Chris was delighted to have an excuse to go out in the rain. He sped away, down the garden, but there were no signs of Noel, then into the churchyard. When he got there, he found the young vicar, Mr. Wargrave, in the church porch. He had the door ajar, and to Chris's mystification seemed to be peeping through the opening.
"Have you seen my little brother?" he asked him.
"Hush!" said Mr. Wargrave, turning round, then he smiled at Chris.
"Don't make a noise," he said, "but have a look at him."
Chris peeped into the church. He caught sight of Noel's fair curly head at once. It was just above the edge of the pulpit, and two small arms were waving in the air. This was what he heard:
"And so you see, my frens, God wants you to be good. And my tex' is 'Fight the good fight,' and that's Satan, and I'll say good afternoon to you now, and mind you come next Sunday and I'll preach about the wind and rain trying to drown the boat. Amen."
Chris giggled loudly. Mr. Wargrave shut the door.
"We won't disturb him," he said.
"But he's no business there," Chris said; "Mums would be horrified. Noel thinks he can do anything he likes. He's going to be a clergyman, he says, so he's practising. He oughtn't to play in the church."
"It isn't play," said Mr. Wargrave. "Would you two boys like to come over to the Vicarage with me? My brother Ted would like to see you on a wet afternoon like this."
"I'd love it," said Chris; "but Nurse sent me to fetch Noel in. He's run away."
"I'll step across with you and ask Nurse to spare you for an hour. I live close here, you know."
Then he opened the church door with a little clatter. Noel darted down out of the pulpit. He looked very uncomfortable when he saw his brother's head peeping from behind Mr. Wargrave.
But he adopted a very careless air as he came down the aisle towards them.
"Are you come to have a—a service?" he asked the young vicar.
"No, I was coming to fetch a book in the vestry," Mr. Wargrave said; "and I want you and your brother to come back to the Vicarage to tea with me. We are going to your house to ask if you may. Perhaps you can get the permission while I get my book, Chris."
Chris sped away as fast as his legs could carry him. Noel stood still in the porch, looking out into the rain with grave thoughtful eyes. Mr. Wargrave was only a moment getting his book, and he joined him before Chris came back.
Putting his hand on his shoulder, he said, smiling:
"You'll be a preacher by and by, but don't hurry. We have to learn a lot before we can teach others."
Noel's cheeks became hot and red.
"Did you see anyone in the pulpit?" he asked in a whisper.
Mr. Wargrave nodded.
"I foughted I was quite alone. I only pretended the peoples. I just wanted to see if I could do it."
"Yes, yes, I understand. We'll forget it."
Mr. Wargrave pitied the small boy's distress and confusion. Chris reappeared, very breathless and happy.
"Nurse says we can come," he said. And then the three of them walked down the road a very little way, and turned in at a big iron gate with a thick shrubbery and a drive, and arrived at an old grey stone Vicarage, with small casement windows and walls covered with creepers.
The vicar took them straight through a long narrow hall to a room at the back of the house overlooking a very pretty garden. It was a cosy room. A bright red carpet was on the floor, and a blazing fire in the grate. There were bookshelves and many pictures lining the walls. On a big red-and-white chintz-covered couch by the fire, reclined a boy with a white face and a cheerful smile. He was a big boy, about fifteen or sixteen. Chris and Noel looked at him in awe.
"Two small neighbours, Ted," said Mr. Wargrave; "the other side of the church. They've come to tea. I'll go and tell Mrs. Hurcombe. You amuse them till I come back. I have my churchwarden waiting to see me."
He left the room. Chris and Noel stood by the side of the couch feeling a little shy of this strange boy, but when he looked at them and laughed, they laughed too.
"Don't think me an awful frump tucked up on a couch like this. It's only for a year. I was at school and hurt my back in the gym. Like to see how I spend my time?"
He drew a table by the side of his couch nearer, and showed them on a wooden tray a complete set of dolls' furniture. There was a most beautiful little cabinet of polished wood, which opened and shut its doors, six chairs with red leather seats, a four-post bedstead, a polished square table, and two chests of drawers.
"Oh!" cried Chris. "Did you make these all yourself?"
"Yes, and a lot more. They go to an Arts and Crafts Depot and sell like old boots. And I made them myself with the help of a book only, so I feel rather swanky over them."
"I wish Dinah could see these," said Chris.
"Here's something you may like better."
He produced a little canoe, and then a tiny tram and a wheelbarrow and a cart.
"It passes the time," he said.
"Don't you never go out of doors?" asked Noel, looking at him gravely.
"Not often. I have to be wheeled out in a flat pram, and I hate it. But when summer comes, I can lie on a rug on the lawn and then I shall feel first rate."
Chris was fingering the toys lovingly.
"I wish I was clever," he said with a little sigh.
"Can you make houses?" asked Noel eagerly. "Could you make a church?"
"He's mad on church," said Chris; "we've only just dragged him out of it. He's been in India, and doesn't know England."
"Tell us about India," said Ted, smiling at Noel.
Noel launched forth at once, waving his hands and getting quite excited as he described his home in India and the native servants, and all the pets he had kept out there. Chris openly yawned, but Ted was interested, and when Mr. Wargrave returned all three boys were talking fast and freely. Tea was brought in by a very smiling housekeeper, and they had a merry time.
But Chris watched Ted gravely, and at last he said to him:
"I couldn't laugh like you do if I had to lie on my back all day long. I'd have to die straight off if I couldn't jump up and run about."
"That's how I felt first of all," said Ted simply. "But of course it doesn't say much for your pluck if you can't face pain. And I came to see that I must make the best of it, and that I could be thankful that I wasn't blind or deaf and dumb, or covered over with loathsome sores. And—I—well, I've been helped along by remembering that there's a suffering corps in God's army, as well as a fighting corps."
Chris looked at him with big eyes.
Here was a big boy talking about God. He could not understand it.
But after tea, he was made very happy by having a lesson in wood-carving from Ted.
Noel went off with Mr. Wargrave to his study.
He sat on the deep window-ledge there, and swinging his legs, told the vicar all about his Christmas tree.
Mr. Wargrave was a good listener.
"I think it's splendid," he told him. "And then at Christmas perhaps you'd be able to make numbers happy. If I had a tree like that, I would ask a lot of children out of the village, and there are some in the Union, about a mile off on the high road. I'm the chaplain there, and I always feel sorry for the children. They don't have many pleasures. If you love Ted, he'll make you a lot of toys for your tree."
"Oh, will he?" Noel was radiant. "And I'll have a very big party. Mums will let me. I'll have all the children who live here. I do wish it was Christmas time."
