedwas a pudding that only Betty knew the recipe for, and that recipe wascertainly not likely to be popular in fashionable circles. But thestrawberry-jam was fairly good, and the cream was excellent; and when, finally, Miss Tredgold rose to the occasion and said that she would makesome coffee, which she had brought down from town, in her own coffee-poton her own etna, the girls became quite excited. 

The coffee was made, and shed a delicious aroma over the room. Mr. Dalewas so far interested that he was seen to sniff twice, and was found tobe observing the coffee as though he were a moth approaching a candle. Heeven forgot his Virgil in his desire to partake of the deliciousstimulant. Miss Tredgold handed him a cup. 

"There, " she said. "If you were ever young, and if there was ever a timewhen you cared to act as a gentleman, this will remind you of thoseoccasions. --And now, children, I introduce you to 'Open sesame;' and Ihope, my dear nieces, by means of these simple cups of coffee you willenter a different world from that which you have hitherto known. "

The girls all drank their coffee, and each pronounced it the nicest drinkthey had ever taken. 

Presently Miss Tredgold went into the garden. She invited Verena andPauline to accompany her. 

"The rest of you can stay behind, " she said. "You can talk about me toeach other as much as you like. I give you leave to discuss me freely, knowing that, even if I did not do so, you would discuss me all the same. I am quite aware that you all hate me for the present, but I do not thinkthis state of things will long continue. Come, Verena; come, Pauline. Thenight is lovely. We will discuss nature a little, and common sense agreat deal. "

The two girls selected to walk with Miss Tredgold looked behind at theseven girls left in the dining-room, and the seven girls looked back atthem with a mixture of curiosity and pity. 

"Never mind your sisters now, " said Miss Tredgold. "We want to talk overmany things. But before we enter into any discussion I wish to ask aquestion. "

"Yes, " said Verena in her gentle voice. 

"Verena, " said her aunt suddenly, "how old are you?"

"Fifteen, " said Verena. 

"Precisely. And on your next birthday you will be sixteen, and on thefollowing seventeen, and on the next one again eighteen. You have, therefore, nearly three years in which to be transformed from a littlesavage into a lady. The question I now want to ask you is: Do you preferto remain a savage all your days, uneducated, uncultured, your willuncontrolled, your aspirations for good undeveloped; or do you wish tobecome a beautiful and gracious lady, kind, sympathetic, learned, full ofgrace? Tell me, my dear. "

"How can I?" replied Verena. "I like my life here; we all suit eachother, and we like The Dales just as it is. Yes, we all suit each other, and we don't mind being barbarians. "

Miss Tredgold sighed. 

"I perceive, " she said, "that I shall have uphill work before me. For youof all the young people, Verena, are the easiest to deal with. I knowthat without your telling me. I know it by your face. You are naturallygentle, courteous, and kind. You are easy to manage. You are also themost important of all to be brought round to my views, for whatever youdo the others will do. It is on you, therefore, that I mean to exercisemy greatest influence and to expend my heaviest forces. "

"I don't quite understand you, Aunt Sophia. I know, of course, you meankindly, but I would much rather----"

"That I went away? That I left you in the disgraceful state in which Ihave found you?"

"Well, I don't consider it disgraceful; and----"

"Yes? You would rather I went?"

Verena nodded. After a moment she spoke. 

"It seems unkind, " she said--"and I don't wish to be unkind--but I_would_ rather you went. "

"And so would I, please, Aunt Sophia, " said Pauline. 

Miss Tredgold looked straight before her. Her face became a littlepinched, a little white round her lips. 

"Once, " she said slowly, "I had a sister--a sister whom I loved. She wasmy half-sister, but I never thought of that. She was to me sister andmother in one. She brought me up from the time I was a little child. Shewas good to me, and she instilled into me certain principles. One ofthese principles can be expressed in the following words: God put us intothe world to rise, not to sink. Another of her principles was that Godput us into the world to be good, to be unselfish. Another one, again, was as follows: We must give account for our talents. Now, to allow thetalent of beauty, for instance, to degenerate into what it is likely todo in your case, Verena, is distinctly wicked. To allow you to sink whenyou might rise is sinful. To allow you to be selfish when you might beunselfish is also wrong. Your talents, and the talents of Pauline, andthe talents of your other sisters must be cultivated and brought to thefore. I want to tell you now, my dear girls, that for years I have longedto help you; that since your mother's death you have scarcely ever beenout of my mind. But circumstances over which I had no control kept meaway from you. At last I am free, and the children of my sister Alice arethe ones I think most about. I have come here prepared for yourrebellion, prepared for your dislike, and determined not to bediscouraged by either the one or the other. I have come to The Dales, Verena and Pauline, and I mean to remain here for at least three months. If at the end of the three months you ask me to go, I will; although eventhen I will not give you up. But until three months have expired you canonly turn me out by force. I don't think you will do that. It is bestthat we should understand each other clearly; is it not, Verena?"

Verena's face was very white; her big brown eyes were full of tears. 

"I ought to be glad and to say 'Welcome. ' But I am not glad, and I don'twelcome you, Aunt Sophia. We like our own way; we don't mind beingsavages, and it is untrue that we are selfish. We are not. Each wouldgive up anything, I think, for the other. But we like our poverty and ourrough ways and our freedom, and we--we don't want you, Aunt Sophia. "

"Nevertheless you will have to put up with me, " said Miss Tredgold. "Andnow, to start matters, please tell me exactly how you spend your day. "

"Our life is not yours, Aunt Sophia. It would not interest you to knowhow we spend our day. "

"To-morrow, Verena, when the life of rule succeeds the life of misrule, Ishould take umbrage at your remark, but to-night I take no umbrage. I butrepeat my question. "

"And I will tell you, " said Pauline in her brisk voice. "We get up justwhen we like. We have breakfast when we choose--sometimes in the gardenon the grass, sometimes not at all. We walk where we please, and loseourselves in the Forest, and gather wild strawberries and wild flowers, and watch the squirrels, and climb the beech-trees. When it is fine wespend the whole day out, just coming back for meals, and sometimes noteven then, if Betty gives us a little milk and some bread. Sometimes weare lazy and lie on the grass all day. We do what we like always, andalways just when we like. Don't we, Renny?"

"Yes, " said Verena. "We do what we like, and in our own way. "

"In future, " said Miss Tredgold, "you will do things in my way. I hopeyou will not dislike my way; but whether you like or dislike it, you willhave to submit. "

"But, Aunt Sophia, " said Verena, "what authority have you over us? I amexceedingly sorry to seem rude, but I really want to know. Father, ofcourse, has authority over us, but have you? Has anybody but father? Thatis what I want to know. "

"I thought you might ask something of that sort, " said Miss Tredgold--"or, even if you did not ask it, you might think it--and I am prepared with myanswer. I quite recognize that in the case of girls like you I have noauthority, and I cannot act fairly by you until I have. Now, my deargirls, please understand that before I go to bed to-night I get thatauthority. I shall get it m writing, too, so that you can none of yougainsay it, or slip past it, or avoid it. When the authority comes, thenwill also come the happy life of rule, for the life of misrule can neverbe really happy--never for long. Believe me, I am right. "

Pauline pulled her hand away from Aunt Sophia's. She ran to the otherside of Verena. 

"I don't like you, Aunt Sophia, " she said, "and I don't want you to stay. Renny, you don't like her either, and you don't want her to stay. Wedon't believe all the things you are saying, Aunt Sophia. You can't lookinto our hearts, and although you are clever, you can't know all aboutus. Why shouldn't we be wild in our own fashion? We are very happy. To behappy is everything. We have only been unhappy since we knew you werecoming. Please go away; please do. "

"You cannot influence me, Pauline. I love you too well to desert you. NowI am going into the house. You can discuss me then with your sister toyour heart's content. "

Miss Tredgold went very slowly towards the old and dilapidated house. When she reached the hall door she turned and looked around her. 

"I certainly have tough work before me. How am I to manage? If I were notthinking so much of Alice, I should leave these impertinent, neglected, silly girls to their fate. But no--I seem to see my sister's eyes, tohear her voice. I can so well understand what she would really want me todo. I owe a great debt of gratitude to my beloved sister. I am free, hampered by no ties. I will reform these wild young nieces. I will not beeasily deterred. "

Miss Tredgold clasped her hands before her. The moon was rising in asilvery bow in the sky; the air was deliciously fresh and balmy. 

"The place is healthy, and the children are strong, " she thought, "notwithstanding their bad food and their disreputable, worn-out clothes. They are healthy, fresh, good-looking girls. But this is summer-time, andin summer-time one puts up with discomforts for the sake of air likethis. But what about winter? I have no doubt they have scarcely anyfires, and the house must be damp. As the children grow older they willdevelop rheumatism and all kinds of troubles. Yes, my duty is plain. Imust look after my nieces, both soul and body, for the future. "

As Miss Tredgold thought these last thoughts she re-entered the house. She walked through the desolate rooms. It was now twilight, but no onethought of lighting lamps, or drawing curtains, or shutting windows. MissTredgold stumbled as she walked. Presently she found that she hadwandered in the neighborhood of the kitchen. She had no intention ofbearding Betty in her den--she had no idea that there was a Betty--but asshe was near the kitchen, and as under that doorway alone there streameda light, she opened the door. 

"Is there any one inside?" she asked. 

A grunt in the far distance came by way of response. The fire was out inthe stove, and as Miss Tredgold grew accustomed to the gloom she saw inthe farthest corner something that resembled the stout form of a woman, whose legs rested on one chair and her body on another. A guttering dipcandle was close to her side, and a paper book was held almost under hernose. 

"I am sorry to disturb you, " said Miss Tredgold, "but I have come for alight. Will you kindly inform me where I can get a candle?"

"There ain't none in the house. "

The book was put down, and the angry face of Betty appeared to view. 

"Then I fear I must trouble you to resign the one you yourself are using. I must have a light to see my way to my bedroom. "

"There ain't no candles. We don't have 'em in summer. This one I boughtwith my own money, and I don't give it up to nobody, laidy or no laidy. "

"Am I addressing the cook?"

"You are, ma'am. And I may as well say I am cook and housemaid andparlor-maid and kitchen-maid and scullery-maid all in one; and I does thelaundry, too, whenever it's done at all. You may gather from my words, ma'am, that I have a deal to do, so I'll thank you to walk out of mykitchen; for if I am resting after my day of hard work, I have a right torest, and my own candle shall light me, and my own book shall amuse me. So have the goodness to go, ma'am, and at once. "

"I will go, " replied Miss Tredgold very quietly, "exactly when I please, and not a moment before. I wish to say now that I require breakfast to beon the table at nine o'clock, and there must be plenty of good food. Doyou mean to say that you have not got food in the house? You can, Ipresume, send out for it. Here is a half-sovereign. Spend it in what isnecessary in order to provide an abundant meal on the table to-morrowmorning for the use of Mr. Dale, myself, and my nieces. "

What Betty would have said had there been no half-sovereign forthcominghistory will never relate. But half-sovereigns were very few and veryprecious at The Dales. It was almost impossible to get any money out ofMr. Dale; he did not seem to know that there was such a thing as money. If it was put into his hand by any chance, he spent it on books. Betty'swages were terribly in arrears. She wanted her wages, but she was toogenerous, with all her faults, to press for them. But, all the same, thetouch of the gold in her hand was distinctly soothing, and Miss Tredgoldimmediately rose in her estimation. A lady who produced at will goldenhalf-sovereigns, and who was reckless enough to declare that one of thesetreasures might be spent on a single meal, was surely not a person to besniffed at. Betty therefore stumbled to her feet. 

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure, ma'am; and it's badly we does want somethings here. I'll get what I can, although the notice is short, and thedook's nuptials, so to speak, at the door. "

"What!" said Miss Tredgold. 

"I beg your pardon again, ma'am, but my head aches and I'm a bitconfused. I'm reading a most wonderful account of the wedding of the Dookof Mauleverer-Wolverhampton. "

"I never heard of him. "

"He's marrying a young girl quite in my own station of life--one that wasriz from the cottage to the governess-ship, and from the governess-shipto the ducal chair. My head is full of Her Grace, ma'am, and you'llexcuse me if I didn't rightly know to whom I had the honor of talking. I'll do what I can. And perhaps you'd like to borrow one of my dipcandles for the present night. "

"I should very much, " said Miss Tredgold. "And please understand, Betty--Ithink you said your name was Betty--please understand that if you are onmy side I shall be on your side. I have come here meaning to stay, and infuture there will be a complete change in this establishment. You willreceive good wages, paid on the day they are due. There will be plenty ofmoney and plenty of food in the house, and the cook who pleases me stays, and the cook who displeases me goes. You understand?"

"Sakes!" muttered Betty, "it's nearly as exciting as the doocalromance. --Well, ma'am, I'm of your way of thinking; and here's yourcandle. "

CHAPTER V. 

IN THE STUDY. 

Miss Tredgold was the sort of woman who never let the grass grow underher feet. She felt, therefore, altogether out of place at The Dales, forat The Dales there was time for everything. "Time enough" was the mottoof the establishment: time enough for breakfast, time enough for dinner, time enough for supper, time enough for bed, time enough for getting up, time enough for mending torn garments; surely, above all things, timeenough for learning. To judge by the manner in which the family at TheDales went on, life was to last for ever and a day. They never hurried;they put things off when it pleased them; they stopped in the middle ofone pursuit and turned to something else when the fancy took them; theywere unruffled by the worries of life; they were, on the whole, gay, daring, indifferent. There was no money--or very little--for the futureof these girls; they were absolutely uneducated; they were all butunclothed, and their food was poor and often insufficient. Neverthelessthey were fairly happy. "Let well alone" was also their motto. "Never maycare" was another. As to the rush and toil and strain of modern life, they could not even comprehend it. The idea of not being able to put offan engagement for a week, a month, or a year seemed to them tooextraordinary to be believed. They were too young, too healthy, too happyto need to kill time; for time presented itself to them with an agreeableface, and the hours were never too long. 

But although they were so indifferent to weighty matters, they had theirown enthusiasms, and in their idle way they were busy always and forever. To have, therefore, a person like Aunt Sophia put suddenly into themiddle of their gay and butterfly lives was something which was enough tomadden the eight healthy girls who lived at The Dales. Aunt Sophia was, in their opinion, all crotchets, all nervousness, all fads. She had notact whatsoever; at least, such was their first opinion of her. She puther foot down on this little crotchet, and pressed this passing desireout of sight. She brought new rules of life into their everydayexistence, and, what is more, she insisted on being obeyed. With alltheir cleverness they were not half so clever as Aunt Sophia; they wereno match for this good lady, who was still young at heart, who had beenhighly educated, who was full of enthusiasm, full of method, and full ofdetermination. Aunt Sophia brought two very strong essentials with her toThe Dales, and there was certainly little chance of the girls getting thevictory over her. One thing which she brought was determination, joinedto authority; the other thing was money. With these two weapons in herhand, what chance had the girls?

It might have been supposed that Miss Tredgold had done enough on thefirst night of her arrival. She had to a great extent vanquished thecook; and she had, further, told Verena and Pauline what lay before them. Surely she might have been contented, and have taken her dip candle inits tin candlestick and retired to her own room. But that was not AuntSophia's way. She discovered a light stealing from under another door, and she made for that door. 

Now, no one entered Mr. Dale's room without knocking. None of the girlswould have ventured to do so. But Aunt Sophia was made of sterner stuff. She did not knock. She opened the door and entered. The scholar wasseated at the far end of the room. A large reading-lamp stood on thetable. It spread a wide circle of light on the papers and books, and onhis own silvery head and thin aquiline features. The rest of the room wasin shadow. Miss Tredgold entered and stood a few feet away from Mr. Dale. Mr. Dale had already forgotten that such a person as Miss Sophia existed. It was his habit to work for a great many hours each night. It was duringthe hours of darkness that he most thoroughly absorbed himself in hisdarling occupation. His dinner had been better than usual, and thatdelicious coffee had stimulated his brain. He had not tasted coffee likethat for years. His brain, therefore, being better nourished, was keenerthan usual to go on with his accustomed work. As Miss Sophia advanced tohis side he uttered one or two sighs of rapture, for again a freshrendering of a much-disputed passage occurred to him. Light was, inshort, flooding the pages of his translation. 

"The whole classical world will bless me, " murmured Mr. Dale. "I am doinga vast service. "

"I am sorry to interrupt you, Henry, " said the sharp, incisive tones ofhis sister-in-law. 

At Miss Tredgold's words he dropped his pen. It made a blot on the page, which further irritated him; for, untidy as he was in most things, hisclassical work was exquisitely neat. 

"Do go away, " he said. "I am busy. Go away at once. "

"I am sorry, Henry, but I must stay. You know me, don't you? Yoursister-in-law, Sophia Tredgold. "

"Go away, Sophia. I don't want to be rude, but I never see any one atthis hour. "

"Henry, you are forced to see me. I shall go when I choose, not before. "

"Madam!"

Mr. Dale sprang to his feet. 

"Madam!" he repeated, almost sputtering out his words, "you surely don'twish me to expel you. You don't intend to stand there all night. I can'thave it. I don't allow people in my study. I am sorry to be discourteousto a lady, but I state a fact; you must go immediately. You don't realizewhat it is to have a brain like mine, nor to have undertaken such aherculean task. Ah! the beautiful thought which meant so much hasvanished. Madam, you are responsible. "

"Stop!" interrupted Miss Tredgold. "I will go the moment you do what Iwant. "

"Will you? I'll do anything--anything that keeps you out of this room. "

"That is precisely what I require. I don't wish to come into thisroom--that is, for the present. By-and-by it must be cleaned, for Idecline to live in a dirty house; but I give you a fortnight's grace. "

"And the rendering of the passage is beyond doubt, according toClericus---- I beg your pardon; are you still speaking?"

"Yes, Henry. I am annoying you, I know; and, all things considered, I amglad, for you need rousing. I intend to sit or stand in this room, closeto you, until morning if necessary. Ah! here is a chair. "

As Miss Tredgold spoke she drew forward an unwieldy arm-chair, which waspiled up with books and papers. These she was calmly about to remove, when a shriek from the anguished scholar stopped her. 

"Don't touch them, " he exclaimed. "You destroy the work of months. If youmust have a chair, take mine. "

Miss Tredgold did take it. She now found herself seated within a fewyards of the scholar's desk. The bright light from the lamp fell on herface; it looked pale, calm, and determined. Mr. Dale was in shadow; theagony on his face was therefore not perceptible. 

"Take anything you want; only go, woman, " he said. 

"Henry, you are a difficult person to deal with, and I am sorry to haveto speak to you as I do. I am sorry to have to take, as it were, advantage of you; but I intend to stay in this house. "

"You are not wanted, Sophia. "

"I am not wished for, Henry; but as to being wanted, no woman was evermore wanted. "

"That you are not. "

"I say I am; and, what is more, I intend to remain. We need not discussthis point, for it is settled. I take up my sojourn in this house forthree months. "

"Three months!" said Mr. Dale. "Oh, my word! And this is only June. FromJune to July, from July to August, from August to September! It is verycruel of you, Sophia. I did not think my poor wife's sister would tortureme like this. "

"For the sake of your family I intend to stay, Henry. You will have tosubmit. I do not leave this room until you submit. What is more, you haveto do something further. I want you to give me authority over yourchildren. The moment I have it--I want it in writing, remember--I willleave you; and I will trouble you in the future as little as woman cantrouble man. You will have better meals; but that you won't care about. "

"The coffee, " murmured Mr. Dale. 

"Yes, you will have plenty of that delicious coffee. You will also havecleaner rooms. "

"This room is not to be touched; you understand?"

"For the present we will let that matter lie in abeyance. Come, give meyour authority in writing, and I leave the room; but if you don't, I stayin this chair--your chair, Henry Dale--all night if necessary. "

If ever there was a poor, bewildered man, it was Mr. Dale at that moment. He did not give many thoughts to anything on earth but his belovedstudies; but, all the same, when he had time for a momentary reflectionthat he possessed girls, he felt that he quite liked them. In his ownfashion he was fond of Verena; and once when Briar had a very bad cold hesat with her for a very few minutes, and recommended her to try snuff. Hedid not wish to make his children unhappy, and he thought that the adventof Miss Tredgold would have that effect on them. But, after all, adetermined woman like her must be humored; and what were the childrencompared to his own most valuable work? In the days to come they would beproud to own him. He would be spoken of as the very great English scholarwhose rendering of Virgil was the most perfect that had ever been putinto English prose. Oh! it was impossible to hesitate another moment. Thewoman was in his chair, and his thoughts were leaving him. 

"Madam, " he said, "you have taken me at a cruel disadvantage. I amseriously sorry for my poor children. "

"Never mind about that now, Henry. You are, I perceive, a wise man. Youcan rest assured that I will do what is best both for you and for them. "

"Very well, madam, I yield. "

"You give me absolute authority to do what I think best for yourchildren?"

"Ye--s. "

"To reorganize this household?"

"Not this room. "

"With the exception of this room. "

"I suppose so. "

"You will uphold my authority when the girls come to you, as perhaps theywill, and ask you to interfere?"

"Oh, Sophia, you won't be hard on the poor children?"

"I will be just to them. You will uphold my authority?"

"Ye--s. "

"If I think it necessary to punish them, you won't condemn thepunishment?"

"Oh, please, Sophia, do go away! The night is passing quickly. I neverthink well by daylight. "

"Put it on paper, Henry. Or stay! that will take too long. Give me asheet of paper; I will write what I require. I only want your signature. "

Poor Mr. Dale had to search among his papers for a blank sheet. MissSophia seized his special stylographic pen, pressed very hard on the nib, and wrote what she required. Mr. Dale felt certain he would find it quitespoilt when he came to use it again. But at last all her requirementswere on paper, and Henry Dale wrote his signature at the end. 

"Thank you, Henry; you have acted wisely. You have your study now toyourself. "

Miss Tredgold bowed as she left the room. 

CHAPTER VI. 

TOPSY-TURVYDOM. 

The fortnight that followed was not likely to be forgotten by the youngDales. It would live in the remembrance of each child old enough tonotice. Even Penelope found the course of events interesting--sometimesirritating, it is true; sometimes also delightful; but at least alwaysexciting. Miss Tredgold never did things by halves. She had got theabsolute authority which she required from the master of the house, andhaving got it she refrained from annoying him, in any way whatsoever. Hismeals were served with punctuality, and were far more comfortable thanthey had ever been before. He was always presented with a cup of strong, fragrant, delicious coffee after his dinner. This coffee enabled him topursue his translation with great clearness and accuracy. His study up tothe present was left undisturbed. His papers were allowed to remain thickwith dust; his chairs were allowed to be laden with books and papers; thecarpet was allowed to remain full of holes; the windows were left exactlyas the scholar liked them--namely, tightly screwed down so that not eventhe faintest breath of heaven's air could come in and disarrange theterrible disorder. 

But the rest of the house was truly turned topsy-turvy. It was necessary, Miss Tredgold assured the girls, to have topsy-turvydom before the reignof order could begin. 

At first the young Dales were very angry. For the whole of the first dayVerena wept at intervals. Pauline sulked. Briar wept one minute andlaughed the next. The other children followed in the footsteps of theirelders. Penelope was now openly and defiantly a grown-up child. Shebelonged to the schoolroom, although no schoolroom as yet existed at TheDales. She defied nurse; she took her meals with her sisters, and pinchedbaby whenever she found her alone. Miss Tredgold, however, took no noticeof the tears or smiles or groans or discontented looks. She had a greatdeal to do, and she performed her tasks with rectitude and skill anddespatch. New furniture was ordered from Southampton. She drove toLyndhurst Road with Verena in the shabby trap which had first brought herto The Dales. She went from there to Southampton and chose new furniture. Verena could not help opening her eyes in amazement. Such very prettywhite bedsteads; such charming chests of drawers; such nice, clean-looking carpets!

"Surely, Aunt Sophia, " she said, "these things are not for us?"

"They certainly are, my dear, " replied her aunt; "for in future I hopeyou will live as a lady and a Christian, and no longer as a savage. "

The furniture arrived, and was put into the rooms. Pretty white curtainswere placed at the windows; the paint was washed, and the paper rubbeddown with bread. 

"Fresh decoration and repainting must wait until I get the children toLondon for the winter, " thought Aunt Sophia. 

But notwithstanding the fact that paint and paper were almostnon-existent by this time at The Dales, the house assumed quite a newair. As to Betty, she was in the most extraordinary way brought overabsolutely to Miss Tredgold's part of the establishment. Miss Tredgoldnot only raised her wages on the spot, but paid her every farthing thatwas due in the past. She spoke to her a good deal about her duty, and ofwhat she owed to the family, and of what she, Miss Tredgold, would do forher if she proved equal to the present emergency. Betty began to regardMiss Tredgold as a sort of marchioness in disguise. So interested was shein her, and so sure that one of the real "haristocrats" resided on thepremises, that she ceased to read the _Family Paper_ except at longintervals. She served up quite good dinners, and by the end of thefortnight few people would have known The Dales. For not only was thehouse clean and sweet--the drawing-room quite a charming old room, withits long Gothic windows, its tracery of ivy outside, and its peep intothe distant rose-garden; the hall bright with great pots of flowersstanding about--but the girls themselves were no longer in rags. Thefurniture dealer's was not the only shop which Miss Tredgold had visitedat Southampton. She had also gone to a linen draper's, and had boughtmany nice clothes for the young folks. 

The house being so much improved, and the girls being clothed afresh, asufficient staff of servants arrived from a neighboring town. Betty washelped in the kitchen by a neat kitchen-maid; there were two housemaidsand a parlor-maid; and John had a boy to help in the garden. 

"Now, Verena, " said Miss Tredgold on the evening of the day when the newservants were pronounced a great success, "what do you think ofeverything?"

"You have made the place quite pretty, Aunt Sophia. "

"And you like it?"

"I think you mean to be very kind. "

"My dear Verena, do talk sense. Don't tell me that you don't feel morecomfortable in that pale-gray, nicely fitting dress, with the blush-rosein your belt, and that exceedingly pretty white hat on your head, thanyou did when you rushed up to welcome me, little savage that you were, afortnight ago. "

"I was so happy as a savage!"

"And you are not happy now?"

"I think you are kind, Aunt Sophia, and perhaps--I shall get accustomedto it. "

Her aunt whisked round with some impatience. 

"I hope so, " she said; "for, whether you like it or not, you will have toput up with it. I fully intend to be kind, but I also mean to be veryfirm. I have now got the home in which you live into decent order, andyou yourselves are respectably clothed. But I have not yet tackled themost important part of my duties, my dear Verena. "

"Oh, please, Aunt Sophia, what else is necessary?"

Miss Tredgold threw up her hands. 

"A great, great deal more, " she cried. "I have not yet touched yourminds; and I fear, from the way you speak, that I have scarcely touchedyour hearts. Well, your bodies at least are attended to, and now comeyour minds. Lastly, I hope to reach the most important of all--yourhearts. Verena, I must probe your ignorance in order to stimulate you tolearn. You, my dear, will be grown up in three years, so that you inparticular have a vast lot to do. "

"But I hate learning, and I shouldn't like to be a learned woman, " saidVerena. "Mother knew a lot of things, but she wasn't learned likefather. "

"Good gracious, child! I don't want you to be like your father. To tellthe truth, a bookworm such as he is is one of the most irritating personsin existence. But there! What am I saying? I oughtn't to speak againsthim in your presence. And your poor mother loved him, oh, so much! Nowthen, dear, to return to yourself and your sisters. I presume that youwould like to be a useful and valuable member of society--a woman who hasbeen trained to do her best, and to exercise the highest influence overall those with whom she comes in contact. Influence, which springs fromcharacter, my dear Verena, is the highest power that any one can get. Now, an ignorant person has little or no influence; therefore, to be kindand sympathetic and useful in the future, you must know many things. Youhave not a minute to lose. I appeal to you for your mother's sake; for mydear, dear sister would have liked her eldest child to be--ah, Verena!--so good and so true!"

"You touch me, Aunt Sophy, " said Verena, "when you talk of mother. Youtouch me more than words can say. Yes, I will try to be good; but youmust bear with me if I don't take the yoke too kindly at first. "

"Poor child! I will try to make it light for you. Now what is the matter, Penelope?"

"Please, please, Aunt Sophy, " said that young person, rushing up at themoment. 

"Hold yourself erect, my dear; don't run quite so fast. There! you havegot a rent already in your new frock. Now what do you want?"

"May I be a schoolroom little girl in the future?"

"What are you now?"

"Nursey says I'm nursery. But I don't want to be nursery; I want to stayalways with my own good Aunty Sophy. That is what I want. May I be aschoolroom child?"

"In the first place, you are not to call me 'aunty. ' I am Aunt Sophia toyou. I dislike abbreviations. "

"What's them?"

"Say, 'What are they?'"

"What are they?"

"I will tell you another time. How old are you, Penelope?"

"I wor seven my last birthday, one month agone. "

"Your grammar is disgraceful, child. Please understand that theschoolroom has its penalties. "

"What's them?"

"Again I shall have to correct you. 'What are they?' is the sentence youought to use. But now, my dear, I don't approve of little girls learningmuch when they are only seven years old; but if you wish to be aschoolroom girl you will have to take your place in the schoolroom, andyou will have to learn to submit. You will have to be under morediscipline than you are now with nurse. "

"All the same, I'll be with my own aunt, " said Penelope, raising her boldblack eyes and fixing them on Miss Sophia's face. 

But Miss Tredgold was not the sort of person to be influenced by softwords. "Deeds, not words, " was her motto. 

"You have said enough, Penelope, " she said. "Take your choice; you may bea schoolroom child for a month if you like. "

"I wouldn't if I were you, Pen, " said Josephine. 

"But I will, " said Penelope. 

In her heart of hearts she was terrified at the thought of theschoolroom, but even more did she fear the knowledge that nurse wouldlaugh at her if she returned to the nursery. 

"I will stay, " she said. "I am a schoolroom child;" and she pirouettedround and round Aunt Sophia. 

"But, please, Aunt Sophia, " said Verena, "who is going to teach us?"

"I intend to have that honor, " said Miss Tredgold. 

If there were no outward groans among her assembled nieces at thesewords, there were certainly spirit groans, for the girls did not lookforward to lessons with Aunt Sophia. 

"You are all displeased, " she said; "and I am scarcely surprised. Thefact is, I have not got any efficient teacher to come here just yet. Theperson I should wish for is not easy to find. I myself know a great dealmore than you do, and I have my own ideas with regard to instruction. Imay as well tell you at once that I am a very severe teacher, andsomewhat cranky, too. A girl who does not know her lessons is apt to findherself seated at my left side. Now, my right side is sunshiny andpleasant; but my left side faces due northeast. I think that will explaineverything to you. We will meet in the schoolroom to-morrow at nineo'clock sharp. Now I must go. "

When Miss Tredgold had vanished the girls looked at each other. 

"Her northeast side!" said Pauline. "It makes me shudder even to think ofit. "

But notwithstanding these remarks the girls did feel a certain amount ofinterest at the thought of the new life that lay before them. Everythinghad changed from that sunny, languorous, _dolce far niente_ time afortnight back. Now the girls felt keen and brisk, and they knew wellthat each moment in the future would be spent in active employment. 

The next day, sharp at nine o'clock, the young people who were to formMiss Tredgold's school entered the new schoolroom. It was suitably andprettily furnished, and had a charming appearance. Large maps were hungon the walls; there was a long line of bookshelves filled partly withstory books, partly with history books, and partly with ordinary lessonbooks. The windows were draped with white muslin, and stood wide open. Asthe girls took their seats at the baize-covered table they could see outinto the garden. A moment after they had arrived in the schoolroom MissTredgold made her appearance. 

"We will begin with prayers, " she said. 

She read a portion from the Bible, made a few remarks, and then they allknelt as she repeated the Lord's prayer. 

"Now, my dears, " said their new governess as they rose from their knees, "lessons will begin. I hope we shall proceed happily and quietly. It willbe uphill work at first; but if we each help the other, uphill work willprove to have its own pleasures. It's a long pull, and a strong pull, anda pull all together that masters difficulties. If we are all united wecan accomplish anything; but if there is mutiny in the camp, then thingsmay be difficult. I warn you all, however, that under any circumstances Imean to win the victory. It will be much easier, therefore, to submit atfirst. There will be no use in sulkiness, in laziness, in inattention. Make a brave effort now, all of you, and you will never regret this day. Now, Verena, you and I will have some conversation together. The rest ofyou children will read this page in the History of England, and tell meafterwards what you can remember about it. "

Here Miss Tredgold placed a primer before each child, and she and Verenaretired into the bay-window. They came out again at the end of tenminutes. Verena's cheeks were crimson, and Miss Tredgold decidedly wore alittle of her northeast air. Pauline, on the whole, had a more successfulinterview with her new governess than her sister. She was smarter andbrighter than Verena in many ways. But before the morning was over MissTredgold announced that all her pupils were shamefully ignorant. 

"I know more about you now than I did, " she said. "You will all have towork hard. Verena, you cannot even read properly. As to your writing, itis straggling, uneven, and faulty in spelling. "

CHAPTER VII. 

NANCY KING. 

The rest of the day passed in a subdued state. The girls hardly knewthemselves. They felt as though tiny and invisible chains weresurrounding them. These chains pulled them whenever they moved. They madetheir presence felt when they spoke, when they sat down, and when theyrose up. They were with them at dinner; they were with them whenever MissTredgold put in an appearance. Perhaps they were silken chains, but, allthe same, they were intensely annoying. Verena was the most patient ofthe nine. She said to her sisters:

"We have never had any discipline. I was reading the other day in one ofmother's books that discipline is good. It is the same thing as when youprune the fruit trees. Don't you remember the time when John got a verygood gardener from Southampton to come and look over our trees? Thegardener said, 'These trees have all run to wood; you must prune them. 'And he showed John how, and we watched him. Don't you remember, girls?"

"Oh, don't I!" said Pauline. "And he cut away a lot of the little apples, and hundreds of tiny pears, and a lot of lovely branches; and I began tocry, and I told him he was a horrid, horrid man, and that I hated him. "

"And what did he answer?"

"Oh, he got ruder than ever! He said, 'If I was your pa I'd do a littlepruning on you. ' Oh, wasn't I angry!"

Verena laughed. 

"But think a little more, " she said. "Don't you remember the followingyear how splendid the pears were? And we had such heaps of apples; andthe gooseberries and raspberries were equally fine. We didn't hate theman when we were eating our delicious fruit. "

Pauline made a slight grimace. 

"Look here, Renny, " she said suddenly; "for goodness' sake don't begin topoint morals. It's bad enough to have an old aunt here without yourturning into a mentor. We all know what you want to say, but please don'tsay it. Haven't we been scolded and directed and ordered about all daylong? We don't want you to do it, too. "

"Very well, I won't, " said Verena. 

"Hullo!" suddenly cried Briar; "if this isn't Nancy King! Oh, welcome, Nancy--welcome! We are glad to see you. "

Nancy King was a spirited and bright-looking girl who lived about a mileaway. Her father had a large farm which was known as The Hollies. He hadheld this land for many years, and was supposed to be in flourishingcircumstances. Nancy was his only child. She had been sent to afashionable school at Brighton, and considered herself quite a younglady. She came whenever she liked to The Dales, and the girls often mether in the Forest, and enjoyed her society vastly. Now in the mostfashionable London attire, Nancy sailed across the lawn, calling out asshe did so:

"Hullo, you nine! You look like the Muses. What's up now? I have heardmost wonderful, astounding whispers. "

"Oh, Nancy, we're all so glad to see you!" said Briar. She left her seat, ran up to the girl, and took her hand. "Come and sit here--here in themidst of our circle. We have such a lot to say to you!"

"And I have a lot to say to you. But, dear me! how grand we are!"

Nancy's twinkling black eyes looked with mock approval at Verena's plainbut very neat gray dress, and at the equally neat costumes of the othergirls. Then finally she gazed long and pensively at Penelope, who, in anugly dress of brown holland, was looking back at her with eyes as blackand defiant as her own. 

"May I ask, " said Nancy slowly, "what has this nursery baby to do in themidst of the grown-ups?"

"I'm not nursery, " said Penelope, her face growing crimson; "I'mschoolroom. Don't tell me I'm nursery, because I'm not. We're allschoolroom, and we're having a right good time. "

"Indeed! Then I may as well remark that you don't look like it. You look, the whole nine of you, awfully changed, and as prim as prim can be. 'Prunes and prisms' wouldn't melt in your mouths. You're not half, norquarter, as nice as you were when I saw you last. I've just come home forgood, you know. I mean to have a jolly time at Margate by-and-by. And oh!my boy cousins and my two greatest chums at school are staying with menow at The Hollies. The girls' names are Amelia and Rebecca Perkins. Oh, they're fine! Do give me room to squat between you girls. You arefrightfully stand-off and prim. "

"Sit close to me, Nancy, " said Verena. "We're not a bit changed to you, "she added. 

"Well, that's all right, honey, for I'm not changed to you. Even if I ama very rich girl, I'm the sort to always cling to my old friends; andalthough you are as poor as church mice, you are quite a good sort. Ihave always said so--always. I've been talking a lot about you to Ameliaand Rebecca, and they'd give their eyes to see you. I thought you mightask us all over. "

"Oh! I daren't, Nancy, " said Verena. "We are not our own mistresses now. "

"Well, that's exactly what I heard, " said Nancy. "Oh, how hot it is! Pen, for goodness' sake run and fetch me a cabbage-leaf to fan my face. "

Penelope ran off willingly enough. Nancy turned to the others. 

"I sent her off on purpose, " she said. "If we can't come to you, you mustcome to us. We three girls at The Hollies, and my two boy cousins, Tomand Jack, have the most daring, delightful scheme to propose. We want tohave a midnight picnic. "

"Midnight picnic!" cried Verena. "But we can't possibly come, Nancy. "

"My good girl, why not? You know I talked about it last year. We want tohave one on a very grand scale; and there are a few friends atSouthampton that I would ask to join us. You won't have any expensewhatever. I'll stump up for the whole. Father gives me so much money thatI have at the present moment over five pounds in the savings-bank. Wewill light fires in a clearing not far from here, and we will have teaand supper afterwards; and we shall dance--dance by the light of themoon--and I will bring my guitar to make music. Can you imagine anythingin all the world more fascinating?"

"Oh, Nancy, it does sound too lovely!" said Briar. "I'd just give theworld to go. "

"Well, then, you shall come. "

"But Aunt Sophy would not hear of it, " said Verena. 

"Nonsense!" cried Briar; "we must go. It would be such a jolly treat!"

Nancy favored the eight girls with a sharp glance. 

"I have heard of that dreadful old body, " she said. "Father told me. Hesaid you'd be frumped up like anything, and all the gay life taken out ofyou. I came over on purpose. I pity you from the very bottom of myheart. "

"But, Nancy, you can't think how things are changed, " said Pauline. "Allour time is occupied. Lessons began to-day. They are going to take hoursand hours. "

"But these are holiday times, " said Nancy. "All the world has a holidayin the middle of the summer. "

"That's true enough, " said Verena; "but then we had holidays for over ayear, and Aunt Sophia says we must begin at once. She is quite right, I'msure; although of course we scarcely like it. And anyhow, Nancy, shewon't allow us to go to a midnight picnic; there's no use thinking aboutit. "

"But suppose you don't ask her. Of course, if she's an old maid she'llrefuse. Old maids are the queerest, dumpiest things on the earth. I'mreally thankful I'm not bothered with any of them. Oh! here comes Pen. It's nonsense to have a child like that out of the nursery. We'd best notsay anything before her. Verena and Briar, will you walk down to the gatewith me? I thought perhaps we might have the picnic in a week. It couldbe easily managed; you know it could. "

"Oh, we must go!" said Pauline. 

"I'm going, " said Josephine. 

But Verena was silent. 

"Here's your cabbage-leaf. How red your face looks!" said Penelope. 

Nancy turned and gazed at her. She was a bold-looking girl, and by nomeans pretty. She snatched the leaf angrily from Penelope's hand, saying:

"Oh, my dear, go away! How you do worry, jumping and dancing about! Andwhat a stupid, good-for-nothing leaf you've brought! Fetch me one that'snot completely riddled with caterpillar holes. "

Penelope's black eyes flashed fire, and her face flushed. 

"If I could, I would just, " she said. 

"If you could you would what?" said Nancy. 

"I know--I know! And I'll do it, too. "

A provoking smile visited the lips of the child. She danced backwards andforwards in an ecstasy of glee. 

"I can punish you all fine, " said Penelope; "and I'll do it, too. "

She vanished out of sight. Now, it must be admitted that Penelope was nota nice child. She had her good points, for few children are without them;but in addition to being thoroughly untrained, to never having exercisedself-control, she had by nature certain peculiarities which the otherchildren had not. It had been from her earliest days her earnest desireto curry favor with those in authority, and yet to act quite as naughtilyas any one else when she thought no one was looking. Even when quite atiny child Penelope was wont to sit as still as a mouse in nurse'spresence. If nurse said, "Miss Penelope, you are not to move or you willwake baby, " then nurse knew that Penelope would not stir. But if thissame child happened to be left with baby, so strong would be her jealousythat she would give the infant a sharp pinch and set it howling, and thenrun from the room. 

These peculiarities continued with her growth. Nurse was fond of herbecause she was quiet and useful in the nursery, fairly tidy in herhabits, and fairly helpful. But even nurse was wont to say, "You nevercan get at Miss Penelope. You can never see through what is brewing inher mind. "

Now, when Aunt Sophia appeared on the scene, Penelope instantlydetermined to carry out the darling wish of her heart. This was no lessthan to be removed from the dullness of the nursery to the fascinatinglife that she supposed the elder children led. To accomplish this shethought it would be only necessary to make a great fuss about AuntSophia, to attend to her fads, and to give her numerous littleattentions. In short, to show that she, Penelope, cared very much for hernew aunt. But Aunt Sophia did not care for Penelope's fusses, anddisliked her small attentions. Nevertheless, the small girl persevered, and in the end she did win a triumph, for she was promoted to theschoolroom, with its superior privileges and--alas! alas!--also itsundoubted drawbacks. She, who hated lessons, must now try to read; shemust also try to write, and must make valiant efforts to spell. Above andbeyond all these things, she had to do one yet harder--she had to sitmute as a mouse for a couple of hours daily, with her hands neatly foldedin her lap; and by-and-by she had to struggle with her clumsy littlefingers to make hideous noises on the cracked old piano. These thingswere not agreeable to the wild child, and so uncomfortable and restrainedhad she felt during the first morning's lessons that she almost resolvedto humble her pride and return to the nursery. But the thought of hersisters' withering, sarcastic remarks, and of nurse's bitterly coldreception, and nurse's words, "I told you so, " being repeated for ever inher ears, was too much for Penelope, and she determined to give a furthertrial to the schoolroom life. Now it occurred to her that a moment oftriumph was before her. In the old days she had secretly adored NancyKing, for Nancy had given her more than one lollypop; but when Nancyasked what the nursery child was doing with the schoolroom folk, andshowed that she did not appreciate Penelope's society, the little girl'sheart became full of anger. 

"I'll tell about her. I'll get her into trouble. I'll get them all intotrouble, " she thought. 

She ran into the shrubbery, and stood there thinking for a time. She wasa queer-looking little figure as she stood thus in her short hollandoverall, her stout bare legs, brown as berries, slightly apart, her headthrown back, her hair awry, a smudge on her cheek, her black eyestwinkling. 

"I will do it, " she said to herself. "Aunt Sophy shall find out that I amthe good one of the family. "

Penelope ran wildly across the shrubbery, invaded the kitchen-garden, invaded the yard, and presently invaded the house. She found Miss Sophiasitting by her writing-table. Miss Sophia had a headache; teaching wasnot her vocation. She had worked harder that day than ever in her lifebefore, and she had a great many letters to write. 

It was therefore a very busy and a slightly cross person who turned roundand faced Penelope. 

"Don't slam the door, Penelope, " she said; "and don't run into the roomin that breathless sort of way. "

"Well, I thought you ought for to know. I done it 'cos of you. "

"'I did it because of you, ' you should say. "

"I did it because of you. I am very fond of you, aunt. "

"I hope so; and I trust you will prove your affection by your deeds. "

"Bovver deeds!" remarked Penelope. 

"What is that you said, my dear?"

"I say, bovver deeds!"

"I confess I do not understand. Run away, now, Penelope; I am busy. "

"But you ought for to know. Nancy King has come. "

"Who is Nancy King?"

"A girl. She's squatting up close to Renny on the lawn, and her arm istwisted round Pauline's waist. She's big, and dressed awful grand. Shehas gold bangles on her arms, and tinkling gold things round her neck, and she's here, and I thought course you ought for to know. I thought so'cos I love you. Aren't you pleased? Aren't I the sort of little girl youcould perhaps give a lollypop to?"

"No, you are not, Penelope. I do not wish you to tell tales of yoursisters. Go away, my dear; go away. "

Penelope, in some wonder, and with a sense of disgust, not only withNancy King and Miss Tredgold, but also with herself, left the room. 

"I won't tell her any more, " she thought. "She never seems to like what Ido for her. She'd be pretty lonesome if it wasn't for me; but she don'tseem to care for anybody. I'll just rush away to nursey this very minuteand tell her how I love being a schoolroom girl. I'll tell her I dote onmy lessons, and that I never for the big, big, wide world would be anursery child again. "

"Queer little child, Penelope, " thought Miss Tredgold when her smallniece had left her. 

She sat with her pen suspended, lost in thought. 

"Very queer child, " she soliloquized; "not the least like the others. Ican't say that I specially care for her. At present I am not in love withany of my nieces; but of all of them, Penelope is the child I like theleast. She tells tales; she tries to curry favor with me. Is shetruthful? Is she sincere? I have a terrible fear within me that occasionsmay arise when Penelope would prove deceitful. There! what am I saying? Amotherless child--my own niece--surely I ought to love her. Yes, I dolove her. I will try to love them all. What did she say about a girlsitting on the lawn with my girls? It is nice to talk of the Dales as mygirls; it gives me a sort of family feeling, just as though I were not anold maid. I wonder what friends my girls have made for themselves roundhere. Nancy King. I don't know any people of the name of King who liveabout here. If Henry were any one else he would probably be able to tellme. I will go and see the girl for myself. "

Miss Tredgold left the room. She had a very stately walk. The girlsalways spoke of her movements as "sailing. " Miss Tredgold now sailedacross the lawn, and in the same dignified fashion came up to thesecluded nook where the girls, with Nancy King in their midst, wereenjoying themselves. They were all talking eagerly. Nancy King was seatedalmost in the center of the group; the other girls were bending towardsher. As Miss Tredgold appeared in view Josephine was exclaiming in herhigh-pitched, girlish voice:

"Oh, I say, Nancy! What screaming fun!"

When Josephine spoke Lucy clapped her hands, Helen laughed, Verena lookedpuzzled, and Pauline's expression seemed to say she longed for somethingvery badly indeed. 

"My dears, what are you all doing?" suddenly cried Aunt Sophia. 

She had come up quietly, and they had none of them heard her. It was justas if a pistol had gone off in their ears. The whole nine jumped to theirfeet. Nancy's red face became redder. She pushed her gaily trimmed hatforward over her heated brows. She had an instinctive feeling that shehad never before seen any one so dignified and magnificent as Miss SophiaTredgold. She knew that this was the case, although Miss Sophia's dresswas almost dowdy, and the little brown slipper which peeped out fromunder the folds of her gray dress was decidedly the worse for wear. Nancyfelt at the same time the greatest admiration for Miss Tredgold, thegreatest dislike to her, and the greatest terror of her. 

"Aunt Sophia, " said Verena, who could be a lady if she chose, "may Iintroduce our special friend----"

"And crony, " interrupted Nancy. 

"Our special friend, Nancy King, " repeated Verena. "We have known her allour lives, Aunt Sophia. "

"How do you do, Miss King?" said Miss Tredgold. 

She favored "the young person, " as she termed Miss King, with a verydistant bow. 

"Girls, " she said, turning to the others, "are you aware that preparationhour has arrived? Will you all go quietly indoors?--Miss King, my niecesare beginning their studies in earnest, and I do not allow the hour ofpreparation to be interfered with by any one. "

"I know all about that, " said Nancy in a glib voice. "I was at afirst-rate school myself for years. Weren't we kept strict, just! Myword! we couldn't call our noses our own. The only language was_parlez-vous_. But it was a select school--very; and now that I haveleft, I like to feel that I am accomplished. None of you girls can beatme on the piano. I know nearly all the girls' songs in _San Toy_ and the_Belle of New York_. Father loves to hear me when I sing 'Rhoda Pagoda. 'Perhaps, Miss Tredgold, you'd like to hear me play on the pianoforte. Idote on dance music; don't you, Miss Tredgold? Dance music is so lively;it warms the cockles of the heart--don't it, Miss Tredgold?"

