LITMIR.BIZ

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splendours that would annihilate the aunt. Things seemed tending to a fracture of the ice under the cruellest cousin of all, and her rescue by Clare, when they would be carried senseless into the great house, and the recognition of Clare and the discomfiture of her foes would take place. How could Dolores shut the book at such a critical moment!

      So there she was sitting in the midst of her scattered books, when the galloping and scampering began again, and Mysie knocked at the door to tell her there were pears, apples, biscuits, and milk in the dining-room, and that after consuming them, lessons had to be learnt for the next day, and then would follow amusements, evening toilette, seven o’clock tea, and either games or reading aloud till bedtime. As to the books, Mysie stood aghast.

      ‘I thought nurse and Lois had done them all for you.’

      ‘They did them all wrong, so I took them down.’

      Oh, dear! We must put them in, or there’ll be a report.’

      ‘A report!’

      ‘Yes, Nurse Halfpenny reports us whenever she doesn’t find our rooms tidy, and then we get a bad mark. Perhaps mamma wouldn’t give you one this first day, but it is best to make sure. Shall I help you, or you won’t have time to eat any pears?’

      Dolores was thankful for help, and the books were scrambled in anyhow on the shelves; for Mysie’s good nature was endangering her share of the afternoon’s gouter, though perhaps it consoled her that her curiosity was gratified by a hasty glance at the backs of her cousin’s story-books.

      By the time the two girls got down to the dining-table, every one had left the room, and there only remained one doubtful pear, and three baked apples, besides the loaf and the jug of milk. Mysie explained that not being a regular meal, no one was obliged to come punctually to it, or to come at all, but these who came tardily might fare the worse. As to the blackberries, for which Dolores inquired, the girls were going to make jam of them themselves the next day; but Mysie added, with an effort, she would fetch some, as her cousin had had none in the gathering.

      ‘Oh no, thank you; I hate blackberries,’ said Dolores, helping herself to an apple.

      ‘Do you?’ said Mysie, blankly. ‘We don’t. They are such fun. You can’t think how delicious the great overhanging clusters are in the lane. Some was up so high that Hal had to stand up in the cart to reach them, and to take Fergus up on his shoulder. We never had such a blackberrying as with mamma and Hal to help us. And only think, a great carriage came by, with some very grand people in it; we think it was the Dean; and they looked down the lane and stared, so surprised to see what great mind to call out, ‘Fee, faw, fum.’ You know nothing makes such a good giant as Fergus standing on Hal’s shoulders, and a curtain over them to hide Hal’s face. Oh dear, I wish I hadn’t told you! You would have been a new person to show it to.’

      Dolores made very little answer, finished her apple, and followed to the schoolroom, where an irregular verb, some geography, and some dates awaited her.

      Then followed another rush of the populace for the evening meal of the live stock, but in this Dolores was too wary to share. She made her way up to her retreat again, and tried to lose the sense of her trouble and loneliness in a book. Then came the warning bell, and a prodigious scuffling, racing and chasing, accompanied by yells as of terror and roars as of victory, all cut short by the growls of Mrs. Halfpenny. Everything then subsided. The world was dressing; Dolores dressed too, feeling hurt and forlorn at no one’s coming to help her, and yet worried when Mysie arrived with orders from Mrs. Halfpenny to come to her to have her sash tied.

      ‘I think a servant ought to come to me. Caroline always does,’ said the only daughter with dignity.

      ‘She can’t, for she is putting Primrose to bed. Oh, it’s so delicious to see Prim in her bath,’ said Mysie, with a little skip. ‘Make haste, or we shall miss her, the darling.’

      Dolores did not feel pressed to behold the spectacle, and not being in the habit of dressing without assistance, she was tardy, and Mysie fidgeted about and nearly distracted her. Thus, when she reached the nursery, Primrose was already in her little white bed-gown, and was being incited by Valetta to caper about on her cot, like a little acrobat, as her sisters said, while Mrs. Halfpenny declared that ‘they were making the child that rampageous, she should not get her to sleep till midnight.’

      They would have been turned out much sooner, and Primrose hushed into silence, if nurse’s soul had not been horrified by the state of Dolores’ hair and the general set of her garments.

      ‘My certie!’ she exclaimed—a dreadful exclamation in the eyes of the family, who knew it implied that in all her experience Mrs. Halfpenny had never known the like! And taking Dolores by the hand, she led the wrathful and indignant girl back into her bedroom, untied and tied, unbuttoned and buttoned, brushed and combed in spite of the second bell ringing, the general scamper, and the sudden apparition of Mysie and Val, whom she bade run away and tell her leddyship that ‘Miss Mohoone should come as soon as she was sorted, but she ought to come up early to have her hair looked to, for ‘twas shame to see how thae fine London servants sorted a motherless bairn.’

      Dolores felt herself insulted; she turned red all over, with feelings the old Scotchwoman could not understand. She expected to hear the message roared out to the whole assembly round the tea-table, but Mysie had discretion enough to withhold her sister from making it public.

      The tea itself, though partaken of by Lady Merrifield, seemed an indignity to the young lady accustomed to late dinners. After it, the whole family played at ‘dumb crambo.’ Dolores was invited to join, and instructed to ‘do the thing you think it is;’ but she was entirely unused to social games, and thought it only ridiculous and stupid when the word being a rhyme to ite, Fergus gave rather too real a blow to Wilfred, and Gillian answered, ‘’Tis not smite;’ Wilfred held out a hand, and was told, ‘’Tis not right;’ Val flourished in the air as if holding a string, and was informed that ‘kite’ was wrong; when Hal ran away as if pursued by Fergus by way of flight; and Mysie performed antics which she was finally obliged to explain were those of a sprite. Dolores could not recollect anything, and only felt annoyed at being made to feel stupid by such nonsense, when Mysie tried to make her a present of a suggestion by pointing to the back of a letter. Neither write nor white would come into her head, though little Fergus signalized himself, just before he was swept off to bed, by seizing a pen and making strokes!

      After his departure, Lady Merrifield read aloud ‘The Old oak Staircase,’ which had been kept to begin when Dolores came, Hal taking the book in turn with his mother. And so ended Dolores’ first day of banishment.

      CHAPTER V. – THE FIRST WALK

      ‘What a lot of letters for you, mamma!’ cried Mysie.

      ‘Papa!’ exclaimed Fergus and Primrose.

      ‘No, it is not the right day, my dears. But here is a letter from Aunt Ada.’

      ‘Oh!’ in a different tone.

      ‘She writes for Aunt Jane. They will come down here next Monday because Aunt Jane is wanted to address the girls at the G.F.S. festival on Tuesday.’

      ‘Aunt Jane seems to have taken to public speaking,’ said Harry. ‘It would be rather a lark to hear her.’

      ‘You may have a chance,’ said Lady Merrifield, ‘for here is a note from Mrs. Blackburn to ask if I will be so very kind as to let them have the festival here. They had reckoned upon Tillington Park, where they have always had it before, but they hear that all the little Tillingtons have the measles, and they don’t think it safe to venture there.’

      ‘It will be great fun!’ said Gillian. ‘We will have all sorts of games, only I’m afraid they will be much stupider than the Irish girls.’

      ‘And ever so much stupider than the dear 111th children,’ sighed Mysie.

      ‘Aren’t they all great big girls?’ asked Valetta, disconsolately.

      ‘I believe twelve years old is the limit,’ said her mother. ‘Twelve-year-old girls have plenty of play in them, Vals, haven’t they, Mysie? Let me see—two hundred

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