"Oh, don't wish that. We have the lovely summer coming first. All of us are happy in summer-time. The flowers and the bees and butterflies, and the birds and squirrels and rabbits—they all love the warm sunshine. And you will, too."
"I don't like it when the sun is very hot," said Noel thoughtfully; then his thoughts took another turn. "What's a hypercrit?"
"Someone who pretends to be what he is not."
Noel frowned.
"And a 'cocky beggar'? I thoughted beggars were poor ragged men who asked for money: they were in India."
Mr. Wargrave smiled.
"Oh, that's a boy's expression for anyone who thinks a lot of himself. I suppose your brother has been calling you that?"
"If you speak about God at all, you're a hypercrit," said Noel. "I 'spect Chris doesn't know what it means: it's too long a word for him. I'll tell him so. I don't pretend half as much as they do; they're always pretending in their games. Why is it wrong to talk about God?"
"It isn't wrong; it ought to be the natural thing with every one of us. If we love anyone very much, we can't help talking about them. But—"
Mr. Wargrave hesitated; then he went on:
"Boys and girls, and grown-up people too, are shy sometimes of telling people what they feel deeply in their hearts; and when children play about with each other, they keep their thoughts about God and heaven to themselves, and don't quite understand anybody talking freely about it. I'm not saying they are right. But it makes us more reverent if we speak about God very gravely, almost in a whisper."
Noel listened and nodded his head.
"I'll try."
And then he caught sight of a case of butterflies, and for the next half-hour hung over it entranced, whilst Mr. Wargrave talked about butterflies and their ways.
When Chris and Noel's visit was over, they went home and described all the glories of the Vicarage to Diana, who was quite curious about them.
She was wild to see the dolls' furniture.
"I don't see why I shouldn't go straight in to-morrow. I'll ask Mums if I may. That ill boy would be very glad to see me. Mums was only saying the other day that visiting sick people was a very nice thing to do."
When Mrs. Inglefield returned home, three eager children met her in the hall.
She was quite pleased that the boys had gone to tea at the Vicarage.
"Lady Alice was telling me about that poor boy. It is a dreadful trial for him to be laid up like that for a year, or perhaps longer."
"But he's quite happy," said Chris. "He laughs like anything!"
"Yes, he has a brave cheerful spirit. I shall be very glad for you to know him. He must be a nice boy."
Two or three days afterwards, Diana got her chance. Mr. Wargrave came to call, and spoke to her in the hall as he was leaving. Diana was always outspoken.
"I don't want to be rude," she said, "but I'm just dying to see the dolls' furniture at your house. Could you ask me to, do you think? I wouldn't expect tea. I wouldn't be as mean as that, but just to see them."
"You shall come in now," he said, smiling, "if your mother will let you. Ted will be only too delighted to show you all his toys."
Mrs. Inglefield, who was standing by, gave her permission, and Diana danced off, and was a good hour away. She came back to the nursery with glowing eyes.
"He not only makes toys," she said to the boys emphatically, "but he makes poetry! He said some to me!"
The boys were impressed. Ted and his doings were much discussed amongst them for the following days.
The weather kept them indoors a good deal. It was rain and wind every day, and the nursery was a small room for three active children. One morning Nurse, sitting at her work there, was visited by Mrs. Budd.
Chris and Noel were busy in a corner with their bricks, Diana was finishing her story, but as she scribbled off the last sentence she caught a fragment of conversation between Nurse and her visitor.
"I always felt she would be dull here. She misses the master, of course, and she's been accustomed to a life in India. I feel fair worried when I sees her so quiet knitting for the boys, and tears in her eyes all the time."
"'Twill be better in the fine weather when there's plenty of gentry round her to keep her from dullness."
Diana shut up her papers and went over to the window. She had what Nurse called her "thinking cap" on!
After their early dinner she called the boys to her and said:
"Look here, I promised to keep Mums from feeling dull. It's come upon her, and we've got to do something."
"What?" asked Chris.
"We'll give her an entertainment," said Diana grandly. "And I'll tell her it's coming, so that will take away the dullness, to feel it's coming. We'll do it after tea."
"What can we do?" asked Chris helplessly.
"I've thought it all out. I'll read her my story. It's finished, and she's never heard any of my stories. It's awfully exciting. And you and Noel can learn something to recite, like we did with Miss Carr to Granny once."
"We can dance," said Chris, romping round the room, "and dress up! Oh, that will be the thing, Dinah!"
Mrs. Inglefield was feeling rather lonely that afternoon. She had been writing to her husband, and now she was knitting socks for Chris, and thinking about his schooling. She was in her boudoir. Presently she heard a sharp rattat at her door, a little giggle, and then a note was pushed through the bottom of the door.
She picked it up and opened it.
"OUR DEAR MUMS,—""We're sorry you are dull, but we are not going to let you beany more. At half-past five we invite you to our Grand Entertainment.Tickets free. The performance will be thrilling.""YOUR LOVING CHILDREN.""P.S.—It will be done in the Nursery—punctule."
So Mrs. Inglefield had enough to keep her expectant and smiling. She heard a good deal of noise overhead for the next hour or so. But punctually at half-past five she presented herself at the nursery door.
It was opened by Noel, who had a pink paper cap on his head, and his body and legs all wound round and round with coloured handkerchiefs and ribbons.
He gave her a very low bow and led her to Nurse's armchair, which was draped in an old red shawl.
It was the seat of honour. Then she was presented with a programme.
AFTERNOON ENTERTAINMENTAn acrobatic exhibishon.Two gentlemen's duel.An Authoresses story.Beautiful Poem resited by motor-car and horse.General Dance and Wind up.All can join.
A row of chairs divided the audience from the performers.
The entertainment opened by Chris standing on his head in the corner, and Diana balancing a doll's tray of tea-things on his feet. Catastrophe was saved by her snatching the tray away, as his feet began to shake.
Then Noel and Chris had a fencing bout with two hoop sticks. Mrs. Inglefield drew a long breath when it was over and neither combatant was hurt. The next item on the programme was:
"An Authoresses story."
Diana made her appearance in one of Nurse's best gowns. A wreath of ivy was round her head. She had sheets of paper in her hand and commenced to read in a high sing-song voice.
The story was about a miserable ragged little girl in London who was given sixpence and a kiss by a beautiful lady one afternoon when she was selling matches in the streets. The lady's face and dress was described with much detail. Mrs. Inglefield had no difficulty in recognizing herself as the lady. The little girl's name was Sally, and she fell in love with this lady and used to follow her round in London every day, only at a distance. At night she dreamt of her. And then one day the lady was nearly run over by a motor. Sally dashed into the middle of the road and saved her, but got knocked down herself and had her leg broken. Then the lady burst into tears at her bravery, and told her coachman, who had arrived on the scene, to take her home in her carriage. She was carried to the "most beautiful house in London." Her bedroom was "covered with pink satin curtains and cushions all over the place." Sally was placed in bed, and a doctor sent for who mended her broken leg.
