Chapter Five.

Chapter Five.An Old Trick.It was very dull and dreary for the remainder of the month, typical November weather, with what the Trevors called a “pea-soup” atmosphere, deepening now and then into a regular fog. The Square gardens were soaking with moisture, the surrounding houses looked greyer and gloomier than ever, until it seemed impossible to believe that the sky had ever been blue, or that gay-coloured spring flowers had flourished in those black-looking beds.Jack and Jill had the bad taste to approve of fogs. They were “ripping,” they declared. “So adventurous and jolly! Yesterday, when I was walking to school, a hansom drove on the pavement beside me. Think of that!” cried Jill in a tone of triumph. “The horse’s nose nearly touched my shoulder, and an old lady near me shrieked like anything. Itwassport!”Jack was rather envious of the hansom episode, but had had his own share of amusement. “I followed Johnston all the way home, and chaffed him with a pebble in my mouth to disguise my voice. He was nearly mad with rage, and whenever he turned round I simply bent double, and he went for another fellow, and there was no end of a game.”“But how did it happen that you could see him when he couldn’t see you?” queried Jill, when Jack was forced to admit that hehadmade mistakes more than once; but it only added to the sport to see the consternation of innocent pedestrians when an accusing voice suddenly hissed in their ears, “Who sneaked the indiarubber from Smith’s desk?”The twins were happily constituted to enjoy all things, and from their conversation it would have appeared that to be hopelessly lost in a fog would be the climax of earthly joy; but Betty hated the gloom of the long days, when the gas burned steadily from breakfast to bedtime, and was nervous about trusting herself alone in the streets. In her leisure moments she devoted herself to the preparation of Christmas presents, and turned over the contents of her scrap-drawers, debating how to make a dozen handsome articles with the least possible expenditure. It is to be feared that Betty’s gifts were arranged more to suit her own convenience than the tastes of the recipients. “This will make a book-cover for Jill. I don’t suppose she’ll ever use it, but it’s not big enough for anything else, so she’ll just have to like it!” This was the spirit in which she assorted her materials, and set to work thereon. Not the ideal attitude by any means, but one must make allowances for a girl with a small allowance and a large family connection, and must also enter it to the credit of this particular damsel that she grudged no work which could beautify the simple background. Poor Betty! For two whole gloomy afternoons did she work at a spray of roses on a linen work-bag, and on the third day a feeble gleam of sunlight showed itself, and lo, the roses were a harlequin study in pinks and orange!“Is it at all trying? Is it enough to make you pitch the whole thing into the fire?” she demanded dramatically of the chairs and tables, as the horrible discovery burst upon her, and she proceeded to snap at the silk with her sharp little scissors, and viciously tear away the stitches. “Shan’t bother to fill them in any more! They’ll just have to do in outline, and if she doesn’t like it she can do the other thing!” she grunted under her breath; but that was only the impulse of the moment, and when it came to action each stitch was put in as carefully as before.“What are you sewing away at those old things for?” Jill demanded, coming into the room and seating herself easily on the edge of the table. “It’s much easier to buy match-boxes and needle-books. You can get beauties for sixpence three-farthings at the Christmas bazaars, and it saves no end of fag. You can give me safety-pins if you like, for my clothes are all coming to pieces, and my pins disappear like smoke. Mary eats them, I believe! What are you going to give mother?”“Can’t think! She wants a palm for the drawing-room, but a nice one costs half a guinea, and I couldn’t possibly scrape together more than three and six.”Jill pondered, swinging her feet to and fro. “Five more Saturdays at fourpence each,—one and eight-pence, and I’ve got about two shillings in hand. No! I couldn’t possibly offer to join. I wish we could have managed it, for the drawing-room doesn’t look half furnished, and a big palm would have made a fine effect, but we can’t, so there’s an end of that!”A gasp of suppressed nervousness sounded from the end of the room, and Pam’s voice said with the usual funny little squeak, “I’ve got sixpence with a hole in it. I’ll join, Betty! Do get mother a palm! She wants it so badly. We saw one in a shop window yesterday, and she said it was just the thing for our room!”“Sorry, Pam, but it can’t be done. They are a frightful price in the shops, and even old ‘All a-growing all a-blowing’ has none under seven and six. Perhaps when her birthday comes round we can manage it, but at Christmas there are so many presents to buy that one can’t afford big things.”“I want to get it now,” squeaked Pam obstinately, while Jill jumped down from the table and turned to the door.“I’m going out! Can’t afford to waste holiday afternoons. Why don’t you put away that stupid work and come too?”“Where are you going? A walk?”“Rather not! Am I a Pampered Pet to promenade up and down? Jack and I are going to have some fun in the Square. I’m not going to tell you what it is, but you can come too if you like.”Betty raised her head and peered out of the window. Black railings, black trees, sodden grass, paths strewn with decaying leaves, a fast-failing light. She gave a shudder of distaste and sank back in her chair.“Thanks! I prefer the fire. I can’t understand you, Jill, going in for an exam, and wasting every spare moment you get! When I went in, I stewed every Saturday afternoon the whole term, and never dreamed of going out.”“Yes, and got plucked for your pains!” retorted Jill brutally. Poor Betty! She had passed so well in everything but that fatal arithmetic, which made all the difference between success and failure. The figures would not add up, the lines danced before her eyes, she could not remember the simplest table. It was cruel to rake up that old sore. She pressed her lips together and sat in offended dignity, while Jill skipped to the door, tossing her pretty pert head.“I shall take care of my health and my nerves, and not have them breaking down just when I need them most. If the worst comes to the worst, I shall be no worse off than you were yourself, and I shall have had my fun!”She ran downstairs into the hall, where Jack was awaiting her with a brown-paper parcel tucked under his arm, and together they crossed the road to the nearest gate, and let themselves into the garden with a heavy key.“The other corner is the best,” Jack cried, leading the way forward at an eager pace, “more traffic, and thicker bushes. I spotted the exact place yesterday. Have you got the reel in your pocket all right?”“Yes, yes! And you must give me my turn, Jack. It’s only fair, because you wouldn’t let me have a parcel of my own on the other side.”“Of course not! You wouldn’t expect to find two lost parcels within a few yards of each other, would you? You want to give the whole show away!” cried Jack in indignant schoolboy fashion. “Now don’t talk so much, but creep between these bushes when nobody is passing. There’s room for us both, and I can get a pull at the string between these branches. We’ll have a rehearsal now, and see how it works.” He crawled forward on the dank earth, in easy unconcern for the knees of his trousers, dropped the daintily-wrapped parcel on to the centre of the pavement, and crept back to his place, holding in his hand the end of a long black thread.They crouched together behind the bushes, as mischievous a Jack and Jill as have been known since the world began, giggling with anticipated glee, nudging each other violently at the sound of approaching footsteps, and peering eagerly through their loopholes to see what manner of prey was about to fall into their hands.First, a fine lady walking gingerly along, both hands occupied in keeping her skirt from contact with the greasy pavement. She looked at the parcel with blank indifference, and passed quietly on her way. The twins gasped with stupefaction. Could such things be? Was it possible that a human creature could be so surfeited with the good things of this world, that she could behold an unopened parcel lying on the ground, and feel no curiosity to discover what was inside? Imagination refused to picture such a position!“Mad!” was Jack’s scornful explanation. “Mad as a March hare! Ought to be shut up out of the way. Walked straight over the string too. Hope to goodness she hasn’t broken it!”A flick to the end of the string proved that this fear was unfounded, and the twins composed themselves for another period of waiting. Pedestrians seemed to prefer the pavement by the houses instead of that darker one overshadowed by the trees of the gardens, and several moments elapsed before a brisk footstep announced the approach of a tall, well set-up man clad in a light overcoat. His eye lit on the parcel, he bent his head and stretched out a hand to raise it up. Instantly Jack gave a flick to the string, to which the parcel responded by jumping an inch or two farther along the pavement. The brown-coated man straightened himself, gave a funny little grunt, half amused, half-angry, and strode on his way. He had been a boy himself!The next victim was an old woman carrying a pile of parcels, and breathing heavily from fatigue, but although over-laden, she was evidently nothing loath to add to her burden. The twins could hear her surprised exclamation, and see the hitch of the shoulders with which she freed her right arm for the attack. Down she bent, panting louder than before, until, even as her envious fingers approached the prize, it leapt into the air, and as by some magic process disappeared from sight. Jack was bursting with pride at his own adroitness, and Jill nudged in enthusiastic approval. This came of fishing by the river-banks in the last summer holidays, and gaining dexterity in the art of casting lines! It was wonderful how useful such accomplishments were at times. The bewildered face of the disappointed treasure-seeker was almost too much for the conspirators, and had she not been too much engrossed in her own thoughts she must certainly have heard the splutterings which not even the handkerchief stuffed between Jill’s lips could entirely drown. With a sigh she went on her way, wondering if eyesight were about to fail, as the culmination of her troubles.After this came an errand-boy, whistling as he walked. He made a pounce at the parcel, and when it disappeared had no difficulty in understanding the phenomenon.“Ho, you would, would you?” he cried, and picking up a handful of stones, sent them flying in among the bushes with such force that the twins congratulated themselves on escaping without injury.They learnt a lesson from this experience, and henceforth made a rule of allowing all boys to pass by when they practised this particular pastime. By this time Jill was shivering in her shabby coat, and beginning to cast longing glances across the Square to the lighted schoolroom window. Anticipations of tea and hot buttered toast—the Saturday afternoon treat of years’ standing—made her present position seem unattractive, and she proposed an immediate adjournment home.Jack, however, was not yet satisfied with his achievements.“We haven’t had what I call a real proper rise out of anyone yet. Just once more, and then we’ll run for it,” he protested, and Jill shivered, and yielded to his superior will.She had not long to wait. In less than five minutes a slow, measured tread was heard in the distance, and presently an elderly gentleman hove in sight, portly, well-dressed, and walking with a certain stiffness and deliberation which would have secured for him the sympathetic consideration of people of his own age. Jack and Jill, however, had no thought for such uninteresting subjects as rheumatism; they nudged each other delightedly, and waited in breathless silence to see what would happen next.Tramp, tramp, tramp came the slow approach, and then a sudden halt—the halt they knew so well—followed by something like a stifled groan as the victim stiffly bent forward to examine the treasure-trove. His gloved hand had nearly closed on the parcel when Jack adroitly flicked it a few inches away. He bent still farther, with another gasping effort, and then, even as the parcel again moved onward, there came a loud, startled cry, and the horrified twins beheld their victim fall forward on his face, and lie helpless on the ground.