"I don't dance, so it is impossible for me to answer, " said MissTredgold. "I am sorry, Miss King, to disturb a pleasant meeting, but mygirls are under discipline, and the hour for preparation has arrived. "

Nancy shrugged her capacious shoulders. 

"I suppose that means _congé_ for poor Nancy King, " she said. "Verysorry, I'm sure. Good-day, madam. --Good-bye, Renny. I'll look you upanother day. --Good-bye to all. I'm off to have a bit of fun with my boycousins. "

Nancy swung round and left the group. She walked awkwardly, switching hershoulders and swaying from side to side, a dirty train trailing afterher. 

"May I ask who your friend really is?" said Miss Tredgold when she hadwatched the departure of this most undesirable acquaintance. 

"She is Nancy King, Aunt Sophia. We have known her all our lives, " saidVerena. 

"My dear Verena, I have heard that statement before. Nevertheless, thefact that you have known that young person since you were little childrendoes not reply to my question. Who is she? Where does she come from? Whois her father? I don't remember to have heard of any gentlefolks of thename of King residing in this part of the New Forest. "

"She is not gentlefolk, " said Pauline. 

Pauline came a step nearer as she spoke. Her eyes were bright, and therewas a red spot on each cheek. 

"But although she is not born a lady, she is our friend, " she continued. "She is the daughter of Farmer King, who keeps a very jolly house; andthey have plenty of money. We have often and often been at The Hollies. "

"Oh! we get delicious apples there, " interposed Adelaide; "the juiciestyou ever tasted--the cherry-and-brandy sort. "

"I have never heard of that special apple, and I dislike its name, " saidMiss Sophia. --"Now come into the house, all of you. "

She did not question them further. She walked on in front. 

"I can't stand too much of this, " whispered Briar to Verena. 

But Verena said "Hush!" and clasped Briar's little hand as it lay on herarm. 

They entered the house and proceeded to the pleasant schoolroom. 

"It is now four o'clock, " said Miss Tredgold. "At five tea is served. Asthe evening is so fine, I have ordered it to be laid under the cedar-treeon the lawn. For the next hour I expect close attention to lessons. Ishall not stay in the room, but you, Verena, are monitress during myabsence. Please understand that I expect honor. Honor requires that youshould study, and that you should be silent. Here are your books. Preparethe lessons I shall require you to know to-morrow morning. Those girlswho have not made due preparation will enter into Punishment Land. "

"What in the world is that?" burst from the lips of the irrepressibleBriar. 

"Don't ask me, " answered Miss Tredgold. "I hope you may never have apersonal acquaintance with that gloomy country. Now farewell. For an hourfix your attention on your tasks; and adieu. "

Never before had the Dale girls found themselves in such a quandary. Fora whole long hour they were prohibited by a code of honor from speaking. They were all just bursting with desire to launch forth in a fierytorrent, but they must none of them utter a single word. Verena, asmonitress, could not encourage rebellion. There are some things that evenuntrained girls, provided they are ladies, understand by intuition. TheDales were ladies by birth. Their home had belonged to their father'sfamily for generations. There was a time in the past when to be a Dale ofThe Dales meant to be rich, honored, and respected. But, alas! the Dales, like many other old families, had gone under. Money had failed; purseshad become empty; lands had been sold; the house had dwindled down to itspresent shabby dimensions; and if Miss Tredgold had not appeared on thescene, there would have been little chance of Mr. Dale's ten daughtersever taking the position to which their birth entitled them. But thereare some things which an ancient race confers. _Noblesse oblige_, for onething. These girls were naughty, rebellious, and angry; their hearts werevery sore; their silken chains seemed at this moment to assume thestrength of iron fetters; but during the hour that was before them theywould not disobey Miss Tredgold. Accordingly their dreary books wereopened. Oh, how ugly and dull they looked!

"What does it matter whether a girl knows how to spell, and what happenedlong, long ago in the history-books?" thought Briar. 

"Aunt Sophia was downright horrid about poor Nancy, " was Pauline's angrythought. "Oh! must I really work out these odious sums, when I amthinking all the time of poor Nancy?"

"I shall never keep my head if this sort of thing goes on for long, "thought Verena as she bent over her page of English history. "Oh, dear!that midnight picnic, and Nancy's face, and the dancing in the glades ofthe Forest. It would have been fun. If there is one thing more thananother that I love, it is dancing. I think I could dance for ever. "

Verena could not keep her pretty little feet still. They moved restlesslyunder her chair. Pauline saw the movement, and a wave of sympathy flashedbetween the sisters. Pauline's eyes spoke volumes as they encountered thesoft brown ones of pretty Verena. 

But an hour--even the longest--is quickly over. Five o'clock struck, andquick to the minute each girl sprang to her feet. Books were put away, and they all streamed out into the open air. Now they could talk as muchas they liked. How their tongues wagged! They flew at each other in theirdelight and embraced violently. Never before, too, had they been sohungry for tea; and certainly never before had they seen such adelightful and tempting meal as that which was now laid for them on thelawn. The new parlor-maid had brought it out and placed it on variouslittle tables. A silver teapot reposed on a silver tray; the cups andsaucers were of fine china; the teaspoons were old, thin, and bright as alooking-glass. The table-linen was also snowy white; but what the girlsfar more appreciated were the piles of fruit, the quantities of cakes, the stacks of sandwiches, and the great plates of bread-and-butter thatwaited for them on the festive board. 

"Well!" said Briar. "Did you ever? It looks just like a party, or abirthday treat, or something of that sort. I will say there are some nicethings about Aunt Sophia. This is certainly better than squatting on theground with a basket of gooseberries and a hunch of bread. "

"I liked the gooseberries, " said Pauline, "but, as you say, Briar, thisis nice. Ah! here comes the aunt. "

Miss Tredgold sailed into view. She took her seat opposite the hissingurn and began to pour out cups of tea. 

"For a week, " she said, "I take this place. At the end of that timeVerena occupies my throne. "

"Oh, I couldn't!" said Verena. 

"Why in the world not, Renny? You aren't quite a goose. "

"Don't use those expressions, Pauline; they are distinctly vulgar, " saidMiss Tredgold. 

"Bother!" said Pauline. 

She frowned, and the thought of the gooseberries and the hard crusts thatused to constitute tea on many days when there was no Aunt Sophia cameback to her with a sense of longing and appreciation of the golden past. 

Nevertheless the girls were hungry, and the tea was excellent; and whenMiss Tredgold had seen that each plate was piled with good things, andthat every girl had her cup of tea made exactly as she liked it, shebegan to speak. 

"You know little or nothing of the world, my dear girls, so during tea Iintend to give you some pleasant information. I attended a tea-party lastyear in a house not far from London. You would like to hear all about it, would you not?"

"If you are sure it is not lessons, " said Briar. 

"It is not lessons in the ordinary acception of the word. Now listen. This garden to which I went led down to the Thames. It was the propertyof a very great friend of mine, and she had invited what I might call aselect company. Now will you all listen, and I will tell you how thingswere done?"

Miss Tredgold then proceeded to tell her story. No one could tell a storybetter. She made her narrative quite absorbing. For these girls, who hadnever known anything of life, she drew so vivid and fascinating a picturethat they almost wished to be present at such a scene as she described. She spoke of the girls of the London world in their pretty dresses, andthe matrons in their richer garments; of the men who moved about withpolite deference. She spoke of the summer air, the beautiful appearanceof the river, the charming punts and boats which disported themselves onthe bosom of the waters. 

"It must have been pretty; but rather stiff, wasn't it?" said Verena. 

"To you, my dear, it would have been stiff, for you are not yetaccustomed to self-restraint, but to those who belong to that world itwas nothing short of enchantment. "

"But you were in fetters, " said Pauline; "and I should hate fettershowever jolly they looked. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why, you know you are putting them on us. "

"Hush, Paulie!" said Verena. 

"You are, Aunt Sophy; and you can't be angry with me if I speak. I can'timagine any one getting accustomed to fetters; it is quite beyond me. "

She shrugged her shoulders, and looked with her downright face full atMiss Tredgold. 

"Never mind, " said that lady after a pause. "I can't expect you tounderstand everything all at once; but my description of a real bit ofthe world can do you no harm. The world has its good points; you willfind that out presently. Perhaps you may not like it, but some people do. In your case there is no saying. To-morrow I will tell you another story, but it shall be of the graver and sadder side of life. That story willalso introduce the nobler side of life. But now the time has come for meto ask you a question, and I expect an answer. The time has come for meto ask a very straight question. --Verena, you are the eldest; I shallspeak to you. "

"Yes?" said Verena. 

She felt herself coloring. She said afterwards she knew exactly what wascoming. Pauline must have known also, for she pinched Verena's arm. 

"Yes?" repeated the young girl. 

"You are surprised at the story I have just related to you, " continuedMiss Tredgold. "You think that the courtly grace, the sweet refinement, the elegant manners, the words that speak of due knowledge of life andmen and women, represent a state of fetterdom; but you must also havefelt their charm. "

"To a certain extent, " said Verena slowly, "what you have said excitedme. "

"You feel it possible that, under certain circumstances, you, too, couldbelong to such a group?"

"Perhaps, " said Verena. 

"There is not a doubt of it, my dear. A few years' training, a little ofthat discipline which you call fetters, pretty manners, and suitabledress would make you quite the sort of girl who would appear amongst mycultivated friends in the garden by the River Thames. But now for myquestion: Could your friend, Nancy King, ever figure in such anassembly?"

"It would not perhaps be her world, " said Verena. 

"You have answered me. Now I am going to say something that may annoyyou; nevertheless I must say it. Your acquaintanceship with that girl asa friend must cease, and absolutely. She is not your equal. You are notto know her as a friend. If you meet her, there is no reason why youshould not be civil, but civility and friendship are different things. Ifthe time comes when she is in need or in trouble, I should be deeplysorry to think you would not help her, but as a friend she is to cease toexist for you. This is my firm command to all of you girls. There are tobe no two voices on the subject. You may not agree with me now, and youmay think me hard, but I insist on having my own way. You cease to knowNancy King as a friend. I shall myself write to that young person andforbid her to visit here. I will try not to hurt her; but there arecertain distinctions of class which I for one must insist uponpreserving. She is not a lady, she was not born a lady, and she never canbe a lady; therefore, my dear nieces, you are not to know her. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

MUSIC HATH CHARMS. 

The girls were tired when they went to bed. The life of routine hadfatigued them; although, of course, it would soon cease to do so. Notwithstanding, therefore, Miss Tredgold's startling announcement withregard to Nancy King, they slept soundly; and the next morning when nineo'clock struck they all appeared in the schoolroom, their persons neat, their hair carefully brushed, and each pair of eyes beaming withintelligence. Even Penelope looked her very best in a clean brown hollandfrock, and she went quite creditably through her alphabet, and did notsquiggle her pot-hooks quite as much as she had done on the previous day. 

Miss Tredgold was in an excellent humor. She praised the girls, told themshe was much pleased with their performances, and said further that, ifonly they would meet her half-way by being attentive and intelligent andearnest in their work, she on her part would do all in her power to makelessons agreeable; she would teach them in a way which would be sure toarouse their interest, and she would vary the work with play, and givethem as gay a time as the bright weather and their own happy hearts wouldpermit. 

The girls felt quite cheerful; they even began to whisper one to anotherthat Aunt Sophia was developing more and more good points as days wenton. 

On that afternoon a great excitement was in store, for a beautiful newpiano was to arrive from Broadwood's, and Aunt Sophia announced that shemeant to play on it for the benefit of the entire household that evening. 

"For, my dears, " said that good lady, "I have forgotten neither myplaying nor my singing. I will sing you old-fashioned songs to-night, andI quite hope that I may lure your father from his retirement. There was atime when he was musical--very musical. "

"The dad musical!" cried Briar. "Aunt Sophia, what do you mean?"

"It is true, Rose. In the days long ago, when your mother and he and Ispent happy times together, he played his violin better than any otheramateur that I happen to know. "

"There is an old violin in one of the attics, " said Verena. "We havenever touched it. It is in a case all covered with dust. "

"His Stradivarius, " murmured Miss Tredgold. "Oh dear! How are the mightyfallen! My dears, you had better say no more to me about that or I shalllose my temper. "

The girls could not imagine why Miss Tredgold's eyes grew full of acertain mistiness and her cheeks were very pink with color. The nextmoment she looked full at her nieces. 

"When your mother died she took a great deal away with her, " she said. "What would you have done, poor children! if I had not been able to cometo the rescue? It does seem almost impossible that your father, mybrother-in-law, has forgotten to play on his Stradivarius. "

"Well, aren't you glad you comed?" said Penelope, marching up andstanding before the good lady. "Don't you like to feel you are so useful, the grand piano coming, and all the rest? Then you has us under yourthumb. Don't you like that?"

"I don't understand you, Penny. You are talking in a very naughty way. "

"I aren't. I are only saying what nursey said. Nursey said last night, 'Well, well, drat it all! They are under her thumb by this time. ' I askednursey what it meant, and she said, 'Miss Penny, little girls should beseen, and not heard. ' Nursey always says that when I ask her questionsthat I want special to know. But when I comed down this morning I askedBetty what being under your thumb meant, and she said, 'Oh, lor', MissPenny! You had better look out, miss. It means what you don't like, miss. ' Then she said, Aunt Sophy, that old ladies like you was fond ofhaving little girls under their thumbs. So I 'spect you like it; and Ihope you won't squeeze us flat afore you have done. "

Miss Tredgold had turned very red. 

"How old are you, Pen?" she said when the loquacious child became silent. 

Penelope tossed her head. "You knows of my age quite well. "

"Then I will just repeat the remark made by your excellent nurse--'Littlegirls should be seen, and not heard. ' I will add to that remark by sayingthat little girls are sometimes impertinent. I shall not say anythingmore to-day; but another time, if you address me as you have just done, Ishall be obliged to punish you. "

"And if I don't dress you, " said Penelope--"if I'm awful good--will yougive me sugar-plums?"

"That is a treat in the very far distance, " said Miss Tredgold. --"Butnow, girls, go out. The more you enjoy this lovely air the better. "

They did all enjoy it; after their hard work--for lessons were hard tothem--freedom was sweet. With each moment of lesson-time fully occupied, leisure was delicious. They wandered under the trees; they opened thewicket-gate which led into the Forest, and went a short way into its deepand lovely shade. When lunch-bell sounded they returned with hungryappetites. 

The rest of the day passed pleasantly. Even preparation hour was nolonger regarded as a hardship. It brought renewed appetites to enjoy tea. And in the midst of tea a wild dissipation occurred, for a piano-van cameslowly down the rutty lane which led to the front avenue. It stopped atthe gates; the gates were opened, the piano-van came up the avenue, andJohn and two other men carried the beautiful Broadwood into the bigdrawing-room. 

Miss Tredgold unlocked it and touched the ivory keys with loving fingers. 

"I will play to you to-night when it is dusk, " she said to the girls. 

After this they were so eager to hear the music that they could scarcelyeat their dinner. Mr. Dale now always appeared for the evening meal. Hetook the foot of the table, and stared in an abstracted way at AuntSophia. So fond was he of doing this that he often quite forgot to carvethe joint which was set before him. 

"Wake up, Henry, " said Miss Sophia in her sharp voice; "the children arehungry, and so am I. "

Then the student would shake himself, seize the knife and fork, and makefrantic dashes at whatever the joint might happen to be. It must be ownedthat he carved very badly. Miss Tredgold bore it for a day or two; thenshe desired the parlor-maid to convey the joint to the head of the tablewhere she sat. After this was done the dinner-hour was wont to progressvery satisfactorily. To-day it went quickly by. Then Verena went up toher aunt. 

"Now, Aunt Sophy, " she said, "the gloaming has come, and music is waitingto make us all happy in the drawing-room. "

"I will play for you, my dears, " said Aunt Sophia. 

She was just leaving the room when she heard Verena say:

"You love music, father. Do come into the drawing-room. Aunt Sophia hasgot her new piano. She means to play on it. Do come; you know you lovemusic. "

"Indeed, I do nothing of the kind, " said Mr. Dale. 

He pushed his gray hair back from his forehead and looked abstractedly atMiss Sophia, who was standing in the twilight just by the open door. 

"You remind me, Sophia----" said Mr. Dale. 

He paused and covered his eyes with his hand. 

"I could have sworn that you were she. No music, thanks; I have neverlistened to it since she died. Your mother played beautifully, children;she played and she sang. I liked her songs; I hate the twaddle of thepresent day. Now I am returning to my Virgil. My renderings of theoriginal text become more and more full of light. I shall secure a vastreputation. Music! I hate music. Don't disturb me, any of you. "

When Mr. Dale reached his study he sank into his accustomed chair. Hislamp was already lit; it burned brightly, for Miss Tredgold herselftrimmed it each morning. His piles of books of reference lay in confusionby his side. An open manuscript was in front of him. He took up his pen. Very soon he would be absorbed by the strong fascination of his studies;the door into another world would open and shut him in. He would beimpervious then to this present century, to his present life, to hischildren, to the home in which he lived. 

"I could have sworn, " he muttered to himself, "that Alice had come back. As Sophia stood in the twilight I should scarcely have known them apart. She is not Alice. Alice was the only woman I ever loved--the only woman Icould tolerate in my house. My children, my girls, are none of them womenyet, thank the Almighty. When they are they will have to go. I could notstand any other woman but Alice to live always in the house. But now toforget her. This knotty point must be cleared up before I go to bed. "

The doors of the ancient world were slowly opening. But before they couldshut Mr. Dale within their portals there came a sound that caused thescholar to start. The soft strains of music entered through the doorwhich Verena had on purpose left open. The music was sweet and yetmasterly. It came with a merry sound and a certain quick rhythm thatseemed to awaken the echoes of the house. Impossible as it may appear, Mr. Dale forgot the ancient classics and the dim world of the past. Helay back in his chair; his lips moved; he beat time with his knuckles onthe arms of his chair; and with his feet on the floor. So perfect was hisear that the faintest wrong note, or harmony out of tune, would bedetected by him. The least jarring sound would cause him agony. But therewas no jarring note; the melody was correct; the time was perfect. 

"I might have known that Alice----" he began; but then he remembered thatAlice had never played exactly like that, and he ceased to think of her, or of any woman, and became absorbed in those ringing notes that stolealong the passage and entered by the open door and surrounded him likelightsome fairies. Into his right ear they poured their charm; in hisleft ear they completed their work. Virgil was forgotten; old Homer mightnever have existed. 

Mr. Dale rose. He got up softly; he walked across the room and opened thedoor wide. There was a very bright light streaming down the passage. Inthe old days this passage was always dark; no one ever thought oflighting the lobbies and passages at The Dales. The master of the housewondered dimly at the light; but at the same time it gave him a sense ofcomfort. 

Suddenly a voice began to sing:

 "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grows. "

The voice was sweet, pure, and high. It floated towards him. Suddenly hestretched out his arms. 

"I am coming, Alice, " he said aloud. "Yes, I am coming. Don't call mewith such insistence. I come, I tell you; I come. "

He ran down the passage; he entered the central hall; he burst into thedrawing-room. His eyes were full of excitement. He strode across the roomand sank into a chair close to the singer. 

Miss Tredgold just turned and glanced at him. 

"Ah, Henry!" she said; "so you are there. I hoped that this would drawyou. Now I am going to sing again. "

"A song of the past, " he said in a husky voice. 

"Will this do?" she said, and began "Annie Laurie. "

Once again Mr. Dale kept time with his hand and his feet. "Annie Laurie"melted into "Home, Sweet Home"; "Home, Sweet Home" into "Ye Banks andBraes o' Bonny Doon"; "Ye Banks and Braes" wandered into the deliciousnotes of "Auld Lang Syne. "

Suddenly Miss Tredgold rose, shut and locked the piano, and then turnedand faced her audience. 

"No more to-night, " she said. "By-and-by you girls shall all play on thispiano. You shall also sing, for I have not the slightest doubt that mostof you have got voices. You ought to be musical, for music belongs toboth sides of your house. There was once a time when your father playedthe violin as no one else, in my opinion, ever played it. By the way, Henry, is that violin still in existence?"

"Excuse me, " said Mr. Dale; "I never touch it now. I have not touched itfor years. I would not touch it for the world. "

"You will touch it again when the time is ripe. Now, no more musicto-night. Those who are tired had better go to bed. "

The girls left the room without a word. Miss Tredgold then went up to Mr. Dale. 

"Go back to your study and your Virgil, " she said. "Don't waste yourprecious time. "

He looked exactly as though some one had whipped him, but he took her ather word and returned to his study. 

The music was henceforth a great feature in the establishment. MissTredgold enhanced its value by being chary in regard to it. She onlyplayed as a special treat. She would by no means give them the greatpleasure of her singing and playing every night. 

"When you have all had a good day I will sing and play to you, " she saidto the girls; "but when you neglect your work, or are idle and careless, or cross and sulky, I don't intend to amuse you in the evenings. I wasbrought up on a stricter plan than the girls of the present day, and Imean while I am with you to bring you up in the same way. I prefer it tothe lax way in which young people are now reared. "

For a time Miss Tredgold's plans went well. Then there came a day ofrebellion. Pauline was the first to openly rebel against Aunt Sophia. There came a morning when Pauline absolutely refused to learn herlessons. She was a stoutly built, determined-looking little girl, verydark in complexion and in eyes and hair. She would probably be a handsomewoman by-and-by, but now she was plain, with a somewhat sallow face, heavy black brows, and eyes that could scowl when anything annoyed her. She was the next eldest to Verena, and was thirteen years of age. Herbirthday would be due in a fortnight. Even at The Dales birthdays wereconsidered auspicious events. There was always some sort of present, eventhough it was worth very little in itself, given by each member of thefamily to the possessor of the birthday. Mr. Dale generally gave thishappy person a whole shilling. He presented the shilling with great pomp, and invariably made the same speech:

"God bless you, my dear. May you have many happy returns of the day. Andnow for goodness' sake don't detain me any longer. "

A shilling was considered by the Dale girls as valuable as a sovereignwould be to girls in happier circumstances. It was eked out to itsfurthest dimensions, and was as a rule spent on good things to eat. Now, under Miss Tredgold's reign, Pauline's birthday would be a much moreimportant event. Miss Tredgold had long ago taken Verena, Briar, Patty, Josephine, and Adelaide into her confidence. Pauline knew quite well thatshe was talked about. She knew when, the girls retired into corners thatshe was the object of their eager conversations. The whole thing was mostagreeable to her sense of vanity, and when she suddenly appeared round acorner and perceived that work was put out of sight, that the eagerwhisperers started apart, and that the girls looked conscious and as ifthey wished her out of the way, she quite congratulated herself on thefact that hers was the first birthday in the immediate future, and thaton that day she would be a very great personage indeed. As these thoughtscame to her she walked with a more confident stride, and thought a greatdeal of her own importance. At night she lay awake thinking of the happytime, and wondering what this coming birthday, when she would have beenfourteen whole years in the world, would bring forth. 

There came a lovely morning about a week before the birthday. Pauline hadgot up early, and was walking by herself in the garden. She felt terriblyexcited, and almost cross at having to wait so long for her pleasure. 

"After all, " thought Pauline, "Aunt Sophia has done something for us. Howhorrid it would be to go back to the old shilling birthdays now!"

As she thought these thoughts, Patty and Josephine, arm-in-arm andtalking in low tones, crossed her path. They did not see her at first, and their words reached Pauline's ears. 

"I know she'd rather have pink than blue, " said Patty's voice. 

"Well, mine will be trimmed with blue, " was Josephine's answer. 

Just then the girls caught sight of Pauline, uttered shrieks, anddisappeared down a shady walk. 

"Something with pink and something with blue, " thought Pauline. "Theexcitement is almost past bearing. Of course, they're talking about mybirthday presents. I do wish my birthday was to-morrow. I don't know howI shall exist for a whole week. "

At that moment Miss Tredgold's sharp voice fell on her ears:

"You are late, Pauline. I must give you a bad mark for want ofpunctuality, Go at once into the schoolroom. "

To hear these incisive, sharp tones in the midst of her own delightfulreflections was anything but agreeable to Pauline. She felt, as sheexpressed it, like a cat rubbed the wrong way. She gave Miss Tredgold oneof her most ungracious scowls and went slowly into the house. There shelingered purposely before she condescended to tidy her hair and put onher house-shoes. In consequence she was quite a quarter of an hour latewhen she appeared in the schoolroom. Miss Tredgold had just finishedmorning prayers. 

"You have missed prayers this morning, Pauline, " she said. "There was noreason for this inattention. I shall be obliged to punish you. You cannothave your usual hour of recreation before dinner. You will have to writeout the first page of Scott's _Lay of the Last Minstrel_; and you must doit without making any mistake either in spelling or punctuation. On thisoccasion you can copy from the book. Now, no words, my dear--no words. Sit down immediately to your work. "

Pauline did sit down. She felt almost choking with anger. Was she, animportant person who was soon to be queen of a birthday, one about whomher sisters talked and whispered and made presents for, to be treated inthis scant and ungracious fashion? She would not put up with it. Accordingly she was very inattentive at her lessons, failed to listenwhen she should, played atrociously on the piano, could not manage hersums, and, in short, got more and more each moment into Miss Tredgold'sblack books. 

When recreation hour arrived she felt tired and headachy. The other girlsnow went out into the pleasant sunshine. Pauline looked after them withlonging. They would sit under the overhanging trees; they would eat fruitand talk nonsense and laugh. Doubtless they would talk about her and thebirthday so near at hand. At noon the schoolroom was hot, too, for thesun beat hard upon the windows, and Pauline felt more stifled and moreheadachy and sulky than ever. 

"Oh! please, " she said, as Miss Tredgold was leaving the room, "I can'tdo this horrid writing to-day. Please forgive me. Do let me go out. "

"No, Pauline; you must take your punishment. You were late this morning;you disobeyed my rules. Take the punishment which I am obliged to giveyou as a lady should, and make no more excuses. "

The door was shut upon the angry girl. She sat for a time absolutelystill, pressing her hand to her aching brow; then she strolled across theschoolroom, fetched some paper, and sat down to her unwelcome task. Shewrote very badly, and when the hour was over she had not half copied thetask assigned to her. This bad beginning went on to a worse end. Paulinedeclined to learn any lessons in preparation hour, and accordingly nextmorning she was absolutely unprepared for her tasks. 

Miss Tredgold was now thoroughly roused. 

"I must make an example, " she said to herself. "I shall have no influenceover these girls if I let them think I am all softness and yielding. Thefact is, I have shown them the south side of my character too long; alittle touch of the northeast will do them no harm. "

Accordingly she called the obstinate and sulky Pauline before her. 

"I am very much displeased with you. You have done wrong, and you must bepunished. I have told you and your sisters that there is such a place asPunishment Land. You enter it now, and live there until after breakfastto-morrow morning. "

"But what do you mean?" said Pauline. 

"I mean exactly what I say. You have been for the last twenty-four hoursextremely naughty. You will therefore be punished for the nexttwenty-four hours. You are a very naughty girl. Naughty girls must bepunished, and you, Pauline, are now under punishment. You enterPunishment Land immediately. "

"But where is it? What is it? I don't understand. "

"You will soon. Girls, I forbid you to speak to your sister while she isunder punishment. Pauline, your meals will be sent to you in this room. You will be expected to work up your neglected tasks and learn themthoroughly. You must neither play with nor speak to your sisters. Youwill have no indulgence of any sort. When you walk, I wish you to keep inthe north walk, just beyond the vegetable garden. Finally, you will go tobed at seven o'clock. Now leave the room. I am in earnest. "

CHAPTER IX. 

PUNISHMENT LAND. 

Pauline did leave the room. She passed her sisters, who stared at her inhorrified amazement. She knew that their eyes were fixed upon her, butshe was doubtful if they pitied her or not. Just at that moment, however, she did not care what their feelings were. She had a momentary sense ofpleasure on getting into the soft air. A gentle breeze fanned her hotcheeks. She took her old sailor hat from a peg and ran fast into adistant shrubbery. Miss Tredgold had said that she might take exercise inthe north walk. If there was a dreary, ugly part of the grounds, it mightbe summed up in the north walk. The old garden wall was on one side ofit, and a tattered, ugly box-hedge on the other. Nothing was to be seenas you walked between the hedge and the wall but the ground beneath yourfeet and the sky above your head. There was no distant view of any sort. In addition to this disadvantage, it was in winter an intensely coldplace, and in summer, notwithstanding its name, an intensely hot place. No, Pauline would not go there. She would disobey. She would walk whereshe liked; she would also talk to whom she liked. 

She stood for a time leaning against a tree, her face scarlet withemotion, her sailor hat flung on the ground. Presently she saw Penelopecoming towards her. She felt quite glad of this, for Penelope mightalways be bribed. Pauline made up her mind to disobey thoroughly; shewould walk where she pleased; she would do what she liked; she would talkto any one to whom she wished to talk. What was Penelope doing? She wasbending down and peering on the ground. Beyond doubt she was looking forsomething. 

"What is it, Pen?" called out her sister. 

Penelope had not seen Pauline until now. She stood upright with a start, gazed tranquilly at the girl in disgrace, and then, without uttering aword, resumed her occupation of searching diligently on the ground. Pauline's face put on its darkest scowl. Her heart gave a thump of wildindignation. She went up to Penelope and shook her by the arm. Penelope, still without speaking, managed to extricate herself. She moved a fewfeet away. She then again looked full at Pauline, and, to the amazementof the elder girl, her bold black eyes filled with tears. She took onedirty, chubby hand and blew a kiss to Pauline. 

Pauline felt suddenly deeply touched. She very nearly wept herself. 

"Oh, dear Penny, " she said, "how good you are! I didn't know you'd feelfor me. I can bear things better if I know you feel for me. You needn'tobey her, need you? See, I've got three-ha'pence in my pocket. I'll giveyou the money and you can buy lollypops. I will really if only you willsay a few words to me now. "

"I daren't, " burst from Penelope's lips. "You have no right to tempt me. I can't; I daren't. I am looking now for Aunt Sophy's thimble. She wasworking here yesterday and she dropped it, she doesn't know where. She'sawful fond of it. She'll give me a penny if I find it. Don't ask me anymore. I've done very wrong to speak to you. "

"So you have, " said Pauline, who felt as angry as ever. "You have brokenAunt Sophia's word--not your own, for you never said you wouldn't speakto me. But go, if you are so honorable. Only please understand that Ihate every one of you, and I'm never going to obey Aunt Sophia. "

Penelope only shook her little person, and presently wandered away into amore distant part of the shrubbery. She went on searching and searching. Pauline could see her bobbing her little fat person up and down. 

"Even Penny, " she thought, "is incorruptible. Well, I don't care. I won'tput up with this unjust punishment. "

The dinner-gong sounded, and Pauline, notwithstanding her state ofdisgrace, discovered that she was hungry. 

"Why should I eat?" she said to herself. "I won't eat. Then perhaps I'lldie, and she'll be sorry. She'll be had up for manslaughter; she'll havestarved a girl to death. No, I won't eat a single thing. And even if Idon't die I shall be awfully ill, and she'll be in misery. Oh dear! whydid mother die and leave us? And why did dreadful Aunt Sophy come? Motherwas never cross; she was never hard. Oh mother! Oh mother!"

Pauline was now so miserable that she flung herself on the ground andburst into passionate weeping. Her tears relieved the tension of herheart, and she felt slightly better. Presently she raised her head, andtaking out her handkerchief, prepared to mop her eyes. As she did so shewas attracted by something that glittered not far off. She stretched outher hand and drew Miss Tredgold's thimble from where it had rolled undera tuft of dock-leaves. A sudden burst of pleasure escaped her lips as sheglanced at the thimble. She had not seen it before. It certainly was themost beautiful thimble she had ever looked at. She put it on the tip ofher second finger and turned it round and round. The thimble itself wasmade of solid gold; its base was formed of one beautifully cut sapphire, and round the margin of the top of the thimble was a row of turquoises. The gold was curiously and wonderfully chased, and the sapphire, whichformed the entire base of the thimble, shone in a way that dazzledPauline. She was much interested; she forgot that she was hungry, andthat she had entered into Punishment Land. It seemed to her that in herpossession of the thimble she had found the means of punishing AuntSophia. This knowledge soothed her inexpressibly. She slipped the lovelythimble into her pocket, and again a keen pang of downright healthyhunger seized her. She knew that food would be awaiting her in theschoolroom. Should she eat it, or should she go through the wicket-gateand lose herself in the surrounding Forest?

Just at this moment a girl, who whistled as she walked, approached thewicket-gate, opened it, and came in. She was dressed in smart summerclothes; her hat was of a fashionable make, and a heavy fringe lay low onher forehead. Pauline looked at her, and her heart gave a thump ofpleasure. Now, indeed, she could bear her punishment, and her revenge onMiss Tredgold lay even at the door. For Nancy King, the girl whom she wasnot allowed to speak to, had entered the grounds. 

"Hullo, Paulie!" called out that young lady. "There you are! Well, I mustsay you do look doleful. What's the matter now? Is the dear aristocratmore aristocratic than ever?"

"Oh, don't, Nancy! I ought not to speak to you at all. "

"So I've been told by the sweet soul herself, " responded Nancy. "Shewrote me a letter which would have put another girl in such a rage thatshe would never have touched any one of you again with a pair of tongs. But that's not Nancy King. For when Nancy loves a person, she loves thatperson through thick and thin, through weal and woe. I came to-day to tryto find one of you dear girls. I have found you. What is the matter withyou, Paulie? You do look bad. "

"I'm very unhappy, " said Pauline. "Oh Nancy! we sort of promised that wewouldn't have anything more to do with you. "

"But you can't keep your promise, can you, darling? So don't say any moreabout it. Anyhow, promise or not, I'm going to kiss you now. "

Nancy flung her arms tightly round Pauline's neck and printed severalloud, resounding kisses on each cheek; then she seated herself under anoak tree, and motioned to Pauline to do likewise. 

Pauline hesitated just for a moment; then scruples were forgotten, andshe sat on the ground close to Nancy's side. 

"Tell me all about it, " said Nancy. "Wipe your eyes and talk. Don't befrightened; it's only poor old Nancy, the girl you have known since youwere that high. And I'm rich, Paulie pet, and although we're onlyfarmer-folk, we live in a much finer house than The Dales. And I'm goingto have a pony soon--a pony of my very own--and my habit is being madefor me at Southampton. I intend to follow the hounds next winter. Thinkof that, little Paulie. You'll see me as I ride past. I'm supposed tohave a very good figure, and I shall look ripping in my habit. Well, butthat's not to the point, is it? You are in trouble, you poor little dear, and your old Nancy must try and make matters better for you. I love you, little Paulie. I'm fond of you all, but you are my special favorite. Youwere always considered something like me--dark and dour when you liked, but sunshiny when you liked also. Now, what is it, Paulie? Tell your ownNancy. "

"I'm very fond of you, Nancy, " replied Pauline. "And I think, " shecontinued, "that it is perfectly horrid of Aunt Sophia to say that we arenot to know you. "

"It's snobbish and mean and unlady-like, " retorted Nancy; "but her sayingit doesn't make it a fact, for you do know me, and you will always haveto know me. And if she thinks, old spiteful! that I'm going to put upwith her nasty, low, mean, proud ways, she's fine and mistaken. I'm not, and that's flat. So there, old spitfire! I shouldn't mind telling her soto her face. "

"But, on the whole, she has been kind to us, " said Pauline, who had somesense of justice in her composition, angry as she felt at the moment. 

"Has she?" said Nancy. "Then let me tell you she has not a very nice wayof showing it. Now, Paulie, no more beating about the bush. What's up?Your eyes are red; you have a great smear of ink on your forehead; andyour hands--my word! for so grand a young lady your hands aren't up tomuch, my dear. "

"I have got into trouble, " said Pauline. "I didn't do my lessons properlyyesterday; I couldn't--I had a headache, and everything went wrong. Sothis morning I could not say any of them when Aunt Sophia called me up, and she put me into Punishment Land. You know, don't you, that I am soonto have a birthday?"

"Oh, don't I?" interrupted Nancy. "Didn't a little bird whisper it to me, and didn't that same little bird tell me exactly what somebody would likesomebody else to give her? And didn't that somebody else put her handinto her pocket and send---- Oh, we won't say any more, but she did sendfor something for somebody's birthday. Oh, yes, I know. You needn't tellme about that birthday, Pauline Dale. "

"You are good, " said Pauline, completely touched. She wondered whatpossible thing Nancy could have purchased for her. She had a wild desireto know what it was. She determined then and there, in her foolish littleheart, that nothing would induce her to quarrel with Nancy. 

"It is something that you like, and something that will spite her, " saidthe audacious Nancy. "I thought it all out, and I made up my mind to killtwo birds with one stone. Now to go on with the pretty little story. Wedidn't please aunty, and we got into trouble. Proceed, Paulie pet. "

"I didn't learn my lessons. I was cross, as I said, and headachy, andAunt Sophia said I was to be made an example of, and so she sent me toPunishment Land for twenty-four hours. "

"Oh, my dear! It sounds awful. What is it?"

"Why, none of my sisters are to speak to me, and I am only to walk in thenorth walk. "

"Is this the north walk?" asked Nancy, with a merry twinkle in her blackeyes. 

"Of course it isn't. She may say what she likes, but I'm not going toobey her. But the others won't speak to me. I can't make them. And I amto take my meals by myself in the schoolroom, and I am to go to bed atseven o'clock. "

Pauline told her sad narrative in a most lugubrious manner, and she feltalmost offended at the conclusion when Nancy burst into a roar oflaughter. 

"It's very unkind of you to laugh when I'm so unhappy, " said Pauline. 

"My dear, how can I help it? It is so ridiculous to treat a girl who ispractically almost grown up in such a baby fashion. Then I'd like to knowwhat authority she has over you. "

"That's the worst of it, Nancy. Father has given her authority, and shehas it in writing. She's awfully clever, and she came round poor father, and he had to do what she wanted because he couldn't help himself. "

"Jolly mean, I call it, " said Nancy. "My dear, you are pretty mad, Isuppose. "

"Wouldn't you be if your father treated you like that?"

"My old dad! He knows better. I've had my swing since I was younger thanyou, Paulie. Of course, at school I had to obey just a little. I wasn'tallowed to break all the rules, but I did smuggle in a good manyrelaxations. The thing is, you can do what you like at school if only youare not found out. Well, I was too clever to be found out. And now I amgrown up, eighteen last birthday, and I have taken a fancy to cling to myold friends, even if they have a snobby, ridiculous old aunt to be rudeto me. My dear, what nonsense she did write!--all about your being ofsuch a good family, and that I wasn't in your station. I shall keep thatletter. I wouldn't lose it for twenty shillings. What have you to boastof after all is said and done? A tumble-down house; horrid, shabby, old-fashioned, old-maidy clothes; and never a decent meal to be had. "

"But it isn't like that now, " said Pauline, finding herself getting veryred and angry. 

"Well, so much the better for you. And did I make the little mousy-pousyangry? I won't, then, any more, for Nancy loves little mousy-pousy, andwould like to do what she could for her. You love me back, don't you, mousy?"

"Yes, Nancy, I do love you, and I think it's a horrid shame that we'renot allowed to be with you. But, all the same, I'd rather you didn't callme mousy. "

"Oh dear, how dignified we are! I shall begin to believe in the ancientfamily if this sort of thing continues. But now, my dear, the moment hascome to help you. The hour has arrived when your own Nancy, vulgar as sheis, can lend you a helping hand. Listen. "

"What?" said Pauline. 

"Jump up, Paulie; take my hand, and you and I together will walk outthrough that wicket-gate, and go back through the dear old Forest to TheHollies, and spend the day at my home. There are my boy cousins fromLondon, and my two friends, Rebecca and Amelia Perkins--jolly girls, Ican tell you. We shall have larks. What do you say, Paulie? A fine frightshe'll be in when she misses you. Serve her right, though. "

"But I daren't come with you, " said Pauline. "I'd love it more thananything in the world; but I daren't. You mustn't ask me. You mustn't tryto tempt me, Nancy, for I daren't go. "

"I didn't know you were so nervous. "

"I am nervous about a thing like that. Wild as I have been, and untrainedall my life, I do not think I am out-and-out wicked. It would be wickedto go away without leave. I'd be too wretched. Oh, I daren't think ofit!"

Nancy pursed up her lips while Pauline was speaking; then she gave ventto a low, almost incredulous whistle. Finally she sprang to her feet. 

"I am not the one to try and make you forget your scruples, " she said. "Suppose you do this. Suppose you come at seven o'clock to-night. Thenyou will be safe. You may be wicked, but at least you will be safe. She'll never look for you, nor think of you again, when once you havegone up to bed. You have a room to yourself, have you not?"

Pauline nodded. 

"I thought so. You will go to your room, lock the door, and she willthink it is all right. The others won't care to disturb you. If they dothey'll find the door locked. "

"But I am forbidden to lock my room door. "

"They will call to you, but you will not answer. They may be angry, but Idon't suppose your sisters will tell on you, and they will only suppose youare sound asleep. Meanwhile you will be having a jolly good time; for I cantell you we are going to have sport to-night at The Hollies--fireworks, games, plans for the future, etc. , etc. You can share my nice bed, and goback quite early in the morning. I have a lot to talk over with you. I wantto arrange about our midnight picnic. "

"But, Nancy, we can't have a midnight picnic. "

"Can't we? I don't see that at all. I tell you what--we will have it; andwe'll have it on your birthday. Your birthday is in a week. That will bejust splendid. The moon will be at the full, and you must all of youcome. Do you suppose I'm going to be balked of my fun by a stupid oldwoman? Ah! you little know me. My boy cousins, Jack and Tom, and myfriends, Becky and Amy, have made all arrangements. We are going to havea time! Of course, if you are not there, you don't suppose our fun willbe stopped! You'll hear us laughing in the glades. You won't like that, will you? But we needn't say any more until seven o'clock to-night. "

"I don't think I'm coming. "

"But you are, Paulie. No one will know, and you must have a bit of fun. Perhaps I'll show you the present I'm going to give you on your birthday;there's no saying what I may do; only you must come. "

Nancy had been standing all this time. Pauline had been reclining on theground. Now she also rose to her feet. 

"You excite me, " she said. "I long to go, and yet I am afraid; it wouldbe so awfully wicked. "

"It would be wicked if she was your mother, but she's not. And she has noright to have any control over you. She just got round your silly oldfather----"

"I won't have dad called silly!"

"Well, your learned and abstracted father. It all comes to much the same. Now think the matter over. You needn't decide just this minute. I shallcome to the wicket-gate at half-past seven, and if you like to meet me, why, you can; but if you are still too good, and your conscience is tootroublesome, and your scruples too keen, you need not come. I shall quiteunderstand. In that case, perhaps, I'd best not give you that lovely, lovely present that I saved up so much money to buy. "

Pauline clasped her hands and stepped away from Nancy. As she did so thebreeze caught her full gray skirt and caused it to blow against Nancy. Nancy stretched out her hand and caught hold of Pauline's pocket. 

"What is this hard thing?" she cried. "Have you got a nut in yourpocket?"

"No, " said Pauline, instantly smiling and dimpling. "Oh, Nancy, suchfun!"

She dived into her pocket and produced Miss Tredgold's thimble. 

"Oh, I say!" cried Nancy. "What a beauty! Who in the world gave you thistreasure, Paulie?"

"It isn't mine at all; it belongs to Aunt Sophia. "

"You sly little thing! You took it from her?"

"No, I didn't. I'm not a thief. I saw it in the grass a few minutes agoand picked it up. It had rolled just under that dock-leaf. Isn't itsweet? I shall give it back to her after she has forgiven me to-morrow. "

"What a charming, return-good-for-evil character you have suddenlybecome, Pauline!"

As Nancy spoke she poised the thimble on her second finger. Her fingerswere small, white, and tapering. The thimble exactly fitted the narrowtip on which it rested. 

"I never saw anything so lovely, " she cried. "Never mind, Paulie, aboutto-morrow. Lend it to me. I'd give my eyes to show it to Becky. "

"But why should I lend it to you? I must return it to Aunt Sophia. "

"You surely won't give it back to her to-day. "

"No, but to-morrow. "

"Let to-morrow take care of itself. I want to show this thimble to Beckyand Amy. I have a reason. You won't refuse one who is so truly kind toyou, will you, little Paulie? And I tell you what: I know you arestarving, and you hate to go into the house for your food. I will bringyou a basketful of apples, chocolates, and a peach or two. We have lovelypeaches ripe in our garden now, although we are such common folk. "

Pauline felt thirsty. Her hunger, too, was getting worse. She would havegiven a good deal to have been able to refuse the horrid meals whichwould be served to her in the schoolroom. Perhaps she could managewithout any other food if she had enough fruit. 

"I should like some very much, " she said. "Aunt Sophia has, as she callsit, preserved the orchard. We are not allowed to go into it. "

"Mean cat!" cried Nancy. 

"So will you really send me a basket of fruit?"

"I will send Tom with it the instant I get home. He runs like the wind. You may expect to find it waiting for you in half-an-hour. "

"Thank you. And you will take great care of the thimble, won't you?"

"Of course I will, child. It is a beauty. "

Without more ado Nancy slipped the thimble into her pocket, and thennodding to Pauline, and telling her that she would wait for her at thewicket-gate at half-past seven, she left her. 

Nancy swung her body as she walked, and Pauline stood and watched her. She thought that Nancy looked very grown-up and very stylish. To lookstylish seemed better than to look pretty in the eyes of theinexperienced little girl. She could not help having a great admirationfor her friend. 

"She is very brave, and so generous; and she knows such a lot of theworld!" thought poor Pauline. "It is a shame not to be allowed to see herwhenever one likes. And it would be just heavenly to go to her to-night, instead of spending hungry hours awake in my horrid bedroom. "

CHAPTER X. 

DISCIPLINE. 

The other girls were miserable; but Miss Tredgold had already exercisedsuch a very strong influence over them that they did not dare to disobeyher orders. Much as they longed to do so, none of them ventured near poorPauline. In the course of the afternoon Miss Tredgold called Verenaaside. 

"I know well, my dear, what you are thinking, " she said. "You believethat I am terribly hard on your sister. "

Verena's eyes sought the ground. 

"Yes, I quite know what you think, " repeated Miss Tredgold. "But, Verena, you are wrong. At least, if I am hard, it is for her good. "

"But can it do any one good to be downright cruel to her?" said Verena. 

"I am not cruel, but I have given her a more severe punishment than shehas ever received before in her life. We all, the best of us, needdiscipline. The first time we experience it when it comes from the handof God we murmur and struggle and rebel. But there comes a time when weneither murmur nor struggle nor rebel. When that time arrives thediscipline has done its perfect work, and God removes it. My dear Verena, I am a woman old enough to be your mother. You must trust me, and believethat I am treating Pauline in the manner I am to-day out of theexperience of life that God has given me. We are so made, my dear, thatwe none of us are any good until our wills are broken to the will of ourDivine Master. "

"But this is not God's will, is it?" said Verena. "It is your will. "

"Consider for a moment, my child. It is, I believe, both God's will andmine. Don't you want Pauline to be a cultivated woman? Don't you want hercharacter to be balanced? Don't you want her to be educated? There is agreat deal that is good in her. She has plenty of natural talent. Hercharacter, too, is strong and sturdy. But at present she is like a flowerrun to weed. In such a case what would the gardener do?"

"I suppose he would prune the flower. "

"If it was a hopeless weed he would cast it out of his garden; but if itreally was a flower that had degenerated into a weed, he would take it upand put it to some pain, and plant it again in fresh soil. The poorlittle plant might say it was badly treated when it was taken from itssurroundings and its old life. This is very much the case with Pauline. Now, I do not wish her to associate with Nancy King. I do not wish her tobe idle or inattentive. I want her to be energetic, full of purpose, resolved to do her best, and to take advantage of those opportunitieswhich have come to you all, my dear, when I, your mother's sister, tookup my abode at The Dales. Sometime, dear, it is quite possible that, owing to what will be begun in Pauline's character to-day, people willstop and admire the lovely flower. They will know that the gardener whoput it to some pain and trouble was wise and right. Now, my dear girl, you will remember my little lecture. Pauline needs discipline. For thatmatter, you all need discipline. At first such treatment is hard, but inthe end it is salutary. "

"Thank you, Aunt Sophy, " said Verena. "But perhaps, " she added, "you willtry and remember, too, that kindness goes a long way. Pauline is perhapsthe most affectionate of us all. In some ways she has the deepestfeelings. But she can be awfully sulky, and only kindness can move her. "

"I quite understand, my dear; and when the time comes kindness will notbe wanting. Now go away and amuse yourself with your sisters. "

Verena went away. She wondered as she did so where Pauline was hidingherself. The others had all settled down to their various amusements andoccupations. They were sorry for Pauline, but the pleasant time they wereenjoying in the middle of this lovely summer's day was not to bedespised, even if their sister was under punishment. But Verena herselfcould not rest. She went into the schoolroom. On a tray stood poorPauline's neglected dinner. Verena lifted the cover from the plate, andfelt as though she must cry. 