"But suddenly Mrs. Field fell on her knees by the bed and seized the broken leg:"
"'It is her, my long-lost daughter,' she cried. 'I know the scar which she had as a baby. My nurse lost her one day when she was wheeling her pram in Kensington gardens!'"
"And all was true, and Sally's leg mended very soon, and she never had to go back to the old woman who made her sell matches, but she lived with her darling mother ever after. And she grew up and married a relation of the Royal Family. But she always remembered her ragged time and gave money to match-girls. This is the moral and the end."
There was much applause when the young authoress sat down.
Then the children retired into the night nursery. After a time, with a rush and a fierce snorting noise, Chris tore backwards and forwards several times.
"A motor-car!" said Mrs. Inglefield, clapping her hands.
Then Noel entered, galloping up and down and whinnying so loud that Mrs. Inglefield called out very quickly:
"A horse!"
And then he and Chris stood together and recited the following poem:
CHRIS. "I shriek and everybody flies!I tear along beneath the skies,I stop as quickly, for I feelMy master's hand upon the wheel."NOEL. "I trot along the hard high road,To journey slowly is my mode.We want to see, to feel, to smile,To scent the beauty of each mile."CHRIS. "Past meadows, villages I fly,No time to see as I go by!The wind, the air is all I feel,Beside the hand upon the wheel."NOEL. "My master's hand is on my rein,His eyes are in the country lane.I canter on up hill, down dale,Through grassy fields and lovely vale."CHRIS. "I scorch up hills, I fly along,My warning 'honk' is all my song.Towns, rivers, sea, all pass away.A hundred miles we do each day."NOEL. "But cars can't hunt, or ride at willThrough woods, or up untrodden hill,Nor soak their souls in beauty fair,That's only done through my brown mare."
"Splendid!" cried Mrs. Inglefield enthusiastically, applauding with her feet and hands. "May I ask who is the author of that poem?"
"Ted wrote it," said Diana. "He said it to me when I went over to see him, so I made him write it down, and Chris and Noel have been learning it as fast as they could all the afternoon."
"I think you are all extremely clever," said Mrs. Inglefield. "I am quite proud of you."
"And which do you like best, Mums, a horse or motor?" asked Noel.
"It's easy to see which the poet liked best," said Mrs. Inglefield, laughing. "I think I like them both; if I were rich, I would keep a car to take me long distances, and a horse to ride when I wanted to enjoy the country."
"And now we'll have our dance," said Diana.
There was a great bustle then, clearing the chairs away. Chris had the honour of dancing with his mother, and Diana danced with Noel. They turned their small gramophone on, and all enjoyed themselves. When they at last had to stop from sheer fatigue, Mrs. Inglefield made a little speech in which she thanked them all most gratefully for their successful entertainment.
"It has kept your dullness away," said Diana with a satisfied smile. "I'm so glad. I promised you I would keep you from being dull."
Her mother did not remember the promise, but she was touched by her little daughter's thought for her.
"Did you like Dinah's story?" Chris asked.
"Very much. It was a sweet little story. I did not know I had a daughter who was an authoress. What a proud mother I shall be when her first book is published!"
Diana got rosy red. That was the dream and desire of her heart. She lay in bed at night imagining the time when a real book of hers should be in her hand fresh from the publishers, with her name in big letters across its title page.
A little later that evening they all went down to the boudoir. They always spent an hour before their mother's dinner with her there.
Diana and Noel were looking at a beautiful book of engravings together which belonged to their grandmother and had been left in the cottage. Diana was weaving stories out of every picture, and Noel listened to her with the greatest interest. Chris crept up close to his mother's chair, and sat down on a stool at her feet.
"I wish I was clever like Dinah," he sighed. "I can't write stories, Mums: I've tried and tried and tried. You'll never see a book of mine in print. There'll be nothing for you to be proud about in me."
His mother caressed his smooth brown head with her loving hand.
"Now, Chris, we'll have a little talk together. God gives us all different gifts. It isn't everyone who can write books. I am glad it isn't. We have quite enough books in the world as it is. And, do you know, I am very glad that my eldest son does not write stories. Somehow or other, I don't think it is very noble or uplifting work for strong men to do. A man who spends his life in making up stories of what silly men and women do and say isn't much of a man, to my thinking. Mind, Chris, there are great writers amongst men, and writers who do a lot of good by their pen, but there are men who do the reverse. I would far rather my son went out into the world, and endured hardness and worked hard for his country and fellow-men. I want you to be an Empire-builder, my boy, or an Empire-keeper. You can be a sailor, or a soldier, or a judge, or a policeman, or even a colonist, but if you're putting God first, service for country next, and self last, I shall be proud of my son."
Chris squared his shoulders. His heart caught fire at his mother's words.
"I will make you proud of me, Mums," he said earnestly. "I will work hard all my life till I die."
And then his mother stooped and kissed the top of his head, and a bright tear fell as she said:
"God bless and keep you, my boy, and help you to keep your promise."
Chris was a happy boy that night. He had often bewailed his inferiority to his sister, who was so quick and agile with her words and pen, but now he felt that he had a goal in front of him: a vision in which he saw himself as a doer if not a talker or a writer; and he fell asleep murmuring to himself:
"I'll do, do, do, and Mums will be proud of me!"
The weather cleared in a few days and spring came along in a rush.
Very soon Mrs. Inglefield had made her plans. She had found a good boys' school about six miles away, and though the schoolmaster did not care to take day boys as a rule, he made an exception in Chris's case, and took him as a weekly boarder. Chris was to come home every Saturday and stay till Monday. There was a train which would take him and bring him back. His mother meant to give him a bicycle very soon, but meanwhile, he used the train.
Then a young governess was found in the neighbouring town. Her name was Miss Morgan, and she came every morning at ten o'clock to give Diana and Noel some lessons. She stayed to lunch, took them for a walk afterwards, and then went home. Diana was a very tractable pupil, though she was apt to get dreamy and careless in her work. Noel was difficult. He did not like sitting still, and hated his lessons. He was always ready to talk, but never ready to learn, and Miss Morgan found her patience sorely tried by his inattention and restlessness.
One morning he had been very troublesome: he would not give his attention to an addition sum set down for him on his slate. He kicked his chair, he drummed with his elbows on the table, and he made grimaces at Diana, who sat on the opposite side of the table.
"Noel, if you don't start that sum at once I shall punish you," Miss Morgan said sternly.