It was very dull and dreary for the remainder of the month, typical November weather, with what the Trevors called a “pea-soup” atmosphere, deepening now and then into a regular fog. The Square gardens were soaking with moisture, the surrounding houses looked greyer and gloomier than ever, until it seemed impossible to believe that the sky had ever been blue, or that gay-coloured spring flowers had flourished in those black-looking beds.

Jack and Jill had the bad taste to approve of fogs. They were “ripping,” they declared. “So adventurous and jolly! Yesterday, when I was walking to school, a hansom drove on the pavement beside me. Think of that!” cried Jill in a tone of triumph. “The horse’s nose nearly touched my shoulder, and an old lady near me shrieked like anything. Itwassport!”

Jack was rather envious of the hansom episode, but had had his own share of amusement. “I followed Johnston all the way home, and chaffed him with a pebble in my mouth to disguise my voice. He was nearly mad with rage, and whenever he turned round I simply bent double, and he went for another fellow, and there was no end of a game.”

“But how did it happen that you could see him when he couldn’t see you?” queried Jill, when Jack was forced to admit that hehadmade mistakes more than once; but it only added to the sport to see the consternation of innocent pedestrians when an accusing voice suddenly hissed in their ears, “Who sneaked the indiarubber from Smith’s desk?”

The twins were happily constituted to enjoy all things, and from their conversation it would have appeared that to be hopelessly lost in a fog would be the climax of earthly joy; but Betty hated the gloom of the long days, when the gas burned steadily from breakfast to bedtime, and was nervous about trusting herself alone in the streets. In her leisure moments she devoted herself to the preparation of Christmas presents, and turned over the contents of her scrap-drawers, debating how to make a dozen handsome articles with the least possible expenditure. It is to be feared that Betty’s gifts were arranged more to suit her own convenience than the tastes of the recipients. “This will make a book-cover for Jill. I don’t suppose she’ll ever use it, but it’s not big enough for anything else, so she’ll just have to like it!” This was the spirit in which she assorted her materials, and set to work thereon. Not the ideal attitude by any means, but one must make allowances for a girl with a small allowance and a large family connection, and must also enter it to the credit of this particular damsel that she grudged no work which could beautify the simple background. Poor Betty! For two whole gloomy afternoons did she work at a spray of roses on a linen work-bag, and on the third day a feeble gleam of sunlight showed itself, and lo, the roses were a harlequin study in pinks and orange!

“Is it at all trying? Is it enough to make you pitch the whole thing into the fire?” she demanded dramatically of the chairs and tables, as the horrible discovery burst upon her, and she proceeded to snap at the silk with her sharp little scissors, and viciously tear away the stitches. “Shan’t bother to fill them in any more! They’ll just have to do in outline, and if she doesn’t like it she can do the other thing!” she grunted under her breath; but that was only the impulse of the moment, and when it came to action each stitch was put in as carefully as before.

“What are you sewing away at those old things for?” Jill demanded, coming into the room and seating herself easily on the edge of the table. “It’s much easier to buy match-boxes and needle-books. You can get beauties for sixpence three-farthings at the Christmas bazaars, and it saves no end of fag. You can give me safety-pins if you like, for my clothes are all coming to pieces, and my pins disappear like smoke. Mary eats them, I believe! What are you going to give mother?”

“Can’t think! She wants a palm for the drawing-room, but a nice one costs half a guinea, and I couldn’t possibly scrape together more than three and six.”

Jill pondered, swinging her feet to and fro. “Five more Saturdays at fourpence each,—one and eight-pence, and I’ve got about two shillings in hand. No! I couldn’t possibly offer to join. I wish we could have managed it, for the drawing-room doesn’t look half furnished, and a big palm would have made a fine effect, but we can’t, so there’s an end of that!”

A gasp of suppressed nervousness sounded from the end of the room, and Pam’s voice said with the usual funny little squeak, “I’ve got sixpence with a hole in it. I’ll join, Betty! Do get mother a palm! She wants it so badly. We saw one in a shop window yesterday, and she said it was just the thing for our room!”

“Sorry, Pam, but it can’t be done. They are a frightful price in the shops, and even old ‘All a-growing all a-blowing’ has none under seven and six. Perhaps when her birthday comes round we can manage it, but at Christmas there are so many presents to buy that one can’t afford big things.”

“I want to get it now,” squeaked Pam obstinately, while Jill jumped down from the table and turned to the door.

“I’m going out! Can’t afford to waste holiday afternoons. Why don’t you put away that stupid work and come too?”

“Where are you going? A walk?”

“Rather not! Am I a Pampered Pet to promenade up and down? Jack and I are going to have some fun in the Square. I’m not going to tell you what it is, but you can come too if you like.”

Betty raised her head and peered out of the window. Black railings, black trees, sodden grass, paths strewn with decaying leaves, a fast-failing light. She gave a shudder of distaste and sank back in her chair.

“Thanks! I prefer the fire. I can’t understand you, Jill, going in for an exam, and wasting every spare moment you get! When I went in, I stewed every Saturday afternoon the whole term, and never dreamed of going out.”

“Yes, and got plucked for your pains!” retorted Jill brutally. Poor Betty! She had passed so well in everything but that fatal arithmetic, which made all the difference between success and failure. The figures would not add up, the lines danced before her eyes, she could not remember the simplest table. It was cruel to rake up that old sore. She pressed her lips together and sat in offended dignity, while Jill skipped to the door, tossing her pretty pert head.

“I shall take care of my health and my nerves, and not have them breaking down just when I need them most. If the worst comes to the worst, I shall be no worse off than you were yourself, and I shall have had my fun!”

She ran downstairs into the hall, where Jack was awaiting her with a brown-paper parcel tucked under his arm, and together they crossed the road to the nearest gate, and let themselves into the garden with a heavy key.

“The other corner is the best,” Jack cried, leading the way forward at an eager pace, “more traffic, and thicker bushes. I spotted the exact place yesterday. Have you got the reel in your pocket all right?”

“Yes, yes! And you must give me my turn, Jack. It’s only fair, because you wouldn’t let me have a parcel of my own on the other side.”

“Of course not! You wouldn’t expect to find two lost parcels within a few yards of each other, would you? You want to give the whole show away!” cried Jack in indignant schoolboy fashion. “Now don’t talk so much, but creep between these bushes when nobody is passing. There’s room for us both, and I can get a pull at the string between these branches. We’ll have a rehearsal now, and see how it works.” He crawled forward on the dank earth, in easy unconcern for the knees of his trousers, dropped the daintily-wrapped parcel on to the centre of the pavement, and crept back to his place, holding in his hand the end of a long black thread.

They crouched together behind the bushes, as mischievous a Jack and Jill as have been known since the world began, giggling with anticipated glee, nudging each other violently at the sound of approaching footsteps, and peering eagerly through their loopholes to see what manner of prey was about to fall into their hands.

First, a fine lady walking gingerly along, both hands occupied in keeping her skirt from contact with the greasy pavement. She looked at the parcel with blank indifference, and passed quietly on her way. The twins gasped with stupefaction. Could such things be? Was it possible that a human creature could be so surfeited with the good things of this world, that she could behold an unopened parcel lying on the ground, and feel no curiosity to discover what was inside? Imagination refused to picture such a position!

“Mad!” was Jack’s scornful explanation. “Mad as a March hare! Ought to be shut up out of the way. Walked straight over the string too. Hope to goodness she hasn’t broken it!”

A flick to the end of the string proved that this fear was unfounded, and the twins composed themselves for another period of waiting. Pedestrians seemed to prefer the pavement by the houses instead of that darker one overshadowed by the trees of the gardens, and several moments elapsed before a brisk footstep announced the approach of a tall, well set-up man clad in a light overcoat. His eye lit on the parcel, he bent his head and stretched out a hand to raise it up. Instantly Jack gave a flick to the string, to which the parcel responded by jumping an inch or two farther along the pavement. The brown-coated man straightened himself, gave a funny little grunt, half amused, half-angry, and strode on his way. He had been a boy himself!

The next victim was an old woman carrying a pile of parcels, and breathing heavily from fatigue, but although over-laden, she was evidently nothing loath to add to her burden. The twins could hear her surprised exclamation, and see the hitch of the shoulders with which she freed her right arm for the attack. Down she bent, panting louder than before, until, even as her envious fingers approached the prize, it leapt into the air, and as by some magic process disappeared from sight. Jack was bursting with pride at his own adroitness, and Jill nudged in enthusiastic approval. This came of fishing by the river-banks in the last summer holidays, and gaining dexterity in the art of casting lines! It was wonderful how useful such accomplishments were at times. The bewildered face of the disappointed treasure-seeker was almost too much for the conspirators, and had she not been too much engrossed in her own thoughts she must certainly have heard the splutterings which not even the handkerchief stuffed between Jill’s lips could entirely drown. With a sigh she went on her way, wondering if eyesight were about to fail, as the culmination of her troubles.

After this came an errand-boy, whistling as he walked. He made a pounce at the parcel, and when it disappeared had no difficulty in understanding the phenomenon.

“Ho, you would, would you?” he cried, and picking up a handful of stones, sent them flying in among the bushes with such force that the twins congratulated themselves on escaping without injury.

They learnt a lesson from this experience, and henceforth made a rule of allowing all boys to pass by when they practised this particular pastime. By this time Jill was shivering in her shabby coat, and beginning to cast longing glances across the Square to the lighted schoolroom window. Anticipations of tea and hot buttered toast—the Saturday afternoon treat of years’ standing—made her present position seem unattractive, and she proposed an immediate adjournment home.

Jack, however, was not yet satisfied with his achievements.

“We haven’t had what I call a real proper rise out of anyone yet. Just once more, and then we’ll run for it,” he protested, and Jill shivered, and yielded to his superior will.

She had not long to wait. In less than five minutes a slow, measured tread was heard in the distance, and presently an elderly gentleman hove in sight, portly, well-dressed, and walking with a certain stiffness and deliberation which would have secured for him the sympathetic consideration of people of his own age. Jack and Jill, however, had no thought for such uninteresting subjects as rheumatism; they nudged each other delightedly, and waited in breathless silence to see what would happen next.