"Pauline is taking it hardly, " thought the elder girl. 

Tea-time came, and Pauline's tea was also sent to the schoolroom. Atpreparation hour, when the rest of the girls went into the room, Pauline's tea remained just where it had been placed an hour before. Verena could scarcely bear herself. There must be something terriblywrong with her sister. They had often been hungry in the old days, but inthe case of a hearty, healthy girl, to do without any food frombreakfast-time when there was plenty to eat was something to regard withuneasiness. 

Presently, however, to her relief, Pauline came in. She looked rough anduntidy in appearance. She slipped into the nearest chair in a sulky, ungainly fashion, and taking up a battered spelling-book, she held itupside down. 

Verena gave her a quick glance and looked away. Pauline would not meetVerena's anxious gaze. She kept on looking down. Occasionally her lipsmoved. There was a red stain on her cheek. Penelope with one of hersharpest glances perceived this. 

"It is caused by fruit, " thought the youngest of the schoolroom children. "I wonder who has given Pauline fruit. Did she climb the garden wall orget over the gate into the orchard?"

Nobody else noticed this stain. Miss Tredgold came in presently, but shetook no more notice of Pauline than if that young lady did not exist. 

The hour of preparation was over. It was now six o'clock. In an hourPauline was expected to go to bed. Now, Pauline and Verena had bedroomsto themselves. These were attic rooms at the top of the house. They hadsloping roofs, and would have been much too hot in summer but for thepresence of a big beech tree, which grew to within a few feet of thewindows. More than once the girls in their emancipated days, as they nowconsidered them, used to climb down the beech tree from their atticwindows, and on a few occasions had even managed to climb up the sameway. They loved their rooms, having slept in them during the greater partof their lives. 

Pauline, as she now went in the direction of the north walk, thought witha sense of satisfaction of the bedroom she had to herself. 

"It will make things easier, " she thought. "They will all be on the lawndoing their needlework, and Aunt Sophia will be reading to them. I willgo past them quite quietly to my room, and then----"

These thoughts made Pauline comparatively happy. Once or twice shesmiled, and a vindictive, ugly expression visited her small face. 

"She little knows, " thought the girl. "Oh, she little knows! She thinksthat she is so clever--so terribly clever; but, after all, she has notthe least idea of the right way to treat me. No, she has not the leastidea. And perhaps by-and-by she will be sorry for what she has done. "

Seven o'clock was heard to strike in the house. Pauline, retracing hersteps, went slowly past her sisters and Miss Tredgold. Miss Tredgoldslightly raised her voice as the culprit appeared. She read aloud withmore determination than ever. Penelope flung down the duster she washemming and watched Pauline. 

"I a'most wish I wor her, " thought the ex-nursery child. "Anything isbetter than this horrid sewing. How it pricks my fingers! That remindsme; I wonder where Aunt Sophy's thimble has got to. I did look hard forit. I wish I could find it. I do want that penny so much! It was a beautythimble, too, and she loves it. I don't want to give it back to her 'cosshe loves it, but I should like my penny. "

Pauline had now nearly disappeared from view. 

"Paulie is up to a lark, " thought Penelope, who was the sharpest of allthe children, and read motives as though she was reading an open book. "She doesn't walk as though she was tur'ble unhappy. I wonder what she'sup to. And that red stain on her cheek was fruit; course it was fruit. How did she get it? I wish I knew. I'll try and find out. "

Pauline had now reached her bedroom. There she hastily put on her bestclothes. They were very simple, but, under Miss Tredgold's regime, fairlynice. She was soon attired in a neat white frock; and an old yellow sashof doubtful cleanliness and a bunch of frowsy red poppies were folded ina piece of tissue paper. Pauline then slipped on her sailor hat. She hada great love for the old sash; and as to the poppies, she thought themfar more beautiful than any real flowers that ever grew. She meant to tiethe yellow sash round her waist when she reached the shrubbery, and topin the poppies into her hat. The fact that Miss Tredgold had forbiddenher to wear this sash, and had herself removed the poppies from herSunday hat, gave her now a sense of satisfaction. 

"Young ladies don't wear things of that sort, " Miss Tredgold had said. 

"A young lady shall wear things of this sort to-night, " thought Pauline. 

Having finished her toilet, she locked her door from the outside and putthe key into her pocket; but before she left the room she drew down thedark-green blind. She then slipped downstairs and went out through theback way. She had to go through the yard, but no one saw her exceptBetty, who, as she afterwards remarked, did observe the flutter of awhite dress with the tail of her eye. But Betty at that moment wasimmersed in a fresh installment of the wonderful adventures of the Dukeof Mauleverer-Wolverhampton and his bride, and what did it matter to herif the young ladies chose to run out in their best frocks?

Pauline reached the shrubbery without further adventure. There she put onher extra finery. Her yellow sash was tied in a large bow, and herpoppies nodded over her forehead. 

It was a very excited dark-eyed girl who presently met Nancy King on theother side of the wicket-gate. 

"Here I am, " said Pauline. "I expect I shall never have any luck againall my life; but I want to spite her at any cost, so here I am. "

"Delicious!" said Nancy. "Isn't it good to spite the old cat? Now then, let's be off, or we may be caught. But I say, how fine we are!"

"You always admired this bunch of poppies, didn't you, Nancy? Do youremember? Before you went to that grand school at Brighton you used toenvy me my poppies. I found them among mother's old things, and Verenagave them to me. I love them like anything. Don't you like them verymuch, placed so in front of my hat?"

"Didn't I say, 'How fine we are'?"

"Yes; but somehow your tone----"

"My dear Paulie, you are getting much too learned for my taste. Now comealong. Take my hand. Let us run. Let me tell you, you look charming. Thegirls will admire you wonderfully. Amy and Becky are keen to make youracquaintance. You can call them by their Christian names; they're not atall stiff. Surname, Perkins. Nice girls--brought up at my school--fatherin the pork line; jolly girls--very. And, of course, you met Jack and Tomlast year. They're out fishing at present. They'll bring in beautifultrout for supper. Why, you poor little thing, you must be starved. "

"Ravenous. You know I had only your fruit to-day. "

"You shall have a downright jolly meal, and afterwards we'll havefireworks; and then by-and-by you will share my bed. Amy and Becky willbe in the same room. They think there's a ghost at the other side of thepassage, so they came along to my chamber. But you won't mind. "

"I won't mind anything after my lonely day. You are quite sure that I'llget back in time in the morning, Nancy?"

"Trust me for that. Haven't you got the key of your room?"

"Yes; it's in my pocket. I left the window on the latch, and I can climbup the beech tree quite well. Oh! that reminds me, Nancy; you must let mehave that thimble before I return to The Dales. "

"To be sure I will, dear. But you needn't think of returning yet, for youhave not even arrived. Your fun is only beginning. Oh! you have done asplendid, spirited thing running off in this fashion. I only hope she'llgo to your room and tap and tap, and knock and knock, and shout andshout, and get, oh, so frightened! and have the door burst open; and thenshe'll see for herself that the bird has flown. Won't she be in a tantrumand a fright! Horrid old thing! She'll think that you have run offforever. Serve her right. Oh! I almost wish she would do it--that I do. "

"But I don't, " said Pauline. "If she did such a thing it would almostkill me. It's all very well for you to talk in that fashion; you haven'tgot to live with her; but I have, and I couldn't stand her anger and hercontempt. I'd be put into Punishment Land for a year. And as one day hasvery nearly killed me, what would a year of it do? If there is any fearof what you wish for, I'd best go back at once. "

"What! and lose the trout, and the game pie, and the steak and onions, and the fried potatoes, and the apple turnovers, and the plum puffs, tosay nothing of the most delicious lollypops you have ever tasted in yourlife? And afterwards fireworks; for Jack and Tom have bought a lot ofCatherine-wheels and rockets to let off in your honor. And then a cosy, warm hug in my bed, with Amy and Becky telling ghost stories in the bedopposite. You don't mean to tell me you'd rather have your lonely roomand starvation than a program of that sort?"

"No, no. Of course I'll go on with you. I've done it now, so I'll stickto it. Oh, I'm madly hungry! I hope you'll have supper the moment we getin. "

"Supper will be delayed as short a time as possible. It rather dependsupon the boys and when they bring the trout home. But here is a queencake. I stuffed it into my pocket for you. Eat it as we go along. "

So Pauline ate it and felt better. Her courage returned. She no longerthought of going back. Had she done so, she knew well that she would notsleep. People never slept well if they were hungry. 

"No, " she said to herself; "I will go on with it now. I'll just trust tomy good luck, and I'll enjoy the time with Nancy. For, after all, she'stwice as kind as Aunt Sophia. Why should I make myself miserable onaccount of a woman who is not my mother?"

The Hollies was a very snug, old-fashioned sort of farm. It had been inthe King family for generations, and Mr. Josiah King was a very finespecimen of the British farmer. He was a big man with a red face, bushywhiskers, grizzled hair, and a loud laugh. The expression of his broad, square face was somewhat fierce, and the servants at the farm were afraidto anger him. He was a just enough master, however, and was always servedwell by his people. To only one person was he completely mild and gentle, and that person, it is needless to say, was his daughter Nancy. Nancy washis only child. Her mother was dead, and from her earliest days she hadbeen able to twist her father round her little finger. He sent her to asmart boarding school, and no money was spared in order to give herpleasure. It was the dream of Farmer King, and Nancy's dearest ambitionalso, that she should be turned into a lady. But, alas and alack! MissNancy could not overcome the stout yeoman blood in her veins. She was noaristocrat, and nothing could make her one. She was just a hearty, healthy happy-minded English girl; vulgar in voice and loud in speech, but fairly well-intentioned at heart. She was the sort of farmer'sdaughter who would marry a farmer, and look after the dairy, and rearstalwart sons and hearty girls in her turn. Nature never intended her fora fine lady; but silly Nancy had learnt a great deal more at school thanhow to talk a little French very badly and how to recite a poem withfalse action and sentiment. She had learnt to esteem the world for theworld's own sake, and had become a little ashamed of the farmer and thefarmer's ways; and, finally, when she returned from school she insistedon the best parlor being turned into a sort of drawing-room, on herfriends being regaled with late dinners, and on herself being providedwith servants, so that she need not touch household work. She wasplaying, therefore, the game of being a lady, and was failing as sheplayed it. She knew that she was failing, and this knowledge made herfeel very cross. She tried hard to stifle it, and clung more than ever toher acquaintanceship with the Dale girls. 

In her heart of hearts Nancy knew that she would very much like to milkthe cows, and superintend the dairy, and churn the butter. In her heartof hearts she would have adored getting up early in the morning andsearching for the warm, pink eggs, and riding barebacked over the farmwith her father, consulting him on the tilling of the land and the bestway to make the old place profitable; for one day it would be her own, and she would be, for her class in life, a rich girl. Just at present, however, she was passing through a phase, and not a very pleasant one. She thought herself quite good enough to go into any society; and finedress, loud-voiced friends, and the hollow, empty nothings which she andher acquaintances called conversation seemed the best things possiblethat could come into life. She was, therefore, not at all in the mood togive up her friendship with the Dale girls. 

Now, there never was a girl less likely to please Miss Tredgold than thisvulgarly dressed, loud-voiced, and unlady-like girl. Nancy was desired toabstain from visiting at The Dales, and the Dale girls were told thatthey were not to talk to Nancy. Nancy's rapture, therefore, when she wasable to bring Pauline to The Hollies could scarcely be suppressed. 

Amy and Becky Perkins were standing in the old porch when the two girlsappeared. Nancy called out to her friends, and they ran to meet her. 

"This is Paulie, " said Nancy; "in other words, Pauline Dale--PaulineDale, the aristocrat. We ought to be proud to know her, girls. Pauline, let me introduce my special friend, Becky Perkins. She's in pork, butthat don't matter. And my other special friend, Amy Perkins; also inpork, but at your service. Girls, you didn't happen to notice if supperwas being put on the table, did you?"

"I should think we did, " said Becky. "I smelt fish. The boys brought in alot of trout. I'm as hungry as hungry can be. "

"Let's run upstairs first, " said Nancy, turning to Pauline. "You'd liketo take off your hat and wash your hands, wouldn't you, my fine friend ofaristocratic circles?"

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Nancy, " said Pauline, flushingangrily, while the two Perkins girls looked at her with admiration. 

"Well, then, I won't, " said Nancy; "but I'm always one for my joke. Imeant no harm. And you know you are aristocratic, Paulie, and nothingwill ever take it out of you. And I'm terribly afraid that nothing willtake the other thing out of me. I only talk to you like this because I'mso jealous. So now come along and let's be friends. "

The two girls scampered up the old oak stairs. They ran down an unevenpassage, and reached a door of black oak, which was opened with anold-fashioned latch. At the other side of the door they found themselvesin a long and very low room, with a black oak floor and black oak walls. The floor of the room was extremely uneven, being up in one part and downin another, and the whole appearance of the room, although fascinating, was decidedly patchy. In an alcove at one end stood a four-post bedstead, with a gaudily colored quilt flung over it; and in the alcove at theother end was another four-post bedstead, also boasting of a coloredquilt. There were two washstands in the room, and one dressing-table. Thewhole place was scrupulously neat and exquisitely clean, for the whitedimity curtains rivalled the snow in winter, and the deal washstands andthe deal dressing-table were as white as the scrubbing of honest handscould make them. The whole room smelt of a curious mixture of turpentine, soap, and fresh flowers. 

"I had the lavender sheets put on the bed for you and me, " said Nancy. "They are of the finest linen. My mother spun them herself, and she putthem in lavender years and years ago. I am heartily glad to welcome you, little Paulie. This is the very first time you have ever slept under ourhumble roof. So kiss me, dear. "

"How snug and sweet it all is!" said Pauline. "I am glad that I came. "

"This is better than lying down hungry in your own little room, " saidNancy. 

"Oh, much better!"

Pauline skipped about. Her high spirits had returned; she was charmedwith the room in which she was to repose. Through the lattice window thesweetest summer air was entering, and roses peeped all round the frame, and their sweet scent added to the charm of the old-fashioned chamber. 

"I hope you won't mind having supper in the kitchen, " said Nancy. "I knowit's what a Dale is not expected to submit to; but, nevertheless, in Romewe do as the Romans do--don't we?"

"Oh, yes; but I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Nancy. As if I cared. Whether I am a lady or not, I am never too fine for my company; and itwas when Aunt Sophia wanted us to give you up that I really got mad withher. "

"You are a darling and a duck, and I love you like anything, " said Nancy. "Now come downstairs. We are all hungry, and the boys are mad to be atthe fireworks. "

"I have never seen fireworks in my life, " said Pauline. 

"You poor little innocent! What a lot the world has to show you! Nowthen, come along. "

Pauline, deprived of her hideous hat, looked pretty and refined in herwhite dress. She made a contrast to the showy Nancy and the Perkinsgirls. The boys, Jack and Tom Watson, looked at her with admiration, andJack put a seat for Pauline between himself and his brother. 

The farmer nodded to her, and said in his bluff voice:

"Glad to welcome you under my humble roof, Miss Pauline Dale. 'Eartilywelcome you be. Now then, young folks, fall to. "

The meal proceeded to the accompaniment of loud jokes, gay laughter, andhearty talking. The farmer's voice topped the others. Each remark calledforth fresh shouts of laughter; and when a number of dogs rushed in inthe middle of supper, the din almost rose to an uproar. 

Pauline enjoyed it all very much. She laughed with the others; her cheeksgrew rosy. Nancy piled her plate with every available dainty. Soon herhunger left her, and she believed that she was intensely happy. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE BURNT ARM. 

After supper the excitement waxed fast and furious. The boys, aided bythe farmer and one of his men, proceeded to send off the fireworks. Thiswas done on a little plateau of smoothly cut lawn just in front of thebest sitting-room windows. The girls pressed their faces against theglass, and for a time were satisfied with this way of looking at the fun. But soon Nancy could bear it no longer. 

"It is stupid to be mewed up in the close air, " she said. "Let's go out. "

No sooner had she given utterance to the words than all four girls werehelping the boys to let off the squibs, Catherine-wheels, rockets, andother fireworks. Pauline now became nearly mad with delight. Her shoutswere the loudest of any. When the rockets went high into the air andburst into a thousand stars, she did not believe that the world itselfcould contain a more lovely sight. But presently her happiness came to arude conclusion, for a bit of burning squib struck her arm, causing herfine muslin dress to catch fire, and the little girl's arm was somewhatseverely hurt. She put out the fire at once, and determined to hide thefact that she was rather badly burnt. 

By-and-by they all returned to the house. Nancy sat down to the piano andbegan to sing some of her most rollicking songs. Then she played dancemusic, and the boys and girls danced with all their might. Pauline, however, had never learned to dance. She stood silent, watching theothers. Her high spirits had gone down to zero. She now began to wishthat she had never come. She wondered if she could possibly get homeagain without being discovered. At last Nancy noticed her grave looks. 

"You are tired, Paulie, " she said; "and for that matter, so are we. Isay, it's full time for bed. Good-night, boys. Put out the lamps when youare tired of amusing yourselves. Dad has shut up the house already. Come, Paulie; come, Amy; come, Becky. "

The four girls ran upstairs, but as they were going down the passagewhich led to their pretty bedroom, Pauline's pain was so great that shestumbled against Becky and nearly fell. 

"What is it?" said Becky. "Are you faint?"

She put her arm around the little girl and helped her into the bedroom. 

"Whatever can be wrong?" she said. "You seemed so lively out in the openair. "

"Oh, you do look bad, Paulie!" said Nancy. "It is that terrible fastingyou went through to-day. My dear girls, what do you think? This poorlittle aristocrat, far and away too good to talk to the likes ofus"--here Nancy put her arms akimbo and looked down with a mocking laughat the prostrate Pauline--"far too grand, girls--fact, I assure you--waskept without her food until I gave her a bit of bread and a sup of waterat supper. All these things are owing to an aunt--one of the tip-top ofthe nobility. This aunt, though grand externally, has a mighty poorinternal arrangement, to my way of thinking. She put the poor child intoa place she calls Punishment Land, and kept her without food. "

"That isn't true, " said Pauline. "I could have had plenty to eat if I hadliked. "

"That means that if you were destitute of one little spark of spirityou'd have crawled back to the house to take your broken food on a coldplate like a dog. But what is the matter now? Hungry again?"

"No; it is my arm. Please don't touch it. "

"Do look!" cried Amy Perkins. "Oh, Nancy, she has got an awful burn!There's quite a hole through the sleeve of her dress. Oh, do see thisgreat blister!"

"It was a bit of one of the squibs, " said Pauline. "It lit right on myarm and burned my muslin sleeve; but I don't suppose it's much hurt, onlyI feel a little faint. "

"Dear, dear!" said Nancy. "What is to be done now? I don't know a thingabout burns, or about any sort of illness. Shall we wake cook up? Perhapsshe can tell us something. "

"Let's put on a bandage, " said one of the other girls. "Then when you liedown in bed, Pauline, you will drop asleep and be all right in themorning. "

Pauline was so utterly weary that she was glad to creep into bed. Her armwas bandaged very unskilfully; nevertheless it felt slightly morecomfortable. Presently she dropped into an uneasy doze; but from thatdoze she awoke soon after midnight, to hear Nancy snoring loudly by herside, to hear corresponding snores in a sort of chorus coming from theother end of the long room, and to observe also that there was not achink of light anywhere; and, finally, to be all too terribly consciousof a great burning pain in her arm. That pain seemed to awaken poorPauline's slumbering conscience. 

"Why did I come?" she said to herself. "I am a wretched, most miserablegirl. And how am I ever to get back? I cannot climb into the beech-treewith this bad arm. Oh, how it does hurt me! I feel so sick and faint Iscarcely care what happens. "

Pauline stretched out her uninjured arm and touched Nancy. 

"What is it?" said Nancy. "Oh, dear! I'd forgotten. It's you, Paulie. Howis your arm, my little dear? Any better?"

"It hurts me very badly indeed; but never mind about that now. How am Ito get home?"

"I'll manage that. Betty, our dairymaid, is to throw gravel up at thewindow at four o'clock. You shall have a cup of tea before you start, andI will walk with you as far as the wicket-gate. "

"Oh, thank you! But how am I to get into my room when I do arrive at TheDales? I don't believe I shall be able to use this arm at all. "

"Of course you will, " said Nancy. "You will be miles better when cook haslooked to it. I know she's grand about burns, and has a famous ointmentshe uses for the purpose. Only, for goodness' sake, Paulie, don't letthat burn in the sleeve of your dress be seen; that would lead toconsequences, and I don't want my midnight picnic to be spoilt. "

"I don't seem to care about that or anything else any more. "

"What nonsense! You don't suppose I should like this little escapade ofyours and mine to be known. You must take care. Why, you know, there'sfather. He's very crotchety over some things. He likes all of you, butover and over again he has said:

"'I'm as proud of being an honest farmer as I should be to be a lord. Mygrandfather paid his way, and my father paid his way, and I am paying myway. There's no nonsense about me, and I shall leave you, Nancy, a tidyfortune. You like those young ladies at The Dales, and you shall havethem come here if they wish to come, but not otherwise. I won't have themhere thinking themselves too grand to talk to us. Let them keep to theirown station, say I. I don't want them. '

"Now you see, Paulie, what that means. If father found out that your aunthad written to me and desired me to have nothing further to do with you, I believe he'd pack me out of the country to-morrow. I don't want toleave my home; why should I? So, you see, for my sake you must keep itthe closest of close secrets. "

"You should have thought of that before you tempted me to come, " saidPauline. 

"That is just like you. You come here and enjoy yourself, and have agreat hearty meal, and when you are likely to get into a scrape you throwthe blame on me. "

"You can understand that I am very miserable, Nancy. "

"Yes; and I'm as sorry as I can be about that burn; but if you'll bebrave and plucky now, I'll help you all I can. We'll get up as soon asever the day dawns, and cook shall put your arm straight. "

As Nancy uttered the last words her voice dwindled to a whisper, and aminute later she was again sound asleep. But Pauline could not sleep. Herpain was too great. The summer light stole in by degrees, and by-and-bythe sharp noise made by a shower of gravel was heard on the window. 

Pauline sprang into a sitting posture, and Nancy rubbed her eyes. 

"I'm dead with sleep, " she said. "I could almost wish I hadn't broughtyou. Not but that I'm fond of you, as I think I've proved. We haven't yetmade all our arrangements about the midnight picnic, but I have the mostdaring scheme in my head. You are every single one of you--bar Penelope, whom I can't bear--to come to that picnic. I'll make my final plansto-day, and I'll walk in the Forest to-morrow at six o'clock, justoutside your wicket-gate. You will meet me, won't you?"

"But---- Oh! by the way, Nancy, please give me back that beautifulthimble. I'm so glad I remembered it! It belongs to Aunt Sophia. "

"I can't, " said Nancy, coloring, "I lent it to Becky, and I don't knowwhere she has put it. I'll bring it with me to-morrow, so don't fuss. Nowjump up, Paulie; we have no time to lose. "

Accordingly Pauline got up, dressed herself--very awkwardly, it istrue--and went downstairs, leaning on Nancy's sympathetic arm. Nancyconsulted the cook, who was good-natured and red-faced. 

"You have got a bad burn, miss, " she said when she had examined Pauline'sarm; "but I have got a famous plaster that heals up burns like anything. I'll make your arm quite comfortable in a twinkling, miss. "

This she proceeded to do, and before the treatment had been applied forhalf an hour a good deal of Pauline's acute pain had vanished. 

"I feel better, " she said, turning to Nancy. "I feel stronger andbraver. "

"You will feel still braver when you have had your cup of tea. And here'sa nice hunch of cake. Put it into your pocket if you can't eat it now. Wehad best be going; the farm people may be about, and there's nosaying--it's wonderful how secrets get into the air. "

Pauline looked startled. She again took Nancy's hand, and they left thehouse together. 

Now, it so happened that the the morning was by no means as fine as thoselovely mornings that had preceded it. There was quite a cold windblowing, and the sky was laden with clouds. 

"We'll have rain to-day, " said Nancy; "rain, and perhaps thunder. I feelthunder in the air, and I never was mistaken yet. We must be quick, orwe'll both be drenched to the skin. "

Accordingly the two walked quickly through the Forest path. But beforethey reached the wicket-gate the first mutterings of thunder wereaudible, and heavy drops of rain were falling. 

"I must leave you now, Paulie, " said Nancy, "for if I go any farther I'llbe drenched to the skin. Climb up your tree, get into your bedroom, andgo to bed. If you can manage to send that white dress over to me, I willput on a patch that even your aunt will not see. Put on another dress, ofcourse, this morning, and say nothing about the burn. Good-bye, and goodluck! I'll be over about six o'clock to-morrow evening to talk over ourmidnight picnic. "

"And the thimble, " said Pauline. "You won't forget the thimble. "

"Not I. Good gracious, what a flash! You had best get home at once; and Imust run for my life or I may be struck down under all these trees. "

Pauline stood still for a minute, watching Nancy as she disappeared fromview; then slowly and sadly she went up to the house. 

She was too tired and depressed to mind very much that the rain wasfalling in showers, soaking her thin white muslin dress, and chilling heralready tired and exhausted little frame. The rattle of the thunder, thebright flash of the lightning, and the heavy fall of the tempest couldnot reach the graver trouble which filled her heart. The way oftransgressors had proved itself very hard for poor Pauline. She dislikedthe discomfort and misery she was enduring; but even now she was scarcelysorry that she had defied and disobeyed Aunt Sophia. 

After a great deal of difficulty, and with some injury to her alreadyinjured arm, she managed to climb the beech-tree and so reach the gabledroof just under her attic window. She pushed the window wide open and gotinside. How dear and sweet and fresh the little chamber appeared! Howinnocent and good was that little white bed, with its sheets stillsmoothly folded down! It took Pauline scarcely a minute to get into hernight-dress, sweep her offending white dress into a neighboring cupboard, unlock the door, and put her head on her pillow. Oh, there was no placelike home! It was better to be hungry at home, it was better to be inpunishment at home, than to go away to however grand a place and howeverluxuriant a feast. 

"And Nancy's home isn't grand, " thought Pauline. "And the food was rough. Aunt Sophia would even call it coarse. But, oh, I was hungry! And if Ihadn't been so naughty I'd have been very happy. All the same, " shecontinued, thinking aloud, as was her fashion. "I won't go to thatmidnight picnic; and Renny must not go either. Of course, I can't tellAunt Sophia what I did last night. I promised Nancy I wouldn't tell, andit wouldn't be fair; but see if I do anything wrong again! I'll work likea Briton at my lessons to-day. Oh, how badly my arm hurts! And what anawful noise the storm is making! The thunder rattles as though it wouldcome through the roof. My arm does ache! Oh, what lightning! I think I'llput my head under the sheet. "

Pauline did so, and notwithstanding the tempest, she had scarcely gotdown into the real warmth of her bed before sleep visited her. 

When she awoke the storm was over, the sun was shining, and Verena wasstanding at the foot of her bed. 

"Do get up, Paulie, " she said. "How soundly you have slept! And your faceis so flushed! And, oh, aren't you just starving? We only discovered lastnight that you hadn't touched any of your food. "

"I'm all right, " said Pauline. 

"You will try to be good to-day, won't you, Paulie? You don't know howmiserable I was without you, for you are my own special most darlingchum. You will try, won't you?"

"Yes, I will try, of course, " said Pauline. "Truly--truly, I will try. "

CHAPTER XII. 

CHANGED LIVES. 

After the mental storm of the day before, Pauline would never forget thepeace of the day that followed. For Miss Tredgold, having punished, andthe hours of punishment being over, said nothing further to signify herdispleasure. She received Pauline kindly when she appeared in theschoolroom. She took her hand and drew the little girl toward her. It waswith a great effort that the poor girl could suppress the shriek thatnearly rose to her lips as the unconscious Miss Tredgold touched herburnt arm. 

"We will forget about yesterday, Pauline, " said her aunt. "We will goback to work this morning just as though there never had been anyyesterday. Do you understand?"

"I think so, " said Pauline. 

"Do you happen to know your lessons?"

"I'm afraid I don't. "

"Well, my dear, as this is practically your first transgression, I am thelast person to be over-hard. You can listen to your sisters this morning. At preparation to-day you will doubtless do your best. Now go to yourseat. "

Pauline sat between Briar and Adelaide. Adelaide nestled up close to her, and Briar took the first opportunity to whisper:

"I am so glad you are back again, dear old Pauline! We had a horrid timewithout you yesterday. "

"They none of them know what I did, " thought Pauline; "and, of course, Imeant to tell them. Not Aunt Sophia, but the girls. Yes, I meant toconfide in the girls; but the atmosphere of peace is so nice that I donot care to disturb it. I will put off saying anything for the present. It certainly is delightful to feel good again. "

Lessons went on tranquilly. The girls had a time of delightful restafterwards in the garden, and immediately after early dinner there came asurprise. Miss Tredgold said:

"My dear girls, there are several things you ought to learn besides merebook knowledge. I propose that you should be young country ladies whom noone will be ashamed to know. You must learn to dance properly, and toskate properly if there ever is any skating here. If not, we will goabroad for the purpose. But while you are in the Forest I intend you tohave riding lessons and also driving lessons. A wagonette will be here attwo o'clock, and we will all go for a long and delightful drive throughthe Forest. I am going to some stables about six or seven miles away, where I hear I can purchase some good horses and also some Forest ponies. Don't look so excited, dears. I should be ashamed of any nieces of minebrought up in the New Forest of England who did not know how to managehorses. "

"Oh, she really is a darling!" said Verena. "I never did for a singlemoment suppose that we should have had the chance of learning to drive. "

"And to ride, " said Pauline. 

She began to skip about the lawn. Her spirits, naturally very high, returned. 

"I feel quite happy again, " she said. 

"Why, of course you are happy, " said Verena; "but you must never get intoPunishment Land again as long as you live, Paulie, for I wouldn't gothrough another day like yesterday for anything. "

The wagonette arrived all in good time. It drew up at the front door, andMr. Dale, attracted by the sound of wheels, rose from his accustomed seatin his musty, fusty study, and looked out of the window. The window wasso dusty and dirty that he could not see anything plainly; but, true tohis determination, he would not open it. A breeze might come in anddisturb some of his papers. He was busy with an enthralling portion ofhis work just then; nevertheless, the smart wagonette and nicelyharnessed horses, and the gay sound of young voices, attracted him. 

"I could almost believe myself back in the days when I courted my dearlybeloved Alice, " he whispered to himself. "I do sincerely trust thatvisitors are not beginning to arrive at The Dales; that would be thefinal straw. "

The carriage, however, did not stop long at the front door. It waspresently seen bowling away down the avenue. Mr. Dale, who still stoodand watched it, observed that it was quite packed with bright-lookingyoung girls. Blue ribbons streamed on the breeze, and the girls laughedgaily. 

"I am glad those visitors are going, " thought the good man, who did notin the least recognize his own family. "A noisy, vulgar crowd theyseemed. I hope my own girls will never become like that. Thank goodnessthey did not stay long! Sophia is a person of discernment; she knows thatI can't possibly receive incidental visitors at The Dales. "

He returned to his work and soon was lost to all external things. 

Meanwhile the girls had a lovely and exciting drive. Aunt Sophia was inher most agreeable mood. The children themselves were quite unaccustomedto carriage exercise. It was a wonderful luxury to lean back on thesoftly cushioned seats and dash swiftly under the noble beech-trees andthe giant oaks of the primeval forest. By-and-by they drove up to somewhite gates. Verena was desired to get out and open them. The carriagepassed through. She remounted into her seat, and a few minutes later theyall found themselves in a great cobble-stoned yard surrounded by stablesand coach-houses. The melodious cry of a pack of fox-hounds filled theair. The girls were almost beside themselves with excitement. Presently ared-faced man appeared, and he and Miss Tredgold had a long andmysterious talk together. She got out of the wagonette and went with theman into the stables. Soon out of the stables there issued, led by twogrooms, as perfect a pair of Forest ponies as were ever seen. They werewell groomed and in excellent order, and when they arched their necks andpawed the ground with their feet, Pauline uttered an irrepressible shout. 

"Those ponies are coming to The Dale in a fortnight, " said Miss Tredgold. "Their names are Peas-blossom and Lavender. "

"I believe I'll die if much more of this goes on, " gasped Briar. "I'm toohappy. I can't stand anything further. "

"Hush, Briar!" said Verena, almost giving her sister a shake in herexcitement, and yet at the same time trying to appear calm. 

"Now, my dear children, we will go home, " said their aunt. "The wagonettewill come any day that I send for it, and Mr. Judson informs me he hopesby-and-by to have a pair of carriage horses that I may think it worthwhile to purchase. "

"Aren't these good enough?" asked Verena, as they drove back to TheDales. 

"They are very fair horses, but I don't care to buy them. Judson knowsjust the sort I want. I am pleased with the ponies, however. They willgive you all a great deal of amusement. To-morrow we must go toSouthampton and order your habits. "

"I wonder I _ever_ thought her cross and nasty and disagreeable, " thoughtPauline. "I wonder I ever could hate her. I hope she'll let me ridePeas-blossom. I liked his bright eyes so much. I never rode anything inmy life, but I feel I could ride barebacked on Peas-blossom. I love himalready. Oh, dear! I don't hate Aunt Sophia now. On the contrary, I feelrather bad when I look at her. If she ever knows what I did yesterday, will she forgive me? I suppose I ought to tell her; but I can't. It wouldget poor Nancy into trouble. Besides--I may as well be frank withmyself--I should not have the courage. "

As soon as the girls got home Penelope ran up to Pauline. 

"You stayed for a long time in the shrubbery yesterday, didn't you, Pauline?" she asked. 

"Yes, " said Pauline. 

"You didn't by any chance find Aunt Sophy's thimble?"

"I! Why should I?"

Pauline felt herself turning red. Penelope fixed her exceedingly sharpeyes on her sister's face. 

"You did find it; you know you did. Where is it? Give it to me. I want mypenny. Think of all the fun you are going to have. She doesn't mean me toride, 'cos I asked her. I must have my penny. Give me the thimble atonce, Paulie. "

"I haven't got it. Don't talk nonsense, child. Let me go. Oh! you havehurt me. "

Pauline could not suppress a short scream, and the next minute she feltherself turning very faint and sick, for Penelope had laid herexceedingly hard little hand on Pauline's burnt arm. 

"What is it, Paulie? I know you are not well, " said Verena, running up. 

"It is 'cos of her bad conscience, " said Penelope, turning away with asnort of indignation. 

"Really, " said Verena, as Pauline leaned against her and tried hard torepress the shivers of pain that ran through her frame, "Penelope getsworse and worse. Only that I hate telling tales out of school, I shouldask Aunt Sophia to send her back to the nursery for at least anotheryear. But what is it, Paulie dear? You look quite ill. "

"I feel rather bad. I have hurt my arm. You must not ask me how, Renny. You must trust me. Oh dear! I must tell you what has happened, for youwill have to help me. Oh, Renny, I am in such pain!"

Poor Pauline burst into a torrent of tears. Where was her happiness of anhour ago? Where were her rapturous thoughts of riding Peas-blossomthrough the Forest? Her arm hurt her terribly; she knew that Penelope wasquite capable of making mischief, she was terrified about the thimble. Altogether her brief interval of sunshine was completely blotted out. 

Verena, for her years, was a wonderfully wise girl. She had since hermother's death been more or less a little mother to the younger children. It is true, she had looked after them in a somewhat rough-and-readystyle; but nevertheless she was a sympathetic and affectionate girl, andthey all clung to her. Now it seemed only natural that Pauline shouldlean on her and confide her troubles to her. Accordingly Verena led hersister to a rustic seat and said:

"Sit down near me and tell me everything. "

"It is this, " said Pauline. "I have burned my arm badly, and Aunt Sophiamust not know. "

"You have burnt your arm? How?"

"I would rather not tell. "

"But why should you conceal it, Paulie?"

"I'd rather conceal it; please don't ask me. All I want you to do is toask me no questions, but to help me to get my arm well; the pain isalmost past bearing. But, Renny, whatever happens, Aunt Sophia must notknow. "

"You are fearfully mysterious, " said Verena, who looked much alarmed. "You used not to be like this, Paulie. You were always very open, and youand I shared every thought Well, come into the house. Of course, whateverhappens, I will help you; but I think you ought to tell me the wholetruth. "

"I can't, so there! If you are to be a real, real sister to me, you willhelp me without asking questions. "

The girls entered the house and ran up to Pauline's bedroom. There theinjured arm was exposed to view, and Verena was shocked to see the extentof the burn. 

"You ought to see a doctor. This is very wrong, " she said. 

She made Pauline lie down, and dressed her arm as well as she could. Verena was quite a skilful little nurse in her own way, and as Paulinehad some of the wonderful ointment which the Kings' cook had given her, and as Verena knew very nicely how to spread it on a piece of rag, thearm soon became more comfortable. 

Just before dinner Miss Tredgold called all the girls round her. 

"I have something to say, " she remarked. "I want you all to go upstairsnow; don't wait until five minutes before dinner. You will each findlying on your bed, ready for wearing, a suitable dinner-blouse. Put it onand come downstairs. You will wear dinner-dress every night in future, inorder to accustom you to the manners of good society. Now go upstairs, tidy yourselves, and come down looking as nice as you can. "

The girls were all very much excited at the thought of the dinner-blouses. They found them, as Aunt Sophia had said, each ready to put on, on theirlittle beds. Verena's was palest blue, trimmed daintily with a lot offluffy lace. The sleeves were elbow-sleeves, and had ruffles round them. The blouse in itself was quite a girlish one, and suited its fair wearerto perfection. Pauline's blouse was cream-color; it also hadelbow-sleeves, and was very slightly open at the neck. 

"Do be quick, Paulie, " called out Briar. "I have got a sweet, darling, angel of a pink blouse. Get into yours, and I'll get into mine. Oh, whattremendous fun this is!"

Briar ran whooping and singing down the corridor. She was met by nursewith baby in her arms. 

"Now, Miss Rose, what's up?" said the good woman. "You do look happy, tobe sure. You don't seem to miss the old days much. "

"Of course I don't, nursey. I'm twice as happy as I used to be. "

"Twice as happy with all them lessons to learn?"

"Yes; twice as happy, and twice as good. She doesn't scold us when we'regood. In fact, she's just uncommonly nice. And to-night she says she'llplay and sing to us; and it's so delicious to listen to her! Dad comesout of his study just as if she drew him by magic. And I like to learnthings. I won't be a horrid pig of an ignorant girl any more. You willhave to respect me in the future, nursey. And there's a darling littleblouse lying on my bed--pink, like the leaf of a rose. I am to wear itto-night. I expect Aunt Sophia chose it because I'm like a rose myself. Ishall look nice, shan't I, nursey?"

"That's all very well, " said nurse. "And for my part I don't object tocivilized ways, and bringing you up like young ladies; but as to MissPen, she's just past bearing. New ways don't suit her--no, that theydon't. She ain't come in yet--not a bit of her. Oh! there she is, marching down the corridor as if all the world belonged to her. What haveyou done to yourself, Miss Pen? A nice mess you are in!"

"I thought I'd collect some fresh eggs for your tea, nursey, " said theincorrigible child; "and I had three or four in my pinafore when Idropped them. I am a bit messy, I know; but you don't mind, do you, nursey?"

"Indeed, then, I do. Just go straight to the nursery and get washed. "

Penelope glanced at Briar with a wry face, and ran away singing out in ashrill voice:

 "Cross patch, draw the latch, Sit by the fire and spin. "

She disappeared like a flash, and nurse followed her, murmuring angrily. 

Briar ran into her bedroom. This room she shared with Patty and Adelaide. They also were wildly delighted with their beautiful blouses, and had notbegun to dress when Briar appeared. 

"I say, isn't it all jolly?" said Briar. "Oh, Patty, what a duck yoursis!--white. And Adelaide's is white, too. But don't you love mine? I mustbe a very pretty girl to cause Aunt Sophia to choose such a lovely shadeof rose. I wonder if I am really a pretty girl. Do stand out of the way;I want to stare at myself in the glass. "

Briar ran to the dressing-table. There she pushed the glass into such anangle that she could gaze contentedly at her features. She saw a small, rather round face, cheeks a little flushed, eyes very dark and bright, quantities of bright brown curling hair, dark pencilled eyebrows, alittle nose, and a small pink mouth. 

"You are a charming girl, Briar Dale, " she said, "worthy of a rose-pinkblouse. Patty, don't you just love yourself awfully?"

"I don't know, " said Patty. "I suppose every one does. "

"The Bible says it is very wrong to love yourself, " said Adelaide. "Youought to love other people and hate yourself. "

"Well, I am made the contrary, " said Briar. "I hate other people and lovemyself. Who wouldn't love a darling little face like mine? Oh, I am justa duck! Help me into my new blouse, Patty. "

The three girls, each with the help of the other, managed to arraythemselves even to Briar's satisfaction. She was the neatest and also thevainest of the Dales. When she reached the outside corridor she metVerena, looking sweet, gentle, and charming in her pale-blue blouse. Theyall ran down to the drawing-room, where Miss Tredgold was waiting toreceive them. She wore the old black lace dress, which suited her fadedcharms to perfection. She was standing by the open French window, andturned as her nieces came in. The girls expected her to make some remarkwith regard to their appearance, but the only thing she said was to askthem to observe the exquisite sunset. 

Presently Pauline appeared. She looked pale. There were black shadowsunder her eyes, and she was wearing a dirty white shirt decidedly theworse for wear. The other girls looked at her in astonishment. Verenagave her a quick glance of pain. Verena understood; the others weresimply amazed. Miss Tredgold flashed one glance at her, and did not lookagain in her direction. 

Dinner was announced in quite the orthodox fashion, and the young peoplewent into the dining-room. Mr. Dale was present. He was wearing quite adecent evening suit. He had not the faintest idea that he was not stillin the old suit that had lain by unused and neglected for so many longyears. He had not the most remote conception that Miss Tredgold had takenthat suit and sent it to a tailor in London and desired him to make byits measurements a new suit according to the existing vogue. Mr. Dale puton the new suit when it came, and imagined that it was the old one. But, scholar as he was, he was learning to appreciate the excellent meals MissTredgold provided for him. On this occasion he was so human as to findfault with a certain entrée. 

"This curry is not hot enough, " he said. "I like spicy things; don't you, Sophia?"

Miss Tredgold thought this an enormous sign of mental improvement. Shehad already spoken to cook on the subject of Mr. Dale's tastes. 

"Why, drat him!" was Betty's somewhat indignant answer. "In the old dayshe didn't know sprats from salmon, nor butter from lard. Whatever haveyou done to him, ma'am?"

"I am bringing him back to humanity, " was Miss Tredgold's quiet answer. 

Betty raised her eyebrows. She looked at Miss Tredgold and said toherself:

"So quiet in her ways, so gentle, and for all so determined! Looks asthough butter wouldn't melt in her mouth; yet you daren't so much asneglect the smallest little sauce for the poorest little _entrée_ oryou'd catch it hot. She's a real haristocrat. It's a pleasure to havedealings with her. Yes, it's a downright pleasure. When I'm not thinkingof my favorite 'ero of fiction, the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton, Ifeel that I'm doing the next best thing when I'm receiving the orders ofher ladyship. "

Another of cook's ideas was that Miss Tredgold was a person of title, whochose for the present to disguise the fact. She certainly had amarvellous power over the erratic Betty, and was turning her into afirst-rate cook. 

"Are you going to give us some of that exquisite music to-night, Sophia?"asked Mr. Dale when he had finished his dinner. He looked languidly athis sister-in-law. 

"On one condition I will, " she said. "The condition is this: you are toaccompany my piano on the violin. "

Mr. Dale's face became pale. He did not speak for a minute; then he roseand went nimbly on tiptoe out of the room. 

There was silence for a short time. The girls and their aunt had migratedinto the drawing-room. The drawing-room looked sweetly pretty with itsopen windows, its softly shaded lamps, its piano wide open, and thegraceful figures of the girls flitting about. Even Pauline's ugly blousewas forgotten. There was a sense of mystery in the air. Presently in thedistance came the sound of a fiddle. It was the sound of a fiddle beingtuned. The notes were discordant; but soon rich, sweeping melodies wereheard. They came nearer and nearer, and Mr. Dale, still playing hisfiddle, entered the room. He entered with a sort of dancing measure, playing an old minuet as he did so. 

Miss Tredgold stepped straight to the piano and without any music, playedan accompaniment. 

"I have won, " she thought. "I shall send him away for change of air; thenthe study must be cleaned. I shall be able to breathe then. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

NANCY SHOWS HER HAND. 

It was not until after breakfast on the following morning that MissTredgold said anything to Pauline about the ugly shirt she had chosen towear on the previous evening. 

"My dear, " she said then, very gently, "I did not remark on your dresslast night; but for the future remember that when I say a thing is to bedone, it is to be done. I had a pretty, suitable blouse put into yourroom for you to appear in last night. Why did you wear that ugly tornshirt?"

"I couldn't help myself, " said Pauline. 

"That is no reason. "

Pauline was silent. She looked on the ground. Miss Tredgold also wassilent for a minute; then she said decisively:

"You will wear the new blouse to-night. Remember, I expect to be obeyed. I will say nothing more now about your forgetting my orders last evening. Do better in the future and all will be well. "

It was with great difficulty that Pauline could keep the tears from hereyes. What was to become of her. She did not dare expose her burnt arm;she could not possibly wear a blouse with sleeves that reached only tothe elbow without showing the great burn she had received. If MissTredgold found out, might she not also find out more? What was she to do?

"What am I to do, Verena?" she said on the afternoon of that same day. 

"What do you mean, Paulie? Your arm is better, is it not?"

"Yes; it doesn't hurt quite so much. But how can I wear the new blouseto-night?"

"Would it not be wiser, " said Verena, "if you were to tell Aunt Sophythat you have burnt your arm? It is silly to make a mystery of it. "

"But she will make me tell her how I did it. "

"Well?"

"I daren't tell her that. I daren't even tell you. "

"What am I to think, Paulie?"

"Anything you like. You are my own sister, and you must not betray me. But she must never know. Can't you think of something to get me out ofthis? Oh, dear! what is to be done?"

Verena shook her head. 

"I don't know what is to be done, " she said, "if you haven't the courageto speak the truth. You have probably got into some scrape. "

"Oh! I----"

"I am sure you have, Paulie; and the sooner you tell the better. Thelonger you conceal whatever it is, the worse matters will grow. "

Pauline's face grew crimson. 

"I am exceedingly sorry I told you, " she said. "You are not half, norquarter, as nice a sister as you used to be. Don't keep me. I am goinginto the shrubbery to help Penelope to look for Aunt Sophy's thimble. "

Verena said nothing further, and Pauline went into the shrubbery. 

"I seem to be getting worse, " she said to herself. "Of course, I don'treally want to help Penelope. How should I, when I know where the thimbleis? There she is, hunting, hunting, as usual. What a queer, unpleasantchild she is growing!"

Penelope saw Pauline, and ran up to her. 

"You might tell me everything to-day, " said the child. "Where did you putit?"

"I have come to help you to look for it, Pen. "

"Don't be silly, " was Penelope's answer. 

She instantly stood bolt upright. 

"There's no use in my fussing any longer, " she said. "I've gone round andround here, and picked up leaves, and looked under all the weeds. Thereisn't a corner I've left unpoked into. Where's the good of troubling whenyou have it? You know you have it. "

"I know nothing of the kind. There! I will tell you the simple truth. Ihave not got the thimble. You may believe me as much as you like. "

"Then I'll believe just as much as nothing at all. If you haven't got thethimble, you know where it is. I'll give you until this time to-morrow tolet me have it, and if you don't I'll go straight to Aunt Sophy. "

"Now, Pen, you are talking nonsense. You have no proof whatever that Ihave touched the thimble; and what will Aunt Sophia say to a little childwho trumps up stories about her elder sister?"

"Perhaps she'll be very glad, " said Penelope. "I have often thought thatwith such a lot of you grown-up girls, and all of you so very rampagiousand not a bit inclined to obey or do your lessons nicely, poor AuntSophy, what is really a dear old duck of a thing, wants some one like meto spy round corners and find out what goes on ahind her back. Don't youthink so? Don't you think her'll love me if I tell her always what goeson ahind of her back?"

"If she's a bit decent she'll hate you, " said Pauline. "Oh, Pen, how wereyou made? What a queer, queer sort of child you are! You haven't ideaslike the rest of us. "

"Maybe 'cos I'm nicer, " said Penelope, not at all impressed by Pauline'scontempt. "Maybe I shouldn't like to be made same as all you others are. There is something wrong about Aunt Sophy's thimble, and if I don't getit soon I'll be 'bliged to tell her. "

Penelope's eyes looked like needles. She walked away. Pauline gazed afterher; then she went into the house. 