"How?" asked Noel, not a bit abashed. "And why are figures so horrid, Miss Morgan? I like letters best: you don't have to add them up. But yesterday I did count up. I counted the bwanches of my fir tree, and I got up to twenty."
"No more talking. Begin your sum."
Noel balanced his slate pencil across his fingers, dropped it under the table, then scrambled down to get it. He was a long time under the table, and then announced that the pencil was broken into a "fowsand bits."
Miss Morgan produced another pencil promptly, and started him at his sum again.
She was giving Diana a French dictation lesson: when she looked at Noel again, she found him leaning back in his chair, his eyes upon the ceiling.
"I'm counting the flies," he said; "they're more interesting than sixes and sevens."
"Very well," said Miss Morgan, "as you are determined not to do that sum, you will stand in the corner till you are sorry for your idleness."
Noel did not like this at all, but he pretended he did. He marched off to the corner and stood with hands behind him and his face to the wall.
Then he began to mutter to himself. Miss Morgan told him to be quiet.
Presently he spoke out loud:
"I'm telling God about you, how unkind you are to me."
"You're displeasing God very much. Ask Him to take away the naughty spirit who is making you idle and disobedient."
"What's his name?" asked Noel, turning round with interest on his face. "Is it Satan?"
Miss Morgan made no reply. Diana giggled.
And then, with a sudden rush, Noel dashed at the door, opened it, and tore downstairs as fast as his two feet could carry him. Down the garden he went, through the little gate into the churchyard, and from there into the quiet silent church.
Miss Morgan went after him, but could not find him. She did not think of going into the church.
As she came back from a fruitless search in the garden, she met Mrs. Inglefield. In a few words she told her about Noel.
"He really is extremely naughty this morning," she said. "He won't do his lessons, and now he has run away."
Mrs. Inglefield looked distressed.
"He has been spoiled by his ayah in India," she said. "He has never been made to do things he doesn't like. Don't spend your time looking for him, Miss Morgan. Leave him alone. He must be punished when he comes back."
She sighed a little, for punishment of any sort was a painful necessity to her.
It was some time before Noel came back to the house. His mother caught sight of him stealing across the garden on tiptoe.
She met him at the garden door.
"Why are you not at lessons?" she asked gravely.
Noel stood still, his gaze irresolute, then he smiled, and when Noel smiled he was adorable.
"Oh, Mums dear, I've been doing a dweffully difficult fing. Casting out Satan like Jesus did in the Bible." Then he dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. "I fink I've left him in the church. I don't know whether he's there still, or where he's going nex'."
"I'm quite sure you haven't been able to cast him out," said Mrs. Inglefield.
She always took Noel seriously.
"Well, no, not 'zackly, but Miss Morgan said he was in me, and I fought I'd better get as near God as I could and then He'd help me. And I walked into the top seat and knelt on the stool."
"Are you good now?"
Noel nodded.
"It wasn't me that was wicked," he said, looking up at his mother with solemn eyes. "It was Satan. God said to him in church, 'Get behind me, Satan,' and he did it."
"I am afraid, Noel, you have vexed Miss Morgan very much. If you have told God that you are sorry, you must now go and tell her. And remember this. No one can make you naughty against your will. You have liked being naughty, and you went on being naughty. And to make you remember that you must not give way to such naughtiness, you must stay up in the nursery this evening and not come down with the others after tea."
Noel began to cry, then he spread out his hands pathetically:
"But I'm good now. You can't puni' me when I'm good."
"I'm very glad you're good now; but you must be punished all the same. If a man gets sent to prison for stealing, however good he feels and is, after stealing, it won't save him from the prison."
Noel stared at his mother. Then he sobbed out:
"But I want to be forgiven."
"Miss Morgan will forgive you if you tell her you are sorry, but you must still be punished."
And then she left him climbing slowly up the stairs to the schoolroom. She longed to take him in her arms and pet him, but she knew it would not be good for him if she did.
Noel went into the nursery a chastened boy.
"I've come to say I'm sorry," he said.
Miss Morgan looked at his red eyes, and wisely did not ask him where he had been.
"I am very glad to hear you say so," she said. "Now, to show me you are sorry, sit down and do your sums."
In silence Noel took up his slate and pencil. Miss Morgan had no cause for complaint of him again.
But when lessons were over Noel said to her:
"And though I'm as good as any angel, I'm going to be punished this evening. It isn't fair."
Miss Morgan asked him to explain. When she heard about it she said to him:
"Whatever your mother does is absolutely fair. It would not be fair to let you go unpunished. It is to remind you next time you are going to be naughty that punishment will surely follow."
Noel said no more. His mother could not have punished him more severely than by preventing him from joining her and Diana for what they called their happy hour.
But after this, he was better behaved in lesson time.
The flowers and bulbs in the garden were now making a good show.
Chris worked away in his garden when he came home on Saturday. His mustard and cress and radishes were quite a success, and he was a proud boy when he presented his mother with the first dish of them.
Diana was as busy as he, attending to her rose tree and seedlings. Noel weeded his plot, and talked to his fir tree whilst he was doing it. He was very delighted one Sunday to see some of his seeds coming up by the church porch.
But when Chris got his bicycle, there was not so much gardening done. Noel insisted upon learning to ride it, and Chris for some time was good-natured about it. The two boys helped each other, and strange to say Noel mastered the machine before Chris.
One Saturday afternoon their mother allowed them to go out with it. She was always anxious that the boys should play and do things together. Noel seemed to have more respect for Chris now he was at school, and was always asking him questions about it and longing to join him there.
Diana, strangely enough, did not take any interest in the bicycle. She tried to ride it one day and had a bad fall and hurt herself. Since then she never touched it.
Mrs. Inglefield, seeing her walking about the garden rather aimlessly, suggested to her that she should come for a walk with her.
Of course Diana was only too delighted to do so. She adored her mother and loved having her to herself.
"We will go and see a farmer's wife, a Mrs. Cobb. I knew her as a little girl. She is getting old, and is not able to leave home as she is stiff with rheumatism. It is such a pretty walk across the fields and through a bit of wood."
"I hope Chris and Noel won't be quarrelling," Diana said in her grown-up tone as she started from the house with her mother. She thought that her brothers would be envious of her when they heard how she had spent the afternoon.
"I hope not," said her mother, smiling. "The more they are together, the better I am pleased. That was why I let them go out by themselves to-day."
Diana gave a little sigh.
"I don't know why it is, but since Chris has gone to school, he turns up his nose at girls. He never used to, and he'd do anything I told him to, and now he won't do a thing, and laughs at me."
