THE Manor House had been the home of the Gidley family for several hundreds of years. It was situated in a sheltered coombe about half a mile from Holton village, and was surrounded by gardens, beyond which were extensive grounds, once part of an extensive deer park. Nowadays no graceful, soft-eyed deer were to be seen beneath the fine beeches and ancient oaks; but the place was simply infested with rabbits—they ate up everything, and even came into the gardens and destroyed the crops there.
The house itself was a grey Elizabethan mansion, and had been built in the shape of the letter E in honour of the great Tudor queen. It stood on the site of an older building, which had been a religious house before Henry the Eighth had laid it in ruins, when he had presented the property to one of his favourite courtiers, Sir Richard Gidley. It was that Sir Richard who, in his old age, had built the present house. His likeness was to be seen in the picture-gallery which Dr. Warren had mentioned, represented in court dress, puffed, and padded, and bejewelled.
Little Dick thought the Manor House a very grand place indeed, as he stepped from his grandfather's carriage on the day following his first meeting with Sir Richard, and stood looking up at the old grey building. The great oaken door was opened by an elderly woman in a plain black gown, who had evidently been on the look-out for his arrival; for she flung her arms around him, and kissed him ere she led him into the house. He was naturally surprised at the warmth of her greeting, and, glancing wonderingly up into her face, saw that her eyes were smiling through a mist of tears.
"You don't know me," she said, in answer to his inquiring look, "but I couldn't help kissing you for your father's sake. I was his nurse when he was a little lad, and now I'm the housekeeper. Did you never hear of Susan Morecombe?"
"Are you Susan Morecombe?" he asked.
He did not like to say he had never heard of her before, for she evidently thought he knew all about her. He wondered afresh why he had not been told anything about his father's home. Of course his father had lived in this grand house once, although he could hardly realise the fact.
"Yes; I'm Susan Morecombe," she replied. "But come; Sir Richard expects you, and he must not be kept waiting!" and she led the way to the dining-room, where she left Dick with his grandfather.
If the old man was glad to see his grandson he did not say so. He was seated in a high-backed armchair near the open window, with the daily newspaper in his hand.
"Well, Dick," he said, as the little boy came to his side; "so they let you come!"
"They?" Dick repeated interrogatively, as he shook hands with his grandfather.
"Dr. and Miss Warren, I mean."
"Oh, yes! They promised I should come. Uncle Theophilus said he thought father would wish it."
"Then you had no desire to come yourself?"
"I—I—well, no!" Dick acknowledged with some embarrassment. "I hope it is not rude to say that! I wish you had not asked me."
"You are quite right to speak out. I hate a liar; and one who equivocates is a liar as much as one who tells a deliberate falsehood. If you speak the truth we shall get on."
"I always speak the truth," Dick said, growing red, for his grandfather was regarding him with great severity. "I am glad now I did come," he continued; "I had no idea you lived in such a fine house, grandfather! What a large room this is—quite the biggest I was ever in! It's rather too big for one person, isn't it?"
"Would you like to go all over the house?" Sir Richard asked, ignoring the other's question. "If so, you shall, later on. Sit down, now; I want to talk to you."
Dick obeyed, and patiently answered all the questions his grandfather put to him—mostly about his father, and his life in India.
"And so there is a chance of the regiment being ordered home next year, if all's well," Sir Richard remarked presently. "It's about time, I should say. How was it your mother did not bring you home?" he asked abruptly.
"She could not leave father," Dick explained; "and besides, it costs a lot of money to travel from India to England, and father hasn't much money, you know!"
"Has he not?"
"I should have thought you would have known that!" Dick exclaimed, regarding his grandfather with evident surprise.
"I have not known much about my son of late years," the old man said bitterly; "he offended me, and I have never forgiven him!"
"I don't believe father did anything wrong!" Dick declared, looking greatly distressed, for he thought whatever his father did must be right.
"You were not asked your opinion, young gentleman!" Sir Richard told him sarcastically.
Dick felt hurt and snubbed. Indignant tears rose to his eyes, and his lips quivered, but he did not cry. Sir Richard watched the boy in silence, secretly admiring his self-command; presently he noticed that Dick, in his turn, was watching him.
"What are you thinking of?" he asked, struck by the thoughtful look which had crept into his grandson's eyes.
"I-I would rather not say!" was the evasive reply.
"Why not?" the old man demanded.
"If I told you, you might not like it. You might be offended. You are so—so touchy!"