"That thimble is really a very trifling matter, " she said to herself, "but even that at the present moment annoys me. Nancy has promised tobring it back to me this evening, and I will just put it somewhere wherePen is sure to find it. Then she'll be in raptures; she'll have herpenny, and that matter will be set at rest. Oh, dear! it is almost timeto go and meet Nancy. She must not keep me long, for now that that horriddressing for dinner has begun, it takes quite half an hour to getproperly tidy. But what am I to do? How can I wear that blouse?"

Pauline waited her chance, and slipped out at the wicket-gate withouteven Penelope's sharp eyes watching her. She found Nancy pacing up anddown at the other side. Nancy was decidedly cross. 

"Why did you keep me waiting?" she said. "It is five minutes past six, and I have barely another five minutes to stay with you, and there's alot to talk over. "

"I'm in great luck to be able to come at all, Nancy. I didn't think Icould ever slip away from the others. As to the midnight picnic, we mustgive it up. It is quite impossible for me to come. And I know the otherswon't; they're all getting so fond of Aunt Sophy. What do you think? Shehas given us ponies, and we're to have carriage-horses presently; and weare obliged to dress for dinner every evening. "

"Oh, you are turning aristocratic, and I hate you, " said Nancy, with atoss of the head. 

She looked intensely jealous and annoyed. She herself was to ride soon, and her habit was already being made. She had hoped against hope thatMiss Tredgold would be impressed by seeing her gallop past in an eleganthabit on a smart horse. 

"Oh, Nancy!" said Pauline, "don't let us talk about ponies and things ofthat sort now; I am in great, great trouble. "

"I must say I'm rather glad, " said Nancy. "You know, Paulie, you are insome ways perfectly horrid. I did a great deal for you the other night, and this is all the thanks I get. You won't come to the midnight picnic, forsooth! And you won't have anything more to do with me, forsooth!You'll ride past me, I suppose, and cut me dead. "

"I shall never do anything unkind, for I really do love you, Nancy. Ihave always loved you, but I can't get into fresh scrapes. They're notworth while. "

"You didn't talk like that when you were mad and starving the other day. "

"No, I didn't; but I do now. I have been miserable ever since I cameback; and, oh, my arm has pained me so badly! You can imagine what I feltlast evening when we were desired to wear pretty new blouses withelbow-sleeves; such sweet little dears as they all were. Mine wascream-color--just what suits me best--but of course I couldn't appear init. "

"Why not?"

"With my burnt arm! How could I, Nancy?"

Nancy burst out into a roar of laughter. 

"What a lark!" she cried. "Well, and what did the poor little Miss Miserydo?"

"I had to put on an old dirty shirt, the only one I could find. AuntSophia gave me no end of a lecture this morning. She says I am to wear mynew blouse to-night or she'll know the reason why. Of course, I can'twear it. "

"Then you can't have any dinner?"

"I am absolutely beside myself to know what to do, " said Pauline. "Sometimes I think I'll go to bed and pretend I have got a headache. Oh, dear, what a bad girl I am turning into!"

Nancy laughed again. 

"It is sometimes very tiresome to develop a conscience, " she said. "Youwere a much nicer girl before that grand aunt of yours arrived to turnthings topsy-turvy. As to the midnight picnic, you must come. I have madea bet on the subject. Jack and Tom say you won't come--that you will beafraid. 'Pauline Dale afraid! That's all you know about her, ' says I. Ihave assured them that you will come whatever happens, and they have saidyou won't. So the end of it is that Tom, Jack, and I have made a betabout it. It is ten shillings' worth either way. If you come, I get threebeautiful pairs of gloves. If you don't come, I give the boys tenshillings. Now you see how important it is. Why, Paulie, of course youwill come! We are going to have a right-down jolly time, for father is sotickled with the notion that he is coming, too; and he says he will giveus a real good lark. And we are going to Friar's Oak, eight miles away;and we are to take hampers full of dainties. And Fiddler Joe will comewith us to play for us; and there's a beautiful green-sward just underthe beech-trees by Friar's Oak, and there we'll dance by the full lightof the moon. Oh, you must come! I told father you were coming, and he wasawfully pleased--as pleased as Punch--and he said:

"'That's right, my girl; that's right, Nancy. If the Dales stick to methrough thick and thin, I'll stick to them. '

"You know, Pauline, you have always been at our fun before; so, aunt orno aunt, you can't fail us now. "

"I'd like to go beyond anything, " said Pauline, who felt intenselytempted by this description. "It is so horrible to be pulled up short. But I know I can't, so there's no use thinking about it. "

"You needn't answer me now. I'll come back again. This is Friday night. I'll come back on Monday night. The picnic is arranged for Wednesdaynight. Listen, Paulie; you will have to change your mind, for if youdon't--well!"

"If I don't?"

"I can make it very hot for you. "

"What do you mean?"

"I'll come and have a talk with your aunt. There!"

"Oh, Nancy. What about?"

"Such an interesting story, darling! All about our fun that night whenyou burnt your arm--all about our gaiety, and the fireworks, and yourstealing away as you did, and your stealing back as you did. Oh! I shallhave a jolly story to tell; and I will tell it, too. She'll turn me away, and tell me she'll never see me any more; but what of that? She's donethat already. I will have my fun; you will have your punishment. That'sfair enough, isn't it? You don't desert Nancy King for nothing, rememberthat, Pauline, so you had better say at once that you will come. Now, mylove, I think that is about all. "

Nancy's face was very red. She was feeling thoroughly angry. Pauline'smanner annoyed her past description. She really imagined herself to beextremely kind and good-natured to Pauline, and could not endure thelittle girl taking her present high stand. 

"I must be going now, " she said. 

She gave Pauline a nod which was scarcely friendly, but was, at the sametime, very determined, and was about to run home, when Pauline calledher. 

"Don't go for a minute, Nancy. There's something else. Have you broughtme back Aunt Sophia's thimble?"

"No, I have not. I have a story to tell you about that, and I was justforgetting it. I do hope and trust you won't really mind. "

"Oh, what is it? You know I am quite likely to get into a scrape aboutthat horrid thimble as well as everything else. What is the story? Thethimble isn't yours. You surely haven't lost it!"

"Nothing of the kind. You look as though you thought I had stolen it. Mean as I am, I am not quite so bad as that. Now let me tell you. Becky, poor old girl! saw it. She's always mad about finery of any sort, and herpeople are rich as rich. I had the thimble in my pocket, and she wassnuggling up close to me in her nice, engaging little fashion, and shefelt the thimble hard against my side, much as I felt it when it was inyour pocket. In she slipped her little bit of a white hand and drew itout. I never saw any one so delighted over a toy of the sort in all mylife. It fitted her little finger just to a nicety. 

"'Why, ' she exclaimed, 'I never, never saw a thimble like this before;did you, Nancy?'

"'Guess not, ' I answered. 'It's a cunning one, isn't it?'

"She kept turning it round and round, and looking at it, and pressing itup to her cheek, and trying to see her own reflection in that wonderfulsapphire at the bottom of the thimble. Then what do you think happened? Iown it was a little sharp of her, but of course you can't be sounfriendly as to mind. She took the precious little toy and put it into adear, most precious little box, and covered it over with soft, softcotton-wool, and placed a sweet little lid on the top. Dear me, Pauline!you needn't open your eyes any wider. And when she had secured the littlebox, she wrapped it in brown paper, and twined it, and sealed it, andaddressed it to her sister Josephine in London. "

"Then she stole it, " said Pauline. 

"Not a bit of it. What a narrow-minded girl you are! Just hear my storyout. Becky sent the thimble to Josephine to their house in Bayswater, with directions that Josephine was to take it to their jeweller, Paxton, and ask him to make another in all particulars precise ditto the same. You understand? Precise ditto the same--sapphire, gold, turquoise, andall. And this beautiful thimble is to be worn on the dear little middlefinger of Becky's dear little white hand. When it is faithfully copiedyou will have the original thimble back, my love, but not before. Now, then, ta-ta for the present. "

Nancy ran off before Pauline had time to reply. She felt stunned. Whatdid everything mean? How queer of Nancy to have suddenly turned into aperfectly awful girl--a sort of fiend--a girl who had another girlcompletely in her power; who could, and would if she liked, make thatother girl wretched; who could and would ruin that other girl's life. There was a time when the midnight picnic seemed the most delightfulthing on earth; but it scarcely appeared delightful now to poor Pauline, whose head ached, whose arm ached, and whose whole body ached. What wasshe to do?

When she re-entered the shrubbery, her unhappy feelings were by no meanslightened to see that Penelope was waiting for her. Penelope stood alittle way off, her feet firmly planted a little apart, her straw hatpushed back from her sunburned face, her hands dropped straight to hersides. 

"I didn't eavesdrop, " she said. "I could have easy. There was ablackberry briar, and I could have stole under it and not minded thescratches, and I could have heard every single word; but I didn't, 'cosI'm not mean. But I saw you talking to Nancy, what kind Aunt Sophy saysyou're not to talk to. Perhaps, seeing you has done what is awful wrong, you'll give me a penny instead of Aunt Sophy; then I needn't tell herthat you were talking to Nancy when you oughtn't, and that I think youhave got the thimble. Will you give me a penny or will you not?"

Pauline put her hand into her pocket. 

"You are a most detestable child, " she said. 

"Think so if you like, " said Penelope. "Oh, here's my penny!"

She snatched at the penny which was reposing on Pauline's palm. 

"Now I'll go straight off and get John to bring me in some cookies, " sheexclaimed. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

PAULINE CONFESSES. 

Pauline was in such a strait that she made up her mind to tell a lie. Shehad never, so far as she could remember, told an actual and premeditatedlie before. Now matters were so difficult, and there seemed such acertainty of there being no other way out, that she resolved to brave theconsequences and add to her former sin by a desperate, downright blacklie. Accordingly, just before dinner she ran into Verena's room. 

"Renny, " she said, "I have made up my mind. "

"What about?" asked Verena. "Why, Pauline, you do look bad. Your face isas white as a sheet. "

"I shall have to explain, " continued Pauline. "I am going to tell how Igot the burn on my arm. "

Verena gave a great sigh of relief. 

"I am glad, " she cried. "It is far better to tell. "

"So I think, " said Pauline in an airy fashion. "Give me a kiss, Verena; Imust dress for dinner, and I haven't a moment to lose. "

"You will wear your pretty blouse?"

"Certainly. "

Pauline dashed out of the room, banging the door noisily after her. 

"I wonder what she means, " thought Verena. "She is certainly gettingrather queer. I am afraid she has a terrible secret on her mind. I amglad she means to confess, poor darling! I seem to have less influenceover her than I used to have, and yet I love no one like Paulie. She isall the world to me. I love her far better than the others. "

Meanwhile Pauline, with great difficulty, put on her pretty evening-blouse. How she hated those elbow-sleeves! How she wished the little soft chiffonfrills were longer! At another time she would have been delighted with herown reflection in the glass, for a cream-colored silk blouse suited her. She would have liked to see how well she looked in this new and fashionablelittle garment. She would have been pleased, too, with the size andbrilliancy of her black eyes. She would have admired that flush which soseldom visited her sallow cheeks; she would even have gazed withapprobation at her pearly-white teeth. Oh, yes, she would have likedherself. Now she felt that she hated herself. She turned from the glasswith a heavy sigh. 

Having finished her toilet, she wrapped a soft muslin handkerchief roundher wounded arm and ran downstairs. Her aunt was already in thedrawing-room, but to Pauline's relief no one else was present. The littlegirl ran up to her aunt, dropped a curtsy, and looked somewhatimpertinently into her face. 

"Here I am, " she said; "and how do I look?"

"You have put on your blouse, Pauline. It suits you. Turn round and letme see how it fits at the back. Oh! quite nicely. I told Miss Judson tomake the blouses in a simple fashion, so that they could be washed againand again. But what is the matter, my dear? Your face is very white. And--why, my dear Pauline, what is wrong with your arm?"

"I have something to confess, Aunt Sophy. I hope you won't be terriblyangry. "

"Something to confess, my dear child? Well, I am glad you have thecourage to confess when you do wrong. There is nothing like owning upone's faults, Pauline. There is nothing else that really strengthens thesoul. Well, I am listening, dear. Now, what is it?"

Pauline slowly unfastened the handkerchief which she had bound round herarm, and showed the great burn to Miss Tredgold. 

Miss Tredgold started, uttered an exclamation, took the little arm in herhand, and looked tenderly at the ugly place. 

"My poor little girl, " she said. "Do you mean that you have beensuffering from this all this time? But how in the world did it happen?"

"That is what I want to confess. I did something extremely naughty theday you kept me in Punishment Land. "

"What was it?"

"You sent me to bed at seven o'clock. "

"Yes; that was part of the punishment. "

"Well, I didn't like it. Oh! here comes Verena. Renny, I am confessing mysins. "

Verena ran up, her face full of anxiety. She put her arm round Pauline'swaist. 

"See how bad her poor arm is, " she said, glancing at Miss Tredgold. 

"Yes, " said Miss Tredgold, "it is badly hurt; but don't interrupt, Verena. I am listening to the story of how Pauline burnt her arm. "

"You sent me to bed at seven o'clock, " said Pauline, who, now that shehad embarked on her narrative, felt emboldened and, strange to say, almost enjoyed herself. "I could not possibly sleep at seven o'clock, youknow; so, to amuse myself, I tried on my new white dress; and then I lita candle, drew down the blinds, and looked at myself in the glass. I wasso pleased! I did look nice; I felt quite conceited. "

"You needn't tell me how you felt, Pauline. I want to hear facts, notaccounts of your feelings. You did wrong to put on your white dress, forit had already been fitted on by the dressmaker, and it was beingcarefully kept for Sunday wear. But proceed. After you lit the candle anddrew down the blinds what happened?"

"A great puff of wind came in through the window, and it blew the blindagainst the candle, and the flame of the candle came towards me, and Ihad my hand up to arrange my hair. I was fastening it up with hairpins tomake myself look quite grown-up. "

"Well?"

"And the candle caught my sleeve and set it on fire. "

Miss Tredgold now began to look so pale that Verena vaguely wondered ifshe were going to faint. The little culprit, however, stood bolt uprightand gazed with defiant black eyes at her aunt. 

"Yes, " said Pauline, "I suffered awful pain, and the sleeve blazed uplike anything; but I ran to the basin of water and put it out. I wasafraid to tell you. I had to tell Renny that I had burnt my arm, but Ididn't tell her how it happened, and I wouldn't allow her to breathe toyou that I was in pain. That was the reason I could not wear my prettyblouse last night, and you were angry with me. I hope you won't be angryany more; but the sleeve of the dress is burnt badly. Perhaps you won'tgive me any birthday present because the sleeve of my new dress is somuch injured. "

"I will see about that. The thing is to cure your arm. The doctor mustcome immediately. "

"But it is getting better. "

"You must see the doctor, " said Miss Tredgold. 

She went out of the room as she spoke. Pauline sank into a chair; Verenalooked down at her. 

"Have you told the truth?" asked Verena suddenly. 

Pauline nodded with such a savage quickness that it made her sisterpositively certain that she had not heard the right story. 

Miss Tredgold came back in a minute. 

"I have sent for Dr. Moffat, " she said. "I hope he will be here afterdinner. My dear child, why didn't you tell me before?"

"Are you going to forgive me?" faltered Pauline. "I--I almost think I'drather you didn't. "

"You are a very queer child, and I may as well tell you frankly you aretalking nonsense. You did wrong, of course, to put on the white dress;but I think, my dear, your sufferings have been your punishment. We willsay no more now about the burnt sleeve. Fortunately I have plenty of thesame muslin in the house, and the mischief can be quickly repaired. Now, dear, lie back in that chair. No; you are not to come in to dinner. Itshall be sent to you here on a tray. "

For the rest of the evening Pauline was so pitied and fussed over, andmade so thoroughly comfortable, that she began to think the black, blacklie she had uttered quite a good thing. 

"Here am I half out of my scrape, " she thought. "Now, if I can onlypersuade Nancy not to force us to go to that midnight picnic, and not totell if we don't go, and if I can get the thimble back, I shall be oncemore as happy as the day is long. This wicked black lie shall notfrighten me. There is no other way out. I cannot possibly tell the truth. What would Nancy think if I did?"

The doctor came. He ordered a healing lotion for the arm; he also feltthe pulse of the little patient. He declared her to be slightly feverish, and ordered her to bed. 

Half the next day Pauline stayed in her comfortable bed. She was fed withdainties by Aunt Sophia, was not expected to learn any lessons, and wasgiven a fascinating story-book to wile away the time. During the morning, when she was not engaged in the schoolroom, Miss Tredgold stayed by thelittle girl's side, and mended the burnt dress, cutting out a new sleeveand putting it in with deft, clever fingers. 

Pauline watched her as one fascinated. As she looked and observed thegraceful figure, the kindly expression of the eyes, and the noble pose ofthe head, there stole over her desolate little heart a warm glow. Shebegan to love Aunt Sophia. When she began to love her she began also tohate herself. 

"I don't want to love her a bit, " thought the child. "I want quite todetest her. If I love her badly--and perhaps I may--it will make thingsthat must happen much more difficult. "

Aunt Sophia left the room. She came back presently with a dainty jellyand some home-made biscuits. She put an extra pillow at Pauline's back, and placed the little tray containing the tempting food in front of her. 

"What are you thinking about, Paulie?" she asked suddenly. 

"About how nice you are, " answered the child; and then she added, "Idon't want you to be nice. "

"Why so?"

"Because I don't. I can't tell you more than just I don't. "

Miss Tredgold said nothing more. She resumed her work, and Pauline ateher jelly. 

"Aunt Sophy, " she said presently, "I want to be awfully good at mylessons next week. I want to learn real desperate hard. I want to turninto a very clever girl. You'd like me to be clever, wouldn't you?"

"Provided you are not conceited with it, " said Aunt Sophia in her abruptway. 

"Perhaps I should be, " said Pauline. "I was always thought rather smart. I like people to call me smart. You don't want me to turn stupid becauseI may get conceited. "

"No, dear; I want you to be natural. I want you to try very hard to belearned, to be good, to be a lady. I want you to be the sort of womanyour mother would have wished you to be had she lived. I want you to growup strong in mind and strong in body. I want you to be unselfish. I wantyou to look upon life as a great gift which you must not abuse, which youmust make use of. I want you, Paulie, and your sisters to be the best inevery sense of that great word. You will fail. We all fail at times; butthere is forgiveness for each failure if you go to the right and onlysource. Have I said enough?"

"Yes, " said Pauline in a low voice. 

Her conscience was pricking her. She lowered her eyes; the long blacklashes trembled with tears. Miss Tredgold stooped and kissed her. 

"I hear Briar in the garden, " she said. "I will send her up to you. Be asmerry as you please with her, and forget my words for the present. "

Pauline got up in time for late dinner. She was, of course, excusedwearing her dinner-blouse, and was still treated somewhat as an invalid. But on Sunday morning she was so much better that she was able to wearher white dress, and able also to join her sisters in the garden. 

They all went to the pretty little church in the next village, and MissTredgold accompanied them. 

Looking back on it afterwards, that Sunday always seemed to Pauline likean exquisite dream of peace. Her lie did not press at all against herheart. The discomfort of it was for the time in abeyance. She tried toforget Miss Tredgold's ideal girl; she was happy without knowing why. Shewas happy, but at the same time she was quite well aware of the fact thather happiness would come to an end on Sunday night. She was quite certainthat on Monday morning her grave and terrible troubles would begin. Shewould have to see Nancy. She would have to decide with regard to themidnight picnic. There was no joy for Pauline in the thought of thatpicnic now, but she dared not stay away from it, for if she did Nancywould have her way. Nancy's temper, quick and hot as a temper could be, would blaze up. She would come to Miss Tredgold and tell her everything. If it had been awful to Pauline's imagination to think of Miss Tredgoldknowing the truth before, what would it be to her now after the lie shehad told?

"I must coax Nancy, " thought the little girl to herself. "I must tell herthat I can't go to the picnic, and I must implore her not to tell. Oh, what shall I do? How shall I persuade her?"

On Sunday morning, therefore, notwithstanding her promises, Pauline wasinattentive at lessons. But Miss Tredgold was not inclined to beover-severe. The doctor had said that the child had not only been badlyburnt, but had also received a nervous shock. He had further added thatthe more liberty she was given, and the more fresh air just at present, the better. 

Accordingly Pauline was sent into the garden long before the others hadfinished their lessons. She presently sat down under the shade of a tree. She was not to meet Nancy till six o'clock. 

By-and-by Penelope came out, saw her sister, and ran towards her. 

"Have you got the thimble?" she asked. 

"Of course I haven't. I don't know anything about the thimble. What doyou mean?"

Alas for Pauline! Her first lie had made her second easy. 

Penelope looked at her in puzzled wonder. 

"I thought you did know about it, " she said, disappointment stealing overher shrewd little face. 

"I don't know anything about it. Don't worry me. "

"You are so cross that I'm sure you have done something desperatenaughty, " said Penelope. "I want to find out what it is, and I don't wantto stay with you. I think you are horrid. "

She marched away defiantly, her squat little figure and bare legs lookingso comical that Pauline burst out laughing. 

"What am I coming to?" she said to herself. "This is lie number two. Oh, dear! I feel just as if a net were surrounding me, and the net was beingdrawn tighter each moment, and I was being dragged into a pit out ofwhich there is no escape. What shall I do?"

Just then Mr. Dale, who seldom left the house, appeared in view. He waswalking slowly, his hands thrust into his pockets, his head bent forward;he was murmuring some sentences of his beloved Virgil to himself. He tookno notice of Pauline. He did not even see her. Neither did he notice thechair in which she was sitting. He came bang up against her before heknew that she was there. 

"What have I done?" he exclaimed. "Oh, it is you, Pauline! Howinconsiderate of you to sit like this on the lawn!"

"But we always sit on the chairs, dad, " said Pauline, springing to herfeet. 

He forgot that he had made the remark. He laid his hand on her shoulder. 

"I have been having a delightful time, " he said--"truly a delightfultime. All this morning I have been in contact with noble thoughts. Mychild, can you realize, even dimly, what it is to dip into those mines ofwealth--those mines of illimitable wisdom and greatness and strength andpower? Oh, the massiveness of the intellects of the old classic writers!Their lofty ideas with regard to time and eternity--where can their likebe found?"

Pauline yawned. 

"Are you tired?" asked her father. 

"No--only worried, " she answered. 

She did not know why she made the latter remark; but at the same time shewas perfectly well aware that anything she said to her father was safe, as he would absolutely forget it in the course of the next minute. He wasroused now from his visions of the past by a certain pathos in the littleface. He put his arm round the child and drew her to him. 

"My dear, pretty little girl, " he said. 

"Am I pretty?" asked Pauline. 

He gazed at her out of his short-sighted eyes. 

"I think not, " he said slowly. "I was imagining you were Verena, orperhaps Briar. Briar is certainly very pretty. No, Pauline, you are notpretty; you are plain. But never mind; you have perhaps got"--he put afinger on each temple--"you have perhaps got something greater. "

"It doesn't matter if you are plain or not, " said Pauline almost crossly, "when you are awfully worried. "

"But what worries you, my child? I would not have one so young subjectedto worries. My dear, is it possible that you already are perplexed withthe ways of this present life? Truly, I am scarcely surprised. The lifewe lead in these degenerate days is so poor; the giants have left theearth, and only the pigmies are left. Don't worry about life, child; itisn't worth while. "

"I am not, " said Pauline bluntly. "I am worrying because----"

"Because of what, dear?"

"Because I am going to be desperately naughty. "

Mr. Dale shook his head slowly. 

"I wouldn't, " he said. "It is very uncomfortable and wrong, and itsullies the conscience. When the conscience gets sullied the nature goesdown--imperceptibly, perhaps, but still it goes down. If your worry is anaffair of the conscience, take it to Him who alone can understand you. "

Pauline looked at her father with awed astonishment. 

"You mean God?" she said. "Will He help me?"

"Certainly He will. He is the Great Deliverer, and His strength is asimmeasurable as it ever was. He gave power to the martyrs to go throughthe flames. He will help a little, weak girl if she asks Him. Oh, mydear, it has struck twelve! I have lost a quarter of an hour. Don't keepme another moment. "

The scholar and dreamer hurried to the house. Long before he got there hehad forgotten Pauline and her childish worries. She was going to bedesperately naughty. He certainly no longer remembered those words. 

Meanwhile the child stayed behind with her hands clasped. 

"I wish he had told me more, " she said to herself. "I don't believe Godcould put this straight. "

CHAPTER XV. 

THE NET. 

On Monday Pauline's troubles began over again. She ought to have beenvery happy on this special day, for the birthday--the great, importantbirthday, her very own, when she would reach the completion of herfourteenth year--was near at hand. But although Pauline was perplexed andunhappy, there was nevertheless a birthday feeling in the air. In thefirst place, there was a great and exciting sense of mystery. The girlswere seen darting quickly here and there; in every imaginable cornerthere were whispered consultations. Aunt Sophia, in particular, neverlooked at Pauline without smiling. She was kindness itself. It seemed tothe poor little girl that her aunt had taken a great fancy to her. Thiswas the case. Miss Tredgold was interested in all her nieces, but evenVerena with her daintiness and pretty face, and Briar with her mostcharming personality, did not attract Miss Tredgold as did theblunt-looking, almost plain child who called herself Pauline. 

"She has got character and independence, " thought the good lady. "Shewill be something by-and-by. She will always be able to hold her own inthe world. She is the kind of girl who could do much good. It hurt mevery much to send her into Punishment Land, but she is all the better forit. Oh, yes, she must taste the rough as well as the smooth if she is tobe worth anything. She will be worth a good deal; of that I amconvinced. "

Miss Tredgold, therefore, had compassion on Pauline's late indisposition, and made lessons as easy as possible for her. Thus Pauline had verylittle to do, except to think of that mystery which was growing thickerand thicker. In one way it helped her own dilemma. With her sisterswalking in twos and threes all over the place, it would not be at allremarkable for her to slip down at the appointed hour to the wicket-gate. Even Penelope would not notice her, so absorbed was she in assistingAdelaide to make a special present for Pauline. 

As the day advanced the little girl became terribly nervous. She felt asense of irritation when one of her sisters looked at her, whispered toher companion, and then turned away. She would almost have preferred MissTredgold to be as stern as she was before. Her whole mind was in a stateof tumult. She felt the net closing tighter and tighter around her. Eventhe birthday was scarcely interesting while such a weight rested on herheart. Miss Tredgold had said during the afternoon as they were allsitting together on the lawn:

"This is to be a great birthday. This is the very first birthday I havespent under your roof. You must all remember it as long as you live. "

"Oh, can I ever forget it?" thought poor Pauline. "But Aunt Sophy littleknows that I shall not remember it for its kindness and its sunshine andits presents; I shall remember it always because I am such a wickedgirl. "

Now as evening approached she could not help whispering to herself:

"The net is closing--closing round me. It is gathering me up into a heap. My legs and arms are tied. Soon the wicked, dreadful thing will press myhead down, and I shall be powerless and lost. "

She thought out this metaphor, and it seemed to haunt her footsteps. 

"It is right that a girl who told a black lie should be cramped up init, " thought Pauline. "Oh, why hadn't I courage to tell Aunt Sophy thetruth? She might have been angry, but in the end she would have forgivenme. I would far rather have no notice whatever taken of my birthday thanbe as miserable as I am now. "

"That child isn't well, " said Miss Tredgold to Verena, as Pauline wasseen slowly creeping in a subdued sort of way in the direction of thelower shrubbery. "Why is she always stealing off by herself? I have agood mind to call her back and take her for a drive. It is a lovelyevening, and a drive would do her good. "

"So it would, Aunt Sophy. You know how busy all the rest of us arefinishing her presents. I am sure she would love to drive with you, for Ithink she is getting very fond of you. "

"Perhaps, my dear; but I have made up my mind not to have favorites. Aslong as you are all good I shall love you all. --Pauline--yes, Verena, Ishall offer her a drive--Pauline, come here. "

Pauline hated to be called back, but she could not do otherwise thanobey. She approached lingeringly. 

"Yes, Aunt Sophy, " she said. 

"Would you like to take a drive with me? We might go and find out howsoon Peas-blossom and Lavender will be ready to come to their new home. "

At another time such a request on the part of Miss Tredgold would haveenraptured Pauline; but she knew that it only wanted five minutes to six, and she doubted if Nancy would consent to be kept waiting long. 

"No, " she answered slowly; "my head aches. Please, I would rather nottake a drive. "

She did not wait for Miss Tredgold's response, but continued her slowwalk. 

"The poor child is certainly ill, " said the good lady. "If she continuesto look as poorly and as sadly out of sorts next week I shall take her tothe seaside. "

"Will you, Aunt Sophy? How lovely! Do you know that Paulie and I havenever been to the sea? We do so long to see it!"

"Well, my dear, I shall take you all presently, but I can't say when. Now, as Pauline does not want to drive with me, I shall go into the houseand finish some of my arrangements. "

Miss Tredgold went indoors, and Verena joined Briar and Patty, who werein a great state of excitement. 

Meanwhile Pauline had reached the wicket-gate. She opened it and wentout. Nancy was waiting for her. Nancy's cheeks were flushed and her eyesbright. She looked as if she had been quarreling with somebody. Paulineknew that look well. Nancy's two friends Becky and Amy were standing at alittle distance. There was a small governess-cart drawn up not far away, and Becky was stroking the nose of a rough little Forest pony. 

"Father gave me the cart and pony this morning, " said Nancy. "There'snothing he wouldn't do for me. The pony and cart aren't much, perhaps, but still it is fun to have them to fly over the place. Well, and howgoes her little high-and-mightiness? Frumpy, I can see. Grumpy, I canguess. Now, is Pauline glad to see poor old Nance--eh?"

"Of course, Nancy; but I have come to say----"

"We'll have no 'buts, ' darling, if you please. "

"I can't come to the picnic, Nancy; I really cannot. "

"How white poor little Dumpy looks! Wants some one to cheer her up, orshe'll be dumped and frumped and grumped all in one. Now, darling, I'mgoing to put my arm round your waist. I am going to feel your littleheart go pit-a-pat. You shall lean against me. Isn't that snug? Doesn'tdear old Nancy count for something in your life?"

"Of course you do, Nancy. I am fond of you. I have always said so, "replied Pauline. 

"Then you will yield, darling, to the inevitable. "

"I am yielding to it now, " replied Pauline. "I am not going with youbecause I can't. "

"And you are going with me because you must, " Nancy responded. "Forlisten, Pauline. Although I am affectionate, I can be--oh, yes--dangerous. And if you don't come, why, I can keep my word. Wednesday is yourbirthday. I wonder when the crown of the day will come?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, there always is a crown to a birthday. There is a time, either inthe evening or in the morning, when the queen receives the homage of hersubjects. She gets her presents, and there are pretty speeches made toher, and she has her dainty feast and her crown of flowers. Yes, thattime is the crown of the day, and that is just the moment when the poorlittle queen shall topple down. The throne shall be knocked from underher; the presents will vanish; the sovereignty will cease to exist. Poor, poor little queen without a kingdom! How will you like it, Paulie? Do youthink you could bear it? To have no kingdom and no crown and no presentsand no love, and to be bitterly disgraced as well! How will you like it, Paulie?"

"I know that you can do all that you say, " answered Pauline. "I know youcan be dreadful, and everything is against me. You can ruin me if youlike, but I want you not to do it, Nancy. "

"And if you don't come with us I want to do it, dear; and I rather thinkthat my will is stronger than yours. "

"But if it kills me?"

"It won't do that, Paulie. You will feel bad, and, oh! as though somebodyhad crushed you; but you won't die. There's only one way out. "

Pauline was silent. 

"It is quite an easy way, " continued Nancy. "It is easy and safe, andthere's a deal of fun to be got out of it. You have got to come to thepicnic. Once you are there you will enjoy yourself tremendously. Ipromise to get you home in the morning. You will come, and you will bringtwo of your sisters with you. Two will be enough. I have yielded thatpoint. You will meet us here, at this very spot, at eleven o'clock onWednesday night. We are going some distance away, so that no one in theneighborhood of The Dales need hear our singing and our fun and ourjollity. We will come back before daybreak and deposit you just outsidethe wicket-gate. You may think it very unpleasant just now, and very meanand all the rest, but it is the only possible way to save yourself. Youmust come to the picnic, and bring two of your sisters. "

"But suppose they won't come?"

"They will if you manage things properly. It needn't be Verena. I expectVerena, for all she is so soft and fair, is a tough nut to crack; but youcan bring Briar and Patty. My father will be quite satisfied if three ofyou are present. The fact is, he is awfully hurt at the thought of yourall thinking yourselves too good for us. He says that the Dales and theKings were always friends. My father is a dear old man, but he has hiscranks, and he has made up his mind that come you must, or he'll makemischief. It won't be only me; it will be my father as well. He willappear at The Dales, and if I go straight to Miss Tredgold, he will gostraight to Mr. Dale. Now, what do you think of that? I am determined tohave you for reasons of my own, and I shall poke up my father to do noend of mischief if you don't appear. Now don't be a goose. Get up alittle dash of courage and a little dash of your old spirit andeverything will be as straight as possible. "

Pauline stood quite still. Nancy danced in front of her. Nancy's face wasalmost malicious in its glee. Pauline looked at it as a child will lookwhen despair clutches at her heart. 

"I didn't know--I couldn't guess--that you were like that, " she said in asort of whisper. 

"Couldn't you, dear little duckledoms? Well, you do know it now; and youknow also how to act. Don't you see by the lines round my mouth and theexpression in my eyes that I can be hard as hard when I please? I amgoing to be very hard now. My honor is involved in this. I promised thatyou would be there. There are presents being bought for you. Come youmust; come you shall. "

Pauline stood quite silent; then she flung her arms to her sides andfaced her tormentor. 

"There was a time, " she said slowly, "when I loved you, Nancy. But Idon't love you now. By-and-by, perhaps, you will be sorry that you havelost my love, for I think--yes, I think it is the sort that doesn't comeback. I don't love you to-night because you are cruel, because you havealready got me into a scrape, and you want to push me into a yet deeperone. I am not the sort of girl you think me. However grand and statelyand like a lady Aunt Sophia is--and compared to you and me, Nancy, she isvery stately and very grand and very noble--I would not give you up. AuntSophy is a lady with a great brave heart, and her ideas are up-in-the-airideas, and she doesn't know anything about mean and low and vulgarthings. I'd have clung to you, Nancy, and always owned you as my friend, even if Aunt Sophy had taken me into good society. Yes, I'd have stuck toyou whatever happened; but now"--Pauline pressed her hand to herheart--"everything is altered. You are cruel, and I don't love you anymore. But I am in such trouble, and so completely in despair, that I willcome to the picnic; and if I can bring two of the girls, I will. There isnothing more to say. You may expect us at eleven o'clock on Wednesdaynight. "

"But there is more to say, " cried Nancy. 

She flew at Pauline, and before she could stop her Nancy had lifted theyounger girl into her strong arms. She had not only lifted her into herarms, but she was running with her in the direction where Becky and Amywere minding the pony. 

"Hurrah! I have won!" she cried. "She yields. Come and kiss her, thelittle duck. --Pauline, you silly, if you don't love me, I love you; andyou will soon find out for yourself what a good time you are going tohave, and what a goose you have made of yourself with all this ridiculousfuss. What a grand birthday you are going to have, Paulie! A birthday fora whole twenty-four hours--a whole day and a whole night! Remember, therewill be presents, there will be surprises, there will be love, there willbe sweetness. Trust us, you will never get into a scrape for this. Nowrun along home as fast as you can. "

Pauline did not run. She closed the wicket-gate and walked soberly to thehouse. Strange as it may seem, once she had made her decision, the factthat she was to deceive her aunt, and do the thing that of all otherswould fill Aunt Sophia with horror, did not pain her. The conflict wasover; she must rest now until the time came to go. She was a cleverchild, and she thought out the situation with wonderful clearness. Shemust go. There was no help for it. The sin must be sinned. After all, perhaps, it was not such a very great sin. Aunt Sophia would be happierif she never knew anything at all about it. 

"If I go she will never know, " thought the child. "Nancy is clever, andnow that I have yielded to her she will not fail me. If I go it willnever be discovered, and what has happened before will never bediscovered; and Aunt Sophy will never have reason to distrust me, for shewill never know. Yes, " thought Pauline, "it is the only possible way. "

She saw Penelope coming to meet her. The other girls were still busy withtheir birthday surprises, but Penelope had just deposited her own smalland somewhat shabby present in Verena's keeping, and was now, as sheexpressed it, taking the air. When she saw Pauline she ran to meet her. 

"I suppose you are feeling yourself monstrous 'portant, and all that sortof thing, " she said. 

"No, I am not, " said Pauline. 

Penelope gave her a quick glance out of her sharp eyes. 

"Does you like me to be nursery or schoolroom child?" she asked. 

"Oh, I like you to be just what you are, Pen; and I do beg of you not toworry me just now. "

"You is most ungrateful. I has been spending my teeny bit of money onyou. You will know what I has done on your birthday. You are going to geta most 'licious present, and it will be I who has gived it to you. Sometimes I does wish I was two years older; but Aunt Sophy has gotmonstrous fond of me, Paulie, and of you, too. I know it. Shall I tellyou how I know it?"

"How?" asked Pauline. 

"I was standing near her when you said you wouldn't go for a drive, andshe gave a big sigh, just as though she was hurted. I was hurted, too, for I thought I might perhaps sit on the little back-seat and hear more'nis good for me. People always say that little girls like me hear more'nis good for them. I love--I love hearing things of that wicked sort. Well, you didn't go, and I couldn't have my nice drive on the littleback-seat. But Aunt Sophy did give a pained sigh. She loves you, doesAunt Sophy. She loves me, too. "

"Do you love me, Pen?" said Pauline suddenly, for it occurred to her thatperhaps Penelope was the child who would have to accompany her to themidnight picnic. She knew enough of Penelope to be sure that she could bebribed. She was not so certain about the others. 

"Do you love me, Pen?" she repeated. 

"When you speak in that softy, sympathisy voice, I feel that I could justhug you, " said Penelope. 

"Then would you really help me?"

"Really and really. What am I to do? If you will whisper secrets to me, Iwill even forget that I am certain you know something most 'portant aboutthat thimble, and I will cling to you like anything. You will be the oak, and I will be the ivy. It will be most lovely to be the close friend ofthe birthday queen. I do--oh, I do hope you are going to tell me a greatsecret!"

"Perhaps I am, but I can't tell you now. "

"When will you tell me?"

"If I ever tell you, it will be before midday on my birthday. Now runaway. Don't whisper a word of this. "

"Not me, " said Penelope. "I was borned to keep secrets. "

She marched away in her usual stalwart fashion. 

"I may have to take her with me, " thought Pauline again. "If the otherswon't be bribed, I must fall back on her. "

She felt a curious sense of relief, for of course Penelope could bebribed. A shilling would do it. Penelope would go to the end of the earthfor a shilling, particularly if it was given to her all in pence. Twelveseparate pence would send Penelope off her head. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE CONFERENCE. 

It was late on the following evening when Pauline found herself alonewith Briar and Patty. Both these little girls had plenty of character;but perhaps Patty had more of that estimable quality than her sister. They were both straightforward by nature, upright and noble, and werealready benefiting by the discipline which had at last come into theirlives. The glories of the birthday which was so near were alreadybeginning to shed some of their rays over Pauline, and her sisters feltthemselves quite honored by her company. 

"To think, " said Briar, "that you are really only Paulie! I can scarcelybring myself to believe it. "

"Why so?" asked Pauline. 

"In twelve hours' time--in less--you will be a queen. "

"It is rather like the Lord Mayor, " said Patty. "It's all very grand, butit lasts for a very short time. Aunt Sophy was telling us to-day aboutthe Lord Mayor and the great, tremendous Show, and I began to think ofPauline and her birthday. I could not help myself. It is a pity that abirthday should only last such a very short time!"

"Yes, that is the worst of it, " said Pauline. "But then it comes everyyear. Perhaps it is all for the best that it should have a quick come anda quick go. Of course, I shall be very happy to-morrow, but I dare say Ishall be glad when the next day arrives. "

"Not you, " said Briar. "I have known what the next day meant, even whenwe had only shilling birthdays. The others used to cry out, 'Yourbirthday is the farthest off now. ' I used to keep my head covered underthe bedclothes rather than hear them say it. Adelaide and Josephinealways said it. But don't let's get melancholy over it now, " continuedBriar in a sympathetic tone. "When you lie down to-night you won't beable to sleep much; but you will sleep like a top to-morrow night. Iexpect you will wake about every two minutes to-night. Oh, it is excitingthe night before a birthday! Even when we had shilling birthdays I usedto wake the night before every few minutes. Once I got up at four o'clockin the morning. I went out. I had a cold afterwards, and a bad sorethroat, but I never told anybody how I got it. If I was excited about mypoor little birthday, what will you be to-morrow?"

"I don't know, " said Pauline. "Listen, girls. I am so excited in onesense that I couldn't be any more so. I am so excited that I'm notexcited. Can you understand what I mean?"

"No, I'm sure I can't a bit, " said Briar. 

"And it's quite likely, " continued Pauline, "that I shall have no sleepat all the night after my birthday. "

"What do you mean now?" asked Briar. 

Pauline looked mysterious. The two girls glanced at her. Suddenly Paulineput one arm around Briar's neck and the other arm round Patty's neck. 

"You are the nicest of us all--that is, of course, except Verena, " shesaid. "I have always been fonder of you two than of Adelaide or Josephineor Helen or Lucy. As to Pen, well, I don't suppose any of us feel to Penas we do to the rest. She is so different. Yes, I love you two. I loveyou just awfully. "

"It is sweet of you to say that; and, seeing that you are to have abirthday so soon, it makes us feel sort of distinguished, " said Briar. 

"How old are you, Briar?"

"I'll be thirteen next May. That's a long time off. I do wish my birthdayhad waited until Aunt Sophy came on the scene. "

"And my birthday comes in the winter, " said Patty--"near Christmas; but Idare say Aunt Sophy will give us a good time then, too. "

"I do like her awfully, " said Pauline. "Now, girls, I want to ask you aquestion. I know you won't tell, for you are not the sort to tell. "

"Of course we won't tell, Paulie. "

"And you love me, don't you?"

"Yes, " echoed both little girls. 

"This is my question. If I do something that is not just exactlyabsolutely right, will you still love me?"

"Why, of course. We're not so wonderfully good ourselves, " said Briar. 

"I know what you are thinking of, " said Patty. "You are thinking ofPunishment Day. But we have forgotten all about that. "

"I was thinking of Punishment Day. And now I want to say something. Iwant to make the most tremendous confidence. I want to tell you the mosttremendous secret. "

"Oh!" echoed both. 

"Light that candle, Briar, " said Pauline. 

Briar crossed the room, struck a match, lit the candle, and then turnedto see what her darling Paulie wished further. 

"Bring it right over here, " said Pauline. "Put it on this table. "

Briar did so. 

"Kneel down, Briar, so that the light from the candle falls full on yourface. "

Briar knelt. Her eyes were beaming with happiness. 

"Look at me, " said Pauline. 

Briar raised two honest and pretty brown eyes to her sister's face. 

"I think, " said Pauline slowly, "that you are the sort of girl to make apromise--a solemn, awfully solemn promise--and stick to it. "

"Yes; you are right. I am made that way, " said Briar proudly. 

"I see you are. Patty, will you kneel so that the candle may shine onyour face?"

Patty hurried to obey. 

"I am made like that, too, " she said. "I always was like that. When Isaid I wouldn't tell, you might pinch me black and blue, but it didn'tchange me. Pen has tried to run pins into me sometimes to make me tell. Pen is the only one who would tell when she promised not. "

"I think so, " said Pauline decidedly. "Pen would not do at all. Girls, Ishall come to you to-morrow evening. To-morrow evening, very late, I willcome to you here. Perhaps you will have gone to bed, but that won'tmatter. I will come to you whether you are in bed or whether you are up;and I will claim your promise. You will do what I ask, and you willnever, never, never tell. You must help me. You will--oh, you will!"

"Of course, " said Briar. "Darling Paulie, don't cry. Oh, how the pet istrembling! Patty, she's trembling like anything. Do kiss her and hug her, and tell her there's nothing we wouldn't do for her. "

"There's nothing in all the world we wouldn't do for you, " said Patty. 

They both kissed her so often and with such deep affection that she foundherself leaning on their innocent strength. She would not tell them yet;she would tell them just before the time to-morrow evening. Of coursethey would go with her. Pen would never do. It would be madness toconfide in Pen. 

Notwithstanding her excitement Pauline did sleep soundly that nightbefore her birthday. No sooner had her head touched the pillow than sweetunconsciousness visited her. She slept without dreaming, and was at lastawakened by the shouts of her sisters. 

"Paulie, get up. It's your birthday. Oh, do dress yourself fast! There'ssuch a lot of fun going on! We are to have a whole holiday, and AuntSophy is so delightful. And what do you think? She has dragged father outof his study, and he is standing in the very middle of the lawn. He has ahuge, untidy-looking parcel in his hands, and he looks as if he didn't inthe least know what to do with it. He is trying each moment to escapeback into the house, but Aunt Sophy won't let him. She says he must notstir until you come down. Poor father does look in misery. Be quick anddress and come downstairs. "

At this moment there was a shout from below, and the three girls who hadsummoned Pauline from the land of dreams rushed off, dashing through thehouse with whoops of triumph. 

Pauline rose and dressed quickly. She put on the pretty pale lavenderprint frock that Aunt Sophia had decided she was to wear, and wentdownstairs. When she joined the others Mr. Dale greeted her with one ofhis slow, sweet smiles. 

"How are you, darling?" he said. "I have a sort of idea that I am keptstanding here on this lawn, exposed to the heat of a very powerful sun, on your account. "

"Of course it is on Pauline's account, Henry, " said Miss Sophia. "It isher birthday. Kiss me, Pauline, dear. Many happy returns of the day. Henry, give your daughter her present. She is fourteen to-day. "

"Fourteen! Ah!" said Mr. Dale, "a charming age. The ancients considered awoman grown-up at fourteen. "

"But no one is so silly in these days, " said Miss Tredgold. "We know thata girl is never more childish than at fourteen. Henry, open that parceland give Pauline what it contains. "

Mr. Dale dropped the brown-paper parcel at his feet. He looked at it inbewilderment. 

"It is heavy, " he said. "I haven't the least idea what is in it. "

"It is your present to your daughter. "

"Ah!" said Mr. Dale, "I forgot; and I packed it myself last night. Mychild, I wonder if you are worthy of it. "

"I don't suppose I am, father, " said Pauline. 

"For goodness' sake open it, Henry, and don't torture the child'sfeelings. "

"I put it in an old bandbox, " said Mr. Dale. "I couldn't find anythingelse. Pauline, in giving you what I am about to give you, I show a highappreciation of your character. I remember now what my present is. I hadan awful night in consequence of it. I felt as though one of my limbs wasbeing severed from my body. Nevertheless, my dear, I don't retract nor goback, for that is not my way. I give you this most noble gift with adistinct object. I have lately been examining all your foreheads. Although I have appeared to take little notice of you, I have watched youas day by day I have enjoyed the excellent food provided by your mostworthy aunt. While my body was feeding, my mind was occupying itself, andI have at last come to the decision that you, my child, are the only oneof my young people who has been blessed with a classical brow. As yet youhave not even begun to learn the language of the ancients; but now thatyou have reached the mature age of fourteen, I shall be pleased toinstruct you myself for one hour daily, in both that Latin and Greekwhich delighted our forefathers. "

"But the Romans and Greeks were not our forefathers, " said Miss Tredgold. 

She snapped out the words quite angrily, and the look on her aunt's facecaused Pauline to go closer to her father and take one of his long whitehands and hold it close to her heart. 

"It doesn't matter whether we are descended from them or not, does it, Padre?" she said. 

"All that is noble in thought, all that is original, all that partakes ofinspiration, has come down to us from the classics, " said Mr. Dale. "Buttake your gift, Pauline. Now, my dear children, I beseech of you, don'tkeep me any longer from my important work. "

He was striding towards the house, when Verena got in front of him, Briarstood at his left hand, Patty at his right, and Adelaide, Josephine, Lucy, Helen, and Penelope came up in the rear. 

"You don't stir, " they cried, "until Paulie opens her parcel. "

So Pauline knelt down on the grass, untied the clumsy cord, and removedthe brown paper. She then lifted the lid from a broken-down bandbox andrevealed a musty, fusty tome bound in old calf. 

"It is my precious annotated edition of Cicero, " said Mr. Dale. "I havewritten your name in it--'Pauline Dale, from her affectionate father. ' Itis yours now, and it will be yours in the future. If you like to leave iton the shelf in my study, I shall not object, but it is yours to do whatyou like with. "

He sighed profoundly, and turned away with his lip trembling. 

"Good gracious!" Miss Tredgold was heard to exclaim. Then she spoke toAdelaide. 