"Poor little girl!" said Mrs. Inglefield sympathetically. "I went through that with my brothers, when I was small. It is only when they first go to a boys' school. They get swelled heads, and think that boys are the most superior beings in creation. Chris is very fond of you, Diana; he'll soon come back to you if you take an interest in his cricket and games, and talk to him about his school."
Diana was silent; she knew she had not done this. They crossed some green fields, keeping to the little path which was the right-of-way, and then they came to a wood with a beaten path under overhanging trees. The fresh green foliage, the primroses and anemones and blue hyacinths enchanted Diana.
"In the country," she said as she went down on her knees to pick the flowers, "you have everything without paying for it. We couldn't do this in London. And the flowers in the parks are only to look at, not to pick."
It was a bright sunny afternoon. Mrs. Inglefield, who was in no hurry, sat down to rest herself on a fallen tree-trunk. Then suddenly a rather angry child's voice broke the silence:
"I won't go home—I won't! I won't ever again! I shall stay away till they find my dead body starved to death, a skillington! I hate them all! I'll live up in the trees with the birds. They can hunt and hunt and hunt for me, and will never find me. They'll be only hunting for me to punish me!"
Diana started up. She stood still and listened, and so did her mother. In a moment, pushing herself passionately through a lot of bushes and undergrowth, appeared a little girl about Diana's age. She was shorter than she, and had a short-cropped red head. She was not a pretty child, but there was something wild and graceful in the way she held herself. She eyed Diana and her mother as a young fawn might just before taking flight, but Mrs. Inglefield smiled at her tenderly and held out her hand:
"Are you a little wood nymph? Come and talk to us."
The little girl stood still. She was not a village child. She was dressed plainly but well, and she swung a straw hat in her hand as she walked. Her face had been furious with passion, but surprise and curiosity had taken the temper away. For an instant she wavered, as if meditating flight, and then she thought better of it and walked up to Mrs. Inglefield.
"I saw you in church on Sunday," she said. "You smiled so often! I never know people who smile."
"Oh, what a sad pity! How hot and tired you look, dear child! Come and sit down by me."
The little girl seated herself at the extreme end of the tree-trunk; she looked at Diana with a frown. Diana held out her hand, full of primroses and bluebells.
"Have a nosegay?"' she asked.
A shake of the head was the only answer given, and then suddenly the little stranger burst forth:
"I've run away, and I mean to stay away. They all hate me, and I hate them. And Julia is the worst of all. She's a murderer; she drowned my puppy and held my hands tight when I tried to save him. She drowned him in the water-butt and laughed all the time, and, oh, he thought I would save him. He looked at me, and he was such a darling!"
"The wicked woman!" exclaimed Diana, roused to quick indignation.
The little girl buried her face in her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break.
Mrs. Inglefield moved closer to her and put her motherly arms round her.
"My poor little girl, tell me a little more. What is your name? And where do you live?"
"My name is Inez. I used to live in London with Dad and Mother and I was happy there, for I had a kind Nanny. And then she went away and Julia came. And Dad and Mother are out in Spain, and our house in London is shut up, and Mother said it would do me good to come down to the country and stay at the Park with Julia."
She wiped her eyes and regarded Diana with interest. "I'd like to know you," she said; "I haven't any friends here at all, not one!"
"You will have to come and see us," said Mrs. Inglefield. "Would you be allowed to?"
"Julia doesn't care where I go, she only dresses me and puts me to bed; she's going to marry Jim the under-gardener, I think. She's always with him in the garden. Mrs. Ball is the crossest cook I've ever seen. She hates children, always did, she says, so she hates me, and the other maids always tell me to get out of their way. Sometimes they're kind, but I keep away from them all. I like climbing trees and making bows and arrows. I only shoot at targets on trees. I love the birds—I've a tame robin who comes into the nursery. I call him Jack."
Inez was brightening up as she talked.
Then Mrs. Inglefield said that she and Diana must go on to the farm. Inez asked if she might accompany them.
"I told Julia I should run away and kill myself, and never be heard of again," she remarked thoughtfully, "but now I've met you, I don't think I'll do that."
"I'm quite sure you wouldn't really be so foolish and naughty as to try to hurt yourself, because somebody else had done it," said Mrs. Inglefield gravely.
Diana looked quite shocked.
"I don't care what I do when I'm in a temper," said Inez carelessly. "I fight Julia. I pulled all her hair down one day."
"Don't tell us of the naughty things you do, for we don't want to feel unhappy, but tell us of the good things you do," said Mrs. Inglefield cheerfully.
"I'm not a bit good," said Inez, "never!"
"Then you can't be a happy little girl."
Inez was silent, then she began to chatter to Diana, and Mrs. Inglefield let the children talk together.
They soon reached the farm; Mrs. Cobb was upstairs in bed, so Mrs. Inglefield went up to see her, and Diana and Inez climbed the gate and sat on the top rail of it, swinging their legs to and fro, and talking eagerly together.
A pleasant-faced young woman, a niece of Mrs. Cobb's, presently came out of the house with two glasses of milk and two slices of currant cake. The children thanked her, and left their gate and came into the old porch and sat down there to enjoy what was given them. Diana was looking with the greatest interest at a hen and her tiny chicks who were on the bit of grass lawn before the house.
"What darlings!" she said. "How I wish I could have some little chickens of my own! I've never seen them in London."
"We have a lot," said Inez. "I'll bring you one or two if you like, unless the old hen makes a fuss and tries to peck my eyes out."
Diana was delighted. "I'll make a little home for them in my doll's house," she said; "I brought it from London, and the doors all open and shut, so they could run in and out."
They were very busy talking about it when Mrs. Inglefield appeared.
They walked across the fields, and then Mrs. Inglefield told Inez that she had better run home.
"I wonder," she said to her, "if you would like to please me by trying to be nice to Julia when you go back. If you will try, I would like you to come to tea with my children on Monday."
Inez looked up:
"I won't promise," she said earnestly, "for it may be too difficult, but if I'm awfully wicked I won't come to tea with you. That will make me try hard to be good."
Then she ran off. Her woes had been forgotten. She seemed a happy careless child.
"Oh, Mums, I do like her so much!" said Diana. "I've often wished we had another girl in our family. 'Specially now Chris has changed to me. And she loves hearing stories, she says she never gets tired of it. And I'm going to tell her some of mine that I haven't written down. I do like people who listen to them. I have to keep them bottled up so."
"Poor little storyteller!" said her mother, laughing. "I am afraid that busy brain of yours is only working in one corner."
"How?" asked Diana.
"It's working in your imagination corner, and there are several other corners more important: the learning corner—what grown-up people would call the receptive corner, and the spiritual corner. I should like that last corner to spread and spread till it covered the centre of your brain. Do you ever think about your Saviour and about heaven, that happy home prepared for those who love Him?"