Tramp, tramp, tramp came the slow approach, and then a sudden halt—the halt they knew so well—followed by something like a stifled groan as the victim stiffly bent forward to examine the treasure-trove. His gloved hand had nearly closed on the parcel when Jack adroitly flicked it a few inches away. He bent still farther, with another gasping effort, and then, even as the parcel again moved onward, there came a loud, startled cry, and the horrified twins beheld their victim fall forward on his face, and lie helpless on the ground.

Chapter Six.What came of the Trick.A moment Jack and Jill stared at each other in horrified silence, then the same words burst from both lips—“We must help him! We must see if he is hurt!” Out from behind the bushes they flew, raced for the nearest gate, and ran panting to the scene of the accident.The rays from the lamp near at hand lighted up the pavement, and showed the old gentleman already dragging himself to his feet, assisted by a lady whom Jill recognised in the flash of an eye as the much-admired occupant of Number 17. There she stood in her smart fur coat, a little red velvet toque perched on her dark locks, supporting the old gentleman by the arm, and so evidently overpowered by his weight that she was overjoyed to welcome further assistance.No words were spoken, but quick as light Jack darted forward and pulled with all his force, while Jill placed both hands against the blue broadcloth back and vigorously pushed forward. As a result of these united efforts, the old gentleman was hoisted to an upright position, with a celerity which appeared to startle him almost as much as the preceding fall. He leant against the railings, puffed and panted, groaned and grumbled, while the onlookers listened with sympathy and self-reproach.“Injured for life—strained in every muscle—nervous shock—police—disgraceful—much obliged—advice at once—no time for delay.” The different phrases detached themselves from attacks of groanings and sighings, and, hearing the last words, Jack was blessed with a brilliant inspiration.“There’s a doctor at the corner, sir. Would you like me to help you to the house?” he said in his politest manner.It seemed as if, after all, good might arise out of evil if the accident were the means of providing his father with a new patient. There was not much wrong with the old fellow—anyone could see that—but he was fidgety and nervous about himself, which, of course, would make him the more valuable from a doctor’s point of view. Later on the boy would be obliged to confess his own responsibility in the accident. He would feel a sneak if he did not, but the present was the time for action, not confession.“Doctor at the corner, eh? Well, well, get me to him as quickly as possible. Shattered! Quite shattered! Must have a rest, and drive home! Bad day’s work! Never the same again!”The old gentleman laid his hand on Jack’s shoulder and hobbled stiffly away, pausing just one moment to lift his hat and say courteously—“My best thanks to you, madam, for your assistance.” Jill and the pretty lady were left standing in the middle of the pavement, staring curiously into each other’s faces.The pretty lady was dark, and quite young, astonishingly young, like a big girl dressed in important clothes. Her eyes were very bright and happy-looking, and her lips looked as though they were made for laughter. Jill’s pert little face was left fully exposed by the cloth cap which was perched at the top of her curly locks; her expression was divided between triumph and consternation.“Do you think he is hurt, really hurt?” she asked eagerly. “He made a great fuss, but men generally do, and he walks nearly as well as before. He can’t have broken anything, can he?”“Oh no!” cried the pretty lady. “I think you can be quite sure of that, but at such an age any shock of this kind may be serious. He is a very heavy old man.”She paused, looking at the girl with an inquiring expression, as if waiting for something which had not yet been said, and to her own astonishment Jill found herself answering the unspoken question.“It was our fault that he fell at all. We did it. We were in the Square hiding behind the bushes, and we had a parcel just the right size to hold something nice and pretty—it was cotton-wool really!—very neatly tied up. We dropped it out through the railings and waited till people came along, and then we twitched it away by the end of a long black thread.”The pretty lady’s expression changed suddenly. Up till now she had been all interest and vivacity, almost one might have imagined of approval, but at the last word she frowned and shook her head. Jill expected a vigorous remonstrance, but the words, when they came, were not in the least what she had expected.“Thread!” echoed the pretty lady shrilly. “But how stupid! Elastic is far better. It jerks ever so much bet—” She stopped suddenly with a gasp of recollection, and continued in a stiff, mincing voice, “It is very unwise to play practical jokes. One can never tell what the consequence may be.”Jill laughed gaily, being much too sharp to be put off with so transparent a pretence. She drew a step nearer to the pretty lady, and looked up in her face with twinkling eyes.“Oh, it’s no use pretending! You weren’t shocked a bit! I believe”—she gave a little gasp at the audacity of the idea, but her courage did not fail—“I believe you have even—done it yourself. However did you manage to think of elastic? It’s a lovely idea!”The pretty lady wrinkled her brows in a funny, apologetic fashion.“It doesn’t follow because I did a thing that it is not foolish and rash. I am afraid I was known for my foolish tricks. I was one of a big family—such a lot of sisters that people used to call us ‘the houseful of girls,’ and I was the most mischievous of all. I don’t want to preach to you—it wouldn’t be fair, would it, when I have done far sillier things myself?—but next time you try the parcel trick, get it out of the way when old people come along. Don’t let them run the risk of a fall, like this poor old gentleman, or even have the trouble of stooping for nothing. Try to remember, won’t you? And,”—eyes and teeth flashed in an irresistible smile,—“try the elastic!”Jill’s merry trill rang out again, and the pretty lady looked at her with smiling approval. The girl’s natural attractiveness was as conspicuous as ever, despite the disadvantageous circumstances, and it would have been a cold heart that did not warm towards her, as she stood with hands thrust deep into her pockets, fresh, wholesome, and bonnie, like a bit of summer in the midst of the grey London gloom.The pretty lady had heard high praise of the skill of the new doctor who had come to live in the Square, and also of the personal character of himself and his wife, but at this moment it is to be feared that she felt little interested in them as individuals, but regarded them solely as the parents of their daughter.“It is getting rather dusk for you to be out alone. I will walk with you to the corner. You are one of the doctor’s daughters, aren’t you? I have watched you and your sisters from my windows, and envied you for being together. I do so miss my own sisters. I have five—think of that!—and only one married besides myself. You can think what a lively time of it we used to have!”But Jill was too busy thinking of something else to have any thought to spare for the lively times of the past.“Are you married?” she inquired breathlessly. “Truly and really? You look much too young. We thought you were engaged, and had an invalid mother in the house. I suppose he is the husband?”“Yes, he is the husband, sure enough, and we keep no invalids nor skeletons of any sort in the cupboards, only such a lot of big, empty rooms, waiting for girls to fill them. I do love girls. I can’t be happy without girls. We have been away constantly the last few months, but now that we are settled at home I must call on your mother, and ask if she will spare you to come and have tea with me sometimes. Would you like to come?”“Rather!” replied Jill in expressive, schoolgirl fashion, and the pretty lady laughed again.“That’s all right! We must arrange a day quite soon, and I must ask Cynthia Alliot to meet you. She is a lonely little soul who needs livening. There now, here we are at your door, and I am sure you are longing to see how the old gentleman is getting on. Good-bye! We shall meet soon again.”She waved her hand, and hurried homewards, the red toque gleaming out brightly as she passed under the lamp-post, and Jill gazed after her with adoring eyes. Young girls often cherish a romantic affection for women older than themselves, and where could there be a more fitting object on which to lavish one’s devotion—so young, so pretty, so friendly, so—so understanding! She had not preached a bit, only just thought it would be better to leave old people alone; and then that suggestion of elastic! In itself it was sufficient to establish her as a miracle of good sense and ingenuity!

A moment Jack and Jill stared at each other in horrified silence, then the same words burst from both lips—

“We must help him! We must see if he is hurt!” Out from behind the bushes they flew, raced for the nearest gate, and ran panting to the scene of the accident.

The rays from the lamp near at hand lighted up the pavement, and showed the old gentleman already dragging himself to his feet, assisted by a lady whom Jill recognised in the flash of an eye as the much-admired occupant of Number 17. There she stood in her smart fur coat, a little red velvet toque perched on her dark locks, supporting the old gentleman by the arm, and so evidently overpowered by his weight that she was overjoyed to welcome further assistance.

No words were spoken, but quick as light Jack darted forward and pulled with all his force, while Jill placed both hands against the blue broadcloth back and vigorously pushed forward. As a result of these united efforts, the old gentleman was hoisted to an upright position, with a celerity which appeared to startle him almost as much as the preceding fall. He leant against the railings, puffed and panted, groaned and grumbled, while the onlookers listened with sympathy and self-reproach.

“Injured for life—strained in every muscle—nervous shock—police—disgraceful—much obliged—advice at once—no time for delay.” The different phrases detached themselves from attacks of groanings and sighings, and, hearing the last words, Jack was blessed with a brilliant inspiration.

“There’s a doctor at the corner, sir. Would you like me to help you to the house?” he said in his politest manner.

It seemed as if, after all, good might arise out of evil if the accident were the means of providing his father with a new patient. There was not much wrong with the old fellow—anyone could see that—but he was fidgety and nervous about himself, which, of course, would make him the more valuable from a doctor’s point of view. Later on the boy would be obliged to confess his own responsibility in the accident. He would feel a sneak if he did not, but the present was the time for action, not confession.

“Doctor at the corner, eh? Well, well, get me to him as quickly as possible. Shattered! Quite shattered! Must have a rest, and drive home! Bad day’s work! Never the same again!”

The old gentleman laid his hand on Jack’s shoulder and hobbled stiffly away, pausing just one moment to lift his hat and say courteously—

“My best thanks to you, madam, for your assistance.” Jill and the pretty lady were left standing in the middle of the pavement, staring curiously into each other’s faces.

The pretty lady was dark, and quite young, astonishingly young, like a big girl dressed in important clothes. Her eyes were very bright and happy-looking, and her lips looked as though they were made for laughter. Jill’s pert little face was left fully exposed by the cloth cap which was perched at the top of her curly locks; her expression was divided between triumph and consternation.

“Do you think he is hurt, really hurt?” she asked eagerly. “He made a great fuss, but men generally do, and he walks nearly as well as before. He can’t have broken anything, can he?”

“Oh no!” cried the pretty lady. “I think you can be quite sure of that, but at such an age any shock of this kind may be serious. He is a very heavy old man.”

She paused, looking at the girl with an inquiring expression, as if waiting for something which had not yet been said, and to her own astonishment Jill found herself answering the unspoken question.

“It was our fault that he fell at all. We did it. We were in the Square hiding behind the bushes, and we had a parcel just the right size to hold something nice and pretty—it was cotton-wool really!—very neatly tied up. We dropped it out through the railings and waited till people came along, and then we twitched it away by the end of a long black thread.”