"Run into the house and bring out a cup of coffee. The precious man getsqueerer each moment. What a present to give the child!"

Pauline raised the big book and clasped it against her neat lilac frock. 

"Thank you, father, " she said. "I will learn to read it. Thank you verymuch. "

"And you don't object to its occupying its old place on my shelf?"

"No. Shall I run and put it there now?"

"Do. You are really a wise child. Sophia, as I have given Pauline herpresent, I presume I need not stay out any longer wasting my precioustime and running the risk of sunstroke. "

Miss Tredgold nodded and laughed. Adelaide appeared with the coffee. Mr. Dale drank it off at a single draught. Pauline ran into the house withthe treasure which was hers and yet not hers. For surely never during hislifetime would Mr. Dale allow that special edition of Cicero out of hisstudy. She put it gravely and quietly into its accustomed place, kissedher father, told him she appreciated his present beyond words, and thenwent back to her sisters and aunt, who were waiting for her. 

What a day it was! What a wonderful, magnificent day! The weather wasperfect; the air was sweet; the garden was full of perfume. And then thepresents. Every imaginable thing that a little girl could want was pouredat the feet of the birthday queen. The story-books she had longed for;the little writing-desk she had always coveted but never possessed; theworkbox with its reels of colored silks, its matchless pair of scissors, its silver thimble, its odds and ends of every sort and description; thetennis-bat; the hockey-club; the new saddle that would exactly fitPeas-blossom: all these things and many more were given to Pauline. Butbesides the richer and more handsome presents, there were the sort ofpretty things that only love could devise--that charming littlepin-cushion for her dressing-table; that pen-wiper; that bag for herbrush and comb; that case for her night-dress. Some of the gifts wereclumsy, but all were prompted by love. Love had begun them, and gone onwith them, and finished them, and Pauline laughed and had brighter eyesand more flushed cheeks each moment as the day progressed. 

After breakfast Miss Tredgold took her nieces for a drive. The littleparty were all packed into the wagonette, and then they went off. Theydrove for miles and miles under the trees of the Forest. Miss Tredgoldtold more interesting and fascinating stories of her own life than shehad ever told before. The girls listened to her with the most absorbedattention. As a rule Miss Tredgold's stories carried a moral with them;but the birthday stories had no moral. Pauline waited for one. She waitedwith a sort of trembling dread. She expected it to intrude its sober faceat each moment, but it did not put in an appearance anywhere. It stayedout of sight in the most delightful and graceful manner. Soon the girls, Pauline amongst them, forgot to look out for the moral. Then Verena begantelling anecdotes of the past, and Pauline joined her; and the childrenlaughed, and nearly cried with delight. That drive was the happiest theyhad ever enjoyed. 

But it was somewhat late in the afternoon when the birthday treat came toits culmination. They were having tea on the lawn, a most fascinatingtea, with a frosted cake in the middle of the table, on which Pauline'sname was inscribed in golden letters, and round which were lightedfourteen little wax candles, denoting that she had now come to thatmature age. The candles were protected by tiny glass shades, so that thesoft summer air could not blow them about, and all the girls thought theyhad never seen such a wonderful sight. Mr. Dale was abducted from hisstudy--there was really no other word to describe the way in which he wascarried off bodily--and requested to light the candles. He did so lookingvery confused, and as though he did not in the least comprehend what hewas doing. Nevertheless he was there, and he was obliged to seat himselfin the centre of the group; and then garlands and garlands of flowerssuddenly made their appearance, and Pauline was conducted to her throne, and a crown of tiny roses was placed on her dark head, and wreaths offlowers were laid at her feet. 

"Now you are queen, Pauline, " said Miss Tredgold. "Your father and I andyour sisters are bound to obey you from now until ten o'clock to-night. This is your reign. It is short, but full of possibilities. What are weto do for you, fair queen? In what way do you wish to employ us?"

"May I wish for anything?" asked Pauline eagerly. 

She had a flashing thought as she uttered the words--a quick, terrible, agonized thought. Oh, if only she might claim her birthright! If only shemight put into use her grand privilege and ask for the one thing shereally wanted--a free, absolute pardon! If she might confess her sinwithout confessing it, and get her aunt and father to say that, whatevershe had done in the past, she was forgiven now! Just for an instant herblack eyes looked almost wild; then they fixed themselves on MissTredgold, who was looking at her attentively. She glanced beyond her, andmet the great black eyes of Penelope. Penelope seemed to be readingPauline. Pauline felt a sudden revulsion of feeling. 

"That would never do, " she said to herself. 

"Why don't you speak?" said Verena in her gentle voice. 

"I was considering what to ask, " replied Pauline. 

"It isn't to ask, it is to command, " said Miss Tredgold. "What sort of aqueen would you make, Pauline, if you really had a kingdom? This is yourkingdom. It lasts for a few hours; still, for the present it is your own. Your sway is absolute. "

"Then let us have hide-and-seek in the garden, " she said. 

She laughed. The spell was broken. Penelope's eyes lost their watchfulglance. The girls were all agreeable. Mr. Dale rose to his feet. 

"I have had my tea, " he said, "and the queen has received her crown. I amtruly thankful that birthdays don't last longer than a day. I presumethere is no reason why I may not return to my study. "

"No, father, you mustn't stir, " said Pauline. "You are my subject, and Icommand you to play hide-and-seek. You and Aunt Sophy must hide together. Now let us begin. "

The games that followed were provocative of mirth. Even Mr. Dale washeard to chuckle feebly. This was when Josephine put her hand into hispocket and withdrew his handkerchief. He made a scholarly remark the nextmoment to Miss Tredgold, who replied:

"For goodness' sake, Henry, come down from the clouds. This is yourchild's birthday. It is all very well to know all that musty stuff, butthere are times when it is fifty times better to be full of nonsense. "

Mr. Dale groaned, and then Lucy seemed to spring out of the ground. Shelaughed in his face, and cried out that she had found him. 

So the merry game proceeded. It had nearly come to an end when Paulineand Penelope found themselves alone. 

"I waited for you at twelve o'clock, " said Penelope, "but you nevercomed. Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to, Pen. I have changed my mind. Think no more about whatI said. "

"I can't never forget it, " replied Pen. 

But then she heard a whoop from a distant enemy, and darted to anotherpart of the garden. 

The game of hide-and-seek was followed by another, and then another and yetanother, and the cries of mirth and laughter sounded all over the place. Even Betty forgot the tragic end of the Duke of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton, who was killed by a brigand in Italy while defending his fair duchess. Betty had been weeping scalding tears over the tragedy when the sound ofmirth called her forth. John accompanied her, and the other servants lookedon in the distance. 

"There never was such a rowdy family, " said Betty. 

"Rowdy do you call it?" cried John. 

"Yes; and the very rowdiest is Miss Tredgold. For mercy's sake look atthe way she runs! She's as fleet as a hare. "

"She have very neat ankles, " said John. "I call her a neat figure of awoman. "

"Don't tell me, " said Betty. "Much you know what a neat figure of a womanmeans. Miss Tredgold's a haristocrat. Now, if you'll believe me, she'sthe moral image of the duchess. "

"What duchess?" cried John. 

"The Duchess of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton--her that's just made a widow, and is crying her eyes out over the murdered remains of the poor dook. "

"Sometimes, " said John, "I think that you have gone off your head, Betty. But I can't stay to listen to any more of these nonsenses. I have mygarden to look after. "

The final delight before the curtain of that birthday was dropped downfor ever found its vent in music--music in which Mr. Dale took a part, and in which Miss Tredgold excelled herself. It was the music that awokePauline's slumbering conscience. It was during that music that her hearttruly began to understand itself. 

"I am wicked--a coward and a liar, " she thought. "But, all the same, I amgoing on, for I must. Aunt Sophy loves me, and I love her, and I wouldn'thave her love turned to hate for all the world. She must never find outwhat I did in the past, and the only way to keep it from her is to go onas I am going on. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

A WILD FROLIC. 

The first part of the birthday was absolutely over, but the secondpart--the terrifying, awful part--was at hand. Aunt Sophy had kissedPauline and had blessed her by a look. Her father had also put histrembling hand on her shoulder. 

"When you want to read that lovely volume of Cicero, " he said, "come tome and I will teach you. I will spare a few minutes of my valuable timeto give you instruction. "

Verena had also kissed her heartily, and she and the rest of her sistershad gone to bed. They were all tired. Verena came for a minute intoPauline's little room. 

"I am too sleepy even to brush my hair in your room to-night, Paulie, "she said. "I am too sleepy to talk about our long happy day. What a pileof presents you have got! Don't you think you have had a perfectbirthday? I only wish mine was near at hand. "

"It will come in good time, " said Pauline; "and even birthdays----"

She broke off abruptly. 

"What do you mean by 'even birthdays'?" asked Verena. "What were yougoing to say?"

"I was going to say that even birthdays had drawbacks. I know that I amdead-tired. "

"You look it, darling. Do turn into bed and go to sleep. "

Verena kissed her sister and left the room. 

Pauline stood by the attic window. The window was a French one, and waswide open. The night was warm; the sky was without a cloud; stars likediamonds dotted the firmament; the sky itself looked darkly blue. Paulinefelt a sudden thrill going through her. It was a thrill from the noblerpart of her being. The whole day, and all that happened in the day, hadwrought her up to her present state of feeling. A touch now and she wouldhave confessed all. A touch, a look, would have done it--for the child, with her many faults, was capable of noble deeds; but the touch was notthere, nor the word of gentle advice given. Had her mother been alive, Pauline would have certainly gone to her and confessed what she had done. As it was, she only felt that, in order to save herself from the past, she must do something much more wicked in the future. 

She waited until she was quite certain that Verena was in bed; then shegently unfastened the door of her room and stole out on to the landing. There was not a light in the house. All the tired people had gone to bed. She reached the room, at the farther end of the same wing, where Briarand Patty slept. The sleeping attics occupied two wings of the old house, the centre part of the house being without rooms in the roof. Pauline, Verena, Briar, and Patty slept in one of the wings, the rest of the girlsand the nursery children in the other. Mr. Dale had the room exactlyunder the large attic occupied by Briar and Patty. Miss Tredgold's roomwas under the nursery wing. 

Pauline now very gently opened the door of the room where her two littlesisters slept. They were not asleep; they were sitting up in their bedswaiting for her. 

"We thought you would come, Paulie, " said Briar. "We are so excited! Whatis it you want us to do for you, darling Paulie?"

"To save me! To save me!" said Pauline. 

Her tone was dramatic; her action was more so. She fell on her knees byBriar's bed; she clasped her arms round the little girl's neck; she laidher head on her shoulder and burst into tears. The birthday queen wasweeping. Could emotion go beyond that fact? Patty bounded out of her bedand knelt by Pauline's other side. The two little girls clasped theirarms round her. She had exercised a glamour over them all day, which nowbecame greater than ever. Was she not their queen? Oh, yes, untilmidnight she was their own dear and absolutely beautiful queen. An hourwas still left of her sovereignty. She had quite stolen their hearts;they loved her like anything. 

"What is it, Paulie?" said Briar. 

"I must tell you, " said Pauline. "I know you won't betray me. "

"Indeed we won't, " they both answered. 

"Well, then, this is what has happened. "

She began to tell her story. She told it quickly, for the time was short. If they were to meet Nancy they must steal away almost at once. Paulinetold her tale with scarcely any comment. When it was finished she lookedat her sisters. The moonlight was in the room, and Pauline's face lookedghastly, but it looked beautiful also. Her eyes were very big and darkand solemn and beseeching. Briar and Patty glanced at each other. 

"Shall we?" said Briar. 

"It seems the only thing to do, " said Patty. 

"All the same, it is awfully wrong, " said Briar. 

"Think of poor Paulie, " said Patty. 

"If we are discovered----" cried Briar. 

"Oh, bother!" interrupted Patty. "She's our queen. We must obey her. Weare bound to help her. Let us go. She mustn't run into danger. You knowwhat Nancy has said: two of us must go with her. She mustn't go alone. "

Briar leant towards Patty, and Patty whispered in her ear; and then thetwo little girls began to dress. 

"You are darlings, " said Pauline. "I shall never forget this toyou--never. I have everything else managed. I am going back to my room. When you are dressed you must shut the door of your room very quietlybehind you, and then you must steal along the corridor and you will findmy door just ajar. We will get out of my window by the beech-tree, andwe'll be back and safe in our beds before any one is up in the morning. "

"It certainly is thrilling, " said Briar, raising her voice in herexcitement. 

"Oh, don't speak so loud!" said Pauline. "Dress very fast. I will waitfor you in my room. I shall be quite ready. "

Pauline rushed back to her own room. She then put on a warm golf-cape andan old hat; and her arrangements having been completed, she bent out ofthe French window. In an incredibly short time Briar and Patty appeared. All three girls were now in the wildest state of excitement. Scrupleswere silenced for the time being. Pauline's conscience no longer spoke. She felt that a midnight picnic, stolen, partaken of under difficulties, sinned mightily to obtain, had its own inexplicable charm. It wascertainly sweet to be naughty; there was a thrill about it, and a senseof adventure, which goodness never brought. Oh, yes, it was well worththe risk and danger. Her two little sisters partook of Pauline'sfeelings. They all easily reached the ground, and when they foundthemselves outside in the middle of the night, it was with difficultythat Briar could keep from giving a shriek of ecstasy. 

"I suppose it's because I'm so awfully naughty that I enjoy it so, " shesaid. 

"Come along; don't speak, " said Pauline. 

She took a hand of each sister. They ran quickly over the dew-ladengrass. Their feet soon got wet, for they had forgotten to put on strongshoes. But what mattered that? What did small discomforts signify whenthe grand total of pleasure was so enormous?

They opened the wicket-gate, and Pauline found herself immediately in thestrong embrace of Nancy King. 

"There you are, darling!" she cried, bestowing a resounding kiss on hercheek. "I feared that the she-dragon would waken and call you back; butyou are here, and you have brought--let me see. Oh, you are Patty, areyou not? And Briar? You are my friends for ever now. Oh, we shall havefun! The wagonette is here, and the dogcart; there are a party of us, anda lot more coming to meet us at the rendezvous. We shall have the mostglorious time you ever imagined. "

As Nancy spoke she called out to two girls who were standing in theshadow. 

"Becky, this is Briar Dale--in other words, Rose Dale. You are to seeafter her. Amy, Patty Dale is your charge. Now let us get into thewagonette, for it is the snuggest of all the carriages, and the horsesare so fleet. Listen how they are pawing the ground; they're mad to beoff. Oh, here's father! Father, three of the young Dales have come. "

"Pleased to see you, I'm sure, " said the farmer. "It's a warm night forthe time of year. "

The little girls did not answer. Even Pauline, now that she had met therest of the party, felt curiously silent. A weight seemed to rest on her. Her wild and riotous spirits had died down. Her conscience was nottroubling her, but she felt depressed, she scarcely knew why. 

"I want something to poke me up, " she said to herself. "I thought I'd bequite riotous with bliss when I met Nancy. I don't feel riotous; and, oh, how white the moonlight is making Briar look! Briar, " whispered Paulinesuddenly, "are your feet very wet?"

"Very: and they're getting so cold, " said Briar. 

"What are you talking about?" said Nancy. 

"The fact is, " said Pauline, "we forgot to put on our outdoor shoes, andthe dew is very heavy. "

"Dear, dear! That will never do. Father, what do you think these sillylittle misses have done? They've come out in their house slippers. "

"I never!" cried the farmer. "You are silly little ladies; that I willsay. I tell you what it is, Nance; we don't want these children to catchcold. Shall we drive back to The Hollies and get them some of your shoes?You have enough, I take it, to shoe a regiment. "

Nancy laughed. 

"They wouldn't fit, " she said. "They'd be too big for any of them. "

"Well, then, " said the farmer, "they shall all three take their shoes offand wrap their feet in these warm rugs. They can put them on again, andwhen the dancing begins they will soon dry. "

"Are we to dance?" said Pauline, her eyes sparkling. 

"You wait and see, " said Nancy. 

"Yes, you wait and see, " cried the farmer. "There are all sorts ofsurprises. And there's a birthday queen of this here party, ain't there, Nancy?"

"I have heard tell that there was, " said Nancy. As she spoke she tookPauline's hand and dragged the little girl forward to sit by her. 

The drive took some time, and the farmer and his party were extremelyloud and riotous and merry. As they passed under the huge oak-trees someone in a dogcart went by, and the light from a lantern fell on his face. Pauline recognized Dr. Moffat. The moment she saw him he looked round, and she fancied that he must have seen her, and that his eyebrows went upwith an expression of astonishment. But he did not look again; he onlycontinued on his way. 

"I do hope he didn't see me, " said Pauline to Nancy. 

"What matter if he did? He's thinking of his profession, and not of alittle girl like you. I wonder where he is going to. "

"To Farmer Jackson, " said Farmer King. "He broke his leg a fortnight ago, and they say mortification is setting in and he can't live. Poor FarmerJackson! Here are we all on a rollick, so to speak, a midnight picnic insummer, and all our hearts as light as froth, and the farmer lying on theflat of his back and like to pass away before morning. "

Pauline felt uncomfortable. She turned her head away. She did not wish tothink of the sober events of life at that moment. 

By-and-by the long drive came to an end. The girls again put on their wetslippers, and the next moment they found themselves inside a largemarquee, with a boarded floor, where a magnificent feast was prepared atthe farther end. The whole centre of the marquee was got ready fordancing, and a number of young people whom Pauline had never seen beforewere standing about in little knots, evidently waiting for the arrival ofthe farmer and his family. 

"There!" said Nancy. "Now, Paulie, what do you think? Here's feasting foryou at this end, and there's dancing at the other, and if the Kings don'tdo things in style I don't know who do. "

"Ah, Miss King, and how are you?"

"Pleased to see you, I'm sure, " was Nancy's response. 

A bashful-looking young man with sandy hair and light-blue eyes now cameforward. He was followed by a girl of similar type, and the two wereintroduced to Pauline as Mr. And Miss Minchin. The Minchins wereaccompanied by other neighbors, and the Dale girls found themselves inthe midst of a party numbering at least fifty people. 

Pauline felt suddenly shy. As a rule she was not remarkable for thisquality. She had a certain pretty assurance, and never, as her sistersexpressed it, lost her head; but now her principal desire was to creepinto her shell, not to answer the inane remarks made by the young men ofthe party, and on no account to allow them to put their arms round herwaist and carry her round in the dance. Her face grew first red, thenpale. She realized that she was very tired, and more than ever did shewish that she had never yielded to Nancy's enticements. 

Patty and Briar, on the other hand, were enjoying themselves very much. They had done this very naughty thing on account of Pauline; they wereglad they were helping her--their consciences did not trouble them in theleast. They leant upon Pauline more than they were themselves aware of. If trouble came, she would of course shield them. At present there was notrouble. A picnic in the middle of the night, miles away from home, wasthe most exciting thing they had ever imagined. It beat the joys of thebirthday hollow. They were quite aware that by-and-by there would perhapsbe repentance, but who could think of repentance now, with the feast--andsuch a feast!--on the board, and Fiddler Joe making such exquisite, mad, intoxicating music (it caused your feet to twitch so that they couldscarcely keep still), and that floor as smooth as glass, and the summermoon entering through a chink in the big tent, and the gayly dressedpeople, and all the merry voices? Oh, it was an intoxicating time!

So Briar danced with the first man who asked her, and Patty did likewise. They danced with the ease and lightness and grace of children in whom theaccomplishment is born. Nancy's clumsy efforts, and the clumsy efforts ofher friends, were nowhere beside them. 

"That little girl, " said a rough-headed farmer, pointing to Patty as hespoke, "dances like the foam of the sea. I never saw anything like it inall my life. "

"But why doesn't the elder Miss Dale dance?" asked Farmer King. 

He had noticed that she was declining one partner after another. 

"Come, Miss Paulie, " he said, going to her side: "this won't do. May Ihave the pleasure of a barn-dance with you, miss? You can't refuse me. "

Pauline did find it impossible to refuse the good man. He took her handand led her out, and presently she, too, was being whirled round andround. But her sense of weariness increased, and the heavy pain andbewilderment at her heart grew worse. Oh, why had she come? Once thefarmer, looking at her, saw tears in her eyes. In a moment he stoppeddancing. He took her hand and led her to the other side of the tent. 

"You dance beautifully, miss, " he said; "not quite so light as yourlittle sister, but I am proud to be seen with you, miss, all the same. And now, if I may make so bold, what is the matter with you, Miss PaulineDale?"

"Nothing, " answered Pauline. 

"Don't tell me, " replied the farmer. "Is it in reason that a little ladylike yourself would have tears in her eyes at a moment like the presentif there was nothing the matter? Is it in reason, miss?"

"Oh, I ought not to have come!" said Pauline. 

The farmer's face grew rather red. He looked full at Pauline for amoment; then he said:

"I can't speak out now, for it's only the beginning of the fun. There's agreat deal planned, and you are in the thick of it, but before you goback home I'll have a word with you; so cheer up, my pretty little miss, for things that aren't right can be put right. You trust Farmer King forthat. "

Pauline did cheer up. She felt that the farmer was her friend, and shealso knew that he was a friend worth having. The other girls met her onceor twice, and Patty whispered:

"Oh, there never was anything like this before! I could be naughty everysingle night of my life to have such fun!"

The dance was followed by the feast, and the feast was A1. When it wasover there was a moment of silence. Then Nancy, accompanied by Briar andPatty, Becky and Amy, and the two boys, Jack and Tom, assembled round theseat where Pauline had placed herself. 

"It is your turn, Paulie, " said Nancy. "You are queen of to-night, for itis the night following your birthday. Come, queen, take your throne. "

"I am sick of thrones, " answered Pauline. 

But Nancy took her hand. 

"Whatever you feel, you must not show it, " she said, "for that will spoileverything. Here is your throne; step up. "

Pauline looked round her. Up to the present moment a curtain had beendrawn across one end of the tent. It was now removed, and the little girlsaw a deep chair covered completely with flowers and moss and ferns. Abright light was hanging just at the back of this throne. Now Pauline, asqueen of the day, was led up to it, and requested to take her seatthereon. She did so, feeling queer and giddy. When she was seated theyoung people stood in groups at her right hand and at her left. 

The farmer now appeared, carrying a table. All the guests stood in thebackground and looked on. The table was placed in front of Pauline. Atthe same instant Nancy bent forward and laid her hand across the littlegirl's eyes. 

"Don't look just for a minute, " she said. 

Pauline heard the ecstatic whispers of her own little sisters, and forthe first time a feeling of wonder and pleasure stole over her. Sheforgot all that had gone before, and for the time was both happy andexcited. 

"Now you may look, " said Nancy. 

As Pauline opened her eyes she felt something cool and soft descending onher head. 

"Don't touch it, " whispered Nancy; "it's your crown. But come, girls andboys, we must do more than this to make our queen beautiful. "

As she spoke all the young people divided into two groups, crossed thefloor, and came past Pauline as she sat on her throne; and each one, asshe or he passed, threw a wreath of flowers either over the head of thelittle girl, or round her neck, or into her lap, until finally she foundherself absolutely embedded in flowers. 

"Look at yourself, " said Nancy, suddenly slipping a looking-glass infront of the birthday queen. "Tell us what you see. "

Pauline looked. The lights were so managed that she could see everythingdistinctly. The lights fell full upon her. She saw a pair of dark eyes, sweet, anxious, and beautiful; she saw a radiant and rosy face. Lilies ofthe valley, sweet-peas, and summer roses fell about her soft dark hair. Similar flowers fell about her neck. Her dress was hidden beneath itswealth of flowers; her charming face rose out of a perfect foam offlowers. 

"Oh, I do look beautiful!" she said aloud, and at the naive remark thewhole party shouted with merriment. Nancy cried, "Long life to thequeen!" and Joe the Fiddler burst into his merriest strains; it was withthe greatest difficulty that the desire for dancing could be suppressed, for the little ceremony was not yet quite over. It was Nancy's turn tocome forward. 

"Queen of the night, " she said, "we hope that you will like what we, yoursubjects, have done for you, and we hope that you will never forget yourhappy birthday. There is just one thing I have to say. When the flowersfade--and they are fading already--you, dear queen, will have no longer akingdom, so we have brought you something; we have subscribed among usfor something that will not fade--something that you can always wear inmemory of us. Look! isn't it beautiful?"

As Nancy spoke, she took a morocco case from the table, touched a spring, and revealed to Pauline's dazzled eyes, a necklace of thin pure gold, towhich a little locket, with a diamond in the centre, was attached. 

"This won't fade, " said Nancy. "You can keep it all your life long. Youcan also remember that there are people in the world, perhaps born alittle lower than yourself, who love you and care for you. "

"Oh, you are good!" cried Pauline. "I will never forsake you, Nancy, orthink myself better than you are. "

"Didn't I say she was a brick?" said Nancy. "Stoop your head, queen; Iwill clasp the necklace around your neck. "

Pauline did stoop her head, and the necklace was put in its place. Thelittle diamond in the centre glittered as though it had a heart of fire. The flowers smelled sweet, but also heavy. Pauline was tired once again;but the music was resumed. Fiddler Joe played more enchanting music thanbefore, and Pauline, suddenly rising from her throne, determined to danceduring the remaining hours of that exciting night. 

But all happy things, and all naughty things come to an end, for such isthe fashion of earth; and by-and-by the farmer said that if they wishedto be home before morning they must get into the wagonette and thedogcart, and their guests must take themselves away. Now it was thefarmer's turn to come up to Pauline. 

"You have given us all pleasure to-night, Miss Pauline, " he said; "and itwarms our hearts to feel that, whatever the circumstances, you willalways be true to us, who have been true to you and yours forgenerations. For, miss, the history of the Dales is almost bound up withthe history of the Kings. And if the Dales were gentlefolks and lords ofthe manor, the Kings were their humble retainers. So, miss, the Dales andKings were always good to each other; the Kings over and over againlaying down their lives for the Dales in the Civil Wars, and the Dales ontheir part protecting the Kings. So, after all, miss, there's no earthlyreason, because a grand aunt of yours has come to live at The Dales, whythe traditions of your house should be neglected and forgotten. I amproud to feel that this will never happen, and that your family and minewill be one. We do not consider ourselves your equals, but we do considerourselves your friends. And if I can ever help you, Miss Pauline, youhave only to come to me and I will do it. That's all I've got to say. Idon't want thanks. I'm proud that you and your little sisters havetrusted yourselves to us to-night, and I leave the matter of whether itwas right or wrong to your own consciences. But whatever happens, whatyou did to-night is the sort of thing that Farmer King will neverforget. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

VINEGAR. 

It was certainly not at all remarkable that the entire party should bedrowsy and languid on the following day. Pauline had dark shadows underher eyes, and there was a fretful note in her voice. Nurse declared thatBriar and Patty had caught cold, and could not imagine how they hadmanaged to do so; but Miss Tredgold said that colds were common in hotweather, and that the children had played too long in the open air on theprevious night. In short, those who were out of the mischief suspectednothing, and Pauline began to hope that her wild escapade would never beknown. Certainly Briar and Patty would not betray her. 

They had all managed to climb up the tree and get in at her windowwithout a soul knowing. Pauline therefore hoped that she was quite safe;and the hope that this was the case revived her spirits, so that in theafternoon she was looking and feeling much as usual. As she was dressingthat morning she had made a sort of vow. It was not a bit the right thingto do, but then poor little Pauline was not doing anything very rightjust then. This was her vow. She had said in her prayer to God:

"If You will keep Aunt Sophy from finding out how naughty I have been, Iwill, on my part, be extra good. I will do my lessons most perfectly, andnever, never, never deceive Aunt Sophy again. "

Now, Pauline, unaware that such a prayer could not possibly be answered, felt a certain sense of security after she had made it. 

In addition to the beautiful chain with its locket and its diamond starin the middle, she had received several other presents of the gay andloud and somewhat useless sort. Nancy's friends, Becky and Amy, had bothgiven her presents, and several young people of the party had broughtlittle trifles to present to the queen of the occasion. There was a timewhen Pauline would have been highly delighted with these gifts, but thattime was not now. She felt the impossible tidies, the ugly pin-cushions, the hideous toilet-covers, the grotesque night-dress bags to be moreburdens than treasures. What could she possibly do with them? The goldchain and locket were another matter. She felt very proud of her chainand her little heart-shaped locket. She was even mad enough to fasten thechain round her neck that morning and hide it beneath her frock, and sogo downstairs with the diamond resting on her heart. 

Miss Tredgold had wisely resolved that there were to be very few lessonsthat day. The girls were to read history and a portion of one ofShakespeare's plays, and afterwards they were to sit in the garden and dotheir fancy-work. They were all glad of the quiet day and of the absenceof excitement, and as evening progressed they recovered from theirfatigue, and Pauline was as merry as the rest. 

It was not until preparation hour that Pauline felt a hand laid on herarm; two keen black eyes looked into her face, and a small girl clung toher side. 

"Oh, what is it, Pen?" said Pauline, almost crossly. "What do you wantnow?"

"I thought perhaps you'd like to know, " replied Penelope. 

"To know what, you tiresome child? Don't press up against me; I hatebeing pawed. "

"Does you? Perhaps you'd rather things was knowed. "

"What is it, Pen? You are always so mysterious and tiresome. "

"Only that I think you ought to tell me, " said Penelope, lowering hervoice and speaking with great gentleness. "I think you ought to tell meall about the things that are hidden away in that bandbox under yourbed. "

"What do you mean?" said Pauline, turning pale. 

"Why, I thought I'd like to go into your room and have a good lookround. "

"But you have no right to do that sort of thing. It is intolerably meanof you. You had no right to go into my bedroom. "

"I often does what I has no right to do, " said Penelope, by no meansabashed. "I went in a-purpose 'cos you didn't tell me what you wished totell me once, and I was burning to know. Do you understand what it is tobe all curiosity so that your heart beats too quick and you gets fidgety?Well, I was in that sort of state, and I said to myself, 'I will know. 'So I went into your room and poked about. I looked under the bed, andthere was an old bandbox where you kept your summer hat afore Aunt Sophycame; and I pulled it out and opened it, and, oh! I see'd---- Paulie, I'dlike to have 'em. You doesn't want 'em, 'cos you have hidden 'em, and Ishould like to have 'em. "

"What?"

"Why, that pin-cushion for one thing--oh! it's a beauty--and that tidy. May I have the pin-cushion and the tidy, Paulie--the purple pin-cushionand the red tidy? May I?"

"No. "

"May Aunt Sophy have them?"

"Don't be silly. "

"May anybody have them?"

"They're mine. "

"How did you get them?"

"That's my affair. "

"You didn't get them from me, nor from any of the other girls--I can goround and ask them if you like, but I know you didn't--nor from father, nor from Aunt Sophy, nor from Betty, nor from John, nor from any of thenew servants. Who gave them to you?"

"That's my affair. "

"You won't tell?"

"No. "

"May I tell Aunt Sophy about the bandbox chock-full of funny thingspushed under the bed?"

"If you do----"

Penelope danced a few feet away. She then stood in front of her sisterand began to sway her body backwards and forwards. 

"I see'd, " she began, "such a funny thing!"

"Penelope, you are too tormenting!"

"I see'd such a very funny thing!"

Miss Tredgold was seen approaching. Penelope looked round at her and thendeliberately raised her voice. 

"I see'd such a very, very funny thing!"

"What is it, Pen? Why are you teasing your sister?" said Miss Tredgold. 

"I aren't!" cried Penelope. "I are telling her something what she oughtto know. It is about something I---- Shall I go on, Paulie?"

"No; you make my head ache. Aunt Sophy, may I go in and lie down?"

"Certainly, my dear. You look very pale. My poor child, you wereover-excited yesterday. This won't do. Penelope, stop teasing yoursister, and come for a walk with me. Pauline, go and lie down untildinner-time. "

Pauline went slowly in the direction of the house, but fear dogged herfootsteps. What did Penelope know, and what did she not know?

Meanwhile Miss Tredgold took the little girl's hand and began to pace upand down. 

"I have a great deal to correct in you, Pen, " she said. "You are alwaysspying and prying. That is not a nice character for a child. "

"I can be useful if I spy and pry, " said Penelope. 

"My dear, unless you wish to become a female detective, you will be amuch greater nuisance than anything else if you go on making mysteriesabout nothing. I saw that you were tormenting dear little Pauline justnow. The child is very nervous. If she is not stronger soon I shall takeher to the seaside. She certainly needs a change. "

"And me, too?" said Penelope. "I want change awful bad. "

"Not a bit of you. I never saw a more ruddy, healthy-looking little girlin the whole course of my life. "

"I wonder what I could do to be paled down, " thought Penelope to herself;but she did not speak her thought aloud. "I mustn't tell Aunt Sophy, thatis plain. I must keep all I know about Paulie dark for the present. There's an awful lot. There's about the thimble, and--yes, I did see themall three. I'm glad I saw them. I won't tell now, for I'd only bepunished; but if I don't tell, and pretend I'm going to, Paulie will haveto pay me to keep silent. That will be fun. "

The days passed, and Pauline continued to look pale, and Miss Tredgoldbecame almost unreasonably anxious about her. Notwithstanding Verena'sassurance that Pauline had the sort of complexion that often looked whitein summer, the good lady was not reassured. There was something more thanordinary weakness and pallor about the child. There was an expression inher eyes which kept her kind aunt awake at night. 

Now this most excellent woman had never yet allowed the grass to growunder her feet. She was quick and decisive in all her movements. She wasthe sort of person who on the field of battle would have gone straight tothe front. In the hour of danger she had never been known to lose herhead. She therefore lost no time in making arrangements to take Verenaand Pauline to the seaside. Accordingly she wrote to a landlady shehappened to know, and engaged some remarkably nice rooms at Easterhaze onthe south coast. Verena and Pauline were told of her plans exactly a weekafter the birthday. Pauline had been having bad dreams; she had beenhaunted by many things. The look of relief on her face, therefore, whenMiss Tredgold told her that they were to pack their things that day, andthat she, Verena, and herself would start for Easterhaze at an early houron the following morning, was almost beyond words. 

"Why is you giving Pauline this great big treat?" asked Penelope. 

"Little girls should be seen and not heard, " was Miss Tredgold's remark. 

"But this little girl wants to be heard, " replied the incorrigible child. "'Cos she isn't very strong, and 'cos her face is palefied. "

"There is no such word as palefied, Penelope. "

"I made it. It suits me, " said Penelope. 

"Pauline's cheeks are rather too pale, " answered Miss Tredgold. 

She did not reprove Penelope, for in spite of herself she sometimes founda smile coming to her face at the child's extraordinary remarks. 

Presently Penelope slipped away. She went thoughtfully across the lawn. Her head was hanging, and her whole stout little figure testified to thefact that she was meditating. 

"Off to the sea!" she muttered softly to herself. "Off to the big brinywaves, to the wadings, to the sand castles, to the shrimps, to thehurdy-gurdies, and all 'cos she's palefied. I wish I could be paled. "

She ran into the house, rushed through the almost deserted nursery, andstartled nurse out of her seven senses with a wild whoop. 

"Nursey, how can I be paled down?"

"Nonsense, child! Don't talk rubbish. "

"Am I pale, nursey, or am I a rosy sort of little girl?"

"You are a sunburnt, healthy-looking little child, with no beauty to fashabout, " was nurse's blunt response. 

"Am I healthy-looking?"

"Of course you are, Miss Pen. Be thankful to the Almighty for it, anddon't worry me. "

Pen stuck out her tongue, made a hideous face at nurse, and darted fromthe room. She stood in the passage for a minute or two reflecting, thenshe slipped round and went in the direction of Pauline's bedroom. 

The bandbox chock-full of those vulgar presents had been pushed into theback part of a dark cupboard which stood in the little girl's room. Penelope knew all about that. She opened the cupboard, disappeared intoits shadows, and then returned with an orange-colored tidy and achocolate-red pin-cushion. Having made a bag of the front of her frock, she slipped the pin-cushion and tidy into it, and ran off to the kitchen. Aunt Sophia visited the kitchen each morning, but Pen knew that the hourof her daily visit had not yet arrived. Betty was there, surreptitiouslyreading a copy of the _Faithful Friend_. She started when Pen darted intoher domain. 

"Now what is it, Miss Penelope? For goodness' sake, miss, get out ofthis. Your aunt would be flabbergasted to see you here. "

For response Pen planted down in front of Betty the orange-colored tidyand the chocolate-red pin-cushion. 

"Here's some things, " she said. "Here's two nice things for a nice body. What will that nice body give for these nice things?"

"My word!" said Betty, "they're natty. "

She took up the pin-cushion and examined it all over. She then laid itdown again. She next took up the tidy, turned it from side to side, andplaced it, with a sigh of distinct desire, beside the pin-cushion. 

"Them's my taste, " she said. "I like those sort of fixed colors. I can'tabide the wishy-washy tastes of the present day. "

"They's quite beautiful, ain't they?" said Pen. "I'll give them to you ifyou will----"

"You will give them to me?" said Betty. "But where did you get themfrom?"

"That don't matter a bit. Don't you ask any questions and you will hearno lies. I will give them to you, and nobody and nothing shall ever takethem from you again, if you do something for me. "

"What's that, Miss Pen?"

"Will you, Betty--will you? And will you be awful quick about it. "

"I should like to have them, " said Betty. "There's a friend of mine goingto commit marriage, and that tidy would suit her down to the ground. She'd like it beyond anything. But, all the same, I don't hold with youngladies forcing their way into my kitchen; it's not haristocratic. "

"Never mind that ugly word. Will you do what I want?"

"What is it, Miss Pen?"

"Palefy me. Make me sort of refined. Take the color out of me. Bleachme--that's it. I want to go to the seaside. Pale people go; rosy peopledon't. I want to be awful pale by to-night. How can it be done? It's moregenteel to be pale. "

"It is that, " said Betty, looking at the rosy Penelope with criticaleyes. "I have often fretted over my own color; it's mostly fixed in thenose, too. But I don't know any way to get rid of it. "

"Don't you?" said Penelope. 

Quick as thought she snatched up the pin-cushion and tidy. 

"You don't have these, " she said. "Your friend what's going to be marriedwon't have this tidy. If you can't take fixed colors out of me, you don'thave fixed colors for your bedroom, so there!"

"You are awful quick and smart, miss, and I have heard tell that vinegardoes it. "

"Vinegar?"

"I have heard tell, but I have never tried it. You drink it three times aday, a wine-glass at a time. It's horrid nasty stuff, but if you want tochange your complexion you must put up with some sort of inconvenience. "

"Suppose, Betty, you and me both drink it. Your nose might get white, andI might go to the seaside. "

"No, miss, I'm not tempted to interfere with nature. I've got good'ealth, and I'll keep it without no vinegar. "

"But will you give me some? You shall have the pin-cushion and the tidyif you do. "

"'Arriet would like that tidy, " contemplated Betty, looking with roundeyes at the hideous ornament. 

"You sneak round to the boot-house, and I'll have it ready for you, " shesaid. "Come at eleven, come again at half-past three, and come at sevenin the evening. "

This was arranged, and Pen, faithfully to the minute, did make herappearance in the boot-house. She drank off her first glass of vinegarwith a wry face; but after it was swallowed she began to feel intenselygood and pleased with herself. 

"Will it pale me in an hour?" was her thought. 

She ran upstairs, found a tiny square of looking-glass, concealed it inher pocket, and came down again. During the remainder of the day shemight have been observed at intervals sneaking away by herself, and hadany one followed her, that person would have seen her taking thelooking-glass from her pocket and carefully examining her cheeks. 

Alas! the vinegar had only produced a slight feeling of discomfort; ithad not taken any of the bloom out of the firm, fat cheeks. 

"It's horrid, and it's not doing it, " thought the child. "I wish I hadn'tgived her that tidy and that pin-cushion. But I will go on somehow tillthe color is out. They will send for me when they hear that I'm bad. Perhaps I'll look bad to-night. "

But Pen's "perhapses" were knocked on the head, for Miss Tredgold made asudden and most startling announcement. 

"Why wait for the morning?" she exclaimed. "We are all packed and ready. We can easily get to Easterhaze by a late train to-night. "

Accordingly, by a late train that evening Miss Tredgold, Verena, andPauline departed. They drove to Lyndhurst Road, and presently foundthemselves in a first-class carriage being carried rapidly away. 

"I am glad I thought of it, " said Miss Tredgold, turning to the twogirls. "It is true we shall arrive late, but Miss Pinchin will havethings ready, as she will have received my telegram. We shall sleep atour new quarters in peace and comfort, and be ready to enjoy ourselves inthe morning. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

GLENGARRY CAPS. 

Penelope drank her vinegar three times a day. She applied herself to thissupposed remedy with a perseverance and good faith worthy of a bettercause. This state of things continued until on a certain night she wasseized with acute pain, and awoke shrieking out the startling words, "Vinegar! vinegar!" Nurse, who was not in the plot, thought the child wasraving. She scolded Penelope more than pitied her, administered a strongdose, and, in short, treated her as rather a naughty invalid. 

"It's green apples that has done it, " said nurse, shaking her headsolemnly, and looking as if she thought Penelope ought certainly toreturn to her nursery thraldom. 

"I mustn't take so much vinegar, " thought the little girl; "but I do hopethat being so ill, and taking the horrid medicine, and being scolded bythe nurse will have made me a bit pale. "

She doubtless hoped also that her illness would be reported to MissTredgold, who would send for her in double-quick time; but as MissTredgold was not told, and no one took any notice of Pen's fit ofindigestion, she was forced to try other means to accomplish her darlingdesire--for go to the seaside she was determined she would. Of late shehad been reading all the books she could find relating to the sea. Shedevoted herself to the subject of shells and seaweeds, and always talkedwith admiration of those naughty children who got into mischief on thesands. 

"Lots of them get drownded, " she was heard to say to Adelaide. "It isquite, quite common to be washed up a drownded person by the big waves. "

Adelaide did not believe it, but Penelope stuck to her own opinion, andwhenever she found one of her sisters alone and ready to listen to her, her one invariable remark was:

"Tell me about the sea. "

Once it darted into her erratic little head that she would run away, walkmiles and miles, sleep close to the hedges at night, receive drinks ofmilk from good-natured cottagers, and finally appear a dusty, travel-stained, very sick little girl at Aunt Sophia's lodgings atEasterhaze. But the difficulties in the way of such an undertaking werebeyond even Pen's heroic spirit. Notwithstanding her vinegar and hersuffering, she was still rosy--indeed, her cheeks seemed to get plumperand rounder than ever. She hated to think of the vinegar she had taken invain; she hated to remember Betty and the tidy and pin-cushion she hadgiven her. 

Meanwhile the days passed quickly and the invitation she pined for didnot come. What was to be done? Suddenly it occurred to her that, if shecould only become possessed of certain facts which she now suspected, shemight be able to fulfil her own darling desire. For Pen knew more thanthe other girls supposed. She was very angry with Pauline for notconfiding in her on Pauline's birthday, and at night she had managed tokeep awake, and had risen softly from her cot and stood in her whitenight-dress by the window; and from there she had seen three littlefigures creeping side by side across the lawn--three well-known littlefigures. She had very nearly shouted after them; she had very nearlypursued them. But all she really did was to creep back into bed and sayto herself in a tone of satisfaction:

"Now I knows. Now I will get lots of pennies out of Paulie. "

She dropped into the sleep of a happy child almost as she muttered thelast words, but in the morning she had not forgotten what she had seen. 

On a certain day shortly after Penelope had recovered from her verysevere fit of indigestion, she was playing on the lawn, making herself, as was her wont, very troublesome, when Briar, looking up from her newstory-book, said in a discontented voice:

"I do wish you would go away, Penelope. You worry me awfully. "

Penelope, instead of going away, went and stood in front of her sister. 

"Does I?" she said. "Then I am glad. "

"You really are a horrid child, Pen. Patty and Adelaide, can youunderstand why Pen is such a disagreeable child?"

"She is quite the most extraordinary child I ever heard of in the wholecourse of my life, " said Adelaide. "The other night, when she woke upwith a pain in her little tum-tum, she shouted, 'Vinegar! vinegar!' Shemust really have been going off her poor little head. "

"No, I wasn't, " said Penelope, who turned scarlet and then white. "It wasvinegar--real vinegar. It was to pale me. "

"Oh, don't talk to her!" said Patty. "She is too silly for anything. Goaway, baby, and play with sister Marjorie, and don't talk any morerubbish. "

"You call me baby?" said Penelope, coming close to the last speaker, andstanding with her arms akimbo. "You call me baby? Then I will ask you aquestion. Who were the people that walked across the lawn on the night ofPaulie's birthday? Who was the three peoples who walked holding eachother's hands?--little peoples with short skirts--little peoples aboutthe size of you, maybe; and about the size of Briar, maybe; and about thesize of Paulie, maybe. Who was they? You answer me that. They wasn'tghostses, was they?"

Briar turned pale; Patty glanced at her. Adelaide, who had watchful blueeyes, turned and looked from one sister to the other. 

"You are talking rubbish, " said Briar. "Go and play. "

"Who was they?" repeated Pen. 

"I don't know. "

"Am I baby or big wise girl?"

"Oh, you are an infant Solomon! I don't know who the people were. "

"Don't you?"

Penelope looked at Briar with a sigh of disappointment. Then shewhispered to herself:

"It's 'cos of Adelaide. Course they don't want to say anything whenAddy's there. "

She strolled away. 

"What was the child talking about?" asked Adelaide. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " replied Briar. "She's the rummiest little thingthat ever walked. But there's no good in taking any notice of what shesays. "

"Of course no one does, " answered Adelaide. "But I do wonder if ghostsever walk across the lawn. Do you believe in ghosts, Briar?"

"Certainly not, " said Briar. "No girl in her senses does. "

"I don't know at all as to that, " replied Adelaide. "There was a girlthat came to stay with Nancy King last year; her name was Freda Noell. She believed in ghosts. She said she had once been in a haunted house. What is it, Briar? Why do you shrug your shoulders?"

"I don't know, " said Briar. "I don't want to talk about ghosts. I don'tbelieve in them. "

She got up and crossed the lawn. The next moment Pen had tucked her handinside her arm. 

"You needn't keep it from me, " she said in a whisper. "It was you andPatty and Paulie. I knew who you were, 'cos the moon shone on Patty'sGlengarry cap. You needn't deny it. "

"I do deny it. I didn't go, " said Briar. 

She felt her heart smite her as she told this lie. She walked quickly. 

"Do leave me, " she said. "You are a little girl that doesn't at all knowher own place. "

"But I do know it, " said Penelope. "My place is at the seaside. I want togo there. I'm 'termined to go there. If I don't go one way I'll goanother. Why should Paulie, what is the naughtiest of girls, have all thefun? I don't mind Renny being there so much. And why should I, what isthe very best of girls, be kept stuck here with only nursey and youchildrens to bother me? I am going. I'm 'termined. "

She marched away. Patty came up. 

"Patty, " said Briar, "I've done it. "

"What?" asked Patty. 

"I've told a lie about it. I said we weren't on the lawn at all. I toldher she was talking nonsense. "

"Couldn't you have got out of it by any other way?" asked Patty. "Itdoesn't seem right to tell lies. "

"I could with any one but Pen; but Pen can see through a brick wall. Ihad to tell it, and very plump, too, where Pen was in the question. "

"Well, it makes me feel horrid, " said Patty. "I am sorry we went. I thinkwe did awfully wrong. "

"We did it for Paulie. We'd do more than that for her, " replied Briar. 

"I suppose so. I certainly love Paulie very much, " answered Patty. 

"And, Patty, " continued Briar, "having told such a great black lie tohelp her, we must go through with it. Pen means mischief. She's the sortof child who would do anything to gain anything. She wants to go to theseaside, and she wouldn't mind whom she got into trouble if it suited herown ends. We must remember she means mischief, and if she talks againabout three figures on the lawn, you and I have got to stick to it thatwe didn't go. Do you understand?"

"I do, and I consider it awful, " said Patty. 

She did not add any more, but went slowly into the house. Presently, feeling much depressed, she sought nurse's society. Nurse was turningsome of the girls' skirts. She was a good needlewoman, and had clung tothe house of Dale through many adverse circumstances. She was enjoyingherself at present, and used often to say that it resembled the time ofthe fat kine in Egypt. 

"Ah, Miss Patty!" she cried. "It's glad I am to see you, darling. "

"Can I do anything for you, nursey?" asked Patty. 

"Of course you can, dear. You can help me to unpick this frock. I amcutting it down to fit Miss Pen. It will make a very neat frock for her, and it seems unfair that dear Miss Tredgold should be at more expensethan is necessary. "

"Why, " asked Patty, with a surprised look, "doesn't father pay for thethings?"