Diana had hold of her mother's hand. She squeezed it tightly, but did not speak for a moment; then she said:
"Noel has that corner spreading all over him, but nobody has talked to us as you do. Granny never did."
"Well, darling, I'm going to talk very often about it, because I love to do so, and I want my children to grow up with their little hands placed in the Hands of their loving Saviour; I want them to be led through their lives by Him."
"I wonder if Chris and Noel have got home yet?"
Mrs. Inglefield smiled. She understood her children, and never gave them too much at a time. But she prayed a lot for them, as all good mothers do.
When they reached home they found Chris dusty, hot, and rather cross. He was cleaning his bicycle with some old rags outside the shed in which he kept it.
"Have you had a nice time?" his mother asked. "Where is Noel?"
"I don't know."
Chris spoke sullenly.
"Didn't he come back with you?"
"I think he's sulking in a ditch. I let him ride much more than I did, and then he went on for miles and left me. He wouldn't stop. And when I did come up with him I let him have it, and he yelled, and I told him, he shouldn't get on it again, so I came on home by myself."
"Oh, Chris! He's a little boy. You shouldn't have left him. Where is this ditch? I did think I could trust you to take care of him."
Chris looked ashamed of himself, then he straightened himself and met his mother's eyes frankly:
"I'm sorry, Mums, but he is a little rotter. And he could have walked home quite well. It was at the four cross corner by the Green Farm."
"That is nearly two miles away. I shall have to go and look for him."
Nurse had appeared, and protested as she heard her mistress say this.
"Indeed, you shall not, ma'am. You're much too tired. Master Chris must go himself."
"I can't," said Chris. "The little beast kicked and kicked at my bicycle with all his might, and something is bent, it won't go properly. It began to go wrong just before I got home."
"You can walk as well as your mother," said Nurse sternly.
Mrs. Inglefield hesitated. She was feeling very tired. And Diana's quick eyes had seen it.
"Chris, I'll come with you a part of the way, anyhow," she said. "I'm not as tired as Mums, and I dare say we shall meet him. And I want to tell you all about a strange little girl we met to-day."
"That's right," said Mrs. Inglefield. "I really think I must let you go. It is very silly of me, but I'm not a good walker. I got out of the way of it in India. I hope you will meet him on the way."
So Chris and Diana set off, and Mrs. Inglefield sat down in a big chair in her tiny hall and gave a sigh.
"I wish my three children pulled together better, Nurse. Whose fault is it, do you think?"
"They'll get on all right after a bit, ma'am. It's early days yet. Master Noel has been accustomed to have things all his own way, so it comes difficult to him. I think he wants a little taking down at times, but Master Chris deserves to be tired, leaving him in the lurch like that."
"I shall not let them go out together again. It was an experiment."
It was a long time before the children came home.
Tea-time passed, and Mrs. Inglefield was getting seriously uneasy.
And then, about half-past six, they appeared. Mrs. Inglefield met them at the door with great relief of mind.
Noel was in the middle of them, and looked tear-stained and defiant.
"We've had to drag him along," Diana said breathlessly. "He wasn't trying to come home, he was just sitting there expecting you to fetch him, determined not to walk home at all by himself."
Noel flung himself in his mother's arms with a burst of sobs.
"My legs is nearly broken, I'm so tarred. Chris lost me and left me, and I didn't know the way home. He's a beast!"
"Hush, hush! Now, no more tears. You are growing out of a baby. Go upstairs with Nurse, and you'll feel better after tea."
Nurse took him off and managed to comfort him. Diana toiled upstairs with weary legs, and Chris turned to his mother.
"I've made you angry," he said; "I'm sorry."
"Not angry, only disappointed. I thought I should be able to depend upon you."
"Oh, do, Mums, do! Forgive me. It's all my fault. I was furious with him for not playing fair. I forgot he was only a baby. And he kicks so! When he kicks my shins, I feel I'd like to give him a good thrashing!"
Chris looked at his mother so appealingly that she took him into her arms and kissed him.
"My eldest son," she said softly: "I want to feel that he is my right hand when his father is away!"
Chris gulped down a choke in his throat.
"Oh, I won't fail you next time," he said in a whisper; "give me a next time, won't you?"
"I hope you'll have a good many 'next times,'" said his mother, smiling. "Now off to your tea, my boy, and make your peace with Noel."
She said no more about the matter till bedtime. They had not so much time with her as usual as their tea was extra late, but when Noel was in bed she talked to him very gravely.
He was still very angry with Chris, and began making excuses for himself, but his mother stopped him:
"I generally find that the angry person is the one in the wrong," she said. "Now, Noel, listen, hold your breath and hush! What does God think of you, I wonder! He was there, He saw it all, He heard all you said and saw all you did. You were the first in the wrong, you had no right to go off with Chris's bicycle and refuse to give it up. It belongs to him, not to you. And it was very good of him to let you ride it at all. I must now forbid you to use it again till you have my permission. You can't be trusted with it. You made Chris angry this afternoon, you vexed and worried me by not coming home, and you grieved God. You are His little servant, but this afternoon you changed sides and have been serving the Devil. What are you doing now? You can't go to sleep till you have asked God to forgive you."
Noel lay very still, his angry eyes closed, and he looked like a little angel.
Mrs. Inglefield had one of his hot little hands in hers, and she felt it twitching. She was silent now, and for a few minutes only the rather loud ticking of the nursery clock broke the stillness in the room.
Then Noel opened his eyes and looked at her.
"I'm quite, quite good now," he said calmly; "he's left me very kickly, because God and I turned him out."
"I am glad to hear it, darling. Now, will you tell God that you are sorry?"
"I've told Him. And I fink it's all right. I fink He's forgiven me."
"I'd like you to tell Chris you're sorry, too. If I bring Chris here, will you do so?"
"Oh, but I aren't, not a bit!"
"Noel!"
Noel closed his eyes tightly again.
"I'm afraid," he murmured, "Satan's still inside me; he's left a bit of himself behind."
Mrs. Inglefield got up.
She knew that Noel rather liked to prolong this kind of conversation.
"I am going to fetch Chris," she said; "if you're really sorry—and God will not forgive you unless you are—you will of course, own up to him that it was your fault in the beginning—you know that is true."
She left the room. Noel wriggled about a good deal in bed, and when Chris came in there was nothing visible of him: only a fat lump below the bedclothes.
"Here is Chris," said Mrs. Inglefield; "I will leave you together."
She left the room.
Chris stood by the bed waiting.
Presently a muffled voice was heard.