The pretty lady’s expression changed suddenly. Up till now she had been all interest and vivacity, almost one might have imagined of approval, but at the last word she frowned and shook her head. Jill expected a vigorous remonstrance, but the words, when they came, were not in the least what she had expected.

“Thread!” echoed the pretty lady shrilly. “But how stupid! Elastic is far better. It jerks ever so much bet—” She stopped suddenly with a gasp of recollection, and continued in a stiff, mincing voice, “It is very unwise to play practical jokes. One can never tell what the consequence may be.”

Jill laughed gaily, being much too sharp to be put off with so transparent a pretence. She drew a step nearer to the pretty lady, and looked up in her face with twinkling eyes.

“Oh, it’s no use pretending! You weren’t shocked a bit! I believe”—she gave a little gasp at the audacity of the idea, but her courage did not fail—“I believe you have even—done it yourself. However did you manage to think of elastic? It’s a lovely idea!”

The pretty lady wrinkled her brows in a funny, apologetic fashion.

“It doesn’t follow because I did a thing that it is not foolish and rash. I am afraid I was known for my foolish tricks. I was one of a big family—such a lot of sisters that people used to call us ‘the houseful of girls,’ and I was the most mischievous of all. I don’t want to preach to you—it wouldn’t be fair, would it, when I have done far sillier things myself?—but next time you try the parcel trick, get it out of the way when old people come along. Don’t let them run the risk of a fall, like this poor old gentleman, or even have the trouble of stooping for nothing. Try to remember, won’t you? And,”—eyes and teeth flashed in an irresistible smile,—“try the elastic!”

Jill’s merry trill rang out again, and the pretty lady looked at her with smiling approval. The girl’s natural attractiveness was as conspicuous as ever, despite the disadvantageous circumstances, and it would have been a cold heart that did not warm towards her, as she stood with hands thrust deep into her pockets, fresh, wholesome, and bonnie, like a bit of summer in the midst of the grey London gloom.

The pretty lady had heard high praise of the skill of the new doctor who had come to live in the Square, and also of the personal character of himself and his wife, but at this moment it is to be feared that she felt little interested in them as individuals, but regarded them solely as the parents of their daughter.

“It is getting rather dusk for you to be out alone. I will walk with you to the corner. You are one of the doctor’s daughters, aren’t you? I have watched you and your sisters from my windows, and envied you for being together. I do so miss my own sisters. I have five—think of that!—and only one married besides myself. You can think what a lively time of it we used to have!”

But Jill was too busy thinking of something else to have any thought to spare for the lively times of the past.

“Are you married?” she inquired breathlessly. “Truly and really? You look much too young. We thought you were engaged, and had an invalid mother in the house. I suppose he is the husband?”

“Yes, he is the husband, sure enough, and we keep no invalids nor skeletons of any sort in the cupboards, only such a lot of big, empty rooms, waiting for girls to fill them. I do love girls. I can’t be happy without girls. We have been away constantly the last few months, but now that we are settled at home I must call on your mother, and ask if she will spare you to come and have tea with me sometimes. Would you like to come?”

“Rather!” replied Jill in expressive, schoolgirl fashion, and the pretty lady laughed again.

“That’s all right! We must arrange a day quite soon, and I must ask Cynthia Alliot to meet you. She is a lonely little soul who needs livening. There now, here we are at your door, and I am sure you are longing to see how the old gentleman is getting on. Good-bye! We shall meet soon again.”

She waved her hand, and hurried homewards, the red toque gleaming out brightly as she passed under the lamp-post, and Jill gazed after her with adoring eyes. Young girls often cherish a romantic affection for women older than themselves, and where could there be a more fitting object on which to lavish one’s devotion—so young, so pretty, so friendly, so—so understanding! She had not preached a bit, only just thought it would be better to leave old people alone; and then that suggestion of elastic! In itself it was sufficient to establish her as a miracle of good sense and ingenuity!

Chapter Seven.What the Victim said.Jill entered the house to hear from the servant that the doctor had not yet returned from his rounds, that Mrs Trevor was also out, and that Miss Betty and Master Jack were looking after the old gentleman in the dining-room.Listening outside the door, she caught a sound of puffing and groaning, and, unable to resist the promptings of anxiety and curiosity, turned the handle and entered the room.The victim was seated in the doctor’s big leather arm-chair, looking very perturbed and sorry for himself, while Jack and Betty hovered near, alternately offering suggestions for his relief.“If you would lie down on the sofa—”“Or have a cushion to your back—”“Or a cup of tea—”“Or wine—”“Or sal-volatile—”“Shall I bathe your head with eau de Cologne?”“Would you put up your feet on a chair?”The victim had apparently been too much engrossed in his own self-pity to take any notice of the separate suggestions, but now their reiteration had an irritating effect, for with startling unexpectedness he thrust forward his big, flushed face, and shouted a loud refusal.“No, no, no, no! Do you want to kill me at once? I only want rest and a chance to get my breath again. Tea? Wine? Faugh! I hope I know better than that after the agonies I have had to go through. Sal-volatile! Do you take me for an hysterical old woman? Feet up? Ay, young sir, I expect I shall have a longer dose of that position than I care for after this adventure! As if I had not had enough of it already—five weeks on my chair in the summer, three in the spring, two months last winter.”From his own account he was evidently a great sufferer, yet in appearance he was stout and healthy enough. Jack made a swift diagnosis, and said politely—“Gout, I suppose, sir? Gout in your feet?”“And what makes you suppose anything of the kind, sir? I don’t carry a label to advertise my ailments that I am aware of!” cried the old gentleman, with an irascibility which convinced his audience that he was on the point of another attack. Then suddenly he looked past his two questioners, saw Jill’s peering face, and went off at another tangent.“Oh ho! What’s this? I saw you outside in the street. What are you doing here, may I ask? Come in for a treat to see the rest of the show?”“It’s my house! I live here!” replied Jill grandiloquently. “I am sorry you are not well. Would you like us to whistle for a cab to take you home? It’s always nicest to be at home when one is ill.”It was all very well for Jack to frown dissent. Jill was inclined to think that the truest wisdom lay in getting the old gentleman out of the way before her father’s return, and so escape with one scolding instead of two. She raised her eyebrows, and mouthed the dumb question, “Will you tell?” while the victim continued his groans and lamentations.“Great mistake ever to leave home in these days. Can’t think what I am coming to next. I merely stooped down to pick up a parcel—simplest thing in the world; done it a score of times before—and over I went full on my face. Terrible crash! Terrible crash! Paralysis now, I expect, in addition to everything else. Just my luck! A wreck, sir—a wreck! And I used to be the strongest man in the regiment. Ah, well, well, that’s all over! I must be content to be on the shelf now.”Betty turned towards the twins with a scrutinising gaze, but they had no eyes for her. A note of real pathos had sounded in the victim’s voice as he bemoaned his lost strength, and their hearts melted before it. Jack stepped boldly forward to make his confession.“It was not paralysis, sir. It was—the parcel! We’re sorry,—I’m sorry, but it was only a joke, and we never thought you would fall. No one else fell. We kept pulling it away by the string, you know, afewinches at a time, so that you did not notice, but you had really farther and farther to stretch, and it was that that made you topple over.”He paused, and the old gentleman stopped groaning and stared at him with eyes of crab-like protuberance. The crimson flush deepened on his cheeks, and his white whiskers appeared to bristle with wrath. He was truly an awe-inspiring object.“It was your doing, was it? You pulled away the parcel, did you? I ‘toppled over,’ did I?” he repeated with awful deliberation. That was the lull before the storm, and then it broke in all its fury, and roared over their heads, so that they gasped and trembled before it.The victim went back to his earliest childhood, and thanked Providence that he at least had known how to behave himself, and desist from silly, idiotic, ridiculous, tom-fool tricks, which would disgrace a monkey on an organ. He projected himself into the future, and prophesied ruin and destruction for a race which produced popinjays and clowns. He announced his intention of dying that very night, so that the crime which his hearers had committed might be duly avenged, and in the same breath would have them to know that he was not the sort of man to be affected by the tricks of unmannerly cubs, and that General Terence Digby was match for a hundred such as they, gout or no gout. Gout, indeed! Toppled, forsooth! The world was coming to a pretty pass! Was it part of the plot, might he ask, to cajole him into the house and poison him with their sal-volatile tea? This was a case for the police!Betty gave a little shriek of dismay, but the twins exchanged glances of subdued admiration. They liked to hear a thing done really well, and the General’s denunciation was a triumph of its kind. But when asked if he were not thoroughly ashamed of himself, Jack showed the courage of his opinion.“Sorry!” he declared. “I said so before, sir, but not ashamed. We wouldn’t have been bribed to hurt you, and I’ll apologise as much as you like, but we were doing nothing wrong. It was only a joke.”“Joke!” screamed the old gentleman. “Joke!” He rolled his protruding eyes towards the ceiling, and gasped and spluttered in disgust. “Is that what you call a joke? I don’t know what this country is coming to! Have you nothing better to do with your time, young sir, than to prowl about the streets playing monkey tricks on innocent passers-by? I am sorry for you if that is your best idea of enjoyment.”“Boys will be boys!” said Jack, in his quaint, sententious fashion. “We can only be young once, sir, so we might as well make the most of it while we can.”“Besides, we weren’t prowling about in the street!” cried Jill, suddenly bursting into the conversation, her determination to keep silent melting away before what she was pleased to consider a slight on her dignity. “Mother wouldn’t allow such a thing. The Square is private property. We have a key, and she knows we are perfectly safe when we are there.”“But, by Jove, other people are not! You manage to get into mischief though you are railed up!” cried the victim, and a sort of spasm passed over his face, as of a smile violently suppressed. He glared at Jill, from her to Betty, from Betty to Jack, and then let his glance wander round the room—the big, handsome apartment so sparsely filled with the furniture of a smaller house. The sideboard looked poor and insignificant in the recess designed for one twice the size; the few pictures entirely failed to hide the marks of the places where the last tenant had hung his more generous supply. The carpet covered only two-thirds of the floor, and was eked out by linoleum. To the most unobservant eye it must have been evident that the owner of this house was a man whose means were so limited that the strictest economy was necessary in the management of his household.“Ha—ho—hum!” coughed the old gentleman suddenly. “Have you ever heard of such a thing as the Employers’ Liability Act?”The girls shook their heads. Jack had glimmering ideas on the subject.“It’s a sort of—er—of insurance, isn’t it? If a workman fellow drops a sack on your head, the other fellow has to pay up, so he pays the insurance fellow to do it for him. That’s the sort of thing, isn’t it, sir?”“That is the sort of thing, sir, expressed with your natural elegance of diction. Does your father contract with an ‘insurance fellow,’ may I ask?”“No—why should he? He doesn’t employ any workmen.”“He is responsible for his children, however, who are a hundred times more dangerous. How will he like it, do you think, when I send him in a bill for my expenses, and the loss of time caused by this accident? I put a high price on my time, let me tell you. It is of value to other people besides myself—of value to my country, sir, I am proud to think! If I am laid aside by the hand of Providence, that is one matter. It’s a very different thing when it is done of malice intent. What should you say to a hundred pounds a week, eh, what?”Jill gave a squeal of dismay. Betty set her lips tight, and tried to look composed and haughty, but she felt a trifle sick. She could hardly bring herself to believe that such a proceeding would be legally possible, yet the old gentleman had distinctly said that such a law existed, and Jack appeared to know something about it. Beneath his air of bravado she could see that the boy shared in her own nervousness, and a wild idea of flinging herself at the stranger’s feet and imploring his clemency was beginning to take shape in her brain, when a sound from without attracted the attention of all.It was the click of the doctor’s key in the latch, and a moment later he entered the hall, and paused, as his custom was, to read the messages which had been pencilled for him on a slate. Then came the rustle of Mary’s skirt, a few low-toned words, and the sound of quick steps approaching the dining-room door. It was a thrilling moment!There sat the victim, scarlet-faced, glassy-eyed, scowling more fiercely than ever, as if in anticipation of the coming conflict. There in a row stood the three young people, shivering in their respective shoes, for was it not the greatest of offences to “worry father,” and involve him in needless expenses?“Sorry to have been out, sir,” cried the doctor, entering the room, and rubbing his hands in brisk, professional manner. “My maid tells me that you have had a fall. I hope my young people have looked after you in my absence. Now, would you prefer to have a talk here, or shall I assist you into my consulting-room?”The critical moment had arrived, and with it came a rapturous surprise, for even as the young people gazed, the anger faded out of the stranger’s face, the gleaming eyes softened, the lips relaxed, and, as by the waving of a magician’s wand, he was suddenly changed into a kindly, benevolent old gentleman, who would never condescend to such an indignity as a fit of temper.“Thank you, sir, thank you, sir! I fancy I am pretty nearly my own man again. Your son very kindly brought me in, and gave me the opportunity of resting, which was really all I required. And your daughter offered me refreshments. I—ah—happened to slip,”—the protruding eyes met Jack’s with a flicker, which, if such a thing could be imagined, was almost a wink!—“to slip on the pavement, and a man of my weight feels these things more than a boy. Gout, sir, gout in the feet! Your good son has already diagnosed my complaint, and, no doubt, you will be equally ready. Now, if you could make up a prescription which would give me back my powers of twenty years ago—”Dr Trevor laughed, while Betty, Jack, and Jill mentally erected a monument, and placed the figure of the victim upon it in everlasting gratitude and affection.“I am afraid I can hardly do that, but if you will allow me I will give you a draught which will steady your nerves after the shock. How did you come to fall? Was the pavement slippery with the mud?”“The London pavements, sir,” answered the old man pompously, “the London pavements are a disgrace to civilisation! Don’t tell me that I am crazy. Don’t tell me it is the best-paved city in the world. I’ve heard that statement before, and I stick to my own opinion. My opinion, I trust, sir, is worth as much as any other man’s. It is a wonder there are not many more accidents. I fell, sir, I would have you know, in consequence of my own selfish and avaricious instincts, and I attach no blame to anyone but myself!”“Ah!” exclaimed the doctor significantly. He glanced towards his son, caught his air of embarrassment, and hesitated between amusement and indignation. “Jack—at your old parcel trick again?”“Boys will be boys, sir, as I have just been reminded. Perhaps we can remember the day when we also— But what about that draught? Five minutes in your consulting-room, if you please, and then Master Jack can kindly get me a cab. I will not trust myself in the streets again to-day.”Another twinkling glance at the twins, and the old gentleman raised himself slowly from his chair, and followed the doctor from the room, leaving the three young people staring at each other breathlessly.“Thisisa day!” cried Jill, with a caper of delight. “We’ve made two new friends! The pretty lady says she is coming to call, and we must go to tea, and then this jolly old man... What a brick he is! He didn’t mind scolding us himself, but he wouldn’t let anyone else do it. Jack, do be awfully nice when you get the cab, and offer to see him home. Tell him how grateful we are. Hint like anything to make him invite us there!”“Trust me for that!” cried Jack.