"Mr. Dale!" cried nurse in a tone of wrath, "I'd like to see him. It'snot that he wouldn't, and for all I can tell he may have the money; but, bless you, darling! he'd forget it. He'd forget that there was such athing as dress wanted in all the world; and servants and food, and thedifferent things that all well-managed houses must have, couldn't lie onhis memory while you were counting twenty. Do you suppose if that dear, blessed lady didn't put her hand into her pocket in the way she does thatyou'd be having the right good time you are now having, and the niceclothes, and the good education, and the pretty ponies coming next week?And Miss Pauline, just because she's a bit pale, taken to the seaside?Not a bit of it, my dear Miss Patty. It's thankful you ought to be to theProvidence that put it into your aunt's head to act as she has done. Ah!if my dear mistress was living she would bless her dear sister. "

"Did you know mother before she was married?" asked Patty, taking up askirt and the pair of sharp scissors which nurse provided her with, andsitting down happily to her task. 

"Didn't I live with her when she was Miss Tredgold?" asked nurse. "Anddidn't I over and over again help Miss Sophia out of scrapes? Oh, she wasa wild young lady!"

"You don't mean to tell me that Aunt Sophy ever did anything wrong?"

"Nothing mean or shameful; but for temper and for spirit and for dash andfor go there wasn't her like. Not a horse in the land was wild enough toplease her. She'd ride bareback on any creature you gave her to mount, and never come to grief, neither. She broke horses that trainers couldn'ttouch. She had a way with her that they couldn't resist. Just a pat ofher hand on their necks and they'd be quiet and shiver all over as thoughthey were too delighted for anything. Oh, she did follow the hounds! Myword! and she was admired, too. She was a young lady in a thousand. Andas for wanting to have her own way, she was for all the world like ourMiss Pauline. It strikes me those two have very much in common, and thatis why Miss Tredgold has taken such a fancy to your sister. "

"Do you think she has?" asked Patty. 

"Do I think it?" cried nurse. "For goodness' sake, Miss Patty, don't cutthe material. Do look where you are putting the scissors. Do I think it, miss? I know it. Miss Marjorie, sweet pet, you shall thread thesedaisies. You shall make a pretty chain of them to put around your neck. There's my little precious. "

Fat, lovely, little Marjorie shrieked with delight when nurse put acoarse needle, to which was attached an equally coarse piece of cotton, and a basket of daisies before her. Marjorie tried to thread daisies, anduttered little cries of happiness, while Patty and nurse talked together. 

"Miss Tredgold was a wonderful young lady, so handsome and high-spirited. But if she didn't always obey, she never did anything mean or underhand. Everybody loved her; and your poor mother was that took up with her thatwhen my master proposed that they should marry, it was a good whilebefore she'd consent--and all because she didn't want to part with MissSophy. She said that if Miss Sophy would consent to live with them she'dmarry Mr. Dale at once, for she was very much attached to him. But MissSophy put down her foot. 'Live with a married couple!' she cried. 'Why, I'd rather die. ' Well, my dear, there were words and tears and groans;but at last Miss Sophy took the bit between her teeth, and went off to anold relative, a certain Miss Barberry, in Scotland, and arranged to livewith her and look after her. And your mother married; and when MissBarberry died she left Miss Sophy every penny she possessed, and MissSophy is very rich now; and well she deserves it. Dear, dear! I seem tosee Miss Sophia over again in our Miss Pauline. She was very comical, andso high-spirited and wild, although she'd never do an underhand thing. "

"Never?" asked Patty, with a sigh. 

"Of course not. What do you take her for? Noble ladies what is ladiesdon't do mean sort of things. "

Patty sighed again. 

"What are you sighing for, Miss Patty? I hate to hear young ladies givingway to their feelings in that sort of fashion. "

"I was only thinking that you compared Aunt Sophy to Pauline. "

"And why shouldn't I? Is it you who want to belittle your sister? MissPauline is as high-spirited as ever young lady was, but neither would shedo a mean or underhand thing. "

Patty suppressed her next sigh. For a long time she did not speak. 

"Nurse, " she said when she next broke silence, "did you in the wholecourse of your life ever tell a lie?"

"My word!" cried nurse--"Miss Marjorie, you'll prick your little fingersif you hold the needle like that. This way, lovey. Did I ever tell a lie, Miss Patty? Goodness gracious me! Well, to be sure, perhaps I told a bitof a tarradiddle when I was a small child; but an out-and-out lie--never, thank the Almighty!"

"But what is the difference between a lie and a tarradiddle?"

"Oh, Miss Patty, there's a deal of difference. A tarradiddle is what yousay when you are, so to speak, took by surprise. It isn't a lie out andout; it's the truth concealed, I call it. Sometimes it is a mereexaggeration. You say a person is very, very cross when maybe that personis hardly cross at all. I can't quite explain, miss; I suppose there'sscarcely any one who hasn't been guilty of a tarradiddle; but a lie--athought-out lie--never. "

"Is a lie so very awful?" asked Patty. 

"Awful!" repeated nurse. 

She rose solemnly from her seat, went up to Patty, and put her hand underher chin. 

"Don't you ever catch me a-seeing you a-doing of it, " she said. "Iwouldn't own one of you Dales if you told falsehoods. A black lie theBible speaks of as a thing that ain't lightly forgiven. But, of course, you have never told a lie. Oh, my dear, sweet young lady, you quitefrightened me! To think that one of my children could be guilty of a sinlike that!"

Patty made no answer. 

"I am tired of work, " she said; "I am going out. "

She flung down the skirt that she was helping to unpick and let thescissors fall to the ground. 

"You might put your work tidily away, Miss Patty. You aren't half asuseful and helpful as you ought to be. "

Patty laid the skirt on a chair and slipped away. Nurse continued heroccupation. 

"I wonder what the child meant, " she thought. "She looked queer when shespoke. But there! with all their faults--and goodness knows they'veplenty--they're straight, every one of them. A crooked-minded Dale or acrooked-minded Tredgold would be a person unheard of. Oh, yes, they'restraight enough, that's a blessing. "

Meanwhile Patty sought her sister. 

"It's worse than I thought, " she remarked. "It's not even a tarradiddle. "

"What do you mean?" asked Briar. 

"The lie you told--the lie I am to help you to hide. It's black as ink, and God is very angry with little girls who tell lies. He scarcely canforgive lies. I was talking to nurse, and she explained. "

"You don't mean to say that you told her about Pauline?"

"No, " answered Patty in a voice of scorn. "I am not quite as bad as that. But she was speaking about Aunt Sophy and how wild she used to be, andshe compared her to Paulie, and said that Aunt Sophy never did anythingmean or underhand, and that Paulie never did either. I felt as if I couldjump, for we know, Briar, what Paulie has done. "

"Yes, we know, " answered Briar. "And you and I have done very wrong, too. But there is no help for it now, Patty. We can't go back. "

"It certainly does seem awful to think of growing up wicked, " said Patty. "I don't like it. "

"Don't let's talk about it, " said Briar. "We'll have to suffer some time, but perhaps not yet. Do you know that the apples are getting ripe, andJohn wants us to help him to pick them? Oh! and the mulberry-tree, too, is a mass of fruit. What do you say to climbing the apple-trees andshaking down the apples?"

"Say!" cried Patty. "Delicious!"

Without more words the little girls ran off to the orchard, and nurse'sremarks with regard to the difference between lies and tarradiddles wereforgotten for the time being. 

The days went on, but Pen did not forget. There came a morning when, aletter having arrived from Aunt Sophy saying that Pauline was muchbetter--in fact, quite herself again--and that she and both the girlswould be home in about a week, the little girl was rendered desperate. 

"I has no time to lose, " she said to herself. "I am 'termined to go; I amgoing some fashion or t'other. "

On this occasion she took a bolder step than she had yet attempted. Sheresolved to walk alone the entire distance between The Dales and TheHollies, which was about three miles. Pen was the sort of child who wasnever troubled by physical fear. She also knew the Forest very well. Shehad but to slip away; none of her sisters would miss her. Or if nursewondered where she was, she would conclude that Pen was keeping her eldersisters company. If the girls wondered, they would think she was withnurse. Altogether the feat was easy of accomplishment, and the naughtychild determined to go. She started off an hour after breakfast, openedthe wicket-gate, let herself out, and began to walk quickly. These werethe days of early autumn, when the Forest was looking its best; the treeswere beginning to put on their regal dresses of crimson and brown andgold. Already the rich red leaves were dropping to the ground. Thebracken was withering to a golden brown, and the heather was a deeppurple. Everywhere, too, little bluebells sprang up, looking as if theywere making fairy music. There were squirrels, too, darting from bough tobough of the beech-trees; and rabbits innumerable, with white-tippedtails, disappearing into their various holes. A walk in the Forest onthis special day was the sort to fascinate some children, but Pen caredfor none of these things. Her way lay straight before her; her object wasnever for a moment forgotten. She meant to reach the sea by some means orother. 

She was a somewhat tired and hot little person when at last she appearedoutside the broad gravel walk that led to The Hollies; and it so happenedthat when she entered this walk her courage was put to a severe test, forLurcher, the farmer's bulldog, happened to be loose. As a rule he waskept tied up. Now, Lurcher was a very discerning person. He attackedbeggars in a most ferocious manner, but as to ladies and gentlemen afierce bout of barking was sufficient. Pen, however, looked like neithera beggar nor a lady or gentleman. Lurcher did not know what to make ofPen. Some one so small and so untidy could scarcely be a visitor. She wasmuch too short and much too stout, and her little legs were bleeding fromthe thorny brambles that she had come through during her journey. Accordingly Lurcher, with a low growl and a swift bound, pinned poorlittle Pen by the skirt of her short frock. He was sufficiently agentleman not to hurt her, but he had not the least idea of letting hergo. He pinned her even more firmly when she moved an inch away from him, and when she raised her voice he growled. He not only growled, but heshook her dress fiercely. Already she felt it snap from its waistbandunder Lurcher's terrible teeth. She was a very brave child, but herpresent predicament was almost more than she could bear. How long itlasted no one quite knew. Then there came a stride across the gravel, ashout from Farmer King, and Pen was transferred from the ground into hissheltering arms. 

"You poor little thing!" he said. "You poor little bit of a lass! Now, you don't tell me you are one of the Dales? You have their eyes--black asblack most of them are. Are you a Dale?"

"Course I am, " answered Penelope. "I'm Penelope Dale. He's a shocking baddog. I never thought I could be frightened. I was 'termined to come, butI never thought you kept such a shocking, awful dog as that. "

"I am more sorry than I can say, my little dear. I wonder now who let thebrute out. He'll catch it from me, whoever he is. Here, Nancy! Hullo, Nancy! Come along here, quick!"

Nancy, looking fresh and smiling, stepped out of the open French window. 

"Why, " she said when she saw Pen, "wherever did you drop from?"

Pen began to cry. 

"I wor 'termined to come, " she said. "I wanted to see you most tur'blebad. "

"Poor little thing!" said the farmer. "She's got a bit of a fright. Whatdo you think, Nancy? Lurcher had little miss by her skirt. He'd pinnedher, so to speak, and he wouldn't let go, not if she fainted; and she wasthat brave, little dear, that she didn't do anything but just stoodstill, with her face as white as death. "

"Wor I paled down?" said Pen. "Do tell me if I wor paled down a bit. "

"You were as white as death, you poor little pretty, " said the farmer;and then he kissed the little girl on her broad forehead, and hurried offto expostulate with regard to Lurcher. 

Nancy took Pen into the house, and sat down in a cosy Americanrocking-chair with the little girl in her lap. She proceeded to gorge herwith caramels and chocolates. Pen had never been so much fussed overbefore; and, truth, to tell, she had seldom enjoyed herself better. 

"I wor 'termined--'termined to come, " she repeated several times. At lasther sobs ceased altogether, and she cuddled up against Nancy and went tosleep in her arms. 

Nancy lifted her up and put her on the horse-hair sofa; she laid a rugover her, and then stooped and kissed her. Afterwards she went out andjoined her father. 

"Whatever brought little miss here?" asked the farmer. 

"That's more than I can tell you, father. "

"And why don't the others come sometimes?" snapped Farmer King. "Theynone of 'em come, not even that pretty girl we made so much fuss over, giving her a gold locket and chain. Now, I'd like to find out, Nancy, mygirl, if she has ever shown that locket and chain to her haristocraticaunt. Do you suppose the haristocratic lady has set eyes on it?"

Nancy laughed. 

"I guess not, " she said. "Paulie's a bit of a coward. She wants to knowus and yet she don't. She wants to know us behind the aunt's back. "

"Left hand, not right hand, " said the farmer. "I don't like that sort. "

"At any rate she can't come to us at present, father, for Miss Tredgoldhas taken her to the seaside. "

"That's it, is it?" said the farmer, his face clearing. "Then I supposelittle miss has come with a message. What did missie say about yourfriend, Nancy?"

"Nothing. She's asleep at present. I mean to let her have her sleep out, then give her some dinner, and drive her home in the dogcart. "

"Do as you like, Nance; only for mercy's sake don't make a fool ofyourself over that family, for it strikes me forcibly they're becomingtoo grand for us. "

Nancy said nothing further. She returned to the house and sat down in theroom where Penelope slept. Her work-basket was open. She was making apretty new necktie for herself. Nancy was a very clever workwoman, andthe necktie grew under her nimble fingers. Presently she dived into thebottom of the basket and took out a gold thimble with a sapphire top andturquoises round the rim. She slipped it on to the tip of her slenderfirst finger. 

"I must send it back again, " she said to herself. "I'd have done itbefore, but Pauline is away. "

Just then she was attracted by a sound on the sofa. She turned. Pen's bigblack eyes were wide open; she was bending forward and gazing at thethimble. 

"So you got it after all!" she said. 

"Oh, child, how you startled me! What do you mean?"

"Why, that's Aunty Sophy's thimble. I was to get a penny if I found it. "

Nancy was silent. 

"How did it get into your work-basket?" asked Pen. 

"I borrowed it from Paulie, and I'd have given it to her long ere this, but I heard she was away. "

"Give it to me, " cried Penelope. Her voice quite shook in her eagerness. "Give it to me at once, and I will take it back to her. "

"I wish you would, Pen, I am sure; but you must be very careful not tolose it, for it is a real beauty. See, I will put it into this littlebox, and cover the box up. "

Penelope pressed close to Nancy. Nancy placed the thimble in the midst ofsome pink cotton-wool and looked at it affectionately; then she tied upthe little box, put brown paper round it, tied string round that again, and then she held it out to Pen. 

"You are quite positive you won't lose it?" she said. 

"Positive. I has a big pocket, and no hole in it. See for yourself, there's no hole. Turn it out, will you?"

Penelope's pocket proved to be quite safe, and Nancy, with a qualm at herheart which she could not account for, allowed the little girl to put thethimble therein. 

"Well, that is settled, " she cried. "And now I want to know what you camefor. You are going to have dinner with father and me after a bit. "

"No, I'm not, " answered Pen. "I'm going home at once. "

"But why did you come? Did Pauline send me a message?"

"No, she wouldn't. "

"Why not? I've done a great deal for her. "

"She's ongrateful, " said Pen. "She didn't send no message. I 'spectshe'll have forgot you when she comes back. "

Nancy's face flamed. 

"I can make it a little too hot for her if she does. "

"What's making a thing too hot?" asked Penelope. 

"Oh, making it so that you squirm and tingle and your heart goespit-a-pat, " replied Nancy. "There! I'm not going to talk any more. If youwon't tell me why you came, I suppose you will come into the other roomand have some dinner?"

"I won't. I'm going home. As Paulie didn't send you a message, are yougoing to make it hot for her?"

"That I am. Somebody will come here--somebody I know--to see somebody sheknows; and there will be a begging and imploring, and somebody she knowswill do nothing for somebody I know. Now, can you take that in?"

"You are very funny, " answered Penelope, "but I think I can. I'm glad, and I'm not glad, that I comed. I won't stay to dinner; I'm goingstraight away home this blessed minute. "

CHAPTER XX. 

PEN VICTORIOUS. 

Penelope managed to reach home unattended. She was tired and draggled anddusty, and also very much scratched. Her sisters received her with whoopsof astonishment and welcome. They had not missed her, it is true, butwhen they saw her coming sadly and sheepishly in at the wicket-gate theyconcluded that they had. Adelaide was the first to reach her. 

"Don't ask me any questions and you'll hear no lies, " was Pen's remark. She waved her fat hand as she spoke. "I am going to nursey straight away. I has something I wants to say to nursey. Has the post gone? I want tocatch the post immediate. "

"You are too queer for anything, " said Adelaide; "but go your own way. You'll catch it for being out all by yourself in the woods. "

"I won't catch it, but there are others who will, " replied Penelope. "Andnow keep out of my way. I want to find nursey. "

She marched in a most defiant and even queenly style towards the house;and the others, after laughing for a moment, returned to their variouspursuits and forgot all about her. 

When nurse saw Penelope she uttered a groan. 

"There you come, " she said. "You are a handful! You never turned up atdinner-time, although we looked for you everywhere. Now, where were youhiding?"

"Never mind that, nursey. Get out your writing 'terials. "

"Now, whatever does the child mean? Sakes! you are scratched, and yournice new holland frock is all torn, and you are dusty and pale andtrembling--as pale and trembling as can be. "

"Is it pale I am?" cried Penelope. "Is it? Is it? Nursey, I love you, love you, love you!"

With a flop Penelope's fat arms were flung round nurse's neck; her hotlittle lips caressed nurse's cheeks. 

"Oh, " she cried, "how much I love you! Get writing 'terials quick. Getpen and ink and paper, and sit down and write. I will tell you what tosay. You must write this instant minute. It is the most 'portant thing inall the world. Write, and be quick. If you don't I'll go to Betty, andshe'll do what I want her to do. "

"You needn't do that, " cried nurse. "You are a queer child, and moretrouble than you're worth, but when you are in a bit of a mess I'm notthe one to refuse my aid. Who have I to write to?"

"To my darlingest Aunt Sophy. "

"My word! What on earth have you got to say to her?"

"Get 'terials and you'll know. "

Nurse complied somewhat unwillingly. She produced a portfolio, got outher ink-bottle and pen, dipped the pen in ink, and looked up at Penelope. 

"Go on, and be quick, " she said. "I can't be fashed with the whims ofchildren. What is it that you want to say?"

"Write, 'Dear, darling Aunt Sophia. '"

"You are too queer!"

Nevertheless nurse put the words on the sheet of paper, and Pen proceededto deliver herself quickly. 

"'I am paled down, and want change of air. My breaf is too quick. My legsis all tored with briers and things. I has got a prickly feeling in myfroat, and I gets wet as water all over my hands and round my neck and myforehead. It's 'cos I'm weak, I 'spect. '"

"Miss Penelope, " said the nurse, "if those symptoms are correct, it isthe doctor you want. "

"'I has a doubly-up pain in my tum-tum, '" proceeded Penelope, taking nonotice of nurse's interruption. "'I shrieks in my sleep. I wants changeof air. I am very poorly. Nursey is writing this, and she knows I am verypoorly. I feel sort of as though I could cry. It's not only my body, it'smy mind. I has got a weight on my mind. It's a secret, and you ought toknow. Send for me quick, 'cos I want change of air. 

 Pen. '"

"I never wrote a queerer letter, " said nurse; "and from the looks of youthere seems to be truth in it. You certainly don't look well. "

"You will send it, nursey?" asked Pen, trembling with excitement. 

"Yes, child; you have dictated it to me, and it shall go by the post. Whether Miss Tredgold will mind a word you say or not remains to beproved. Now leave me, and do for goodness' sake try not to run aboutwildly any more for to-day at least. "

Penelope left the room. She stooped slightly as she walked, and shestaggered a little. When she got near the door she coughed. As shereached the passage she coughed more loudly. 

"It's my froat, " she said in a very sad tone, and she crept down thepassage, nurse watching her from the open door of the nursery. 

She did not guess that when Penelope turned the last corner she gave asudden whoop, leapt nearly a foot into the air, and then darted out ofthe house as fast as she could. 

"I 'spect I's done it this time, " thought Pen. 

Meanwhile in the nursery, after a moment's reflection, nurse added apostscript of her own to Pen's letter. 

"Miss Penelope is very queer, and don't look well at all. "

That letter was put in the post, and in due time received by MissTredgold. 

Penelope began to count the hours. She knew that no answer could come forsome time after the letter was written. During the next day she went atintervals to visit Betty, and begged her for drinks of vinegar; and asshe paid Betty by more and more presents out of Pauline's old bandbox, she found that individual quite amenable. After drinking the vinegarPenelope once again suffered from the "doubly-up pain in her tum-tum. "She spoke of her agonies to the others, who pitied her a good deal, andJosephine even presented her with some very precious peppermints for thepurpose of removing it. Towards evening she seemed better, and talkedcontinually of the seaside and how she intended to enjoy herself there. And then she suggested that her sisters should come and help her to packher things. The girls naturally asked why they were to do it, and shereplied:

"'Cos I'm going on a journey, and it's most 'portant. None of you aregoing, but I am. "

"You're not going on any journey, " said Lucy. "You do talk rubbish. "

"What you bet?" asked Penelope, who saw an instant opportunity of makinga little money. 

"Nothing, " replied Lucy. "You are talking rubbish. Get out of my way. I'mvery busy. "

Pen looked wildly around her. She was in such a state of suppressedexcitement that she could stop at nothing. Her sisters were all close athand. Patty and Briar were sitting as usual almost in each other'spockets. Adelaide, Josephine, Lucy, and Helen made a group apart. Penthought carefully. 

"There's six of 'em, " she said to herself. "I ought to make a littlemoney by six of 'em. Look here!" she called out. "You all say I'm notgoing on a journey to-morrow; I say I am. Will you give me a penny eachif I go? Is it done? Is it truly done? If I don't go I'll give you apenny each. "

"But you haven't got any pence to give us. "

"I will borrow from nursey. I know she'll lend me the money. But I shan'tneed it, for I am going. Will you give me a penny each if I go?"

"Oh, yes, if you want it, " said Adelaide. 

"But remember, " continued Lucy, "we shall keep you to your part of thebargain if you don't go. "

"All right, " cried Pen; and, having received the promise, she walkedsedately across the grass. 

"Six pennies! I'll find them useful at the seaside, " she thought. "There's nothing like having a little money of your own. It buyssweetmeats and cakes. I'll tell Aunt Sophy that my froat is so sore, andthat I must have constant sweetmeats. Six pennies will get a lot. "

She walked more slowly. She was in reality in excellent health; even thevinegar was not doing her much harm. 

"How hungry I'll be when I get to the seaside!" she said to herself. "I'll swell out and get very red and very fat. My body will be 'normous. Oh, there's father!"

Mr. Dale was seated near his window. His head was bent as usual over hiswork. 

"Father could give me something, " thought Pen. "He could and he ought. I'll ask him. Dad!" she called. 

Mr. Dale did not answer. 

"Dad!" called Pen again. 

He looked up with a fretful expression. 

"Go away, my dear, " he said. "I am particularly busy. "

"I will if you'll give me sixpence. "

"Go away. "

Pen's father bent again over his book. He forgot Penelope. 

"He's sure to give me sixpence if I worrit him long enough, " thought thenaughty little girl. 

She stood close to the window. Suddenly it occurred to her that if shedrew down the blind, which she could easily do by pushing her hand insidethe window and then planting her fat little person on the window-sill, she would cause a shadow to come before the light on her father's page. 

"That will make him look up, " she thought. "When he does I'll ask himagain for sixpence. I'll tell him I won't go away till I get it. "

She sat down on the window-sill, cleverly manipulating the blind, and Mr. Dale found an unpleasant darkness steal over his page. 

"Draw up that blind and go away, Penelope, " he said. "Do you hear? Goaway. "

"I will 'mediately you give me sixpence. I will draw up the blind andI'll go away, " said Pen. 

"I will give you nothing. You are an extremely naughty little girl. "

Penelope sat on. Mr. Dale tried to read in the darkening light. Presentlyhe heard a sniff. The sniff grew louder. 

"My froat, " said Penelope. 

He glanced towards her. She was sitting huddled up; her back looked veryround. 

"Do go away, child. What is wrong?"

"My froat. I want something to moisten it. It is so dry, it hurts me. "

"Go and get a drink of water. "

"Oh, my froat! Oh, my tum-tum! Oh, my froat!" said Penelope again. 

Mr. Dale rose from his seat at last. 

"I never was so worried in my life, " he said. "What is it, child? Outwith it. What is wrong?"

Penelope managed to raise eyes brimful of tears to his face. 

"If you knowed that your own little girl was suffering from bad froat anddoubly-up tum-tum, and that sixpence would make her well--quite, really, truly well--wouldn't you give it to her?" said Penelope. 

"How can sixpence make you well? If you really have a sore throat and apain we ought to send for the doctor. "

"Sixpence is much cheaper than the doctor, " said Penelope. "Sixpence willdo it. "

"How?"

"It will buy peppermints. "

"Well, then, here it is, child. Take it and be off. "

Penelope snatched it. Her face grew cheerful. She shot up the blind witha deft movement. She jumped from her seat on the window-ledge. She was nolonger doubled up. 

"Thank you, dad, " she said. "Thank you--thank you. "

She rushed away. 

"I'll have another sixpence to-morrow, " she thought. "That's a wholebeautiful shilling. I will do fine when I am at the seaside. "

Penelope could scarcely sleep that night. She got up early the nextmorning. She was determined to stand at the gate and watch for thepostman. The letters usually arrived about eight o'clock. The postmanhove in sight, and Pen rushed to meet him. 

"Have you letters--a letter for me?" she asked. 

"No, Miss Penelope, but there is one for your nurse. "

"It is from Easterhaze, " said the child. "Thank you--thank you, posty. "

She snatched the first letter away from the old man and darted away withit. Into the nursery she rushed. 

"Here it is, nursey. Open it, quick! I am to go; I know I am. "

Nurse did open the letter. It was from Miss Tredgold, and it ran asfollows:

"DEAR NURSE: Penelope is evidently too much for you. I intend to remaintwo or three days longer in this pleasant place, so do not expect me homenext week. I shall have Penelope here, so send her to me by the firsttrain that leaves Lyndhurst Road to-morrow. Take her to the station andput her into the charge of the guard. She had better travel first-class. If you see any nice, quiet-looking lady in the carriage, put Penelopeinto her charge. I enclose a postal order for expenses. Wire to me bywhat train to expect the child. "

The letter ended with one or two more directions, but to these Penscarcely listened. Her face was pale with joy. She had worked hard; shehad plotted much; she had succeeded. 

"I feel as though I'd like to be really quite good, " was her firstthought. 

Nurse expected that she would be nearly mad with glee; but she left thenursery quietly. She went downstairs quietly. Her sisters were atbreakfast. She entered the room and stood before them. 

"Pennies, please, " she said. 

"What do you mean?" asked Briar, who was pouring out coffee. 

"Pennies from all of you, quick. "

Josephine put on a supercilious face; Lucy sniffed; Helen and Adelaidewent on with their breakfast as though nothing had happened. 

Penelope came a little nearer. 

"Must I speak up?" she said. "Must I ask again? Is you all deaf? I amgoing to Easterhaze to Aunt Sophy. Darling aunty can't do without me. Shehas sent for me as she wants me so badly. I'm going by the first train. Iam much the most 'portant person in the house, and I's won my bet. I likebetting. A penny from you all if you please. "

The girls were excited and amazed at Pen's news. 

"You are clever, " said Briar. "How in the world did you get her to doit?"

"Tum-tum and sore froat, " said Penelope bluntly. "Oh! and vinegar andpaling down. "

"You are really such an incomprehensible child that I am glad Aunt Sophyis going to manage you, " was Patty's remark. "Here are your pence. Shallwe help you to pack your things?"

"They are a'most packed. I did some myself last night. I took your newlittle trunk, Briar. I don't 'uppose you'll mind. "

Briar did mind, but she knew it was useless to expostulate. 

By eleven o'clock Penelope was off to Lyndhurst Road station. By twelveo'clock she was in charge of a red-faced old lady. In five minutes' timeshe was _en route_ for Easterhaze. The old lady, whose name was Mrs. Hungerford, began by considering Pen a plain and ordinary child; but shesoon had reason to change her views, for Pen was not exactly plain, andwas certainly by no means ordinary. She stared fixedly at the old lady, having deliberately left her own seat and planted herself on the oneopposite. 

"Vinegar will do it, " she said. 

"What are you talking about, child?" asked Mrs. Hungerford. 

"You are so red--such a deep red, I mean--much the same as chocolate. Vinegar will do it. Take three small glasses a day, and pay your Bettywith vulgar sort of things out of an old bandbox. "

"The unfortunate child is evidently insane, " was Mrs. Hungerford'sthought. She spoke, therefore, in a reassuring way, and tried to look asthough she thought Pen's remarks the most natural in the world. 

Pen, however, read through her. 

"You don't believe me, " she said. "Now you listen. I look a pale littlegirl, don't I? I am nearly eight years old. I don't see why a girl ofeight is to be trampled on; does you? I wanted to go, and I am going. It's tum-tum-ache and sore froat and paling cheeks that has done it. Ifyou want to get what you don't think you will get, remember my words. It's vinegar does it, but it gives you tum-ache awful. "

The old lady could not help laughing. 

"Now, I wonder, " she said, opening a basket of peaches, "whether thesewill give tum-ache. "

Penelope grinned; she showed a row of pearly teeth. 

"Guess not, " she said. 

The old lady put the basket between Penelope and herself. 

"I have also got sandwiches--very nice ones--and little cakes, " she said. "Shall we two have lunch together, even if my face is like chocolate?"

"It's a beauty face, even if it is, and I love you, " said Penelope. "Ithink you are quite 'licious. Don't you like to look like chocolate?"

The old lady made no answer. Penelope dived her fat hand into the basketof peaches and secured the largest and ripest. 

"It is the best, " she said. "Perhaps you ought to eat it. "

"I think I ought, but if you don't agree with me you shall have it. "

Penelope hesitated a moment. 

"You wouldn't say that if you didn't mean me to eat it, " she said. "Thankyou. "

She closed her teeth in the delicious fruit and enjoyed herself vastly. In short, by the time Mrs. Hungerford and her curious charge reachedEasterhaze it seemed to them both that they had known each other alltheir days. 

Miss Tredgold, Verena, and Pauline met the train. The girls looked rosyand sunburnt. This was an ideal moment for Penelope. She almost forgotMrs. Hungerford in her delight at this meeting with her relatives. Butsuddenly at the last moment she remembered. 

"How are you, Aunt Sophy? I am scrumptiously glad to see you. How areyou, Verena? How are you, Paulie? Oh! please forgive me; I must saygood-bye to the chocolate old lady. "

And the chocolate old lady was hugged and kissed several times, and thenPen was at liberty to enjoy the delights of the seaside. 

The lodgings where Miss Tredgold was staying were quite a mile from thestation. Pen enjoyed her drive immensely. The look of the broad searolling on to the shore had a curious effect upon her strange nature. Ittouched her indescribably. It filled that scarcely awakened little soulof hers with longings. After all, it might be worth while to be good. Shedid not know why the sea made her long to be good; nevertheless it did. Her face became really pale. 

"Are you tired, dear?" asked Miss Tredgold, noticing the curious look onthe expressive little face. 

"Oh, no, not that, " replied Pen; "but I have never seen the sea before. "

Miss Tredgold felt that she understood. Pauline also understood. Verenadid not think about the matter. It was Verena's habit to take the sweetsof life as they came, to be contented with her lot, to love beauty forits own sake, to keep a calm mind and a calm body through allcircumstances. She had accepted the sea as a broad, beautiful fact in herlife some weeks ago. She was not prepared for Pen's emotion, nor did sheunderstand it. She kept saying to herself:

"Nurse is right after all; it was not mere fancy. Little Penelope is notwell. A day or two on the sands in this glorious air will soon put herstraight. "

Pauline, however, thought that she did understand her little sister. Forto Pauline, from the first day she had arrived at Easterhaze, the sea hadseemed to cry to her in one incessant, reiterating voice:

"Come, wash and be clean. Come, lave yourself in me, and leave yournaughtiness and your deceits and your black, black lies behind. "

And Pauline felt, notwithstanding her present happiness and her long daysof health and vigor and glee, that she was disobeying the sea, for shewas not washing therein, nor getting herself clean in all that waste ofwater. The old cry awoke again in her heart with an almost cruelinsistence. 

"Come, wash and be clean, " cried the sea. 

"I declare, Pauline, you are looking almost as pale as your sister, " saidMiss Tredgold. "Well, here we are. Now, Pen, " she added, turning toPenelope, "I hope you will enjoy yourself. I certainly did not intend toask you to join us, but as nurse said you were not well, and as your ownextremely funny letter seemed to express the same thing, I thought itbest to ask you here. "

"And you did quite right, Aunty Sophy, " said Penelope. 

Then the look of the sea faded from her eyes, and she became once again asuspicious, eager, somewhat deceitful little girl. Once again the subtleand naughty things of life took possession of her. At any cost she mustkeep herself to the front. At any cost she must assume the power whichshe longed for. She was no longer a nursery child. She had won her wayabout coming to the seaside; now she must go still further. She mustbecome a person of the greatest moment to Aunt Sophia. Aunt Sophia heldthe keys of power; therefore Penelope determined to devote herself toher. 

The lodgings were extremely cheerful. They were in a terrace overhangingthe sea. From the big bay-windows of the drawing-room you could see thesunsets. There was a glorious sunset just beginning when Penelope walkedto the window and looked out. Miss Tredgold had secured the best rooms inthis very handsome house, and the best rooms consisted of a doubledrawing-room, the inner one of which was utilized as a dining-room; alarge bedroom overhead in which Verena and Pauline slept; and a littleroom at the back which she used for herself, and in which now she hadordered a cot to be placed for Penelope. 

Penelope was taken upstairs and shown the arrangements that had been madefor her comfort. Her eyes sparkled with delight when she saw the littlecot. 

"There's no time like the night for telling things, " she thought toherself. "Aunt Sophy can't get away from me at night. It's only to stayawake, perhaps to pertend to have a nightmare. Anyhow, night is the timeto do what I have to do. "

Being quite sure, therefore, that she would get her opportunity oftalking to Aunt Sophia, she revived for the time being to enjoy herself. Her volatile spirits rose. She laughed and talked, and ate an enormousmeal. After the sort of tea-dinner was over the three girls went out bythemselves on the sands. 

"You may stay out half-an-hour, " said Miss Tredgold: "no longer, forPenelope has to go to bed. Afterwards I will take a walk with you twoelder ones if you care to have me. "

"Of course we care to have you, dear Aunt Sophy, " said Verena in hergentlest tone; and then the three started off. Penelope, in honor of herrecent arrival, was promoted to the place in the middle. She laid a handon each sister's arm and swung herself along. People remarked the trio, and said to themselves what a remarkably fat, healthy-looking little girlthe one in the middle was. 

"Well, Pen, " said Pauline as they approached the house, having discussedall sorts of subjects, "I can't see where the tum-ache and the sorethroat and the pale cheeks come in. "

"They're gone, " said Penelope. "I knew the sea would cure 'em. I am quiteperfect well. I am going to be quite perfect well while I am here. I lovethe sea; don't you?"

"Come, wash and be clean, " whispered the sea to Pauline. 

She was silent. Verena said, however, that she greatly liked the sea. They went back to the house. Penelope was escorted upstairs. Paulinehelped her to undress, and presently she was tucked into her little bed. 

"It seems a'most as if I wor still a nursery child, " she said to herelder sister. 

"Why so?" asked Pauline. 

"Being sent to bed afore you and Renny. I am quite as old as you andRenny--in my mind, I mean. "

"Don't talk nonsense, " said Pauline almost crossly. 

"Paulie, " said Penelope, taking hold of her hand and pulling her towardsher, "I went to see Nancy King t'other day. "

"Why did you do that?" asked Pauline. 

"Because I wanted to come to the sea, and there was no other way. Vinegarwouldn't do it, nor tum-aches, but I thought Nancy might. "

"I don't know what you mean, " said Pauline. "In what possible way couldNancy King have brought you here?"

"Only that I got so desperate after seeing her that I wrote that funny, funny letter, and nursey helped me; and now I'm here, and I think I cando what I like. You had best be friends with me now, for I can do justwhat I like. "

Pauline felt just a little afraid. She knelt down by Pen. 

"Tell me why you went, " she said. "You know you disobeyed Aunt Sophy whenyou went. "

"Yes; but what's one more in a family doing disobeying things?" answeredPen in her glib fashion. "But now listen. I will tell you. "

She related her adventures with much glee--her walk through the woods, her arrival, the terrible way in which Lurcher had treated her, thekindness of the farmer, the proposed dinner, Nancy's manners. She wasworking up to the grand climax, to the moment when she should speak aboutthe thimble. 

"What do you think?" she said suddenly. "Nancy put me on a sofa, and Islept. I slept sound, and when I woke up I saw Nancy sitting by thewindow sewing. She wor making a blue scarf, and her thimble went flashingin and out; and what do you think, Paulie? What _do_ you think?"

"Well?" said Pauline. 

"Pauline, dear, are you ready?" called a voice from below. 

"I must go, " said Pauline; "but tell me at once, Pen, what you mean. "

"It was the thimble--the lost one, " said Penelope--"the one with thedark-blue top and the light-blue stones round the rim, the goldy thimblewhich was Aunt Sophy's. "

In spite of her efforts Pauline did find herself turning white. 

"Pauline, dear, we can't wait any longer, " said Miss Tredgold's voice. 

"I must go, " said Pauline. "Tell me afterwards. "

"Whisper, " said Penelope, pulling her hand. "I have got it. The deep-bluetop and the light-blue stones and the goldy middle--I have it all. And Ican tell Aunt Sophy, and show it, and I will if--if you don't tell meabout----"

"About what?"

"About that time when three peoples walked across the lawn--the nightafter your birthday, I mean. Will you tell? I asked Briar, and she saidshe didn't know. She told a lie. Are you going to tell a lie, too? If youdo I will---- Well, I won't say any more; only I have put it in thesafest of places, and you will never find it. Now you can go down and goout with Aunt Sophy. Now you know, 'cos I've told you. "

Pauline slowly left the room. She felt dazed. Once again Miss Tredgoldcalled her. She ran to her washstand, filled her basin with cold water, and dipped her face into it. Then she ran downstairs. She found itdifficult to analyze her own sensations, but it seemed to her thatthrough her little sister's eyes she saw for the first time her ownwickedness. 

"To think that Pen could do it, and to think that I could be afraid ofher!" she thought. 

She went out and walked with her aunt and Verena, but the insistent voiceof the sea, as with each swish of the waves it cried, "Come, wash and beclean, " hit like a hammer on her brain. 

"What is the matter with Pauline?" thought Verena. 

"The child is tired; she is not quite well yet, " was Miss Tredgold'smental reflection. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE WHITE BAY. 

Penelope did not repeat her threat, but she watched Pauline. MissTredgold also watched Pauline. Verena felt uncomfortable, without quiteknowing why. The keen vigor and joy of the first days at the seaside haddeparted. Pauline became pale once more, and Miss Tredgold's anxietiesabout her were revived. The Dales were a healthy race, but one or two ofthe Tredgolds had died of consumption. Miss Tredgold remembered ayoung--very young--sister of her own who had reached Pauline's age, andthen quite suddenly had become melancholy, and then slightly unwell, andthen more unwell, until the fell scourge had seized her as its prey. Shehad died when between sixteen and seventeen. Miss Tredgold seemed to seeher sister's face in Pauline's. She did not for a single moment accusethe child of any wrong-doing. She did not imagine that what ailed hercould have to do with the mind. Nevertheless she was anxious about her. Miss Tredgold had a good deal of penetration, but she was not accustomedto children. She thought that children of Pen's age were more littleanimals than anything else. It did not occur to her that a small childlike Pen could have a mind of a very extraordinary order, and that themind of this child could work in a direction which might hurt others. Shedid not suppose such a terrible child could exist. 

Pauline was therefore more or less a prey to the naughtiness of Pen, whoused her as a weapon for her own enjoyment. Pen was quite determined toenjoy herself at the seaside. She would have her bucket and spade andmake castles in the sand as long as ever she liked, and she would playwith other children, and would make acquaintance with them. She insistedalso on going very often to the shops to buy caramels or chocolates. Inshort, she was determined that during her brief stay at Easterhaze shewould have as good a time as possible. It is quite on the cards that shewould not have had so good a time as she did but for the agency ofPauline. Pauline, however, in spite of herself, sided with Pen. Shealmost hated Pen, but she sided with her. She used to throw her voiceinto the scale of Pen's desires, and Pen in consequence got pretty muchwhat she wanted. 

There came a day when two children, a boy and a girl of the name ofCarver, ran up to Pen and asked her if she would join them in going roundthe next promontory and gathering shells in a wide bay on the other side, which was known as the White Bay. The way to this bay, except atlow-water, was not very safe, as during high-tide the sea was apt to comeup and cut off retreat. Pen, however, knew nothing about this. The momentshe was asked to go it occurred to her that there could be no suchdelightful place as the White Bay anywhere else in the world. She knewwell, however, that Miss Tredgold never allowed her to go fifty yardsfrom the house on either side. She looked up. Pauline was walking alongthe upper walk. She had a story-book in her hand. She meant to reach oneof the shelters and sit down there to read. Pen turned to the two Carversand said that she must ask permission, but she would be with them in aminute. She then scrambled up the path and ran to Pauline's side. 

"Pauline, " she said, "I am going to the White Bay with the Carvers--thosetwo children there--that boy and girl; you see 'em. We are going at once. They have got a basket of cakes, and we are going to gather shells andhave a jolly time. We won't be back till one o'clock. "

"But you can't go, " said Pauline. She did not know of any danger ingoing; she only thought that Penelope meant to disobey Miss Tredgold. "Aunt Sophy is out, and she has not given you leave, " she said. "You muststay where you are, Pen. "

"But you can give me leave, Paulie, darling, can you not?"

"I can't do anything of the sort; you mustn't ask me. "

Pen's eyes danced. The children on the sands called out to her. 

"Be quick, little girl, or we'll be cotched. If nurse comes out she won'tlet us go. We can go if we start at once. "

"Well, I'm off. You must give me leave, Paulie. If you don't I will----"

"Don't!" said Pauline, backing away from her sister. She felt a sort ofterror when Penelope taunted her with her superior knowledge and thecruel use she meant to put it to. 

"Go if you like, " she said, in a white heat of passion. "You are theworry of my life. "

Pen gave her a flashing, by no means good sort of glance, and then toredown the winding path which led to the sands. Pauline got up; she lefther seat by the shore and went inland. 

"I don't know how I am to bear it, " she said to herself. "Pen has made meso wretched. I was hoping that nothing would be known. I was trying toforget, and I was making a lot of good resolves, and I am loving AuntSophy more and more each day. Why have I got such a dreadful littlesister as Pen? She is like none of the rest. It seems almost incrediblethat I should be in the power of such a small child. Nevertheless I am inher power. I had no right to let her go to the White Bay; still, I toldher to go, for I couldn't bear the agonies I should have to go through ifI refused. Oh, I am wretched! Pen practically knows everything; so doesPatty, and so does Briar. But they're safe enough; they won't betrayme--they wouldn't for all the world. As to Pen, I don't know what she ismade of. She will be a terrible woman by-and-by. "

Pauline walked on until she heard Verena's voice. She then turned back. 

"Aunt Sophy said we were to go up to the town to meet her, " said Verena. "She's doing some shopping. She wants to get a new autumn hat for you, and another for me. Come along, Paulie. We are to be at Murray's in theHigh Street at eleven o'clock. "

Pauline turned and walked soberly by her sister's side. 

"Are you as tired as ever this morning, Paulie?" asked Verena. 

"I am not tired at all, " replied Pauline. 

Verena considered for a minute. 

"Aunt Sophy is often anxious about you, " she said. "I can't imagine why, but she is. She says that she doesn't think you are at all strong. "

"Oh, I am!" interrupted Pauline. "I wish she wouldn't worry about me. Iwish you'd tell her not to worry. I am really as strong as any girl couldbe. Do tell her not to fret about me any more. "

"Where is Pen?" said Verena suddenly. 

Pauline did not speak. 

"I suppose she is down on the beach as usual, " said Verena again in acareless tone. "She's always down there. She is such a queer littlemite!"

"Don't let's talk about her, " said Pauline almost crossly. 

The girls turned their conversation to other matters, and when theyjoined Miss Tredgold at Murray's shop they had both forgotten theexistence of their little sister Penelope. 

Meanwhile that young person was having a good time. Having gained herwish, she was in excellent spirits, and was determined to make herselfextremely agreeable to the Carvers. She thought them quite nice children. They were different from the children at home. They had lived almost alltheir lives in London. They told Pen a good many stories about London. Itwas the only place worth living in, Harry Carver said. When you went outthere you always turned your steps in the direction of the Zoo. Pen askedwhat the Zoo was. Harry Carver gave her a glance of amazement. 

"Why, it's chock-full of wild beasts, " he said. 

Pen thought this a most exciting description. Her cheeks paled; her eyesgrew big. She clasped hold of Harry's arm and said in a trembling voice:

"Are you joking, or do you mean real lions and bears and tigers?"

"I mean real lions and bears and tigers, " said Harry. "Oh, if you onlyheard the lions roar! We see them fed, too. It is fun to hear themgrowling when they get their meat; and the way they lick it--oh, it'smost exciting!"

"So it is, " said Nellie Carver. "It's awful fun to go to the Zoo. "

"You must be very courageous, " said Pen, who did not know that the wildbeasts were confined in cages. 

Neither Eleanor nor Harry Carver thought it worth while to enlighten Penwith regard to this particular; on the contrary, they determined to keepit to themselves. It was nice to have a little girl like Pen looking atthem with awe. 

"It isn't everybody who can go to the Zoo, " proceeded Harry. "There arepeople that the wild beasts don't ever care to touch. Nellie and I arethat sort; we're made that way. We walk about amongst them; we strokethem and pet them. I often sit on the neck of a lion, and quite enjoymyself. "

"My pet beast for a ride is a panther, " said Nellie, her eyes sparklingwith fun at her own delicious ideas; "but most children can never ride onlions and panthers. "

"I don't believe you ride on them, " said Pen. "You don't look half braveenough for that. "

"Why don't you think us brave?" asked Harry. "You are not a nice girlwhen you talk in that way. You wouldn't even be brave enough to ride onthe elephants. Oh, it's very jolly for the real brave people when they goto the Zoo. "

"And is that the only place to go to in London?" asked Pen. 

As she spoke she quickened her steps, for the children were now crossingthe extreme end of the promontory round which was the celebrated WhiteBay. 

"There are other places. There's the British Museum, full of books. Thereare miles and miles of books in London, and miles and miles of pictures. "

"What an awful place!" said Pen, who had no love for either books orpictures. "Don't tell me any more about it. Go on ascribing the wildanimals. Is there serpents at the Zoo?"

"Tons of 'em. When they have gorged a rabbit or a lamb or a girl whole, they lie down and sleep for about a week. "

"They don't gorge girls!"

"They think nothing of it; that is, if the girl is the sort of child theydon't like. "

"I won't go, " said Pen. "I am not the sort of child the wild beasts wouldlove. I think maybe I might be crunched up by the lions. I shan't go. "

"Well, no one asked you, " said Harry. "You are quite certain to be eaten, so you had best stay away. "

"Why do you say that?"

Harry glanced at his sister. Nellie laughed. Harry laughed also. 

"Why do you talk in that way, you horrid boy?" said Pen, stamping herfoot. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you, only you need not try to kill me with your eyes. The wildbeasts only like good uns. You ain't good. The wild beasts would soonfind that out. "

For some extraordinary reason Pen found herself turning pale. She had amoment of actual fear. At this instant she would have resigned thethimble--the golden thimble, with its sapphire top and turquoise rim--tothe safe keeping of Pauline. For if Pauline had the thimble Pen wouldhave very little to say against her. As long as she possessed the thimbleshe felt that Pauline was in her power. She liked the sensation, and shewas honest enough to own as much. 

The conversation was now quickly turned. The children found plenty ofshells in the White Bay. Soon they were sitting on the sands picking themup and enjoying themselves as only children can. 

"So, " said Pen, pushing back her hat and fixing her eyes on Harry's face, "you comed here without leave?"

"Of course we did, " said Harry. "Won't nurse be in a state when she findswe've gone! She will rush up and down in front of the house and cry, forfather and mother have gone away for the whole day, and nurse is in solecharge. Oh, won't she be in a state! She went off to walk with her youngman, and we thought we'd play a joke on her, for she's often told us notto come here. 'If you go near that White Bay, ' she said, 'you will bedrowned as sure as sure. ' She daren't tell father and mother because ofher young man. Isn't it fun?"

"Yes, " said Penelope, "it's prime fun; but isn't this fun, too? You won'tbe able to go to that Zoo place any more. "

"Now what do you mean?"

"Why, this: the animals will eat you up. You are bad, same as me. You twowon't be able to go to any more Zoos;" and Pen rolled round and round infiendish delight. 

The other children looked at her with anything but approval. 