"I'm sorry!"
"So am I!" said Chris frankly; "I hate making Mums unhappy!"
Noel's curly head suddenly shot up:
"Mums is always happy. It's only wicked people who are mis'able."
"Wicked people make her miserable," said Chris; "at least, we do."
"Did I spoil your cycle?"
"No, not much. I think I can put it right."
"I'm never to touch it again, never! Mums said so. Isn't that a punishment?"
"It was my fault," acknowledged Chris meekly; "I aggravated you."
Noel nodded. "And so I did, too. I've finished telling everybody I'm sorry, and now I'm going to sleep."
Chris looked at him.
"We'll shake hands on it," he said. "That's what we do at school when we've had a fight."
So Noel's fat dimpled hand and Chris's were clasped together, and then Chris crept silently out of the room. His mother was standing by a passage window looking out into the dusky garden. A young moon was rising over a hill in the distance. Her thoughts were away in India with her husband. She was longing, as she so often did, to have him once more by her side.
Chris leant his head against her shoulder.
"We're all right, Mother. I'm so sorry we've made you sad."
She put her arm round him and said gently:
"I've been wondering what kind of boys your father will meet when he comes home. Whether he'll be disappointed in them, and tell me that I have failed to train them rightly: that I have spoilt them. I wish he were here to talk to you, Chris."
"Oh, Mums, we want no one but you," was Chris's fervent reply; "and I'm awfully sorry about this afternoon. It was all my fault. I was cross to him first, and then he did it to spite me, and I left him there and rode off, to spite him! But we've made it up, and it won't happen again, I promise you!"
Then his mother turned quickly and kissed the brown head on her shoulder.
"I want to depend on you; I want to know that Noel won't come to harm when he's with you, and I'm going to trust you again, Chris. I don't believe you'll fail me."
Mrs. Inglefield had no fault to find with Chris for a long time after that. His ambition was to have his mother's trust and confidence.
On Monday afternoon Inez appeared just before three o'clock. Miss Morgan was just taking Diana and Noel out for their daily walk, but Mrs. Inglefield said that as Inez had come so early, they could all play in the garden together, instead of walking out, so Miss Morgan went home and the children were left to themselves.
Of course the garden was shown to Inez: she was tremendously interested in it all.
"It's so lovely to be able to grow just what you like," she said; "I think I shall get our gardener to give me a bit of ground, but not for flowers. I shall grow pumpkins and pomegranates."
"Oh!" said Diana, awed by this magnificent idea, "Will you be able to do it?"
Inez nodded; then she pointed to Noel's ground.
"I like the idea of growing your own Christmas tree," she said. "I think you were a clever boy to think of it."
Noel was very pleased.
"He's my little friend," he said; "I talk to him a lot. It's very dull for him now, but he knows his grand time is coming. And he's growing like anyfing. Look at his dear little green tips."
When they had seen all over the garden, they climbed Up into the medlar tree, and Diana began telling one of her wonderful stories. She found Inez a better listener than Noel. He presently left them, but the story continued, and was left to be continued.
"I can't make up any more now," said Diana; "I'll tell you the rest when we see each other next!"
Then they got down from the tree and played hide-and seek, and after a time Diana was called indoors by Nurse. Some new shoes had arrived which had to be tried on. Noel and Inez stayed in the garden.
"Would you like to see some flowers I planted for God?" Noel asked, wishing to do his part in entertaining the guest.
Inez looked at him and laughed, then followed him into the churchyard, where he showed her with pride some sweet-peas and blue cornflowers coming up by the church porch. Then he showed her some forget-me-nots growing on a small grave, and on another, some little pink asters.
"I did those," he said with pride, "but Mr. Wargrave stopped me. I do fink God might have a better garden, don't you? Mr. Wargrave says people are God's flowers. They're all sleeping underground now, but they'll come up the most lovely people by and by. At least, I s'pose it's their bodies that will. They get out of them when they die, and go away to God."
"You are a funny boy!" said Inez, staring at him. "Nobody in our house talks about God. Go on, say some more."
"Well, you know," said Noel eagerly, "I'm a Chris'mas child, specially born on the same day as Jesus Christ. Chris and Diana don't understand, so God loves me and I love Him, and I want Him to have lovely flowers in His garden, because He likes them. He made them, you know, so of course He does."
"I s'pose," said Inez, "He made me, but God doesn't like me. I'm too wicked."
"Are you?" said Noel, looking at her curiously. "What kind of wickedness do you do?"
"Well, yesterday I got the garden hose and I turned it on into Julia's bedroom window. It's rather low down, and she was doing her hair and trying on ear-rings, waiting for the gardener to come along and talk to her. She was in such a rage; her face was streaming with water, and then I had to hide from her till she forgot it a bit, and I hid in the best spare-room bed, and then they made a fuss about that."
"I think that's rather fun," said Noel, his eyes sparkling. "I wonder if we have got a hose. It squirts water, doesn't it? We used to have one in India. I should like to squirt my Chris'mas tree. He'd like it, I'm sure."
"I like to squirt people who don't like it," said Inez; "that's wicked, they say. But I don't think I care about God. I hate saying my prayers. I never know what it means, and it's so dull. And church is awfully dull."
"Oh!" gasped Noel; "I think it's beautiful! It belongs to God. He comes there, you know, every Sunday, and in the week besides. I almost fink I see Him sometimes. Mums says that God likes everybody, and calls them to get near Him. He doesn't like them far away."
"But God lives millions and billions of miles away up at the back of the stars," said Inez in a thoughtful tone.
"Oh, but He doesn't stay there," said Noel, shaking his head gravely. "Oh dear, no! He's always close to us. Why, I really do believe He's listening to us now."
There was such an emphatic conviction in Noel's tone that Inez looked quickly round; then she laughed uneasily.
"I hope He didn't hear me say I didn't like church," she said, "and I didn't like Him. But that's how I'm wicked, they all say so. I care for nobody and nobody cares for me. And now let's jump over those flower-beds: we've been grave enough."
They were back in the garden by this time, and of course in jumping the flower-beds Inez missed the distance and landed herself in the middle of one, breaking a young azalea to pieces and making havoc of some small seedlings planted.
"There now, that's a wickedness!" said Inez ruefully, as she surveyed the disaster. "Now, what will your mother say to me? Shall I tell her that a wild dog came in from the road and did it, or some pigs? Do you keep pigs?"
"We've got to tell her truefully if we do fings," said Noel.
Then Diana appeared, saying that tea was ready. She was consulted about the damaged flower-bed.
"Here is Mums coming out," she said. "She won't be angry."
And Mrs. Inglefield was not. She smiled at Inez, called her a little tomboy, and asked her not to do it again. Then they went upstairs to the nursery to tea.