Jill entered the house to hear from the servant that the doctor had not yet returned from his rounds, that Mrs Trevor was also out, and that Miss Betty and Master Jack were looking after the old gentleman in the dining-room.

Listening outside the door, she caught a sound of puffing and groaning, and, unable to resist the promptings of anxiety and curiosity, turned the handle and entered the room.

The victim was seated in the doctor’s big leather arm-chair, looking very perturbed and sorry for himself, while Jack and Betty hovered near, alternately offering suggestions for his relief.

“If you would lie down on the sofa—”

“Or have a cushion to your back—”

“Or a cup of tea—”

“Or wine—”

“Or sal-volatile—”

“Shall I bathe your head with eau de Cologne?”

“Would you put up your feet on a chair?”

The victim had apparently been too much engrossed in his own self-pity to take any notice of the separate suggestions, but now their reiteration had an irritating effect, for with startling unexpectedness he thrust forward his big, flushed face, and shouted a loud refusal.

“No, no, no, no! Do you want to kill me at once? I only want rest and a chance to get my breath again. Tea? Wine? Faugh! I hope I know better than that after the agonies I have had to go through. Sal-volatile! Do you take me for an hysterical old woman? Feet up? Ay, young sir, I expect I shall have a longer dose of that position than I care for after this adventure! As if I had not had enough of it already—five weeks on my chair in the summer, three in the spring, two months last winter.”

From his own account he was evidently a great sufferer, yet in appearance he was stout and healthy enough. Jack made a swift diagnosis, and said politely—

“Gout, I suppose, sir? Gout in your feet?”

“And what makes you suppose anything of the kind, sir? I don’t carry a label to advertise my ailments that I am aware of!” cried the old gentleman, with an irascibility which convinced his audience that he was on the point of another attack. Then suddenly he looked past his two questioners, saw Jill’s peering face, and went off at another tangent.

“Oh ho! What’s this? I saw you outside in the street. What are you doing here, may I ask? Come in for a treat to see the rest of the show?”

“It’s my house! I live here!” replied Jill grandiloquently. “I am sorry you are not well. Would you like us to whistle for a cab to take you home? It’s always nicest to be at home when one is ill.”

It was all very well for Jack to frown dissent. Jill was inclined to think that the truest wisdom lay in getting the old gentleman out of the way before her father’s return, and so escape with one scolding instead of two. She raised her eyebrows, and mouthed the dumb question, “Will you tell?” while the victim continued his groans and lamentations.

“Great mistake ever to leave home in these days. Can’t think what I am coming to next. I merely stooped down to pick up a parcel—simplest thing in the world; done it a score of times before—and over I went full on my face. Terrible crash! Terrible crash! Paralysis now, I expect, in addition to everything else. Just my luck! A wreck, sir—a wreck! And I used to be the strongest man in the regiment. Ah, well, well, that’s all over! I must be content to be on the shelf now.”

Betty turned towards the twins with a scrutinising gaze, but they had no eyes for her. A note of real pathos had sounded in the victim’s voice as he bemoaned his lost strength, and their hearts melted before it. Jack stepped boldly forward to make his confession.

“It was not paralysis, sir. It was—the parcel! We’re sorry,—I’m sorry, but it was only a joke, and we never thought you would fall. No one else fell. We kept pulling it away by the string, you know, afewinches at a time, so that you did not notice, but you had really farther and farther to stretch, and it was that that made you topple over.”

He paused, and the old gentleman stopped groaning and stared at him with eyes of crab-like protuberance. The crimson flush deepened on his cheeks, and his white whiskers appeared to bristle with wrath. He was truly an awe-inspiring object.

“It was your doing, was it? You pulled away the parcel, did you? I ‘toppled over,’ did I?” he repeated with awful deliberation. That was the lull before the storm, and then it broke in all its fury, and roared over their heads, so that they gasped and trembled before it.

The victim went back to his earliest childhood, and thanked Providence that he at least had known how to behave himself, and desist from silly, idiotic, ridiculous, tom-fool tricks, which would disgrace a monkey on an organ. He projected himself into the future, and prophesied ruin and destruction for a race which produced popinjays and clowns. He announced his intention of dying that very night, so that the crime which his hearers had committed might be duly avenged, and in the same breath would have them to know that he was not the sort of man to be affected by the tricks of unmannerly cubs, and that General Terence Digby was match for a hundred such as they, gout or no gout. Gout, indeed! Toppled, forsooth! The world was coming to a pretty pass! Was it part of the plot, might he ask, to cajole him into the house and poison him with their sal-volatile tea? This was a case for the police!

Betty gave a little shriek of dismay, but the twins exchanged glances of subdued admiration. They liked to hear a thing done really well, and the General’s denunciation was a triumph of its kind. But when asked if he were not thoroughly ashamed of himself, Jack showed the courage of his opinion.

“Sorry!” he declared. “I said so before, sir, but not ashamed. We wouldn’t have been bribed to hurt you, and I’ll apologise as much as you like, but we were doing nothing wrong. It was only a joke.”

“Joke!” screamed the old gentleman. “Joke!” He rolled his protruding eyes towards the ceiling, and gasped and spluttered in disgust. “Is that what you call a joke? I don’t know what this country is coming to! Have you nothing better to do with your time, young sir, than to prowl about the streets playing monkey tricks on innocent passers-by? I am sorry for you if that is your best idea of enjoyment.”

“Boys will be boys!” said Jack, in his quaint, sententious fashion. “We can only be young once, sir, so we might as well make the most of it while we can.”

“Besides, we weren’t prowling about in the street!” cried Jill, suddenly bursting into the conversation, her determination to keep silent melting away before what she was pleased to consider a slight on her dignity. “Mother wouldn’t allow such a thing. The Square is private property. We have a key, and she knows we are perfectly safe when we are there.”