"I don't like her, " whispered Nellie to her brother. 

"Of course you don't like bad little girls, " replied Harry. "Let's runaway at once and leave her. Let's. "

They scrambled to their feet. To love a new playmate and yet without aninstant's warning to desert her was quite in accordance with theirchildish ideas. In a moment they were running as fast as their legs wouldpermit across the sands. The tide had been coming in fast for some time. 

For a moment Pen sat almost petrified; then she rushed after them. Shewas wild with passion; she had never been so angry in all her life. Therewere many times when the other children at The Dales treated her withscant courtesy, but to be suddenly deserted in this fashion by strangechildren was more than she could endure. 

"Oh, how bad you have got! You are so bad--so dreadfully, horriblybad--that the tide is certain to come in and drown you up, " she cried. "You can't go away from me; you can't. Oh, see! it has comed;" and Pendanced up and down and clapped her hands in triumph. 

She was right. She had gained a complete victory. Just at the extreme endof the promontory a gentle wave, peaceful, pretty, and graceful, curledup against the solid rock. It had scarcely retired in bashful innocencewhen another wave tumbled after it. They looked like charmingplayfellows. Then came a third, then a fourth and a fifth. Faster andfaster they rolled in, flowing up the white sands and making a white foamround the rock. 

The little Carvers stood still, transfixed with a curious mingling ofdelight, excitement, and horror. Pen ceased to jump up and down. Presently she ceased to laugh. She was only a very small girl, and didnot in the least realize her danger; nevertheless, as she used her eyesto good purpose, and as she quickly perceived that the opposite side ofthe bay was now shut away by a great body of water, it did occur to herthat they would have to stay in their present shelter for some time. Harry turned round slowly. Harry was ten years old, and he understood. Hehad heard his father talk of the dangerous White Bay. He went straight upto Pen, and, taking her hand, burst out crying. 

"It don't matter, " he said--"it don't matter whether we are good orwhether we are bad. We can none of us ever go to the Zoo again. Nellieand I won't ever go any more, and you can never go at all. "

"What do you mean?" asked Pen. 

Her heart began to beat fast and loud. 

"What do you mean? Oh, you dreadful bad----"

"Don't call names, " said Harry. "You will be sorry by-and-by; andby-and-by comes soon. We have got to be drowned, all three of us. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

"OUR FATHER" IS BEST. 

Pauline and Verena found Miss Tredgold waiting for them. They went intothe shop, which was quite one of the best shops in the High Street. ThereMiss Tredgold asked to see hats, and presently the two girls and theiraunt were absorbed in the fascinating occupation of trying on newheadgear. Miss Tredgold was buying a very pretty hat for herself also. Itwas to be trimmed with lace and feathers, and Verena had a momentarysense of disappointment that she was to have nothing so gay to wear onher own head. The attendant who was serving them made a sudden remark. 

"Yes, ma'am, " she said, "this little brown hat trimmed with velvet willexactly suit the dark young lady. " Here she looked at Pauline. "And Ishould venture to suggest a very little cream-colored lace introduced infront. The autumn is coming on, and the young lady will find this hatvery suitable when the weather changes. "

"Well, the weather seems inclined to remain fine, " said Miss Tredgold, glancing out of the window, where a very blue sky met her gaze. Therewere heavy white clouds, however, drifting quickly across the sky, andthe young shop attendant said:

"I hear that there's a storm expected. And anyhow it is high-tideto-night. The tide will come up and quite cover the White Bay thisevening. It is always more or less dangerous there, but it is speciallydangerous to-day. I never like these high-tides; children and nursemaidsare so apt to forget all about them. "

Miss Tredgold muttered something conventional. Pauline suddenly sat downon a chair. 

"How white you are, dear!" said Miss Tredgold. "Would you oblige me, " sheadded, turning to the attendant, "by bringing this young lady a glass ofwater?"

But Pauline had already recovered herself. 

"Please don't, " she said. "I want to go out. I want to get the air. Don't--don't keep me. "

Her movement was so sudden and so unexpected that neither Miss Tredgoldnor Verena had time to say a word. The people in the shop saw a somewhatuntidy-looking little girl rush wildly down the stairs and out of doors, and long before Miss Tredgold had time to recover her scattered sensesthat same little girl was tearing as though on the wings of the wind upthe High Street. Panting, breathless, overpowered with emotion, shepresently reached the long flat stretch of beach at the farther end ofwhich was the dangerous White Bay. Never in all her life had Pauline runas she did now. Faster and faster flew her feet. There was a noise in herears as though something was hammering on her brain. She was almost faintwith terror. Should she be in time? Should she be too late? Oh! she mustbe in time. 

Presently she saw the far end of the promontory. Her heart gave a boundand almost stood still. What was that white thing curling round it?Water? Oh, yes; but she did not mind. She had waded before now. This wasa case of wading again. She reached the spot, and a moment later she hadtorn off her shoes and stockings, had gathered her skirts round herwaist, and was walking through the waves. The water was already over afoot deep. There was also a strong tide, and she had some difficulty inkeeping her feet. She managed to hold her own, however, and found herselfa minute or two later, drenched all over, panting and trembling, butstill safe in the White Bay. To her relief, she saw three terrifiedchildren crouching up as near as they dared to the water. Even now agreat wave, deeper and stronger than its predecessors, rolled in. It tookPauline off her feet just as she was clambering to dry ground. Sherecovered herself, ran up to Pen, took her hand, and said:

"We have played pickaback before now. Get on my back this moment; don'tstop to think. "

"I daren't, " said Pen. 

"Little boy--I don't know your name, " said Pauline--"put Pen onto my backwhatever happens. "

Harry Carver sprang towards Pen. 

"You must, " he said. "She is brave; she is a true heroine. The lions andtigers would love her. Get on her back and she will return for us. Oh! bequick--do be quick--for we don't any of us want to be drowned. "

"Can you swim?" asked Pauline. "No; I know you can't. I haven't a momentto stay; I'll come back somehow. "

She struggled towards the water, but Pen scrambled off her back and stoodfirm on the ground. 

"I am bad, " she said--"there never was anybody much badder--but I'm notgoing first. Take that little girl; I will go afterwards. "

"Come, little girl, " said Pauline. 

Harry rushed towards his sister. 

"Do go, Nellie. Let mother keep one of us. I don't mind beingdrowned--not a bit. You tell mother I don't mind. Go, Nellie; do go withthe big brave girl. "

So Pauline carried Nellie through the rising tide, and, marvellous torelate, did land her safely on the other side. 

"Now look here, " she said, "you must rush home as fast as you can, andwhen you get there you are to say that there are two girls and a boy inthe White Bay, and that your people are to bring a boat immediately. Don't waste a second. Find somebody. If all your people are out, go toours. Our house is No. 11. You understand? There isn't a minute to lose. "

"Yes, see you go, " shouted Harry Carver. "And if you are too late, besure you tell mother that I wasn't afraid to drown. "

Nellie Carver began to run as fast as she could across the sands. Paulinehesitated for a moment; then she deliberately waded back to the othertwo. The water was up to her waist now, and she had the greatestdifficulty in keeping her feet. 

"I couldn't face anybody again if Pen were drowned, " she said to herself. "If she drowns, so will I. It is the only thing fit for me. Perhaps whenGod sees that I am sorry, and that I did try to save Pen, He will forgiveme; but I am not sure. Anyhow, I deserve to be drowned. I could never, never face the others if Pen were to die because of me. "

She was just able to scramble again out of the water on the White Bayside. The tide was coming in with great rapidity. It was hopeless tothink of carrying Pen across. 

"Let us go to the top part of the bay, as close to the rocks aspossible, " said Pauline; "and don't let's be really frightened, for I amsure the boat will be in time. "

"Oh, I am certain of it!" said Harry. "Nellie never does lose her head. She won't want us to drown, so she'll hurry up. "

"Give me your hand, Pen, " said Pauline. "You are a very brave little girlto let the other little girl go first. I am glad you did it. "

"Will God remember that about me by-and-by?" asked Pen. 

"I hope so, " replied Pauline, with a shiver. 

She took Pen's icy hand and began to rub it. 

"It isn't at all good for you to shiver like this, " she said. "Here is abright piece of sunshine. Let us run up and down in the sunshine. Itdoesn't seem, somehow, as though anybody could drown when the sunshines. "

"Maybe the boat will be in time, " said Harry. 

They ran up and down for some time, and then stood quiet. Pauline wasvery silent. Beside the other two children she felt quite old andgrown-up. She had got Pen into this terrible scrape; it was her missionto help them both. If they must all die, she at least would have to showcourage. She was not ready to die. She knew that fact quite well. But shehad naturally plenty of pluck, and fearful as her present surroundingswere, she would not have been afraid but for that ugly black thing whichrested on her conscience. Penelope looked full into her face. There wassomething also pricking Penelope's conscience. The three children stoodclose together on the little white patch of sand which had not yet beencovered by the waves. The wind was getting up, and the waves weremounting higher; they rushed farther and farther up the bay, and curledand swept and enjoyed themselves, and looked as though they were having arace up the white sands. Pauline made a rapid calculation, and came tothe conclusion that they had about half-an-hour to live; for the bay wasa very shallow one, and when the wind was in its present quarter the tiderose rapidly. She looked back at the rocks behind her, and saw thathigh-water mark, even on ordinary occasions, was just above their heads. This was what is called a spring-tide. There was not the least hope. 

"If only we could climb up, " she thought. 

Then Penelope gave her hand a great tug. She looked down. Pen went ontugging and tugging. 

"Look, " she said; "stoop and look. "

In the palm of Pen's hand lay the thimble. 

"Take it, " said Pen. "I comed with it to make mischief, but I won't nevertell now--never. Take it. Put it in your pocket. I am sorry I was so bad. Take it. "

Pauline did take the little gold thimble. She slipped it into her pocket;then she stooped and kissed Pen. 

"What are you two doing?" said Harry. "Why don't you talk to me? Can't Ido something to help? I'm ten. How old are you?"

"I was fourteen a few weeks ago, " said Pauline. 

"Granny!" said the boy. "Why, you are quite old; you are withering up. Iwouldn't like to be fourteen. You must know a monstrous lot. You are avery plucky one to come through the water as you did. I wish I couldswim, and I wouldn't let the waves get the better of me; but I'm glad Ilet Nellie see that I wasn't afraid of drowning. Do you mind drowning, big, big, old girl?"

"Yes, I do, " said Pauline. 

"You have a queer sort of look in your eyes, like the little one has inhers. Are you wicked, too?"

"You have guessed it, " said Pauline. 

"I expect we're all wicked for that matter; but we can say our prayers, can't we?"

"Yes, " said Pauline, and now her lips trembled and the color faded fromher cheeks. "Let us say them together. "

"By-and-by, " said Pen. "We needn't say our prayers yet. It will be sometime afore the water will touch us; won't it, Paulie?"

Pauline knew that the water would come in very quickly. Harry looked fullat Pen, and then he nodded his head. He came to Pauline and whisperedsomething in her ear. 

"What is it?" she said. 

"She's little, " he said. "She's quite a baby--not eight yet. I am ten. When the water begins to come in we'll lift her in our arms and raise herabove it; shan't we?"

"Yes; that is a very good thought, " said Pauline. She looked back againat the rocks. They were smooth as marble; there did not seem to be apossible foothold. She felt a sense of regret that they had not gone tothe farther end of the bay, where the rocks were lower and more indented, and where it might be possible for a brave boy and girl to get temporaryfoothold; but the sea had already reached those rocks and was dashinground them. 

"I wish I had thought of it, " said Pauline. 

"What about?"

"The rocks--those rocks out there. "

The words had scarcely passed her lips before Harry darted back. A wavefrom the incoming tide had rolled over his feet. 

Pen uttered a sudden cry:

"I am frightened. I won't drown. I am awful frightened. "

She began to shriek. 

"Try and keep up your courage, darling, " said Pauline. "It won't be long. It will be quickly over, and I will stay close to you. Paulie will beclose to you. "

"Let us get her to stand on our two shoulders, and we'll lean up againstthe rocks, " said Harry. "She can steady herself against the rock, and Iwill support you both. Here, I will hoist her up. Now, missy, you lookslippy. That's it. "

Harry was a very active boy, and he did manage to lift Pen, who was stiffwith cold and fright, and miserable with a sense of her own naughtiness, on to Pauline's and his shoulders. When she was established in thatposition she was propped up against the rocks. 

"Now you are safe, " said Harry, looking back at her and trying to laugh. "We'll both drown before you. See how safe you are. "

Just for a moment Pen was somewhat consoled by this reflection. Butpresently a fresh terror seized her. It would be so awful when she wasleft alone and there was only a dead Pauline and a dead Harry to keep hercompany. She had never seen anybody die, and had not the least idea whatdeath meant. Her terrors grew worse each moment. She began to cry andwhimper miserably, "I wish that boat would come. "

Another wave came in and washed right over both Pauline's and Harry'sankles. They were jammed up against the rocks now. This big wave wasfollowed by a second and a third, and soon the children were standing inwater very nearly up to their knees. 

"Seems to me, " said Harry in a choky voice, "that it is about time webegan our prayers. It is like going to sleep at night. Just when you arepreparing to sleep you say your prayers, and then you dump your head downon your pillow and off you go to by-bye land. Then mother comes andkisses you, and she says---- Oh, bother! I don't want to think of that. Let's try and fancy that it is night. Let's begin our prayers. Oh, what awave that is! Why, it has dashed right into my eyes. "

"How far up is the water now, Pauline?" asked Penelope from her position. 

"It is not very far up yet, " replied Pauline in as cheerful a tone as shecould. "We had better do what Harry says, and say our prayers. "

"Shall us?" said Pen. 

"I think so, " replied Pauline. 

There was a strange sensation in her throat, and a mist before her eyes. Her feet were so icy cold that it was with difficulty she could keepherself from slipping. 

"Which prayer shall we say?" asked Harry. "There's a lot of them. There'sour special private prayers in which we say, 'God bless father andmother;' and then there's 'Our Father. '"

"'Our Father' is best, " said Pauline. 

The children began repeating it in a sing-song fashion. Suddenly Penviolently clutched hold of Pauline. 

"Will God forgive our badnesses?" she asked. 

"He will--I know He will, " answered Pauline; and just at that instantthere came a cry from Harry. 

"A boat! a boat!" he shrieked. "And it's coming our way. I knew Nelliewas a brick. I knew she'd do it. "

A boat rowed by four men came faster and faster over the waves. By-and-byit was within a stone's-throw of the children. A big man sat in thestern. Harry glanced at him. 

"Why, it's father!" he cried. "Oh, father, why did you come home? Ithought you had gone away for the day. Father, I wasn't a bit afraid todrown--not really, I mean. I hope Nellie told you. "

"Yes, my brave boy. Now, see, when I hold out my hand, spring upcarefully or the boat will capsize. "

The next instant a stalwart hand and arm were stretched across therapidly rising waves, and Harry, with a bound, was in the boat. 

"Lie down in the boat, and stay as quiet as a mouse, " said his father. 

Pauline, already up to her waist in water, struggled a step or two andwas dragged into the boat; while two of the men bent over, and, catchingPenelope round the waist, lifted her into their ark of shelter. 

"It was touch-and-go, sir, " said one of the sailors who had accompaniedHarry's father. "Five minutes later and we could have done no good. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE DULL WEIGHT. 

The rest of that day passed for Pauline in a sort of dream. She felt nofear nor pain nor remorse. She lay in bed with a languid and sleepysensation. Aunt Sophia went in and out of the room; she was all kindnessand sympathy. Several times she bent down and kissed the child's hotforehead. It gave Pauline neither pain nor pleasure when her aunt didthat; she was, in short, incapable of any emotion. When the doctor cameat night his face looked grave. 

"The little girl is all right, " he said. "She has had a terrible fright, but a good night's rest will quite restore her to her usual health; but Idon't quite like the look of the elder girl. "

Verena, who was in the room, now came forward. 

"Pauline is always pale, " she said. "If it is only that she looks alittle more pale than usual----"

"It isn't that, " interrupted the doctor. "Her nervous system has got amost severe shock. "

"The fact is this, " said Miss Tredgold. "The child has not been herselffor some time. It was on that account that I brought her to the seaside. She was getting very much better. This accident is most unfortunate, andI cannot understand how she knew about Penelope. "

"It was a precious good thing she did find it out, " said the doctor, "orMr. Carver's two little children and your young niece would all have beendrowned. Miss Pauline did a remarkably plucky thing. Well, I will sendround a quieting draught. Some one had better sleep in the child's roomto-night; she may possibly get restless and excited. "

When Miss Tredgold and Verena found themselves alone, Miss Tredgoldlooked at her niece. 

"Can you understand it?" she asked. 

"No, Aunt Sophy. "

"Has Pen told you anything?"

"No. "

"We must not question her further just now, " said Miss Tredgold. "Shewill explain things in the morning, perhaps. Why did the children go tothe White Bay--a forbidden place to every child in the neighborhood? Andhow did Pauline know that they were there? The mystery thickens. Itannoys me very much. "

Verena said nothing, but her eyes slowly filled with tears. 

"My dear, " said Miss Tredgold suddenly, "I thought it right thisafternoon to send your father a telegram. He may arrive in the morning, or some time to-morrow; there is no saying. "

"Oh, I'm sure he will come if he remembers, " said Verena. 

"That's just it, Renny. How long will he remember? Sometimes I think hehas a fossil inside of him instead of a heart. But there! I must notabuse him to you, my dear. "

"He is really a most loving father, " said Verena; "that is, when heremembers. Why he should forget everything puzzles me a good deal; still, I cannot forget that he is my father. "

"And you are right to remember it, dear child. Now go and sleep in thesame room with Pen, and watch her. I will take care of Pauline. "

Pauline was given her sleeping draught, and Miss Tredgold, placingherself in an easy-chair, tried to think over the events of the day. Soonher thoughts wandered from the day itself to the days that had gonebefore, and she puzzled much over Pauline's character and her curious, half-repellent, half-affectionate attitude towards herself. 

"What can be the matter with the child?" she thought. "She doesn't reallycare for me as the others do, and yet sometimes she gives me a look thatnone of the others have ever yet given me, just as if she loved me withsuch a passionate love that it would make up for everything I have evermissed in my life. Now, Verena is affectionate and sweet, and open as theday. As to Pen, she is an oddity--no more and no less. I wish I couldthink her quite straightforward and honorable; but it must be my missionto train her in those important attributes. Pauline is the one who reallypuzzles me. "

By-and-by Pauline opened her eyes. She thought herself alone. Shestretched out her arms and said in a voice of excitement:

"Nancy, you had no right to do it. You had no right to send it away toLondon. It was like stealing it. I want it back. Nancy, I must have itback. "

Miss Tredgold went and bent over her. Pauline was evidently speaking inher sleep. Miss Tredgold returned again to her place by the window. Thedawn was breaking. There was a streak of light across the distanthorizon. The tide was coming in fast. Miss Tredgold, as she watched thewaves, found herself shuddering. But for the merest chance Pauline andPen might have been now lying within their cold embrace. Miss Tredgoldshuddered again. She stood up, and was just about to draw the curtain toprevent the little sleeper from being disturbed by the light, whenPauline opened her eyes wide, looked gravely at her aunt, and said:

"Is that you, Nancy? How strange and thin and old you have got! And haveyou brought it back at last? She wants it; she misses it, and Pen keepson looking and looking for it. It is so lovely and uncommon, you see. Itis gold and dark-blue and light-blue. It is most beautiful. Have you gotit for me, Nancy?"

"It is I, dear, not Nancy, " said Miss Tredgold, coming forward. "You havehad a very good night. I hope you are better. "

Pauline looked up at her. 

"How funny!" she said. "I really thought you were Nancy--Nancy King, myold friend. I suppose I was dreaming. "

"You were talking about something that was dark-blue and light-blue andgold, " said Miss Tredgold. 

Pauline gave a weak smile. 

"Was I?" she answered. 

Miss Tredgold took the little girl's hands and put them inside thebedclothes. 

"I am going to get you a cup of tea, " she said. 

Miss Tredgold made the tea herself; and when she brought it, and pushedback Pauline's tangled hair, she observed a narrow gold chain round herneck. 

"Where did she get it?" thought the good lady. "Mysteries get worse. Iknow all about her little ornaments. She has been talking in a mostunintelligible way. And where did she get that chain?"

Miss Tredgold's discoveries of that morning were not yet at an end; forby-and-by, when the servant brought in Pauline's dress which she had beendrying by the kitchen fire, she held something in her hand. 

"I found this in the young lady's pocket, " she said. "I am afraid it isinjured a good bit, but if you have it well rubbed up it may get allright again. "

Miss Tredgold saw in the palm of the girl's hand her own much-valued andlong-lost thimble. She gave a quick start, then controlled herself. 

"You can put it down, " she said. "I am glad it was not lost. "

"It is a beautiful thimble, " said the girl. "I am sure Johnson, thejeweller in the High Street, could put it right for you, miss. "

"You had better leave the room now, " replied Miss Tredgold. "The younglady will hear you if you talk in a whisper. "

When the maid had gone Miss Tredgold remained for a minute or two holdingthe thimble in the palm of her hand; then she crossed the room on tiptoe, and replaced it in the pocket of Pauline's serge skirt. 

For the whole of that day Pauline lay in a languid and dangerouscondition. The doctor feared mischief to the brain. Miss Tredgold waitedon her day and night. At the end of the third day there was a change forthe better, and then convalescence quickly followed. 

Mr. Dale made his appearance on the scene early on the morning after theaccident. He was very much perturbed, and very nearly shed tears when heclasped Penelope in his arms. But in an hour's time he got restless, andasked Verena in a fretful tone what he had left his employment for. Shegave him a fresh account of the whole story as far as she knew it, and heonce more remembered and asked to see Pauline, and actually dropped atear on her forehead. But by the midday train he returned to The Dales, and long before he got there the whole affair in the White Bay wasforgotten by him. 

In a week's time Pauline was pronounced convalescent; but although shehad recovered her appetite, and to a certain extent her spirits, therewas a considerable change over her. This the doctor did not at firstremark; but Miss Tredgold and Verena could not help noticing it. For onething, Pauline hated looking at the sea. She liked to sit with her backto it. When the subject was mentioned she turned fidgety, and sometimeseven left the room. Now and then, too, she complained of a weightpressing on her head. In short, she was herself and yet not herself; theold bright, daring, impulsive, altogether fascinating Pauline seemed tobe dead and gone. 

On the day when she was considered well enough to go into thedrawing-room, there was a festival made in her honor. The place lookedbright and pretty. Verena had got a large supply of flowers, which sheplaced in glasses on the supper-table and also on a little table close toPauline's side. Pauline did not remark on the flowers, however. She didnot remark on anything. She was gentle and sweet, and at the same timeindifferent to her surroundings. 

When supper was over she found herself alone with Penelope. Then a waveof color rushed into her face, and she looked full at her little sister. 

"Have I done it or have I not, Pen?" she said. "Have I been awfullywicked--the wickedest girl on earth--or is it a dream? Tell me--tell me, Pen. Tell me the truth. "

"It is as true as anything in the wide world, " said Pen, speaking withintense emphasis and coming close to her sister. "There never was anybodymore wicked than you--_'cept_ me. We are both as bad as bad can be. But Itell you what, Paulie, though I meant to tell, I am not going to tellnow; for but for you I'd have been drownded, and I am never, never, nevergoing to tell. "

"But for me!" said Pauline, and the expression on her face was somewhatvague. 

"Oh, Paulie, how white you look! No, I will never tell. I love you now, and it is your secret and mine for ever and ever. "

Pauline said nothing. She put her hand to her forehead; the dull weighton her head was very manifest. 

"We are going home next week, " continued Pen in her brightest manner. "You will be glad of that. You will see Briar and Patty and all the rest, and perhaps you will get to look as you used to. You are not much to beproud of now. You are seedy-looking, and rather dull, and not a bitamusing. But I loves you, and I'll never, never tell. "

"Run away, Pen, " said Miss Tredgold, coming into the room at that moment. "You are tiring Pauline. You should not have talked so loud; your sisteris not very strong yet. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

PLATO AND VIRGIL. 

Mr. Dale returned home to find metamorphosis; for Betty and John, eggedon by nurse, had taken advantage of his day from home to turn out thestudy. This study had not been properly cleaned for years. It had neverhad what servants are fond of calling a spring cleaning. Neither springnor autumn found any change for the better in that tattered, dusty, andworn-out carpet; in those old moreen curtains which hung in heavy, dullfolds round the bay-window; in the leathern arm-chair, with very littleleather left about it; in the desk, which was so piled with books andpapers that it was difficult even to discover a clear space on which towrite. The books on the shelves, too, were dusty as dusty could be. Manyof them were precious folios--folios bound in calf which book-loverswould have given a great deal for--but the dust lay thick on them, andBetty said, with a look of disgust, that they soiled her fingers. 

"Oh, drat you and your fingers!" said nurse. "You think of nothing butthose blessed trashy novels you are always reading. You must turn to now. The master is certain to be back by the late afternoon train, and thisroom has got to be put into apple-pie order before he returns. "

"Yes, " said John; "we won't lose the chance. We'll take each book fromits place on the shelf, dust it, and put it back again. We have a longjob before us, so don't you think any more of your novels and your grandladies and gentlemen, Betty, my woman. "

"I have ceased to think of them, " said Betty. 

She stood with her hands hanging straight to her sides; her face wasquite pale. 

"I trusted, and my trust failed me, " she continued. "I was at a weddinglately, John--you remember, don't you?--Dick Jones's wedding, at theother side of the Forest. There was a beautiful wedding cake, frostedover and almond-iced underneath, and ornaments on it, too--cupids anddoves and such-like. A pair of little doves sat as perky as you please onthe top of the cake, billing and cooing like anything. It made my eyeswater even to look at 'em. You may be sure I didn't think of MaryDugdale, the bride that was, nor of poor Jones, neither; although he is agood looking man enough--I never said he wasn't. But my heart was in mymouth thinking of that dear Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton. "

"Who in the name of fortune is he?" asked nurse. 

"A hero of mine, " said Betty. 

Her face looked a little paler and more mournful even than when she hadbegun to speak. 

"He's dead, " she said, and she whisked a handkerchief out of her pocketand applied it to her eyes. "It was bandits as carried him off. He lovedthat innocent virgin he took for his wife like anything. Over and overhave I thought of them, and privately made up my mind that if I cameacross his second I'd give him my heart. "

"Betty, you must be mad, " said nurse. 

"Maybe you are mad, " retorted Betty, her face flaming, "but I am not. Itwas a girl quite as poor as me that he took for his spouse; and whyshouldn't there be another like him? That's what I thought, and when thewedding came to an end I asked Mary Dugdale to give me a bit of the cakeall private for myself. She's a good-natured sort is Mary, though notequal to Jones--not by no means. She cut a nice square of the cake, abeautiful chunk, black with richness as to the fruit part, yellow as tothe almond, and white as the driven snow as to the icing. And, if you'llbelieve it, there was just the tip of a wing of one of those angeliclittle doves cut off with the icing. Well, I brought it home with me, andI slept on it just according to the old saw which my mother taught me. Mother used to say, 'Betty, if you want to dream of your true love, youwill take a piece of wedding-cake that belongs to a fresh-made bride, andyou will put it into your right-foot stocking, and tie it with yourleft-foot garter, and put it under your pillow. And when you get intobed, not a mortal word will you utter, or the spell is broke. And thatyou will do, Betty, ' said my mother, 'for three nights running. And thenyou will put the stocking and the garter and the cake away for threenights, and at the end of those nights you will sleep again on it forthree nights; and then you will put it away once more for three nights, and you will sleep on it again for three nights. And at the end of thelast night, why, the man you dream of is he. '"

"Well, and did you go in for all that gibberish?" asked nurse, withscorn. 

She had a duster in her hand, and she vigorously flicked Mr. Dale's deskas she spoke. 

"To be sure I did; and I thought as much over the matter as ought to havegot me a decent husband. Well, when the last night come I lay me down tosleep as peaceful as an angel, and I folded my hands and shut my eyes, and wondered what his beautiful name would be, and if he'd be a dook or amarquis. I incline to a dook myself, having, so to speak, fallen in lovewith the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton of blessed memory. But what doyou think happened? It's enough to cure a body, that it is. "

"Well, what?" asked nurse. 

"I dreamt of no man in the creation except John there. If that isn'tenough to make a body sick, and to cure all their romance once and forever, my name ain't Betty Snowden. "

John laughed and turned a dull red at this unexpected ending to Betty'sstory. 

"Now let's clean up, " she said; "and don't twit me any more about mydreams. They were shattered, so to speak, in the moment of victory. "

The children were called in, particularly Briar and Patty, and the roomwas made quite fresh and sweet, the carpet taken up, the floor scrubbed, a new rug (bought long ago for the auspicious moment) put down, whitecurtains hung at the windows in place of the dreadful old moreen, everybook dusted and put in its place, and the papers piled up in orderlyfashion on a wagonette which was moved into the room for the purpose. Finally the children and servants gazed around them with an air ofappreciation. 

"He can't help liking it, " said Briar. 

"I wonder if he will, " said Patty. 

"What nonsense, Patty! Father is human, after all, and we have notdisturbed one single blessed thing. "

Soon wheels were heard, and the children rushed out to greet theirreturning parent. 

"How is Pauline, father?" asked Briar in an anxious voice. 

"Pauline?" replied Mr. Dale, pushing his thin hand abstractedly throughhis thin locks. "What of her? Isn't she here?"

"Nonsense, father!" said Patty. "You went to see her. She was very ill;she was nearly drowned. You know all about it. Wake up, dad, and tell ushow she is. "

"To be sure, " said Mr. Dale. "I quite recall the circumstance now. Yoursister is much better. I left her in bed, a little flushed, but lookingvery well and pretty. Pauline promises to be quite a pretty girl. She hasimproved wonderfully of late. Verena was there, too, and Pen, and yourgood aunt. Yes, I saw them all. Comfortable lodgings enough for those whodon't care for books. From what I saw of your sister she did not seem tobe at all seriously ill, and I cannot imagine why I was summoned. Don'tkeep me now, my dears; I must get back to my work. The formation of thatlast sentence from Plato's celebrated treatise doesn't please me. Itlacks the extreme polish of the original. My dear Briar, how you stare!There is no possible reason, Briar and Patty, why the English translationshould not be every bit as pure as the Greek. Our language has extendeditself considerably of late, and close application and study may recallto my mind the most fitting words. But there is one thing certain, mydear girls---- Ah! is that you, nurse? Miss Pauline is better. I wastalking about Plato, nurse. The last translation I have been making fromhis immortal work does not please me; but toil--ceaseless toil--themidnight oil, _et cetera_, may evoke the spirit of the true Muse, and Imay be able to put the matter before the great English thinking public ina way worthy of the immortal master. "

Mr. Dale had now pushed his hat very far back from his forehead. Heremoved it, still quite abstractedly, and retired with long, shufflingstrides to his beloved study. 

"No food until I ring for it, " he said when he reached the door, and thenhe vanished. 

"Blessed man!" said Betty, who was standing in the far distance. "Hemight be a dook himself for all his airs. It was lovely the way heclothed his thoughts that time. What they be themselves I don't know, buthis language was most enthralling. John, get out of my way. What are youstanding behind me like that for? Get along and weed the garden--do. "

"You'll give me a cup of tea, and tell me more about that dream ofyours, " was John's answer. 

Whereupon Betty took John by the hand, whisked into her kitchen, slammedthe door after her, and planted him down on a wooden seat, and thenproceeded to make tea. 

But while John and Betty were happily engaged in pleasant converse witheach other, Mr. Dale's condition was by no means so favorable. At firstwhen he entered his study he saw nothing unusual. His mind was far tooloftily poised to notice such sublunary matters as white curtains anddruggets not in tatters; but when he seated himself at his desk, andstretched out his hand mechanically to find his battered old edition ofPlato, it was not in its accustomed place. He looked around him, raisedhis eyes, put his hand to his forehead, and, still mechanically, but witha dawning of fright on his face, glanced round the room. What did he see?He started, stumbled to his feet, turned deathly white, and rushed to theopposite bookcase. There was his Plato--his idol--actually placed in thebookshelf upside-down. It was a monstrous crime--a crime that he felt hecould never forgive--that no one could expect him to forgive. He walkedacross to the fireplace and rang the bell. 

"You must go, Miss Patty, " said nurse. "I was willing to do it, but Ican't face him. You must go; you really must. "

"Well, I'm not frightened, " said Patty. "Come on, Briar. "

The two little girls walked down the passage. Mr. Dale's bell was heardto ring again. 

"Aren't you the least bit frightened, Patty?" asked Briar. 

"No, " answered Patty, with a sigh. "If only I could get the realheaviness off my mind, nothing else would matter. Oh, Briar, Briar!"

"Don't talk of it now, " said Briar. "To-night when we are alone, when weare by ourselves in our own room, but not now. Come, let us answerfather's bell. "

They opened the door and presented themselves--two pretty little figureswith rosy faces and bright eyes--two neatly dressed, lady-like littlegirls. 

"Do you want anything, father?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Dale. "Come in and shut the door. "

The girls did what he told them. 

"Who did this?" asked the master of The Dales. He swept his hand with acertain majesty of gesture round the restored room. "Who brushed thewalls? Who put those flimsies to the windows? Who touched my belovedbooks? Who was the person? Name the culprit. "

"There were quite a lot of us, father. We all did it, " said Briar. 

"You all did it? You mean to tell me, little girl, that you did it?"

"I dusted a lot of the books, father. I didn't injure one of them, and Iput them back again just in the same place. My arms ached because thebooks were so heavy. "

"Quite right that they should ache. Do you know what injury you have doneme?"

"No, " said Patty suddenly. "We made the room clean, father. It isn'tright to live in such a dirty room. Plato wouldn't have liked it. "

"Now what do you mean?"

Mr. Dale's white face quieted down suddenly; for his daughter--his small, young, ignorant daughter--to dare to mention the greatest name, in hisopinion, of all the ages, was too much for him. 

"You are always talking to us about Plato, " said Patty, who grew braverand braver as she proceeded. "You talk of Plato one day, and Virgilanother day, and you always tell us how great they were; but if they werereally great they would not be dirty, and this room was horrid and dirty, father. It really was. Nice, great, good, noble people are clean. AuntSophy says so, and she knows. Since Aunt Sophy came we have been veryhappy, and the house has been clean and nice. And I love Aunt Sophy, andso does Briar. I am very sorry, father, but I think when we made yourroom sweet and pretty as it is now we pleased Plato and Virgil--that is, if they can see us. "

"If Plato and Virgil can see mites like you?" said Mr. Dale. 

He took up his spectacles, poised them on his forehead, and gazed at thechildren. 

"There is the door, " he said. "Go. "

They vanished. Mr. Dale sank into a chair. 

"Upon my word!" he said several times. "Upon--my--word! So Plato likedthings clean, and Virgil liked things orderly. Upon--my--word!"

He sat perfectly motionless for a time. His brain was working, for hisglasses were sometimes removed and then put on again, and several timeshe brushed his hand through his hair. Finally he took up his hat, and, gazing at the frills of the white window-curtains, he opened the Frenchwindows, and, with an agile leap, found himself in the open air. He wentfor a walk--a long one. When he came back he entered his clean study, tofind the lamp burning brightly, his Plato restored to its place by hisleft-hand side, and a fresh pad of blotting-paper on the table. His ownold pen was not removed, but the inkpot was clean and filled with freshink. He took his pen, dipped it into the ink, and wrote on a sheet ofpaper, "Plato likes things clean, and Virgil likes things orderly, " andthen pinned the paper on the opposite wall. 

For the rest of the evening the astonished household were much beguiledand overcome by the most heavenly strains from Mr. Dale's violin. Heplayed it in the study until quite late at night; but none of thehousehold went to bed, so divine, so restoring, so comforting was thatmusic. 

About eleven o'clock Patty and Briar found themselves alone. 

"Well, " said Patty suddenly, "I have made up my mind. "

"Yes, " said Briar, "I thought you had. "

"When Aunt Sophy comes back I am going to tell her everything. "

Briar went up to her sister, put her arms round her neck, and kissed her. 

"I wonder what she will say, " said Briar. 

"Say!" echoed Patty. "She will be hurt. Perhaps she'll punish us; butthat doesn't matter, for in the end she is quite, quite certain toforgive us. I am going to tell her. I couldn't go through another nightlike last night again. "

"Nor could I, " said Briar. "I stayed awake and thought of Paulie, and Iseemed to see her face as it might look if she were really dead. I wishthey'd all come back, for Paulie is better. And then we'd have just adreadful ten minutes, and everything would be all right. "

"That's it, " said Patty. "Everything would be all right. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

"YOU ARE NOT TO TELL. "

Pauline was certainly better, although she was not what she was before. In body she was to all appearance quite well. She ate heartily, took longwalks, and slept soundly at night; but she was dull. She seldom laughed;she took little interest in anything. As to the sea, she had a positivehorror of it. When she went out for walks she invariably chose inlanddirections. She liked to walk briskly over the great moors which surroundEasterhaze, and to sit there and think, though nobody knew what she wasthinking about. Her face now and then looked pathetic, but on the wholeit was indifferent. Miss Tredgold was much concerned. She made up hermind. 

"The seaside is doing the child no good, " she thought. "I will take herstraight back home. She is certainly not herself; she got a much greatershock than we knew of or had any idea of. When she gets home the sight ofthe other children and the old place will rouse her. She is notconsumptive at the present moment. That is one thing to be thankful for. I shall take her to London for the winter. If going back to The Dalesdoes not arouse her, she must go somewhere else, for roused she certainlymust be. "

Miss Tredgold, having made up her mind, spoke to Verena. 

"We are going home to-morrow, Verena, " she said. 

"And a very good thing, " answered the young girl. 

"Do you really think so?"

"I do, Aunt Sophy. Pauline has got all she can get out of the sea atpresent. She does not love the sea; she is afraid of it. She may bebetter when she is home. "

"And yet she is well, " said Miss Tredgold. "The doctor pronounces her inperfect health. "

"In body she is certainly well, " said Verena. 

"Oh, then, you have observed it?"

"Yes, I have, " replied Verena slowly. "There is some part of her stunned. I can't make out myself what ails her, but there is undoubtedly one partof her stunned. "

"We will take her home, " said Miss Tredgold. 

The good lady was a person of very direct action and keen resource. Shehad whisked Pauline and Verena off to the sea almost at a moment'snotice, and quite as quickly she brought them back. They were all glad togo. Even Pen was pleased. Pen looked very still and solemn and contentedduring these days. She sat close to Pauline and looked into her eyes overand over again; and Pauline never resented her glance, and seemed to bemore pleased to be with Penelope than with anybody else. 

The nice landau which Miss Tredgold had purchased met the travellers atLyndhurst Road, and the first piece of news which Briar, who had come tomeet them, announced was that the ponies had arrived. 

"Peas-blossom and Lavender are so sweet!" she said. "They came yesterday. We are quite longing to ride them. As to Peas-blossom, he is quite thedearest pony I ever looked at in my life. "

"Peas-blossom will be Pauline's special pony, " said Miss Tredgoldsuddenly. "Do you happen to know if the sidesaddles have arrived?"

"Oh, yes, they have; and the habits, too, " said Briar. "It isdelicious--delicious!"

"Then, Pauline, my dear, you shall have a ride to-morrow morning. "

Pauline scarcely replied. She did not negative the idea of the ride, butneither did she accept it with any enthusiasm. 

There was a wild moment when the entire family were reassembled. All thegirls surrounded Pauline, and kissed her and hugged her as though she hadcome back from the dead. 

"You quite forget, " said Penelope, "that I was nearly drownded, too. Iwas very nearly shutting up of my eyes, and closing of my lips, andstretching myself out and lying drownded and still on the top of thewaves. I was in as big a danger as Pauline, every bit. "

"But you didn't get ill afterwards, as Paulie did, " said the other girls. 

They kissed Pen, for, being their sister, they had to love her after afashion; but their real adoration and deepest sympathy were centred roundPauline. 

Meanwhile Pen, who never cared to find herself neglected, ran off todiscover nurse. 

"Well, " she said when she saw that worthy, "here I am. I'm not pale now. I am rosy. The seaside suits me. The salty waves and the sands, they allagrees with me. How are you, nursey?"

"Very well, " replied nurse, "and glad to see you again. "

"And how is Marjorie? Kiss me, Marjorie. "

She snatched up her little sister somewhat roughly. 

"Don't make the darling cry, " said nurse. 

"All right, " replied Pen. "Sit down, baby; I have no time to 'tend you. Nursey, when I was at the sea I was a very 'portant person. "

"Were you indeed. Miss Pen? But you always think yourself that. And howis Miss Pauline?"

"Paulie?" said Penelope. "She's bad. "

"Bad!" echoed nurse. 

"Yes, all-round bad, " said Penelope. 

As she spoke she formed her mouth into a round O, and looked with bigeyes at nurse. 

"The seaside didn't agree with her, " said Pen. "Nor does the fuss, northe petting, nor the nice food, nor anything else of that sort. The onlything that agrees with Paulie is me. She likes to have me with her, and Iunderstand her. But never mind about Paulie now. I want to ask you aquestion. Am I the sort of little girl that lions would crunch up?"

"I never!" cried nurse. "You are the queerest child!"

"But am I, nursey? Speak. "

"I suppose so, Miss Pen. "

"I thought so, " answered Pen, with a sigh. "I thought as much. I am badthrough and through, then. They never eat good uns. You know that, don'tyou, nursey? They wouldn't touch Marjorie, though she is so round and sowhite and so fat; and they wouldn't look at Adelaide or Josephine, or anyof those dull ones of the family; but they'd eat me up, and poor Paulie. Oh! they'd have a nice meal on Paulie. Thank you, nursey. I am glad Iknow. "

"What is the child driving at?" thought nurse as Penelope marched away. "Would lions crunch her up, and would they crunch up Miss Paulie? Mercyme! I wouldn't like any of us to be put in their way. I do hope Miss Penwon't go off her head after a time; she is too queer for anything. Butwhat is wrong with Miss Pauline? I don't like what she said about MissPauline. "

When nurse saw Pauline she liked matters even less. For though her dearlybeloved young lady looked quite well in health, her eyes were no longerbright, and she did not take the slightest interest in the differentthings which the children had to show her. When asked if she would notlike to visit the stables, now in perfect restoration, and see forherself those darling, most angelic creatures that went by the names ofPeas-blossom and Lavender, she said she was tired and would rather sit inthe rocking-chair on the lawn. 

The others, accompanied by Aunt Sophia, went off to view the ponies; andthen at the last moment Pen came back. She flung herself on the ground atPauline's feet. 

"I has quite made up my mind for ever and ever, " she said. "Not evenlions will drag it from me. "

"What?" asked Pauline. 

"Why, all that I know: about who stole the thimble, and about the picnicon the birthday, and about what Briar and Patty did, and about you, Paulie, and all your wicked, wicked ways. I meant to tell once, but Iwill never tell now. So cheer up; even lions won't drag it from me. "

Pauline put her hand to her forehead. 

"I keep having these stupid headaches, " she said. "They come and go, andwhenever I want to think they get worse. I suppose I have been very bad, and that all you say is right, but somehow I can't think it out. Onlythere is one thing, Pen--if I were you I wouldn't do wrong any more. Itisn't worth while. "

"It is quite worth while getting you cheered up, " said Pen, "so I thoughtI'd let you know. "

That same evening Briar and Patty held a consultation in their own room. 

"We must do it after breakfast to-morrow, " said Patty. 

Just then there was a slight rustle. Briar paused to listen. 

"Those horrid mice have come back again, " she said. "We must getTiddledywinks to spend a night or two in this room. "

"Oh, bother the mice!" was Patty's response. "Let us arrange when we mustsee her. "

"I have planned it all out, " said Briar. "We must tell her justeverything we know. She won't be so terribly angry with Paulie, becausepoor Paulie is not well. But I suppose she will punish us terribly. Ihave been thinking what our punishment ought to be. "

"What?" asked Patty. 

"Why, not to ride either of the ponies until after Christmas. "

"Oh! don't tell her to do that, " said Patty, in some alarm. "I have beenso pining for my rides. "

"There's that mouse again, " said Briar. 

The children now looked under the little beds, and under the farther onethere was something which would certainly have preferred to be thought anenormous mouse. On being dragged to the front, the stout, dishevelledfigure of Penelope Dale was discovered. 

"I comed a-purpose, " said Pen, who did not look the least taken aback. "Isaw by your faces that you were up to fun, and I thought I'd like to bein it. It is well I comed. I am willing to talk to you about everything. Call me a mouse if you like. I don't care. I meant to listen. I am glad Icomed. "

"You are too mean for anything, " said Briar. "You are the horridest girlI ever came across. Why did you dare to hide under my bed in order tolisten to what I had to say to Patty?"

"I knew it all afore, " said Penelope, "so that wasn't why I comed. Icomed to keep you from doing mischief. What are you going to tellto-morrow?"

"That isn't your business, " said Briar. 

"But I am going to make it my business. What you have to tell isn't newsto me. You are going to 'fess 'cos of the pain in your little hearts. Youmust keep your pain, and you must not 'fess. You are going to tell AuntSophy about that wicked, wicked birthday night--how you stole away in thedark across the lawn, and wore your Glengarry caps, and how you didn'tcome back until the morning. But you mustn't tell. Do you hear me, Briarand Patty?"

"But why not? Why should you talk to us like that?" asked Patty. "Whyshouldn't we say exactly what we like?"

"You mustn't tell 'cos of Paulie. She is ill--more ill than you think. She mustn't be punished, nor fretted, nor teased, nor worrited. If youtell it will worrit her, so you mustn't tell. Why do you want to tell?You have kept it dark a long time now. "

"Because we are unhappy, " said Patty then. "We haven't got hard heartslike yours. My heart aches so badly that I can't sleep at nights forthinking of the lies I've told and how wicked I am. "

"Pooh!" said Penelope. "Keep your achy hearts; don't worrit. "

"But it's past bearing, " said Briar. "What we feel is remorse. We musttell. The Bible is full of the wickedness of people not confessing theirsins. We can't help ourselves. We are obliged to tell. "

"Just because you have a bit of pain, " said Pen in a tone of deepestcontempt. "I suppose you think I never have any pain. Little you know. Ihave done a lot of wicked things. I consider myself much the mostdesperate wicked of the family. Your little pains is only pin-prickscompared to mine. It would relieve me to tell, but I love Paulie toomuch, so I won't. We have all got to hold our tongues for the present. Now good-night. I am not a mouse, nor a rat, nor a ferret. But I meanwhat I say. You are not to tell. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

DECEITFUL GIRLS. 

Miss Tredgold was dreadfully puzzled to know what to make of the girls. The time was autumn now; all pretense of summer had disappeared. Autumnhad arrived and was very windy and wet, and the girls could no longerwalk in twos and twos on the pretty lawn. They had to keep to the walks, and even these walks were drenched, as day after day deluges of rain fellfrom the heavens. The Forest, too, was sodden with the fallen leaves, andeven the ponies slipped as they cantered down the glades. Altogether itwas a most chilling, disappointing autumn, winter setting in, so tospeak, all at once. Verena said she never remembered such an early seasonof wintry winds and sobbing skies. The flowers disappeared, several ofthe Forest trees were rooted up in consequence of the terrible gales, andMiss Tredgold said it was scarcely safe for the children to walk there. 

"The best cure for weather of this sort, " she said to herself, "is togive the young people plenty to do indoors. "

Accordingly she reorganized lessons in a very brisk and up-to-datefashion. She arranged that a good music-master was to come twice a weekfrom Southampton. Mistresses for languages were also to arrive from thesame place. A pretty little pony-cart which she bought for the purposeconveyed these good people to and from Lyndhurst Road station. Besidesthis, she asked one or two visitors to come and stay in the house, andtried to plan as comfortable and nice a winter as she could. Verenahelped her, and the younger girls were pleased and interested; and Pendid what she was told, dashing about here and there, and makingsuggestions, and trying to make herself as useful as she could. 

"The child is improved, " said Miss Tredgold to Verena. "She is quiteobliging and unselfish. "

Verena said nothing. 

"What do you think of my new plans, Verena?" said her aunt. "Out-of-doorlife until the frost comes is more or less at a standstill. Beyond themere walking for health, we do not care to go out of doors in this wetand sloppy weather. But the house is large. I mean always to have one ortwo friends here, sometimes girls to please you other girls, sometimesolder people to interest me. I should much like to have one or two_savants_ down to talk over their special studies with your father; butthat can doubtless be arranged by-and-by. I want us to have cheerfulwinter evenings--evenings for reading, evenings for music. I want youchildren to learn at least the rudiments of good acting, and I mean tohave two or three plays enacted here during the winter. In short, if youwill all help me, we can have a splendid time. "

"Oh, I will help you, " said Verena. "But, " she added, "I have no talentfor acting; it is Paulie who can act so well. "

"I wish your sister would take an interest in things, Verena. She isquite well in body, but she is certainly not what she was before heraccident. "

"I don't understand Pauline, " said Verena, shaking her head. 