Sir Richard laughed, not unkindly. The boy's frankness was not unpleasing to him.
"Come, speak out," he said imperatively, "tell me what weighty thought was making you look so serious."
"I was wondering," said Dick with exceeding gravity, "if you ever say 'Our Father'!"
"Do you mean the Lord's prayer? Certainly, every day of my life. Why?"
"You said just now that you had never forgiven father—for something. Mother says if we don't forgive we can't hope God will forgive us, and it's a mockery to say 'Our Father.' That's what I meant!"
Sir Richard grew purple. He was about to burst into a storm of passion, when he remembered that he had forced the child to speak his thoughts, and has anger suddenly cooled.
"Instead of educating you for a soldier, your parents should bring you to a preacher," he sneered. "There was a Gidley once who was a preacher, and because he could not mind his own business he was burnt at the stake!"
"Oh, do please tell me about him!" Dick cried eagerly. "I should so much like to hear how it happened!"
Sir Richard was fond of talking of his own family, so it pleased him to tell the tale. He accordingly commenced:—
"In the reign of Queen Mary—Bloody Mary as the history-books call her—there was a certain Paul Gidley, a monk, a younger son of the Sir Richard Gidley who built this house. He went abroad to Holland, and there he fell in with some monks like himself, who had come to the conclusion that God meant the Bible for every one to read—not only for priests and people of education. When this Paul Gidley returned to England, he went about preaching, and saying that the Church of Rome was full of faults, and that Jesus Christ was the only one to look to for salvation."
"He was quite right, wasn't he?" Dick said earnestly. "I've heard about men like him before—mother told me about them. Some of them were martyrs," he concluded, a look of awe crossing his face.
"Paul Gidley was one," Sir Richard proceeded; "he offended the heads of the Roman Catholic Church in England, and he was thrown into prison so that he should have time to consider the advisability of denying the Protestant faith. The queen was reluctant to sign his death-warrant, for the Gidleys had ever been faithful and loyal subjects; but, as Paul Gidley declined to change his views, she was obliged to consent to his death; and so he perished at the stake—was burnt to death after nearly an hour's agony borne with great fortitude. The Gidleys were never cowards!" Sir Richard's eyes glowed with a bright light as he spoke, whilst little Dick laid a hand on his knee, and looked up at him solemnly.
"That was before this house was built," the old man continued. "The Gidleys lived then about a mile from here. After the death of young Paul Gidley, Sir Richard absented himself from court, and lived in retirement till Queen Mary died. Then, when Elizabeth came to the crown, he commenced to build this house on the site of the old monastery; but before it was completed, he died. The son finished the work the father had commenced, and, with his family and personal belongings, which included some handsome plate, and the paintings of his parents and martyred brother, came here to live. The old home of the Gidleys is now a farm-house; I daresay you will see it some day. I will show you the picture-gallery by-and by; but now it is my lunch-time. Are you hungry?"
"I think I am," the little boy admitted, glancing at the table, which was laid for two. Sir Richard told him to ring the bell, and a trim parlour-maid appeared in answer to its summons to wait upon them.
Sir Richard took his seat at the top of the table with his grandson at his right hand. During the meal he watched the boy furtively, and was pleased with his behaviour. Dick's manners were easy and refined; and although he had plenty to say, and asked dozens of questions, he was not too self-confident.
"He has been carefully brought up," the old man said to himself; "his father's doing, I suppose." Aloud he said, "I suppose your father had you with him a good deal in India, eh?"
"Oh, no," Dick answered promptly; "father was always so busy! Sometimes mother and I were alone together all day! That's why I miss mother more than father, though I love them both alike! And I can't help thinking if I feel so dreadfully bad about it, that she must be feeling the same!"
Sir Richard grunted, but he made no reply.
"I'm expecting a letter from mother," Dick went on, a happy, expectant smile brightening his pale face. "She said I should hear from her very soon; and when I write to her I shall have such lots of things to tell her! Oh, dear; I wish I could write better! You can't think how badly I write!"
"Ah!" the old man exclaimed, smiling indulgently. "The Gidleys have been oftener soldiers than scholars! Your father could never bear letter-writing."
"Mother generally writes his letters, except his duty letters, you know."
After luncheon Dick reminded his grandfather of his promise to show him the picture-gallery.