“But, by Jove, other people are not! You manage to get into mischief though you are railed up!” cried the victim, and a sort of spasm passed over his face, as of a smile violently suppressed. He glared at Jill, from her to Betty, from Betty to Jack, and then let his glance wander round the room—the big, handsome apartment so sparsely filled with the furniture of a smaller house. The sideboard looked poor and insignificant in the recess designed for one twice the size; the few pictures entirely failed to hide the marks of the places where the last tenant had hung his more generous supply. The carpet covered only two-thirds of the floor, and was eked out by linoleum. To the most unobservant eye it must have been evident that the owner of this house was a man whose means were so limited that the strictest economy was necessary in the management of his household.

“Ha—ho—hum!” coughed the old gentleman suddenly. “Have you ever heard of such a thing as the Employers’ Liability Act?”

The girls shook their heads. Jack had glimmering ideas on the subject.

“It’s a sort of—er—of insurance, isn’t it? If a workman fellow drops a sack on your head, the other fellow has to pay up, so he pays the insurance fellow to do it for him. That’s the sort of thing, isn’t it, sir?”

“That is the sort of thing, sir, expressed with your natural elegance of diction. Does your father contract with an ‘insurance fellow,’ may I ask?”

“No—why should he? He doesn’t employ any workmen.”

“He is responsible for his children, however, who are a hundred times more dangerous. How will he like it, do you think, when I send him in a bill for my expenses, and the loss of time caused by this accident? I put a high price on my time, let me tell you. It is of value to other people besides myself—of value to my country, sir, I am proud to think! If I am laid aside by the hand of Providence, that is one matter. It’s a very different thing when it is done of malice intent. What should you say to a hundred pounds a week, eh, what?”

Jill gave a squeal of dismay. Betty set her lips tight, and tried to look composed and haughty, but she felt a trifle sick. She could hardly bring herself to believe that such a proceeding would be legally possible, yet the old gentleman had distinctly said that such a law existed, and Jack appeared to know something about it. Beneath his air of bravado she could see that the boy shared in her own nervousness, and a wild idea of flinging herself at the stranger’s feet and imploring his clemency was beginning to take shape in her brain, when a sound from without attracted the attention of all.

It was the click of the doctor’s key in the latch, and a moment later he entered the hall, and paused, as his custom was, to read the messages which had been pencilled for him on a slate. Then came the rustle of Mary’s skirt, a few low-toned words, and the sound of quick steps approaching the dining-room door. It was a thrilling moment!

There sat the victim, scarlet-faced, glassy-eyed, scowling more fiercely than ever, as if in anticipation of the coming conflict. There in a row stood the three young people, shivering in their respective shoes, for was it not the greatest of offences to “worry father,” and involve him in needless expenses?

“Sorry to have been out, sir,” cried the doctor, entering the room, and rubbing his hands in brisk, professional manner. “My maid tells me that you have had a fall. I hope my young people have looked after you in my absence. Now, would you prefer to have a talk here, or shall I assist you into my consulting-room?”

The critical moment had arrived, and with it came a rapturous surprise, for even as the young people gazed, the anger faded out of the stranger’s face, the gleaming eyes softened, the lips relaxed, and, as by the waving of a magician’s wand, he was suddenly changed into a kindly, benevolent old gentleman, who would never condescend to such an indignity as a fit of temper.

“Thank you, sir, thank you, sir! I fancy I am pretty nearly my own man again. Your son very kindly brought me in, and gave me the opportunity of resting, which was really all I required. And your daughter offered me refreshments. I—ah—happened to slip,”—the protruding eyes met Jack’s with a flicker, which, if such a thing could be imagined, was almost a wink!—“to slip on the pavement, and a man of my weight feels these things more than a boy. Gout, sir, gout in the feet! Your good son has already diagnosed my complaint, and, no doubt, you will be equally ready. Now, if you could make up a prescription which would give me back my powers of twenty years ago—”

Dr Trevor laughed, while Betty, Jack, and Jill mentally erected a monument, and placed the figure of the victim upon it in everlasting gratitude and affection.

“I am afraid I can hardly do that, but if you will allow me I will give you a draught which will steady your nerves after the shock. How did you come to fall? Was the pavement slippery with the mud?”

“The London pavements, sir,” answered the old man pompously, “the London pavements are a disgrace to civilisation! Don’t tell me that I am crazy. Don’t tell me it is the best-paved city in the world. I’ve heard that statement before, and I stick to my own opinion. My opinion, I trust, sir, is worth as much as any other man’s. It is a wonder there are not many more accidents. I fell, sir, I would have you know, in consequence of my own selfish and avaricious instincts, and I attach no blame to anyone but myself!”

“Ah!” exclaimed the doctor significantly. He glanced towards his son, caught his air of embarrassment, and hesitated between amusement and indignation. “Jack—at your old parcel trick again?”

“Boys will be boys, sir, as I have just been reminded. Perhaps we can remember the day when we also— But what about that draught? Five minutes in your consulting-room, if you please, and then Master Jack can kindly get me a cab. I will not trust myself in the streets again to-day.”

Another twinkling glance at the twins, and the old gentleman raised himself slowly from his chair, and followed the doctor from the room, leaving the three young people staring at each other breathlessly.

“Thisisa day!” cried Jill, with a caper of delight. “We’ve made two new friends! The pretty lady says she is coming to call, and we must go to tea, and then this jolly old man... What a brick he is! He didn’t mind scolding us himself, but he wouldn’t let anyone else do it. Jack, do be awfully nice when you get the cab, and offer to see him home. Tell him how grateful we are. Hint like anything to make him invite us there!”

“Trust me for that!” cried Jack.