"Nor do I understand her. Once or twice I thought I would get a gooddoctor to see her, but I have now nearly resolved to leave it to time torestore her. "

"But the other girls--can you understand the other girls, Aunt Sophy?"asked Verena. 

"Understand them, my dear? What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't mean the younger ones--Adelaide and Lucy and the others. Imean Briar and Patty. They are not a bit what they were. "

"Now that you remark it, I have noticed that they are very grave; butthey always do their lessons well, and I have nothing to complain of withregard to their conduct. "

"Nor have you anything to complain of with regard to Paulie's conduct, "said Verena. "It isn't that. "

"Then what is it, my dear?"

"It is that they are not natural. There is something on their minds. I amcertain of it. "

"Verena, " said her aunt gently, "I wonder if I might confide in you. "

Verena started back; a distressed look came over her face. 

"If it happens to be anything against Paulie, perhaps I had better nothear, " she said. 

"I do not know if it is for her or against her. I am as much in the darkas you. I have not spoken of it yet to any one else, but I should like tomention it to you. It seems to me that light ought to be thrown on somerather peculiar circumstances or your sister will never get back her oldbrightness and gaiety of heart. "

"Then if you think so, please tell me, Aunt Sophy, " said Verena. 

She got up as she spoke and shut the door. She was a very bright andpretty-looking girl, but her face sometimes wore too old a look for herage. Her aunt looked at her now with a mingling of affection andcompassion. 

"Come, " she said, "sit on this sofa, darling. We can understand eachother better when we are close together. You know how much I love you, Renny. "

"There never, never was a better aunt, " said the girl. 

"I am not that. But I do love you. Now, dear, I will tell you. Youremember when first I came?"

"Oh, don't I? And how angry we were!"

"Poor children! I don't wonder. But don't you think, Verena, I was a verybrave woman to put myself into such a hornet's nest?"

"Indeed you were wonderful. It was your bravery that first attracted me. Then I saw how good you were, and how kindly you meant, and everythingelse became easy. "

"But was it equally easy for Pauline?"

"I--I don't know. I am sure I do know, however, that now she loves youvery much. "

"Ah! now, " said Miss Tredgold. "But what about the early time?"

"I don't quite know. "

"Verena, if I am to be frank with you, you must be frank with me. "

"I think perhaps she was not won round to you quite as easily as I was. "

"You are right, my dear. It was harder to win her; but she is worthwinning. I shall not rest until I bring her round altogether to my side. Now, little girl, listen. You know what a very odd child we are allforced to consider your sister Pen?"

"I should think so, indeed. " Verena laughed. 

"Well, your sister found out one day, not very long after I came, that Ihad lost a thimble. "

"Your beautiful gold thimble? Of course we all knew about that, " saidVerena. "We were all interested, and we all tried to find it. "

"I thought so. I knew that Pen in particular searched for it withconsiderable pains, and I offered her a small prize if she found it. "

Verena laughed. 

"Poor Pen!" she said. "She nearly broke her back one day searching forit. Oh, Aunt Sophy! I hope you will learn to do without it, for I amgreatly afraid that it will not be found now. "

"And yet, Verena, " said Miss Tredgold--and she laid her hand, whichslightly shook, on the girl's arm--"I could tell you of a certain personin this house to whom a certain dress belongs, and unless I am muchmistaken, in the pocket of that dress reposes the thimble with itssapphire base, its golden body, and its rim of pale-blue turquoise. "

"Aunt Sophy! What do you mean?"

Verena's eyes were wide open, and a sort of terror filled them. 

"Don't start, dear. That person is your sister Pauline. "

"Oh! Pauline! Impossible! Impossible!" cried Verena. 

"It is true, nevertheless. Do you remember that day when she was nearlydrowned?"

"Can I forget it?"

"The next morning I was in her room, and the servant brought in thedark-blue serge dress she wore, which had been submerged so long in thesalt water. It had been dried, and she was bringing it back. The girlheld in her hand the thimble--the thimble of gold and sapphire andturquoise. She held the thimble in the palm of her hand, and said, 'Ifound it in the pocket of the young lady's dress. It is injured, but thejeweller can put it right again. ' You can imagine my feelings. For a timeI was motionless, holding the thimble in my hand. Then I resolved to putit back where it had been found. I have heard nothing of it since fromany one. I don't suppose Pauline has worn that skirt again; the thimbleis doubtless there. "

"Oh, may I run and look? May I?"

"No, no; leave it in its hiding-place. Do you think the thimble mattersto me? What does matter is this--that Pauline should come and tell me, simply and quietly, the truth. "

"She will. She must. I feel as if I were in a dream. I can scarcelybelieve this can be true. "

"Alas! my dear, it is. And there is another thing. I know what littletrinkets you each possess, for you showed them to me when first I came. Have you any reason to believe, Verena, that Pauline kept one trinketback from my knowledge?"

"Oh, no, Aunt Sophy; of course she did not. Pauline has fewer trinketsthan any of us, and she is fond of them. She is not particularly fond ofgay clothes, but she always did like shiny, ornamenty things. "

"When she was ill I saw round her neck a narrow gold chain, to which alittle heart-shaped locket was attached. Do you know of such a locket, ofsuch a chain?"

"No. "

Miss Tredgold rose to her feet. 

"Verena, " she said, "things must come to a climax. Pauline must be forcedto tell. For her own sake, and for the sake of others, we must find outwhat is at the back of things. Until we do the air will not be cleared. Ihad an idea of taking you to London for this winter, but I shall not doso this side of Christmas at any rate. I want us all to have a good time, a bright time, a happy time. We cannot until this mystery is explained. Iam certain, too, that Pen knows more than she will say. She always was acurious, inquisitive child. Now, until the time of the accident Pen wasalways pursuing me and giving me hints that she had something to confide. I could not, of course, allow the little girl to tell tales, and I alwaysshut her up. But from the time of the accident she has altered. She isnow a child on the defensive. She watches Pauline as if she were guardingher against something. I am not unobservant, and I cannot help seeing. From what you tell me, your sisters Briar and Patty are also implicated. My dear Verena, we must take steps. "

"Yes, " said Verena. "But what steps?"

"Let me think. It has relieved my mind to tell you even this much. Youwill keep your own counsel. I will talk to you again to-morrow morning. "

Verena felt very uncomfortable. Of all the Dales she was the most open, in some ways the most innocent. She thought well of all the world. Sheadored her sisters and her father, and now also her aunt, Miss Tredgold. She was the sort of girl who would walk through life without a great dealof sorrow or a great deal of perplexity. The right path would attracther; the wrong would always be repellent to her. Temptation, therefore, would not come in a severe guise to Verena Dale. She was guarded againstit by the sweetness and purity and innocence of her nature. But now forthe first time it seemed to the young girl that the outlook was dark. Heraunt's words absolutely bewildered her. Her aunt suspected Pauline, Pen, Briar, and Patty of concealing something. But what had they to conceal?It is true that when Aunt Sophia first arrived they had felt a certainrepugnance to her society, a desire to keep out of her way, and a longingfor the old wild, careless, slovenly days. But surely long ere this suchfoolish ideas had died a natural death. They all loved Aunt Sophia now;what could they have to conceal?

"I dare not talk about it to the younger girls. I don't want to get intoPen's confidence. Pen, of all the children, suits me least. The people towhom I must appeal are therefore Briar or Patty, or Pauline herself. Patty and Briar are devoted to each other. The thought in one heart seemsto have its counterpart in that of the other. They might even be twins, so deeply are they attached. No; the only one for me to talk to isPauline. But what can I say to her? And Pauline is not well. At least, she is well and she is not well. Nevertheless I will go and see her. Iwill find her now. "

Verena went into the nursery. Pauline was sometimes there. She was fondof sitting by the cosy nursery fire with a book in her hand, which oflate she only pretended to read. Verena opened the nursery door and pokedin her bright head and face. 

"Come in, Miss Renny, come in, " said nurse. 

"I am not going to stay, nurse. Ah, Marjorie, my pet! Come and give me asweet kiss. "

The little baby sister toddled across the floor. Verena lifted her in herarms and kissed her affectionately. 

"I thought perhaps Miss Pauline was here, nurse. Do you happen to knowwhere she is?"

"Miss Pauline has a very bad headache, " said nurse--"so bad that I madeher go and lie down; and I have just lit a bit of fire in her bedroom, for she is chilly, too, poor pet! Miss Pauline hasn't been a bit herselfsince that nasty accident. "

"I am sure she hasn't; but I did not know she was suffering fromheadache. I will go to her. "

Verena ran along the passage. Her own room faced south; Pauline's, alongside of it, had a window which looked due east. Verena softly openedthe door. The chamber was tiny, but it was wonderfully neat and cheerful. A bright fire burned in the small grate. Pauline was lying partly over onher side; her face was hidden. Her dark hair was tumbled about thepillow. 

"Paulie, it is I, " said Verena. "Are you awake?"

"Oh, yes, " said Pauline. 

She turned round almost cheerfully. A cloud seemed to vanish from herface. 

"I am so glad you have come, Renny, " she said. "I see so little of youlately. Get up on the bed, won't you, and lie near me?"

"Of course I love to be with you, but I thought----"

"Oh! don't think anything, " said Pauline. "Just get on the bed and cuddleup close, close to me. And let us imagine that we are back in the oldhappy days before Aunt Sophy came. "

Verena did not say anything. She got on the bed, flung her arms roundPauline's neck, and strained her sister to her heart. 

"I love you so much!" she said. 

"Do you, Renny? That is very, very sweet of you. "

"And you love me, don't you, Paulie?"

"I--I don't know. "

"Pauline! You don't know? You don't know if you love me or not?"

"I don't think that I love anybody, Renny. "

"Oh, Paulie! then there must be something dreadfully bad the matter withyou. "

Pauline buried her face in Verena's soft white neck and lay quiet. 

"Does your head ache very badly, Paulie?"

"Pretty badly; but it is not too bad for us to talk--that is, if you willkeep off the unpleasant subjects. "

"But what unpleasant subjects can there be? I don't understand you, Paulie. I cannot think of anything specially unpleasant to talk of now. "

"You are a bit of a goose, you know, " replied Pauline with a smile. 

"Am I? I didn't know it. But what are the subjects we are not to talkabout?"

"Oh, you must know! Aunt Sophia, for instance, and that awful time atEasterhaze, and the most terrible of all terrible days when I went to theWhite Bay, and Nancy King, and--and my birthday. I can't talk of thesesubjects. I will talk of anything else--of baby Marjorie, and how prettyshe grows; how fond we are of nurse, and of father, and--oh!"

Pauline burst into a little laugh. 

"Do you know that John is courting Betty? I know he is. He went up to herthe other day in the garden and put his hand on her shoulder, and when hethought no one was by he kissed her. I hid behind the hedge, and I hadthe greatest difficulty to keep back a shout of merriment. Isn't it fun?"

"I suppose so, " said Verena. "But, Pauline, what you say makes meunhappy. I wish I might talk out to you. "

Pauline raised herself on her elbow and looked full into Verena's face. 

"What about?" she asked. 

Verena did not speak for a minute. 

"Where are your dresses?" she asked suddenly. 

"My dresses! You silly girl! In that cupboard, of course. I am gettingtidy. You know I would do anything I possibly could to please Aunt Sophy. I can't do big things to please her--I never shall be able to--so I dolittle things. I am so tidy that I am spick-and-span. I hate and loatheit; but I wouldn't leave a pin about for anything. You open that door andlook for yourself. Do you see my skirts?"

Verena got off the bed and opened the cupboard door. Pauline had abouthalf-a-dozen skirts, and they all hung neatly on their respective hooks. Amongst them was the thick blue serge which she had worn on the day whenshe had gone to the White Bay. Verena felt her heart beating fast. Shefelt the color rush into her cheeks. She paused for a moment as if tocommune with her own heart. Then her mind was made up. 

"What are you doing, Renny?" said her sister. "How funny of you to havegone into the cupboard!"

For Verena had absolutely vanished. She stood in the cupboard, andPauline from the bed heard a rustle. The rustling grew louder, andPauline wondered what it meant. A moment later Verena, her face as red asa turkey-cock, came out. 

"Paulie, " she said--"Paulie, there is no good going on like this. Youhave got to explain. You have got to get a load off your mind. You havegot to do it whether you like it or not. How did you come by this?How--did--you--come--by--this?"

As Verena spoke she held in her open palm the long-lost thimble. PoorPauline had not the most remote idea that the thimble was still in thepocket of the blue serge dress. She had, indeed, since the day of heraccident, forgotten its existence. 

"Where did you get it?" she asked, her face very white, her eyes verystartled. 

"In the pocket of the dress you wore on the day you were nearly drownedin the White Bay. "

"I told you not to mention that day, " said Pauline. Her whole facechanged. "I remember, " she said slowly, but she checked herself. Thewords reached her lips, but did not go beyond them. "Put it down, Verena, " she said. "Put it there on the mantelpiece. "

"Then you won't tell me how you got it? It is not yours. You know itbelongs to Aunt Sophy. "

"And it is not yours, Renny, and you have no right to interfere. And whatis more, I desire you not to interfere. I don't love anybody very muchnow, but I shall hate you if you interfere in this matter. "

Verena laid the thimble on the mantelpiece. 

"You can leave me, Renny. I am a very bad girl; I don't pretend I amanything else, but I won't talk to you now. "

"Oh!" said poor Verena. "Oh!"

Before she reached the door of the room she had burst into tears. Heragony was so great at Pauline's behavior to her that her tears becamesobs, and her sobs almost cries of pain. Pauline, lying on the bed, didnot take the least notice of Verena. She turned her head away, and whenher sister had left the room and shut the door Pauline sprang from thebed and turned the key in the lock. 

"Now, I am safe, " she thought. "What is the matter with me? There neverwas anything so hard as the heart that is inside me. I don't care a bitwhether Renny cries or whether she doesn't cry. I don't care a bit whathappens to any one. I only want to be let alone. "

At dinner-time Pauline appeared, and tried to look as though nothing hadhappened. The other girls looked neat and pretty. They had not the leastidea through what a tragedy Verena and Pauline were now living. Verenashowed marks of her storm of weeping, and her face was terriblywoebegone. Miss Tredgold guessed that things were coming to a crisis, andshe was prepared to wait. 

Now, Miss Tredgold was a very good woman; she was also a very wise and avery temperate one. She was filled with a spirit of forbearance, and withthe beautiful grace of charity. She was all round as good a woman as everlived; but she was not a mother. Had she been a mother she would havegone straight to Pauline and put her arms round her, and so acted thatthe hard little heart would have melted, and the words that could notpass her lips would have found themselves able to do so, and the miseryand the further sin would have been averted. But instead of doinganything of this sort, Miss Tredgold resolved to assemble the childrenafter breakfast the next day, and to talk to them in a very plain wayindeed; to assemble all before her, and to entreat the guilty ones toconfess, promising them absolute forgiveness in advance. Having made upher mind, she felt quite peaceful and happy, and went down to interviewher brother-in-law. 

Mr. Dale still continued to like his study. He made no further objectionto the clean and carefully dusted room. If any one had asked him what waspassing in his mind, he might have said that the spirits of Homer andVirgil approached the sacred precincts where he wrote about them andlived for them night after night, and that they put the place in order. He kept the rough words which he had printed in large capitals on thenight when he had returned to his study still in their place of honor onthe wall, and he worked himself with a new sense of zest and freedom. 

Miss Tredgold entered the room without knocking. 

"Well, Henry, " she said, "and how goes the world?"

"The world of the past comes nearer and nearer, " was his reply. "I oftenfeel that I scarcely touch the earth of the nineteenth century. The worldof the past is a very lovely world. "

"Not a bit better than the world of the present, " said Miss Sophia. "Now, Henry, if you can come from the clouds for a minute or two----"

"Eh? Ah! What are you saying?"

"From the clouds, my dear brother, right down to this present prosaic andworkaday world. Can you, and will you give me five minutes of yourattention?"

"Eh? Yes, of course, Sophia. "

Mr. Dale sat very still, drumming with his right hand on his pad ofblotting-paper. Miss Tredgold looked at him; then she crossed the room, took away the pad, his pen and ink, the open volume of Homer, and removedthem to another table. 

"Sit with your back to them; keep your mind clear and listen to me, Henry. "

"To be sure. "

"I want you to come into the schoolroom after breakfast to-morrowmorning. "

"To the schoolroom?"

"I have a reason. I should like you to be present. "

"But it is just my most important hour. You commence lessons with thegirls--when, Sophia?"

"We sit down to our work at nine o'clock. Prayers take ten minutes. Ishould like you to be present at prayers--to conduct Divine worship inyour own house on that occasion. "

"Oh, my dear Sophia! Not that I have any objection--of course. "

"I should hope you have no objection. You will take prayers, andafterwards you will assist me in a most painful task which lies beforeme. "

"Painful, Sophia? Oh, anything I can do to help you, my dear sister, Ishall be delighted to undertake. What is it? I beg of you to be brief, for time does fly. It was only a quarter of an hour ago that I foundHomer----"

"I could say a very ugly word about Homer, " said Miss Tredgold. "Sometimes I wish that I were a man in order that I might swear hard atyou, Henry Dale. As I am a woman I must refrain. Do you know that yourdaughter Pauline, your daughter Briar, your daughter Patty, and yourextraordinary daughter Penelope are all of them about as naughty childrenas they can be. Indeed, in the case of Pauline I consider her worse thannaughty. What she has done I don't know, and I don't know what the othershave done; but there is a weight on their minds, and those four girlsmust be got to confess. And you must be present, and you must speak as afather to them. Now do you understand?"

"I am to be in the schoolroom to-morrow, " said Mr. Dale, "and four of mygirls are turning wicked, and I am not to know what they have done. Iwill be in the schoolroom at nine o'clock to-morrow, Sophia. May I thankyou to hand me back my blotting-pad, my pen and bottle of ink, and mybeloved Homer? Take care of the volume. Take it tenderly. Put both handsunder the binding. Ah! that is so. You will have the goodness to leave menow, Sophia. To-morrow morning at nine o'clock precisely. "

Miss Tredgold went out of the room. 

"How my poor dear sister ever brought herself to marry that man, " shewhispered under her breath, "I know not. But he is capable of beingroused, and I rather fancy I shall manage to rouse him to-morrow. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

PAULINE IN DISTRESS. 

When Pauline went up to her room late that evening she gave Verena a verycold good-night. Her little fire was still burning, for nurse had takencare of it. Verena heard her lock the door. Had she not done so hersister would have gone to her, and begged and prayed, as such a sweetgirl might, for the confidence of Pauline. Verena had to get into bedfeeling lonely and unhappy. Just as she was doing so she heard a firmstep walking down the corridor. A hand turned the handle of Pauline'sdoor, and Verena heard Pen's voice say:

"It's me, Paulie. It's me. Let me in, Paulie. "

Verena instantly opened her own door. 

"Go away, Pen, " she said. "Go straight back to your bed. You are not togo near Pauline to-night. "

"Yes, but I want her, " said Pauline, opening the door and putting out herhead. 

"Very well, " said Verena. "You shall see her with me. I will ring thebell and ask nurse to fetch Aunt Sophy. "

Pauline gave a shrill laugh. 

"It isn't worth all that fuss. Go to bed, Pen. We shall have plenty oftime for our chat to-morrow morning. "

Penelope looked disgusted. Verena stood in the passage until her stoutlittle figure had disappeared. She then turned, hoping that Pauline wouldspeak to her; but Pauline had gone into her room and locked the door. 

Now, Pauline Dale was at this time going through a curious phase. She wasscarcely to be blamed for her conduct, for what she had lately livedthrough had produced a sort of numbness of her faculties, which timeseemed to have no intention of restoring to her. To look at her face nowno one would suppose her to be in the ordinary sense of the word aninvalid; for she was rosy, her eyes were bright, her appetite was good, and she had plenty of strength. Nevertheless there was a certain part ofher being which was numb and cold and half-dead. She was not frightenedabout anything; but she knew that she had behaved as no right-minded orhonorable girl should have done. Verena's words that afternoon had rousedher, and had given her a slight degree of pain. She lay down on her bedwithout undressing. She left the blind up so that the moon could shinethrough her small window, and she kept repeating to herself at intervalsthrough the night the words that had haunted her when she was atEasterhaze: "Wash and be clean. " It seemed to Pauline that the sea wasdrawing her. The insistent voice of the sea was becoming absolutelyunpleasant. It echoed and echoed in her tired brain: "Wash--wash and beclean. " After her accident she had hated the sea while she was there, butnow she wanted to get back to it. She dreaded it and yet she was hungryfor it. 

As she lay with her eyes wide open it seemed to her that she was lookingat the sea. It seemed to her, too, that she really did hear the murmur ofthe waves. The waves came close, and each wave as it pressed nearer andnearer to the excited child repeated the old cry: "Wash and be clean. "

"Oh, if only I could get to the sea!" was her thought. She pressed herhand to that part of her forehead which felt numb and strange. All of asudden the numbness and strangeness seemed to depart. She saw one vividpicture after another, and each picture revealed to her the sin which shehad sinned and the wrong she had committed. At last she saw that fearfulpicture when she stood with her little sister in the White Bay, and thewaves had so nearly drowned them. She sat up in bed. The idea of goingstraight to Aunt Sophia and of telling her everything did not occur toher. She wanted to get back to the sea. How could she manage this? Shewas not in the least afraid of Aunt Sophy; she was only afraid of the Godwhom she had offended. She got up, pushed back her black hair, tied itneatly behind her ears, and taking her little sailor-hat and herdark-blue serge jacket, she put them on. She would go back to the sea. She did not know exactly how she could manage it, but somehow she would. When she was dressed she opened a drawer. She must have money. AuntSophia was liberal in the matter of pocket-money, but Pauline wascareless and spent hers as she got it. All she possessed now was ashilling. She put the shilling into her pocket. Turning round, she sawthe flash of the gold thimble as it rested on the mantelpiece. Sheslipped that also into her pocket. She then opened the window, and, asshe had done on a previous night long ago, she got out and let herselfdown to the ground. She was now out all alone about midnight. Once againthe numb feeling had come back to her; nevertheless her mind was made up. She would at any cost get back to the sea. 

She walked across the grass. By-and-by she found herself at thewicket-gate. When she reached the gate she had a sudden overwhelmingmemory of Nancy King. During the last few weeks she had forgotten Nancy. Now she thought of her. Standing with one hand on the post of thewicket-gate, she reflected on an idea which presented itself to her. Ifshe, Pauline, was wicked--if she had been a naughty girl from thefirst--surely Nancy was worse! If it was necessary for Pauline to washand be clean, it was still more necessary for Nancy. Together they couldvisit the seaside; together lave themselves in the waves; together reachthat beautiful state where sin did not trouble. 

Pauline smiled to herself. She walked through the Forest in the dead ofnight, and presently reached Nancy's home. Now, it would have been a verybad thing for Pauline, as it had very nearly been a bad thing forPenelope some weeks ago, had Lurcher been out. But Lurcher was ill, andhad been sent to a neighboring vet. 's. And it also happened--just, as itwere, in the nick of time--that Farmer King was returning very late fromvisiting a neighboring fair. He had been kept by a friend until pastmidnight, and had driven home through the woods. As Pauline got to thegate the farmer drew up his mare within a few feet of the tired girl. Hesaw a girl standing by the gate, and could not make out who she was orwhat she was doing. He said gruffly:

"You get out of this. What are you doing here at this time of night?"

Then Pauline raised a white face. He recognized the face, gave asmothered, hasty exclamation, sprang to the ground, flung the reins overthe neck of the mare, and came towards the girl. 

"Miss Pauline, " he said, "what in the name of all that is wonderful areyou doing here at this hour?"

Pauline looked full up at him. 

"You said you would help me. You said you would if ever the time came. Iwant to be helped--oh, so badly!--and I have come. "

"Because I said that?" exclaimed the farmer, his face flushing all overwith intense gratification. "Then you be certain of one thing, mydear--sure and positive certain--that when Farmer King says a thing hewill do it. You come straight in with me, missy--straight in with me thisblessed minute. "

Pauline gave him her hand. It was quite wonderful how he soothed her, howher fear seemed to drop away from her, how contented and almost happy shefelt. 

"You are very strong, aren't you?" she said. "You are very, very strong?"

"I should about think I am. I can lift a weight with any man in England, cut up a sheep with any man in existence, run a race with any farmer ofmy age. Strong! Yes, you are right there, missy; I am strong--strong asthey're made. "

"Then you are what I want. You will help me. "

The farmer opened the hall door with his latch-key. Nancy had been in bedfor an hour or more. The farmer unlocked the door which led into thekitchen. 

"The parlor will be cold, " he said, "and the drawing-room will be sort ofmusty. We don't use the drawing-room every night. But the kitchen--thatwill be all right. You come right into the kitchen, Miss Pauline, andthen you'll tell me. "

He took her into the kitchen, lit a big lamp which hung over thefireplace, and poked the ashes in the big stove. 

"You do look white and trembly all over. Shall I call Nancy to see you, miss?"

"Please, please do. "

Farmer King went noisily upstairs. 

"Nancy!" he called to his daughter. "I say, Nancy!"

Nancy was in her first sleep. She opened her eyes at the sound of thefarmer's voice, and said in a sleepy tone:

"Well, what now, dad? I wish you wouldn't call me just because you comein late. "

"You get up, my girl. There's trouble downstairs. Missy has come. "

"Missy? Miss Pen?"

"No, not Miss Pen; the other one--the one we love, both of us--the onewho was our queen--Miss Pauline. She's downstairs, and she's shockingbad. She has come to me to help her. "

"Why, of course she's bad, father, " said Nancy. "Don't you know all thathappened? Pauline was nearly drowned at Easterhaze, and they say shehasn't been quite, so to say, right in her head ever since. I have beennearly mad about it. "

"Sane, you mean, to my way of thinking, " exclaimed the farmer; "for younever said a word to me about it, eating your meals as hearty andcontented as you please, buying your winter finery, and talking aboutgoing to London for Christmas. Give me a friend who will think of me whenI am in trouble. But the lass knows what's what, and it isn't to you shehas come; it's to me. She wants me to help her because I made her apromise, forsooth! But you come right down, for she will want a bit ofcuddling from a girl like yourself. Come right down this minute and seeher, for she badly wants some one to do something for her. "

Now, Nancy was really fond of Pauline, notwithstanding her father'swords, and she got up willingly enough and ran downstairs to the kitchen;and when she saw her little friend sitting by the fire, looking verywhite, her head dropped forward, and her big black eyes fixed with analmost vacant expression straight before her, a great lot of Nancy'sheart did go out to the sad and unhappy girl. She rushed to her side, threw her arms round her, and hugged her over and over again. 

"Come, " said the farmer, "it's a bit of something to eat she wants; thento go upstairs and share your bed with you, Nance. And in the morning, why, I am at her service. "

"Yes, that's what you do want, isn't it, Paulie?" said Nancy. 

Pauline nodded. She felt almost incapable of speaking. So the farmerbrought her food, and made her eat and drink. And then she went upstairswith Nancy, and Nancy made her he down by her side, and when they wereboth together in the dark, in the warm bed in the pretty room, Paulineflung her arms round Nancy and began to cry. It was really quite a longtime since Pauline had cried. At first her tears came slowly and withgreat difficulty; but in a little they rained from her eyes more and moreeasily, until at last they came in torrents, and her tears hurt her andshook her little frame, and came faster, and yet faster, until from sheerexhaustion she dropped asleep. But when Pauline woke from that sleep itseemed to her that the numb part had greatly left her brain and that shecould think clearly. Only, still she had no wish to go back to The Dales. She only wanted to wash and be clean. 

"You are the queerest girl that ever lived, " said Nancy. "You come rightdownstairs and have breakfast. Of course, they are sure to look for youand try to find you, but you must come straight downstairs now and hearwhat father has got to say. "

Pauline got up willingly enough and went downstairs. There was a groaningbreakfast on the board. On most occasions the farmers' servants ate belowthe salt, but now only the farmer and his daughter Nancy were present. 

"Here's cake worth eating, " said the farmer, "and new-laid eggs worthtaking; and here's honey the like of which is not to be found anywhereelse, even in the New Forest. And here's chicken rissoles, and here'scooked ham. Now, missy, fall to--fall to. "

Pauline ate very little, and then she turned to the farmer. 

"And now you want me to help you?" he said. 

"I want you to take me to the seaside. I want Nancy to come, too. I wantto go where the waves are high, and where I can wash and be clean. "

"My word!" said the farmer, "what does the little lass say?"

"I don't want to go home. I can't go home. If I am alone with you andwith Nancy I might get better. Don't let me go home. "

"My lass, my lass, you have applied to Farmer King in your trouble, andFarmer King won't desert you. I have not the most remote notion whattrouble it can be that worrits a poor little lass, but, such as it is, Farmer King will be your friend. There is no doubt, my dear, that whenthey miss you at The Dales they will come to look for you here, and whatam I to do?"

"Hide me! Oh, hide me! I can't go home. "

"What a lark!" cried Nancy. "We could, couldn't we, father?"

"And we won't, " said the farmer, bringing his hand down with a great bangon the table. "What we do we'll do above-board. We did wrong that time inthe summer when we took miss to that picnic and got her into trouble. Nowwe're bound to see her out of her trouble. It has to do with that nightpartly, hasn't it, missy?"

"I have never been happy since, " said Pauline. 

"Well, then, my dear, I said I would help you out if the time came, and Iwill. You shall stay here--I vow it--and I am just going to get on myhorse Caesar, and I shall ride over to The Dales this blessed minute. Youleave it to me. You leave it all to me, my dear. "

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

FARMER KING. 

Since Pauline's illness she had very often not been down in time forbreakfast. The fact, therefore, that she did not appear on this specialmorning caused no excitement in the mind of any one. Miss Tredgold was somuch absorbed in the task which lay before her that she scarcely noticedthe little girl's absence; nurse would see to her, would take her aproper meal, would do all that was necessary. Very often nurse did notdisturb Pauline until long after the others had breakfasted, for thedoctor had said that she ought never to be wakened when asleep, and thatshe ought to have as much rest and sleep as possible. So breakfast cameto an end. There was a weight in the air. Now, it happened that the daywas a specially fine one, for the skies, after crying so many tears, hadcleared up, the sun had come out, and the few flowers that were left heldup their heads gayly and tried to forget the storm through which they hadlived and the winter days which were before them. 

Mr. Dale had, of course, forgotten what he had promised his sister-in-lawto do on the previous night. But Miss Tredgold had not the slightest ideaof letting him off. 

"Come, Henry, " she said; "we will go into the schoolroom to prayers. "

Accordingly they went, and Mr. Dale read prayers in his somewhat sleepytones. The children, with the exception of Pauline, were all present. Atlast family worship was finished and the servants were allowed to leavethe room. As nurse was going she looked at Verena. 

"Miss Pauline is sleeping longer than usual, " she said. "She asked me afew days ago never to waken her, and said she would ring her bell whenshe wanted breakfast or hot water. I had better find out if she isawake. "

"Yes, do, nurse, " said Miss Tredgold briskly; "and ask her to be quickand come downstairs. I want all the children except little Marjorie to bepresent. "

"Oh, my dear Sophia!" said Mr. Dale at that moment, "you cannot expect meto wait here with all my morning's work neglected while one of the girlschooses to dress herself. "

"Here's a very interesting paper on Plato, " said Miss Tredgold suddenly, and as she spoke she handed Mr. Dale the last number of the _Spectator_. "I thought you might like to see it. "

"Eh? What?" he cried. "An article on Plato. By whom?"

"By the great classical scholar, Professor Mahaffy, " replied MissTredgold calmly. 

Mr. Dale was in an intense state of excitement. 

"When did this come?"

"On Saturday morning. "

"But this is Wednesday. How is it I did not see it before?"

"To tell you the truth, Henry, I read it and kept it back on purpose. Iwant to keep your attention until all the family are assembled. Here isyour chair, here are your spectacles, and here is the paper. "

Mr. Dale took the paper, muttering to himself:

"Mahaffy--Mahaffy; one of the greatest scholars of the time;" and then hewas lost to external things. 

Yes, Mr. Dale of The Dales, the head of an ancient house, the father of alarge family, forgot everything on earth except a certain disputedpassage in which he and Professor Mahaffy diametrically disagreed. Hecontinued to forget everything else, even when nurse rushed into theroom. 

"Why, she has gone!" cried the good woman. "She ain't in her bed; andwhat's more, she's been out of it for hours, and the window is open. Oh, whatever has come to the child? Where in the world is she?"

Miss Tredgold looked terribly startled. Verena's face turned like asheet. Briar and Patty clasped each other's hands. Pen said to herself:

"This is the time for a good sort of child like me to do something. "

Then a clatter of horse's hoofs was heard on the gravel outside, and astoutly built, rubicund man, on a very large horse, drew rein at thefront door. 

"It's Farmer King!" cried Verena. 

"Yes, it's Farmer King, " said Pen. 

"Penelope, be quiet, " said her aunt. 

The next moment the door was opened, and the parlor-maid said that FarmerKing had come and was anxious to see Mr. Dale and Miss Tredgold. 

"Show him in here, " said Miss Tredgold. "Henry, have the goodness to giveme that paper. "

"But I---- My dear Sophia, I have not finished reading it. I don't agreea bit with Mahaffy--not a bit. He takes the text in its literal meaning. He ought to read it with the context. Now, there is not the slightestmanner of doubt that Plato meant----"

"Henry! Are you mad? Give me that paper. "

It is to be regretted that Miss Tredgold snatched the _Spectator_ fromMr. Dale's unwilling hand. 

"Now, Henry, wake up, " she said. "Pauline is lost, and Farmer King hascome to speak to us both on a matter of importance. "

Just then Farmer King came into the room. Now, the Kings may have beenthe humble retainers of the Dales for generations, but there was not theslightest doubt that Farmer King made a far more imposing appearance atthat moment than did Mr. Dale of The Dales; for Mr. Dale stood up, thin, bewildered, shivering, his mind in the past, his eyes consumed by a sortof inward fire, but with no intelligence as far as present things wereconcerned; and Farmer King was intensely wide awake, and, so to speak, all there. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Dale, " he said. "And I beg your pardon, miss. Ipresume I am speaking to Miss Tredgold?"

"You are, Mr. King, " said that lady. 

"Good-day to you all, misses, " said the farmer. 

He looked round at the somewhat frightened little group of sisters in thebackground. 

"I have come to say something, " said the farmer. "It is something aboutMiss Pauline. It is something about myself and Nancy, and it has to dowith you, sir"--here he bowed low to Mr. Dale--"and with you, madam"--hisbow was not quite so reverential when he turned to the lady. 

"What is it? Please speak, " said Miss Tredgold. "We are very anxiousabout Pauline. Our nurse has just told us that she is not in her bedroom. Do you know where she is?"

"Well, madam, about half an hour ago I left Miss Pauline seated in mywarm kitchen, in the company of my good daughter, Nancy, and eating asgood a breakfast as I could provide for her. She did not eat much, madam, but it is there for her acceptance. The young lady is heartily welcome. She prefers us to you for the time being. She did not want you to knowanything about it, but that ain't quite my way, so I came to explain. "

"Please, please, Aunt Sophy, don't be too angry, " here came from Verena'slips. 

"Silence, Verena!" said her father. 

Surely there was quite a new note in his voice! He rose; his languor lefthim; he came up to Farmer King and held out his hand. 

"Why, good old friend, " he said, "it seems ages since we met. Do youremember that day when we were boys together and went in search ofrobins' eggs?"

"Don't I?" said the farmer. 

He gave an embarrassed laugh, which ended in a sort of roar. 

"And haven't I the eggs safe still?" he said. "I have parted with manythings, but not with the eggs the young squire and I took together. "

"It is ages since we met, " said Mr. Dale. "You are looking very well, Robert--admirably well. I am pleased to see you. Sit down, won't you?Pray sit down. "

"That man is enough to turn the brain of any one, " was Miss Tredgold'sprivate ejaculation. Aloud she said:

"I presume, Farmer King, that you have not come here without a story totell. "

"That is just it, madam. And now, if I may speak, I will tell you mystory. "

"We are all prepared to listen, " said Miss Tredgold. 

"Yes, Robert, and with attention--with attention and interest, " said Mr. Dale. "Why, upon my word, this is almost as good as a fresh rendering ofthe immortal Plato. Sit down, farmer, sit down. "

The farmer did not sit down. 

"It's no use mincing matters, " he said, "nor walking round the bush. Itis just this. If there is a family on this earth that I have been proudto have to do with, it is that of the Dales. If there were children thatI loved next to my own, it was the Dales. Why, I was brought up, so tospeak, to look on them as my liege lords. My mother had the old feudalprinciples in her, and she never went with the times. She never held thatwe were as good as our betters. We were good enough, straight enough, honest enough, but we hadn't the blue blood of the Dales in us. That ishow I was brought up. Well, you, sir, were married, and came to live herewith your good lady. It was the will of the Almighty that she should betaken, and the children were left motherless; and my little Nancy and I, we used to watch to do them a kindness. They were right pleased to comeover and see us, and to ride barebacked on my two Forest ponies, and havetheir fun whenever they could get as far away as The Hollies. And Nancywas free to come to your house, and much she enjoyed it. "

"Well, Robert, very natural--very natural indeed, " said Mr. Dale. 

"So I took it; so I took it. "

Here the farmer flashed an angry eye in the direction of Miss Tredgold. 

"But never mind, " he continued. "I did not presume--far from that--farindeed from that. It pleased the Almighty to give you ten daughters, Mr. Dale, and to give me but one. And I love my one as much, perhaps, as youlove the whole of your ten. But be that as it may, when Nancy went to TheDales to have her fun and her larks and her gay time, I was as pleased asPunch. And then this good lady came, and she said to herself, 'Who isNancy King?' and the young ladies told her the plain truth; and then thisgood lady did not take the trouble to inquire. A farmer's daughter wasonly a farmer's daughter to her. Oh, I am not blaming her; but a littlethought, a little less prejudice, would have prevented a lot of mischief. Anyhow, the good aunt gave the word--my girl and the young ladies were tohave nothing to do with each other in the future. Mark you that, sir, when they were brought up, so to speak, together--always tumbling aboutin the same hay-field, and riding the same ponies, and playing the samegames. It was all to end because of madam. Now, Mr. Dale, I was real madwhen Nancy came and told me what had happened. My feelings were hot andstrong and bitter, and I thought the treatment dealt out to my child andme none too just. So, sir, when Nancy asked me to help her, I helped witha will. When Miss Pauline came over to see us--which she did unknown toher aunt--I gave her the best of welcomes, and we started our midnightpicnic for no other reason in life but to have her with us. "

"When did you have your midnight picnic?" asked Miss Tredgold verygently. "When? Kindly give me the date. "

The farmer looked into her face. When he saw how white she was, and whenhe glanced at the two little girls, Briar and Patty, his heart smote him. 

"I was given over to evil feelings at that time, " he said, "and I don'tpretend for a moment I did right. Miss Pauline didn't want to be coaxed, but Nancy was a rare temptress. We did our best, and the childrencame--three of them. You want to know the date, madam. It was the date ofMiss Pauline's birthday--the night after her birthday. Oh, yes, madam, wehad our wild time--a right good time, too. " The farmer gave a shortlaugh. "You thought your young ladies quite out of the reach of theinfluence of Farmer King and his family; but you never guessed, madam, that all through one long beautiful summer night we had revels in thewoods--dancing, madam; and a picnic, no less; and the young miss crownedwith flowers as queen, and given the best presents we could give her. Wetook a drive under the oaks and elms and beeches of the New Forest, andyou never guessed, madam--never. But Miss Pauline, Miss Briar, and MissPatty were there, and Miss Pauline was our queen. Ah! she had a gaybirthday, but you ask her what sort of a birthnight she had. It is trueshe was queen of the day, but that was nothing to the time when she wasqueen of the night. Well, sir"--the farmer's eyes shone as he spoke----"I meant it as a big joke, and I was desperately proud of myself; but Isaw even then that Miss Pauline was fretting, and I spoke to her quiteseriously, and I said, 'If ever the time comes when you want a friend, Iam the man for your purpose. Don't you forget that; because you are aDale and I am a King, and you Dales have always been our liege lords, sodon't you forget that. ' And the child, sir, she believed me. Lots ofthings happened afterwards, but of them I have nothing to say until lastnight. Miss Pauline came back to me, and she reminded me of what I hadsaid to her that night in the woods. And, sir--and, madam--I mean to keepmy promise. I came home at midnight, and there she was standing at thegate, white and slim and pretty as though she was a moonbeam. And shesaid, 'You promised to help me when I was in trouble, and I have come toyou to get you to keep your promise. ' Now, sir and madam, I have comehere about that. The young lady wants to be helped. She has got a shock, and wants a bit of humoring. She says some words which have no meaning tome, but they mean something to her, and she must be humored. 'I want towash and be clean, ' she keeps saying; and she wants Nancy and me to takeher away to the seaside where the waves are big and strong, and sheinsists on it that she will only go with Nancy and me. So, Miss Tredgoldand Mr. Dale, I have come here to-day to say that we mean to take her. "

"Can I see her?" asked Miss Tredgold. "I have nothing to say. Perhaps Idid wrong that time. We all make mistakes sometimes. I ought to haveknown you better, Mr. King. But that time is over. The important thingnow is to restore the balance of Pauline's mind. Can I see her?"

"You can, madam, when the right time comes; but that is not to-day, andit won't be to-morrow. This is my business now, madam, and you must leaveit to me. "

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE CLEANSING WATERS. 

That very day Farmer King went away with his daughter and Pauline. Theywent to a small village called Rosestairs, not many miles fromEasterhaze. The farmer was immensely proud and pleased at having the careof Pauline, and he was determined that if man could restore her tohealth, he would be that individual. Rosestairs was a very pretty littleplace, and quite sheltered. The Kings took lodgings in a tiny cottage, where they lived as plainly as people could. Here Pauline rested and tooklong walks, and, as she expressed it afterwards, found herself again. Butalthough day by day the weight in her head grew less, the haunting wordsstill clung to her: "Wash and be clean. " One night they entered into herdreams, and she awoke quite early with the words hovering on her lips:"Wash, Pauline; wash and be clean. " Nancy was sleeping peacefully by herside. Pauline raised her head. She felt well--absolutely well--but forthose haunting words. She stole out of bed and went and stood by thewindow. 

The sea was only a few yards off, and the waves were coming in fresh andlovely and sparkling. "Come, wash, " they seemed to say, and each softthud of a wave on the shore seemed to repeat the words. 

"I will--I will; I must, " thought the young girl. 

She opened her trunk very softly, took out her bathing-dress, put it on, and ran down to the beach. There was no one about. In a moment she hadentered the waves. She breasted them as far as her waist; she ducked andcovered herself with the invigorating salt water. And as the sparklingsalt water rolled over her, it seemed to her fancy that a load rolled offher mind. She felt light of heart and gay. She felt cheerful and happy. Afew minutes later she was back in the cottage. Nancy turned in her sleep, started, opened her sleepy eyes, and looked at the dripping figurestanding in the middle of the room. 

"Why, Paulie, " she cried, "what are you doing? Oh, you are dripping wet;your hair and all. What have you been at?"

"I am wet because I have washed. I have washed and I am clean. Oh, Nancy, Nancy! it is as right as possible. The terrible, haunting words havegone, and the longing for the sea has gone. I know that I am forgiven. Nancy, do you hear? I am washed, and I am clean. Oh! I know at last whatit means. "

"For goodness' sake take off those wet things and get back into bed andlet me warm you up. You will catch your death. "

"My death!" cried Pauline, "when I am so happy I scarcely know how tocontain myself. "

Nancy sprang out of bed, dragged Pauline towards her, and helped her topull off her wet things. Then she wrapped her up in her warm night-dress, made her cuddle down in bed, and kissed her and hugged her. 

"Oh, dear!" she said, "you are the queerest girl; but your face looks asit did long ago. "

"I feel as I did long ago--or, rather, I feel different. I was a childthen and did not understand much. Now, it seems to me, I understand agreat deal--yes, a great deal. Oh! and there is your father in thegarden. I must dress; I must go to him. "

So Pauline jumped out of bed, got quickly into her clothes, and ran outto join the farmer. 

"Mr. King, " she cried, "I am quite well again. "

"It looks like it, little missy, " said the farmer. 

"I am, " repeated Pauline. "I am as perfectly well as a girl can be. Youknow how often I told you I wanted to wash and be clean. I had my washthis morning, and it was really what I did want, for that dull feelinghas left my head. I know just everything, and how I behaved, and all therest, and I am prepared to take the bitter as well as the sweet. It isvery, very sweet living here with you and Nancy, and whatever happens, you will be my friends as long as I live. And it is very bitter to thinkthat I must tell Aunt Sophia and Verena and the rest of them the wholetruth; but, bitter or not, I am going to do it, and I am going back tothem, for it is right. I want to go back to them this very day. May I?"

"Yes, my lass; I understand you, " said the farmer gravely. 

 * * * * *

It was a lovely day for the time of year; although it was November, thesun shone brilliantly. Miss Tredgold stood on the lawn in front of thehouse and talked to Verena, who stood by her side. 

"I understand all of you now, Verena, " she said, "except Pauline. I neverdid understand her, and I sometimes think I never shall, poor child!"

"Oh, yes, you will, " said Verena. "When Paulie comes back she will be asyou never knew her--as she used to be, her sweetest and best. In someways she is stronger and better and braver than any of us. I think sheought to make a splendid woman some day, for she has so much characterand so much determination. "

"I think I have done the rest of you good by coming here; but if I havedone Pauline harm, I sometimes wonder if I can ever be happy again, " saidthe poor lady. 

"You have not done her harm. Only wait until she comes back. She is justgetting the right treatment now. She felt everything so terribly that hermind was quite numb and incapable of conducting her right for a time; butwait until she returns. "

"Day after day I long and hope for her return, " said Miss Tredgold, "butday after day there is a fresh excuse. "

"And yet you say you want her to return, " said Verena. "Oh, aunty, aunty!who is this coming up the path? Here she is--Paulie herself; and Nancy isfollowing her, and there is Farmer King. They have entered by thewicket-gate and are coming up through the plantation. Oh, look, look! Andshe is well. I know by the way she walks, by the way she runs, by the wayshe smiles. She is as well as ever she was in all her life. "

"Better--far better than ever!" cried Pauline's gay and almost rollickingvoice. "Here I am, stronger than ever, and quite, quite well. "

The next moment Pauline's arms were flung round her aunt's neck. 

"You must forgive me first of all, " she said. "I have come back toconfess, and I want to get my confession over. I want all the others tostand round and listen. Ah! here they come. Don't rush at me for amoment, girls. Don't hug me or do anything of that sort. Stand still andlisten, listen, listen. I was rebellious, and I did wrong, and----"

"My darling, " interrupted Miss Tredgold, "we know the whole story. Weonly want you to confess that you did wrong, and then never, never toallude to it again; for I see, Pauline, by your eyes that you mean to doright now. "

"I will obey you because I love you, " said Pauline. 

"There, madam! I think she is pretty well restored, " cried the farmer. "And she is the best young lady in the world. Nancy and I have broughther home, and now, with your permission, madam, we will take our leave. "

"Nothing of the sort!" cried Miss Tredgold. "If you did wrong, Pauline, Iwas by no means altogether in the right. I little knew when I told you, my dears, to have nothing more to do with Farmer King and his daughter, that I was preventing your enjoying the society of a gentleman. Pleaseshake hands with me, Mr. King. "

Farmer King's face was quite pale with emotion. 

"I admire you; I thank you, " said Miss Tredgold. "You are a man in athousand;" and again she held out her hand. 

This time Farmer King wrung it. But he was absolutely speechless; not asingle word passed his lips. 

"Nancy, " said Miss Tredgold, "I revoke what I said. You must come and seemy girls whenever you like. "

"On condition, madam, " said the farmer, "that the young ladies sometimescome to see Nancy and me. "

"Certainly, " said Miss Tredgold; "but I also must put in a condition. "

"What is that, madam?"

"That I occasionally accompany them. "

But at this the farmer gave such a cheer of hearty goodwill that all thechildren joined in in spite of themselves. 

"Was there ever anything quite so jolly in all the world?" cried Pauline. "I feel younger than ever, and jollier than ever. Here comes father, too. We are all together. Father, I am back again, and it is all owing toFarmer King and Nancy that I am cured. Whom shall we cry three cheersfor? You give the word. "

"Aunt Sophy, of course, " cried Verena. 

"Hip! hip! hurrah!" shouted the Dale family. 

"And I should like to suggest a hearty cheer for my good old friend, Farmer King, " said Mr. Dale. 

"And for his cure, " said Pauline. 

And then the Dale family and the King family joined hands and shouted"Hip! hip! hurrah!" once more. 

THE END.