Accordingly, Sir Richard slowly led the way up the broad oaken staircase, whilst Dick followed. Down a dark corridor they went till they reached a heavy door—like a church door, the little boy thought. Sir Richard lifted the ponderous latch, and Dick followed him into a large long room, with windows of painted glass through which the summer sun shone in mellow tones. A feeling of awe crept over Dick as he glanced at the walls panelled in oak and beautifully carved, against which, in heavy frames, hung the likenesses of his ancestors.
His attention was first called to Sir Richard Gidley, bluff King Hal's favourite, a fine-looking gentleman, brown-eyed, brown-haired, with a merry smile on his lips.
"That likeness was painted before his son was murdered," Sir Richard said, "when he was young and gay. See, Dick, there is he who entertained King Charles the First—that handsome man with the love-locks; and there is Dame Margery, his wife—a lady-in-waiting she was, before she married, to Queen Henrietta Maria. And there is Sir Thomas Gidley, whom William, Prince of Orange, disliked and mistrusted."
"How was that?" Dick asked.
"Because the Gidleys always stood by the Stuarts," Sir Richard answered.
"Oh, I know all about the Stuarts!" Dick cried; "but I never knew my ancestors had anything to do with them! How strange it seems!"
"You should be proud of your ancestors," the old man said, delighted with the keen interest the boy was evincing in the information he was giving him.
"Were they very good people?" Dick inquired.
"Not all; but some of them were. They were all brave, though; many of them were soldiers like your father."
"I have not seen the likeness of the martyr, grandfather!"
"No." Sir Richard drew aside a curtain which hung in front of a large picture. "This is Paul Gidley, the martyr," he said gravely.
Dick looked, and saw an almost life-size representation of a monk. The slight form was attired in the conventional monastic garb of the period; but it was the face of the martyr which fascinated Dick—a young face with dark-brown eyes, and lips firm but tender, a broad brow, and clipped, dark hair.
"You see he wore a tonsure," Sir Richard said; "I mean that round, bare patch on his head which shows he was dedicated to the Roman Catholic ministry. He was a monk, and he lost his life because he saw the errors of his church, and preached against them."
"I think he looks good," Dick said gravely; "and I am sure he was brave! What are those figures at the bottom of the picture, grandfather?"
"Can you not make them out?"
"Yes— 1 5 5 5."
"That is the date of the year during which Paul Gidley suffered martyrdom."
Sir Richard glanced from the pictured face of the young monk to the earnest countenance of the child, and was it only his fancy, or did he really see a likeness between them? Both had the same brown eyes, both the same broad, serious brow; and the old man wondered if his grandson possessed the brave spirit of Paul Gidley too.
"I am sure he was good," Dick said, with conviction in his tones; "I like his picture better than any!"
"What, better than that gay cavalier!" cried Sir Richard, laughing. "You don't mean to tell me you prefer Paul Gidley, the martyr, to his fine relations!"
"Yes; I do. And I think mother would like him best. Was she ever here?" he asked suddenly.
"Never!"
Sir Richard let the curtain fall before the picture; and presently they went downstairs again, where Dick was handed over to Susan Morecombe to be shown over the house. The little boy saw many things to interest him that day; but foremost in his mind was the story of the martyred monk, whose face was firmly impressed in his mind's eye.
NOT many days had elapsed after Dick's arrival at Holton before he felt really at home at No. 8 Fore Street. Every morning he accompanied the doctor on his round of visits, and soon grew to talk to him with but little reserve. He had told him his impressions of the Manor House, and had acknowledged that he did not much care for his grandfather; whereupon Dr. Warren had advised him not to be too hasty in forming an opinion of Sir Richard.
"Do you think my grandfather will ask me to spend a day with him again?" Dick asked Miss Warren one afternoon, as he walked down the village street by her side on their way to the post-office.
"I really cannot tell, my dear," she answered. "Did he say anything about it?"
"No; nothing. What a grand place the Manor House is; isn't it? I know now what mother meant when she said grandfather must be lonely; any one would be in such a big house! Do you ever go to see him, Aunt Mary Ann?"
"Go to see your grandfather? No, dear; never!"
"Why not?" Dick inquired. "I suppose you don't like him?" he added after a moment's reflection, as Miss Warren made no response.
"Oh, that is not the reason!" she exclaimed hurriedly. "I never knew much of Sir Richard. You see, Dick, he is not very sociable; and though your Uncle Theophilus attends him when he is ill, we cannot call him a friend of ours. He was never inside our doors until he came to see you the other day."