Chapter Eight.Mrs Vanburgh’s Plans.The pretty lady came to call the very next week. Mrs Trevor and Betty were busy sewing in the upstairs workroom when the maid brought up the card, and the first sight of it brought no enlightenment.“Mrs Gervase Vanburgh! Goodness! What a fine name! Who can she be? Do you know who it is, mother?”“Not in the least, dear. One of the neighbours, perhaps. We will go down and see.”Betty smoothed her hair before the looking-glass, and then as carefully fluffed it out, shook her skirt free from the little ends of thread which would stick to the rough blue cloth, and followed her mother to the drawing-room, for now that she was over seventeen it was Mrs Trevor’s wish that she should learn to help in social duties. Half-way downstairs inspiration dawned. “I believe it’s the pretty lady! Jill said she was coming!” she whispered breathlessly. The pleasant expectation brought a flush into her cheeks, and an added animation into her eyes, so that it was in her most attractive guise that she entered the drawing-room in her mother’s train.Yes! It was the pretty lady and no one else, prettier than ever in her very smartest clothes, sitting in orthodox fashion, on a stiff upright chair, card-case in hand, and discussing the weather and the advantages and disadvantages of the neighbourhood with the sedateness of an old married woman; yet ever and anon as she glanced at Betty there was a something in her face,—a smile, a tremble, a momentary uplifting of the eyebrow,—which bespoke an unspoken sympathy. “We understand each other, you and I!” it seemed to say. “This is only a pretence. Therealbusiness will begin when we are alone, but—don’t I do it well?” Betty twinkled back, and was content to wait her turn, knowing that it would surely come.Yes, Mrs Vanburgh said, she and her husband had only lately returned to their town house. They had a little place in the country, and spent a great deal of time with an old uncle who was an invalid, and very fond of young society. No! She did not care for town life, but for her husband’s sake she made the best of it for a few months in the year. The days seemed very long when one was obliged to turn on the lights before four o’clock. Oh yes, she was fond of reading—sometimes! But one seemed to need some more active occupation. She did a good deal of wood-carving. Did Miss Trevor go in for wood-carving? Would she care to take it up? It would be so very nice to have a companion, and all the tools were lying in readiness just across the road.“Thank you so much. I’d love it!” cried Betty, all pink with excitement and pleasure. “I take a few classes still—music and French—but my afternoons are mostly free. I could come any time.”“To-day?” queried the pretty lady, raising her pretty eyebrows eagerly. “Now? Come back with me and have tea, and I’ll show you my carvings, and you can decide what you will try first.”It was all very irregular and unconventional, because, of course, the proper thing would have been for Mrs Vanburgh to have waited quietly until Mrs Trevor had returned her call, and even for a judicious period after that, before sending a formal invitation. Nevertheless Mrs Trevor had not the heart to interfere. She remembered her own youth, and the rapture which it had then afforded her to be able to do thingsat once; she saw the radiance in Betty’s face, and realised that her visitor was only a girl herself, so that when Betty turned towards her a flushed, appealing face, she smiled indulgently, and said, “Certainly, dear! It is very kind of Mrs Vanburgh to ask you. Run upstairs and put on your hat.”Betty lost no time in taking advantage of this permission, and in ten minutes’ time the extraordinary thing came to pass, that she and the pretty lady were walking along the Square, chatting together as if they had been friends of years’ standing.Mrs Vanburgh paused upon the threshold to give some instructions to the servant, then escorted Betty straight upstairs to a big, bare room on the third floor, which she described as her “lair.”“No one ever sits here but myself, and I can make as much mess as I like. It’s lovely!” she explained, and forthwith turned on the electric light, and poked up the fire, for the atmosphere was distinctly chilly. It was certainly not a tidy apartment, no one could have said that for it, but it was extremely interesting from a girl’s point of view. The wood-carving bench occupied the place of honour before the window; but there were evidences that the owner possessed more hobbies than one, for a piece of copper was in process of being beaten into a pattern of pomegranates and leaves, a work-table was littered with odds and ends, and on an old black tray was a weird medallion portrait of a gentleman, manufactured out of plasticine, a lump of which lay by its side.Young Mrs Vanburgh held out the tray towards Betty with a dramatic gesture.“That’s my husband! Let me introduce you—Mr Gervase Vanburgh—Miss Trevor! Would you believe, to look at him there, that he is quite the handsomest man you ever beheld?”Betty looked at the grey profile, and sniggered helplessly.“I’m afraid I never should!”“No, it’s horrid! I’m just beginning modelling, and it’s not a success. I suppose it’s because I can’t draw well enough. Whatis wrong, do you think?”“Everything!” Betty felt inclined to say, but politely compromised by pointing out the most flagrant offences.“The ear is on a level with the mouth. The eye is perched upon a mound, instead of being in a hollow; he has no nostril, and oh! Water on the brain! He must have, with all that bump in front!”“Goodness! What a critic! You might be one of my very own sisters!” cried Mrs Vanburgh, laughing. She looked at the profile scrutinisingly. “There’s one comfort—it can soon be altered. There! I’ll take a bit off his head. It’s the neatest shape in the world really. I don’t think I am born to be a sculptor. For one thing, I should never have the patience to clean my nails. This plasticine gets into all the nooks and crannies, and simplywon’tcome out!”Betty had no sympathy to spare for nails. She was too much occupied in considering another problem. Mrs Vanburgh looked almost as young as herself, and was far more spontaneous and lively in manner; it seemed impossible to imagine her the mistress of this stately house, and the wife of the handsomest man in the world! There was all the natural awe of the unmarried for the married girl in her voice as she said—“It is so strange to hear you talk of your husband. You don’t look a bit married. Doesn’t it feel very—queer?”Mrs Vanburgh laughed happily.“It feels very—nice! I have only one trouble in life, and that is that I am too happy. Yes, seriously, it does trouble me! It’s so difficult not to grow selfish when one is always petted, and praised, and considered first of all. I want to be of some use in the world. My husband says I am of use to him, and of course that’s my first duty, but it’s not enough. When I was married a dear old lady wrote me a letter, and said that marriage often became ‘the selfishness of two,’ and I do feel that it is true. It’s no credit to be good to someone who is dearer than yourself, and giving a few subscriptions is no credit either when you are rich; it was a very different matter when you scraped them out of your dress allowance. I’ve thought over heaps of things that I could do, and at last I’ve decided—sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it! This is the comfiest chair. It’s so nice getting to know you first, because you can help. Ages ago I read a story by Sir Walter Besant,Katherine Reginawas the name, I think. I forget what it was about, and all about it, except that one character was a poor governess living in a dreary London ‘Home,’ knowing nobody, and having absolutely nowhere to go in her leisure hours, because of course she could not afford entertainments. One day she had a desperately miserable fit, and said to one of her companions—I always remembered those words—‘Is there no woman in all the length and breadth of this great city who has a thought for us, or who cares enough for us to open the house to us for a few hours a week?’ I made up my mind then and there, that if I ever lived in a city and had a home of my own, I would share it with homeless people. I asked my husband if I might have an ‘At Home’ every Saturday afternoon, and he said I could ask everyone I liked, so long as I did not expect him to put in an appearance. So!”—she clasped her hands excitedly, and her eyes flashed—“this very week I drove round to three separate Governesses’ Homes and left cards of invitation—‘Mrs Gervase Vanburgh will be at home every Saturday afternoon between November 12 and December 20 from three to seven o’clock, and will be pleased to see any ladies who may care to call upon her.’ What do you think of that for a start?”Betty stared in amazement. “Governesses! Three Homes! Three to seven! Howdreadful! What will you do with them?”“Oh! I’ve lots of plans. I’ll have a scrumptious light, cakey tea in the drawing-room, and in the dining-room a sort of cold high-tea as they have in the North, with chickens, and ham, and potted shrimps, and sandwiches, and all sorts of good things for those who can stay until six, and sit down to a regular meal. And I’ll have nice books and magazines in the library, and easy-chairs drawn up to the fire; and up here, anyone who likes can practise wood-carving, or copper beating, or any of my little hobbies. I’ll throw open the whole house, and let each one do what she likes best; and you shall help me! I’ve got another girl coming on Saturday, and between the three of us we ought to be able to manage. I don’t ask you to come, you see,—I command! I need your help.”Betty hesitated between pride and dismay.“I can’t imagine myself entertaining a party of govies! I am still under their thrall, remember. You are emancipated, so it’s different for you. But I’ll come, of course I’ll come. How many visitors do you expect?”“That’s just what cook asked, and I hadn’t a notion what to say. I don’t suppose we shall have many the first time. Only the enterprising spirits will come, but when they go back and say what a good time they have had, the numbers will increase. Do you think perhaps—twenty altogether?”“Say a dozen!” said Betty, and Nan’s face lengthened with disappointment.“Only a dozen? Oh, surely there must be more than that! Just think; there are three Homes, and I expect forty or fifty living in each. I am quite sure there will be twenty. I shall provide for twenty-five, to be on the safe side.”She bent forward to poke the fire once more, and Betty’s eyes roamed to the white overmantel, which was divided into five panels, each of which contained a vignette portrait of a girl’s head, printed in a delicate shade of brown. She had seen much the same kind of thing in furniture warehouses again and again, but in this case the pictured faces lacked the pretty prettiness which was the usual characteristic, and were unmistakably portraits of living people. She looked at her hostess with an eager question.“Your sisters?”“Yes; isn’t it lovely? They clubbed together and gave it to me for a wedding present. It feels a little bit as if they were here, to look up from my work and see their faces. That’s the eldest—Maud; my Maud! She and I were always together. She is married, and has a dear little girl. That’s Lilias, the next eldest—the beauty of the family.”“Ah!” sighed Betty enviously, “sheispretty. How lovely to be like that! Is she married too?”“No.”“Engaged?”“No.”“How funny! I should have thought she would have been married the first of all. Didn’t everyone fall in love with her at first sight?”“Yes, I think they did, but at second sight they seem to have preferred Maud and—me?”Mrs Vanburgh did not seem disposed to discuss her sister’s love affairs. She pointed to the next portrait, that of a dark, interesting-looking girl with hair parted down the middle and smoothed plainly down, in marked contrast to her sister’s curls and pompadours.“That’s Elsie! She has views, and objects to being like the common herd. She writes articlesforpapers, notinthem, abusing everything that is, and praising up everything that isn’t. Gervase, my husband, says she will do very well when she learns sense. She is a dear old raven, and I miss her croak more than you would believe. That’s Agatha. She’s just—Agatha! A good-natured dear, always terribly in earnest about the smallest thing. Christabel is the baby, which means the head of the family. She is coming out next year, and means to outshine us all. I will tell you lots of stories about the girls and the jolly times we had at home, and soon I hope you will meet some of them here. Sisters are such comforts, aren’t they?”Betty mumbled an inarticulate something which might have been an assent or the reverse, and a servant entering with a tea-tray, the conversation turned to less personal topics. There was never any lack of anything to say, however, for, strangers as they were, the two girls chattered away without a break until the clock struck six, at which sound Betty leapt from her seat like another Cinderella, and turned hastily towards the door.“Six! Oh, and I had Pam’s music-lesson at half-past five! How awful of me to forget! You were so interesting, and I was enjoying myself so much. I must fly!”“It’s no use, I’m afraid. You can’t put the clock back. There’s one comfort—Pam will forgive you! That’s the little one, I suppose, with the kitten face. I must get to know her soon.”Mrs Vanburgh tripped downstairs by Betty’s side, and shook hands with the geniality of a lifelong friendship.“Remember Saturday!” she cried. “Three o’clock punctually, and bring all your stores of small talk with you, for the first half-hour.”Betty ran across the darkened street and let herself into her own house, aglow with pleasurable excitement. Life looked quite a different thing in the last few hours, wherein a friend and a vocation had alike sprung into being. After all, it was a delightful old world! She would never grumble again, since at any moment such delightful surprises might arise.The door swung open. How cold and grey the hall appeared after the glowing richness of Mrs Vanburgh’s carpets and hangings! Betty made a little grimace at the linoleum, and lifting her eyes was suddenly aware of a wrathful figure confronting her from the threshold of the dining-room—Jill, standing with arms akimbo, flushed cheeks, and flashing eyes.“So you have deigned to come back, have you? What business had you to go to tea with her at all, I should like to know? She’s my friend! I knew her first! What right had you to go poking yourself forward?”“I didn’t poke. She asked me! Mother can tell you that she did. I’m going again on Saturday.”Jill’s wrath gave way to an overwhelming anxiety.“And me? And me? I am sure she asked me too.”“No, she didn’t. It’s a grown-up party. She’ll ask you another time with Pam. She said she wanted to know Pam.”It was the last straw to be classed with Pam, a child of eight summers! Jill stuttered with mortified rage.“S–neak! Just like you! Mark my word, Elizabeth Trevor,I’ll be even with you about this!”

The pretty lady came to call the very next week. Mrs Trevor and Betty were busy sewing in the upstairs workroom when the maid brought up the card, and the first sight of it brought no enlightenment.

“Mrs Gervase Vanburgh! Goodness! What a fine name! Who can she be? Do you know who it is, mother?”

“Not in the least, dear. One of the neighbours, perhaps. We will go down and see.”

Betty smoothed her hair before the looking-glass, and then as carefully fluffed it out, shook her skirt free from the little ends of thread which would stick to the rough blue cloth, and followed her mother to the drawing-room, for now that she was over seventeen it was Mrs Trevor’s wish that she should learn to help in social duties. Half-way downstairs inspiration dawned. “I believe it’s the pretty lady! Jill said she was coming!” she whispered breathlessly. The pleasant expectation brought a flush into her cheeks, and an added animation into her eyes, so that it was in her most attractive guise that she entered the drawing-room in her mother’s train.

Yes! It was the pretty lady and no one else, prettier than ever in her very smartest clothes, sitting in orthodox fashion, on a stiff upright chair, card-case in hand, and discussing the weather and the advantages and disadvantages of the neighbourhood with the sedateness of an old married woman; yet ever and anon as she glanced at Betty there was a something in her face,—a smile, a tremble, a momentary uplifting of the eyebrow,—which bespoke an unspoken sympathy. “We understand each other, you and I!” it seemed to say. “This is only a pretence. Therealbusiness will begin when we are alone, but—don’t I do it well?” Betty twinkled back, and was content to wait her turn, knowing that it would surely come.

Yes, Mrs Vanburgh said, she and her husband had only lately returned to their town house. They had a little place in the country, and spent a great deal of time with an old uncle who was an invalid, and very fond of young society. No! She did not care for town life, but for her husband’s sake she made the best of it for a few months in the year. The days seemed very long when one was obliged to turn on the lights before four o’clock. Oh yes, she was fond of reading—sometimes! But one seemed to need some more active occupation. She did a good deal of wood-carving. Did Miss Trevor go in for wood-carving? Would she care to take it up? It would be so very nice to have a companion, and all the tools were lying in readiness just across the road.

“Thank you so much. I’d love it!” cried Betty, all pink with excitement and pleasure. “I take a few classes still—music and French—but my afternoons are mostly free. I could come any time.”

“To-day?” queried the pretty lady, raising her pretty eyebrows eagerly. “Now? Come back with me and have tea, and I’ll show you my carvings, and you can decide what you will try first.”