There were hot buttered scones, plum cake, honey, and some fancy biscuits. Inez enjoyed her tea thoroughly.
"I hope you'll come to tea with me very soon," she said; "but I'm afraid they won't give us so good a tea as this. I should like you to come the end of this week: will you? We've a lovely big house to play hide-and-seek in!"
"May Chris come, too?" asked Diana. "He'll be home on Saturday from school. If you asked us then, he'd be able to come. Will Julia like us coming?"
"I shan't tell her till the day arrives," said Inez, "and then there'll be no time for her to do anything. She didn't mind my coming here to-day. She's glad to get rid of me."
"And I'll have time before Saturday to make up a lot more about 'Ada and Gertie,'" said Diana.
"Ada and Gertie" were the two motherless heroines in Diana's story.
They chattered away all tea-time, and afterwards went down to the drawing-room and had games with Mrs. Inglefield.
Inez was very loath to go home. To her surprise, at seven o'clock Julia appeared. She was a very smart young woman with a sharp voice, but she was quite respectful to Mrs. Inglefield.
"I've come to fetch Miss Inez," she announced, and then, whilst Inez was putting on her outdoor shoes, she went into the nursery and had a chat with Nurse.
Nurse spoke to Mrs. Inglefield afterwards.
"I hope the little girl won't be making our children naughty, ma'am. That young woman says she is terribly wild, and she can do nothing with her. She ran out of the house in her nightdress one night, and she has fits of passion in which she threatens to kill anyone who comes near her, and herself in the bargain. 'Tis a pity she has no governess, or isn't sent to school. She's supposed to do lessons with that young person, but she seems to have no influence over her, and the child will learn nothing."
"I think there are faults on both sides," said Mrs. Inglefield. "Mr. Wargrave has been telling me about the child. Her parents don't care for her. They wanted a boy because of the property; and it goes to a distant cousin, for a girl can't inherit. Poor little Inez has never had any love in her life. I feel a great pity for her, and I think we must try and help her."
It had been arranged before Inez left that the children should come over to spend the following Saturday afternoon with her. Mrs. Inglefield had asked Julia if it would be convenient to her, and she had made no objection.
When Chris heard about it, he looked doubtful.
"I don't know that I care about going to tea with a girl," he said.
His mother smiled.
"It won't hurt you, my boy. Inez has a most beautiful home, and you will enjoy seeing it. I used to go to the Park, as it is called, when I was a little girl, and I loved it. I am afraid there are no deer now in the Park, as there used to be, but the gardens are delightful, and perhaps she will take you up to what we used to call the battlements. It is a walk round the roof with a wall outside and places where the cannons used to be fired. It is like an old castle."
This sounded interesting, and when Saturday came, Chris accompanied Diana and Noel without a murmur.
They had to walk a good mile before they came to it.
Chris felt he was in charge of the party, and squared his shoulders as he marched along the road.
"Don't you think Inez is a pretty name?" Diana asked him. "Mother says she is Spanish—at least, her mother is. I can't think why she isn't happy living in a big beautiful house; but she told me that all the rooms were shut up, and that she has only one small room to live in. And she has all her meals alone. Julia likes to have hers with the other servants. It must be very dull for her."
"I wish she had a brother," said Chris; "I wonder if she could play cricket? We might try a game."
Talking together the mile soon came to an end. They turned in at some big iron gates, and up a drive bordered by chestnut trees, which were in full blossom.
Diana insisted upon stopping to gaze up at them. She always had a keen eye for beauty.
"They're wonderful," she said. "It's like going up an avenue to an enchanted castle. Let's pretend Inez is a princess kept in close custody."
"Oh, but how wet and sticky!" said Noel. "I shouldn't like to be kept in custard!"
Diana and Chris shouted with laughter. Noel did not like to be laughed at, and he turned a little sulky; but when they came up to the house he was himself again.
It was an old grey stone, turreted building. Two gardeners were mowing a very big lawn in front of it, and there were beds of spring flowers in front of the big square stone porch. They had to go up a flight of steps to the door, but before they had got to the top Inez had appeared.
"I saw you from the window," she said, a little breathlessly, "and I slid down the banisters the whole way."
Then she looked at Chris.
"Are you older or younger than Diana?" she asked.
"I'm the eldest of the family," Chris replied, drawing up his head proudly.
"So am I," said Inez, dancing lightly up and down on the tips of her toes. "I'm the eldest, and I'm the youngest, too, for there's nobody older or younger than me. I'm the only one."
Chris looked at her with some interest.
"Come along upstairs, and I'll show you where I live, and then we'll have a jolly racket all over the house and garden!"
She pulled hold of Diana's hand; the children followed her through a very large and lofty hall, up a broad staircase, and then along some stone passages through low doorways, until she pushed open the door of a room.
It was not a very cheerful-looking room. There were two windows, but they were small, set in thick grey stone. The carpet was a dingy brown. There was a round table with a red cloth, a horsehair sofa, a glass bookcase with a cupboard underneath it, a few very gloomy-looking pictures. Four chairs stood against the wall.
"You're very tidy," Diana observed as she looked round. "Where do you keep your playthings? You should see our nursery! It's littered all over the floor."
"I haven't got any playthings," said Inez; "I don't care for that sort of thing, and Julia keeps this room tidy. I'm never in it, and if she locks me in I just climb out of the window and walk along the gutter till I get to the battlements. I like playing in the stables and lofts. I have some rabbits I'll show you. I only come up here for meals."
"There's not much to do here," said Diana.
"No, and tea will come very soon. Take off your gloves and things, and come on down to the garden."
This they did, and all agreed that the gardens and shrubberies and stables were the best places to be in.
They had not seen half of them before a tea bell rang, and they had to return to the house. Julia had provided quite a nice tea: bread-and-butter, scones with jam, currant buns, and a big seed cake. She poured out tea for them, and then left them. Inez, with some importance, took her place, and poured out more cups of tea when wanted. Her tongue was very busy, and her little guests listened to her accounts of herself with surprise and awe. There seemed nothing that she could not and would not do.
She rode the cows as well as the horses bare-back, she drove the carts backwards and forwards to the Farm, she had a rope ladder which she fixed to all kinds of dangerous places, and she could climb up and down it like a monkey. Chris's eyes sparkled as he listened: this girl was more like a boy than anything else, he thought, and he began to long to join her in some of her mischievous pranks. When tea was over she suggested they should go to the battlements, and she took them through a narrow door, up a winding stone staircase, till they came out above the house. Here they had the greatest fun, running round the turreted towers and looking through the peepholes down to the country stretching out below them.