"Oh!" cried Dick, in great surprise. "Wouldn't you like to see the Manor House, Aunt Mary Ann?"
"Yes, I should," Miss Warren acknowledged; "but I beg you will never tell your grandfather I said so, Dick. The fact is, dear, Sir Richard is in a different position in life to us—to your Uncle Theophilus and me. I don't suppose you understand what I mean, and it is a little difficult to explain. Your Uncle Theophilus is only a hard-working surgeon, whilst your grandfather is a large landowner and a country gentleman."
"But Uncle Theophilus is a gentleman too!" Dick cried, lifting a pair of wondering eyes to Miss Warren's face. "I think he's much more of a gentleman than grandfather! Uncle Theophilus is always kind and polite to people; and the day I spent with grandfather he was so cross to the servants—as disagreeable and nasty as he could be to them! Mother says a real gentleman never does anything to hurt people. Oh, Aunt Mary Ann, I don't call grandfather a gentleman at all!"
"Hush! You must not say that!" Miss Warren remonstrated, looking quite distressed. "Little boys should not be so quick to judge grown-up people. You must always try to think of Sir Richard with respect, as well as treat him with respect, because he's your grandfather and an old man. He was very kind to you the other day, was he not? He showed you the picture-gallery himself, so he evidently tried to entertain you."
"He told me I ought to be proud of my ancestors," Dick remarked thoughtfully; "but they were not all good—he said so."
"You can be proud of the good ones," Miss Warren replied smiling; "just as you are proud of your father."
"Oh, father's splendid!" Dick cried, his eyes shining. "Of course I'm proud of him! I mean to grow up like him if I can!"
"Well, you can be proud of your ancestors who lived worthy of honour, and were honest, honourable men just in the same way. That Paul Gidley, for instance, who died for the sake of truth."
"I wish you could see his picture, Aunt Mary Ann! Oh, here we are at the post-office!"
They entered, and were greeted by Miss Tidy from her position behind the counter.
"Good afternoon, ma'am! Good afternoon, sir! I declare the young gentleman is looking better already. Did you see Sir Richard Gidley as you came down the street? No! Now, how could you have missed him, I wonder? He was here only five minutes ago!"
"We did not notice his carriage anywhere," Miss Warren remarked.
"He is walking," Miss Tidy replied. "I always say that in spite of his age, he is the finest man in the district. Ah!" bending across the counter and fixing her keen eyes on Dick, "as I told the doctor the other day, your little nephew's a Gidley, every inch of him."
"He resembles his father in features," Miss Warren allowed; "but he is like his mother, too. I want some notepaper, if you please."
Whilst Miss Warren was selecting what she required, the post-mistress kept up a run of small talk. She had seen little Dick driven past in Sir Richard's carriage, and would fain have known how he was received at the Manor House. However, she contented herself with asking him how he liked his grandfather's home, and if he had ever seen so fine an abode in India.
"No; never," Dick answered promptly. "I think it's a lovely place, but a great deal too big for one person to live in."
"So it is," Miss Tidy agreed, laughing. "And Sir Richard only keeps a few women-servants now instead of a proper establishment. I often think it's not right there should be no able-bodied man in the house. Groves, the coachman, lives at the lodge, and the stableman sleeps over the stables, right away from the house. Suppose anything happened—a burglary, or a fire!"
"We must hope nothing of the kind will ever happen," Miss Warren said, smiling at the look of concern on Miss Tidy's face. "I think that is all I require to-day."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'll send the parcel up to your house this evening. Good afternoon, ma'am! I daresay you'll meet Sir Richard before you reach home; he must have been in a shop as you came down the street."
But, as it happened, Miss Warren was not at all anxious to meet Sir Richard. Accordingly, she turned in the direction of the beach, where she found a shady spot, and sat down to rest, whilst her little nephew roamed about within call and sight.
The sea always had a great attraction for Dick. To-day, the tide being out, he wandered between the rocks, delighted with the treasures he discovered—beautiful shells, delicately-tinted anemones, and sea-weeds of various hues; but, at length, tired himself, he returned to Miss Warren, and a short while later they retraced their footsteps homewards.
Almost the first person they met in the village street was Sir Richard Gidley. He lifted his hat courteously to Miss Warren, and explained that he had called at the doctor's house to inquire for his grandson.
"Oh, I am very well, thank you," Dick said brightly. "Aunt Mary Ann and I have been down on the beach; it's lovely there!"