It was all very irregular and unconventional, because, of course, the proper thing would have been for Mrs Vanburgh to have waited quietly until Mrs Trevor had returned her call, and even for a judicious period after that, before sending a formal invitation. Nevertheless Mrs Trevor had not the heart to interfere. She remembered her own youth, and the rapture which it had then afforded her to be able to do thingsat once; she saw the radiance in Betty’s face, and realised that her visitor was only a girl herself, so that when Betty turned towards her a flushed, appealing face, she smiled indulgently, and said, “Certainly, dear! It is very kind of Mrs Vanburgh to ask you. Run upstairs and put on your hat.”

Betty lost no time in taking advantage of this permission, and in ten minutes’ time the extraordinary thing came to pass, that she and the pretty lady were walking along the Square, chatting together as if they had been friends of years’ standing.

Mrs Vanburgh paused upon the threshold to give some instructions to the servant, then escorted Betty straight upstairs to a big, bare room on the third floor, which she described as her “lair.”

“No one ever sits here but myself, and I can make as much mess as I like. It’s lovely!” she explained, and forthwith turned on the electric light, and poked up the fire, for the atmosphere was distinctly chilly. It was certainly not a tidy apartment, no one could have said that for it, but it was extremely interesting from a girl’s point of view. The wood-carving bench occupied the place of honour before the window; but there were evidences that the owner possessed more hobbies than one, for a piece of copper was in process of being beaten into a pattern of pomegranates and leaves, a work-table was littered with odds and ends, and on an old black tray was a weird medallion portrait of a gentleman, manufactured out of plasticine, a lump of which lay by its side.

Young Mrs Vanburgh held out the tray towards Betty with a dramatic gesture.

“That’s my husband! Let me introduce you—Mr Gervase Vanburgh—Miss Trevor! Would you believe, to look at him there, that he is quite the handsomest man you ever beheld?”

Betty looked at the grey profile, and sniggered helplessly.

“I’m afraid I never should!”

“No, it’s horrid! I’m just beginning modelling, and it’s not a success. I suppose it’s because I can’t draw well enough. Whatis wrong, do you think?”

“Everything!” Betty felt inclined to say, but politely compromised by pointing out the most flagrant offences.

“The ear is on a level with the mouth. The eye is perched upon a mound, instead of being in a hollow; he has no nostril, and oh! Water on the brain! He must have, with all that bump in front!”

“Goodness! What a critic! You might be one of my very own sisters!” cried Mrs Vanburgh, laughing. She looked at the profile scrutinisingly. “There’s one comfort—it can soon be altered. There! I’ll take a bit off his head. It’s the neatest shape in the world really. I don’t think I am born to be a sculptor. For one thing, I should never have the patience to clean my nails. This plasticine gets into all the nooks and crannies, and simplywon’tcome out!”

Betty had no sympathy to spare for nails. She was too much occupied in considering another problem. Mrs Vanburgh looked almost as young as herself, and was far more spontaneous and lively in manner; it seemed impossible to imagine her the mistress of this stately house, and the wife of the handsomest man in the world! There was all the natural awe of the unmarried for the married girl in her voice as she said—

“It is so strange to hear you talk of your husband. You don’t look a bit married. Doesn’t it feel very—queer?”

Mrs Vanburgh laughed happily.

“It feels very—nice! I have only one trouble in life, and that is that I am too happy. Yes, seriously, it does trouble me! It’s so difficult not to grow selfish when one is always petted, and praised, and considered first of all. I want to be of some use in the world. My husband says I am of use to him, and of course that’s my first duty, but it’s not enough. When I was married a dear old lady wrote me a letter, and said that marriage often became ‘the selfishness of two,’ and I do feel that it is true. It’s no credit to be good to someone who is dearer than yourself, and giving a few subscriptions is no credit either when you are rich; it was a very different matter when you scraped them out of your dress allowance. I’ve thought over heaps of things that I could do, and at last I’ve decided—sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it! This is the comfiest chair. It’s so nice getting to know you first, because you can help. Ages ago I read a story by Sir Walter Besant,Katherine Reginawas the name, I think. I forget what it was about, and all about it, except that one character was a poor governess living in a dreary London ‘Home,’ knowing nobody, and having absolutely nowhere to go in her leisure hours, because of course she could not afford entertainments. One day she had a desperately miserable fit, and said to one of her companions—I always remembered those words—‘Is there no woman in all the length and breadth of this great city who has a thought for us, or who cares enough for us to open the house to us for a few hours a week?’ I made up my mind then and there, that if I ever lived in a city and had a home of my own, I would share it with homeless people. I asked my husband if I might have an ‘At Home’ every Saturday afternoon, and he said I could ask everyone I liked, so long as I did not expect him to put in an appearance. So!”—she clasped her hands excitedly, and her eyes flashed—“this very week I drove round to three separate Governesses’ Homes and left cards of invitation—‘Mrs Gervase Vanburgh will be at home every Saturday afternoon between November 12 and December 20 from three to seven o’clock, and will be pleased to see any ladies who may care to call upon her.’ What do you think of that for a start?”

Betty stared in amazement. “Governesses! Three Homes! Three to seven! Howdreadful! What will you do with them?”

“Oh! I’ve lots of plans. I’ll have a scrumptious light, cakey tea in the drawing-room, and in the dining-room a sort of cold high-tea as they have in the North, with chickens, and ham, and potted shrimps, and sandwiches, and all sorts of good things for those who can stay until six, and sit down to a regular meal. And I’ll have nice books and magazines in the library, and easy-chairs drawn up to the fire; and up here, anyone who likes can practise wood-carving, or copper beating, or any of my little hobbies. I’ll throw open the whole house, and let each one do what she likes best; and you shall help me! I’ve got another girl coming on Saturday, and between the three of us we ought to be able to manage. I don’t ask you to come, you see,—I command! I need your help.”

Betty hesitated between pride and dismay.

“I can’t imagine myself entertaining a party of govies! I am still under their thrall, remember. You are emancipated, so it’s different for you. But I’ll come, of course I’ll come. How many visitors do you expect?”

“That’s just what cook asked, and I hadn’t a notion what to say. I don’t suppose we shall have many the first time. Only the enterprising spirits will come, but when they go back and say what a good time they have had, the numbers will increase. Do you think perhaps—twenty altogether?”

“Say a dozen!” said Betty, and Nan’s face lengthened with disappointment.

“Only a dozen? Oh, surely there must be more than that! Just think; there are three Homes, and I expect forty or fifty living in each. I am quite sure there will be twenty. I shall provide for twenty-five, to be on the safe side.”

She bent forward to poke the fire once more, and Betty’s eyes roamed to the white overmantel, which was divided into five panels, each of which contained a vignette portrait of a girl’s head, printed in a delicate shade of brown. She had seen much the same kind of thing in furniture warehouses again and again, but in this case the pictured faces lacked the pretty prettiness which was the usual characteristic, and were unmistakably portraits of living people. She looked at her hostess with an eager question.

“Your sisters?”

“Yes; isn’t it lovely? They clubbed together and gave it to me for a wedding present. It feels a little bit as if they were here, to look up from my work and see their faces. That’s the eldest—Maud; my Maud! She and I were always together. She is married, and has a dear little girl. That’s Lilias, the next eldest—the beauty of the family.”

“Ah!” sighed Betty enviously, “sheispretty. How lovely to be like that! Is she married too?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

“No.”

“How funny! I should have thought she would have been married the first of all. Didn’t everyone fall in love with her at first sight?”

“Yes, I think they did, but at second sight they seem to have preferred Maud and—me?”

Mrs Vanburgh did not seem disposed to discuss her sister’s love affairs. She pointed to the next portrait, that of a dark, interesting-looking girl with hair parted down the middle and smoothed plainly down, in marked contrast to her sister’s curls and pompadours.

“That’s Elsie! She has views, and objects to being like the common herd. She writes articlesforpapers, notinthem, abusing everything that is, and praising up everything that isn’t. Gervase, my husband, says she will do very well when she learns sense. She is a dear old raven, and I miss her croak more than you would believe. That’s Agatha. She’s just—Agatha! A good-natured dear, always terribly in earnest about the smallest thing. Christabel is the baby, which means the head of the family. She is coming out next year, and means to outshine us all. I will tell you lots of stories about the girls and the jolly times we had at home, and soon I hope you will meet some of them here. Sisters are such comforts, aren’t they?”

Betty mumbled an inarticulate something which might have been an assent or the reverse, and a servant entering with a tea-tray, the conversation turned to less personal topics. There was never any lack of anything to say, however, for, strangers as they were, the two girls chattered away without a break until the clock struck six, at which sound Betty leapt from her seat like another Cinderella, and turned hastily towards the door.

“Six! Oh, and I had Pam’s music-lesson at half-past five! How awful of me to forget! You were so interesting, and I was enjoying myself so much. I must fly!”

“It’s no use, I’m afraid. You can’t put the clock back. There’s one comfort—Pam will forgive you! That’s the little one, I suppose, with the kitten face. I must get to know her soon.”

Mrs Vanburgh tripped downstairs by Betty’s side, and shook hands with the geniality of a lifelong friendship.

“Remember Saturday!” she cried. “Three o’clock punctually, and bring all your stores of small talk with you, for the first half-hour.”

Betty ran across the darkened street and let herself into her own house, aglow with pleasurable excitement. Life looked quite a different thing in the last few hours, wherein a friend and a vocation had alike sprung into being. After all, it was a delightful old world! She would never grumble again, since at any moment such delightful surprises might arise.

The door swung open. How cold and grey the hall appeared after the glowing richness of Mrs Vanburgh’s carpets and hangings! Betty made a little grimace at the linoleum, and lifting her eyes was suddenly aware of a wrathful figure confronting her from the threshold of the dining-room—Jill, standing with arms akimbo, flushed cheeks, and flashing eyes.

“So you have deigned to come back, have you? What business had you to go to tea with her at all, I should like to know? She’s my friend! I knew her first! What right had you to go poking yourself forward?”

“I didn’t poke. She asked me! Mother can tell you that she did. I’m going again on Saturday.”

Jill’s wrath gave way to an overwhelming anxiety.

“And me? And me? I am sure she asked me too.”

“No, she didn’t. It’s a grown-up party. She’ll ask you another time with Pam. She said she wanted to know Pam.”

It was the last straw to be classed with Pam, a child of eight summers! Jill stuttered with mortified rage.

“S–neak! Just like you! Mark my word, Elizabeth Trevor,I’ll be even with you about this!”

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