"When are you coming to see me again?" the old man asked, his stern face softening a little as his eyes met his grandson's, which were regarding him frankly and fearlessly.
"Whenever you like, grandfather," Dick replied politely.
"I give you an open invitation. Come to the Manor House whenever you please, and you shall be welcomed. I suppose you are getting to know your way about the district now, eh?"
"Oh, yes! I drive out with Uncle Theophilus every morning. Sometimes he lets me drive; and he says, with practice, I shall be a capital whip! We often pass near the Manor House. I could find the way there by myself—I know I could. I should like to see the picture-gallery again."
"Well, ask Dr. Warren to drop you at my door now and then," Sir Richard said graciously. "You have no objection, I suppose?" he added, turning to Miss Warren.
"Oh, no," she answered. "I will tell my brother, and I am sure he will do as you request."
"And if I tire of the boy I can send him away," Sir Richard remarked; "but he does not appear a noisy child. He is looking better than he was, Miss Warren."
"I am glad you think so," she responded, her manner growing more cordial; "my brother hopes he will become quite robust in a very short while. We mean him to spend most of the time in the open air this summer."
Sir Richard nodded approval, then he moved away whilst Miss Warren and Dick returned home to tea. The little boy wondered why his aunt had looked so ill at ease as she had conversed with his grandfather, but he did not ask her the reason.
There were several matters puzzling him which he had not liked to mention to either Aunt Mary Ann or Uncle Theophilus; but that night he made up his mind to question the latter upon some of those points which bewildered him. Therefore when the doctor paid him his accustomed visit after he was in bed, he began to unburden his mind.
"Uncle Theophilus, I want to ask you some questions," he commenced seriously, "and to tell you something grandfather said to me when I was at the Manor House the other day; because I can't help thinking about it, and it makes me very unhappy. He said father had offended him—oh, I hated him for saying it. I don't believe father would do anything wrong. You don't think it, do you?"
"We all do wrong sometimes," Dr. Warren answered, after a moment's silence; "but I certainly do not believe your father would wilfully do wrong, if that is what you mean. You know, Dick, people do not all think alike; and it is a fact that your father offended Sir Richard."
"Won't you tell me what father did?" Dick questioned excitedly.
"No, my boy; if your father had desired you to know he would have told you. I wonder Sir Richard mentioned the matter."
"He was so cross about it, especially when I said I didn't believe father had done anything wrong."
"Well, there is no necessity for you to argue about it, especially as you are ignorant of the facts."
"He said he had not forgiven father!" Dick cried indignantly. "How can he be so wicked!"
"Please God he will forgive him some day," Dr. Warren said earnestly. "Meanwhile, do not trouble about it, there's a good boy! Try to forget it!"
"So many things worry me," Dick acknowledged, sighing. "It is so very odd that mother did not tell me grandfather was angry with father. Perhaps she does not know?"
"Yes, she does; but she did not wish you to know. That is why I want you to let the matter rest. I feel certain your parents would wish it. I am sure you will ask no questions they would rather not have answered. Now, what else have you to say to me? I see there is something more on your mind?"
"It is so strange that mother never told me about the Manor House, Uncle Theophilus!"
"Not strange at all! She was never inside the walls of the Manor House in her life, and, I believe, only once saw Sir Richard to speak to. He was abroad when your parents were married."
Dick was not satisfied; but he perceived Dr. Warren meant to tell him no more, so he wisely refrained from putting further questions.
"I do believe you are beginning to feel quite at home with us now," the doctor continued, changing the conversation. "You are happier than you were at first, are you not?"
"Oh, yes!" Dick replied earnestly. "You and Aunt Mary Ann are so kind—mother said you would be! Oh, Uncle Theophilus, I can't tell you how thankful I am grandfather did not want me to live at the Manor House! I am sure I should have run away!"
"No, my boy; I am sure you would have done nothing so wrong or foolish if duty had called you there; but what is, is always best, you know. We have talked quite long enough now, so I will say good-night."
"Good-night!" Dick returned, shutting his eyes, and making up his mind to try to think no more of his father's offence, and his grandfather's unforgiveness.
Meanwhile Dr. Warren went downstairs, and repeated the foregoing conversation to his sister.
"I cannot think how Sir Richard could have been so unwise as to speak thus of his son," he said vexedly, in conclusion; "but it is like him not to consider another's feelings. I could not tell Dick that his grandfather considered his mother beneath his father in position. Really, I cannot understand how the old man can be so bitter and unforgiving!"
"He would not be if he really knew Margaret," Miss Warren returned, her face flushing with indignation. "He is a proud, disagreeable old man," she continued, her anger rising; "and I have no patience with him! I suppose we must let Dick go to see him occasionally? I hope he will not put wrong ideas into the boy's head!"
"What do you mean?" her brother asked anxiously.
"I mean I hope he will not teach him to be proud and overbearing like himself. At present, Dick is such a sweet, lovable little fellow, and Margaret has evidently taken great pains to make him good and obedient. Fancy, Theophilus, she has taught him the very same prayer I taught her when she could only lisp. I overheard Dick saying it last night:—"
"'Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.'"
"You must have heard her repeat it often."
The doctor nodded, whilst the cloud of anxious thought left his face, and he smiled his slow, sweet smile. "We won't worry as to the effect Sir Richard's teaching may have upon Dick," he said; "the boy loves his mother and will remember what she has taught him. Perhaps, instead of Sir Richard doing Dick harm, Dick may do Sir Richard good."
IT was an intensely hot day in July, and Sir Richard Gidley was taking his after luncheon nap in his favourite high-backed chair in the dining-room at the Manor House, his handkerchief spread over his face to keep the flies from worrying him. Through the low, open window came the drowsy hum of insects, and the perfume of roses, mignonette, and stocks; but Sir Richard was unconscious of scent or sound for the time being, as he was in the land of dreams—not pleasant dreams, it would seem, for he moved uneasily now and then, and murmured with evident discontent.
At length an unusual sound came through the open window—a child's gay laugh, full of merriment and the joy of life. The strange sound awoke Sir Richard at once. He pulled the handkerchief off his face and listened, but all was silent.
"I thought I heard some one laughing," he muttered. "I suppose I must have been dreaming; I fancied it might have been Dick come to see me at last. Pooh, how my mind dwells on the boy! Three days since I met him and Miss Warren in the village, and I have neither seen nor heard of him since! Can the Warrens be purposely keeping him away, I wonder? No, I do not think they would do that! Ah! there it is again! I was not mistaken!"
Sir Richard rose hastily and walked to the window. The scene that met his eyes brought an involuntary smile to his lips. Upon the lawn were two figures—his grandson and his favourite dog, Nero, a large black Newfoundland. The dog, seated on his haunches, had his head decorated with Dick's broad-brimmed sailor's hat, whilst the little boy knelt at his side laughing. Usually, Nero brooked no interference from strangers; but for some reason, he alone knew what, he had taken a great fancy to Dick, and was allowing him more license than he gave other people.
"Halloa!" cried Sir Richard, stepping into the garden; "have you and Nero become playfellows?"
Dick sprang to his feet at the sound of his grandfather's voice, and drawing his slight form to its fullest height, gravely raised his hand in a military salute; then he took his hat from Nero's head, and hurried to meet Sir Richard, whilst the dog followed at his heels.
"Yes," he replied gaily; "we have made friends with each other. How do you do, grandfather? I came alone—that is, from the lodge—Uncle Theophilus left me there. I said I could find my way to the house!"
"Have you just arrived?" Sir Richard asked.
"Oh, no; I have been here quite a long while! I did not go to the door, though; I peeped into the window there, and saw you with a handkerchief over your face, and guessed you were asleep. I thought I had better not disturb you; so I was going to wait quietly till you woke up, but Nero came round the corner of the house, and I have been playing with him. What a jolly dog he is, grandfather!"
"Yes; but I did not know he cared for children. Were you not afraid of him?"
"No, indeed! I spoke to him, and he came to me at once, wagging his tail. I held out the back of my hand to him, like I've seen father do to strange dogs. He sniffed at it, and then gave it a lick. I knew he was all right as soon as he did that."
Dick put one arm around the great dog's neck, whereupon the beautiful creature turned his eyes upon him affectionately.
"There, grandfather!" cried the little boy delightedly. "Can't you see he likes me? Look at the smile in his eyes! What lovely eyes he has too—just the colour of the amber necklace my ayah used to wear! Oh, you dear Nero!"
Sir Richard sat down upon a garden seat, and Dick took a place by his side, whilst Nero laid his head on his new friend's knee, and watched him intently with his amber eyes.
"So you had no difficulty in finding your way from the lodge," Sir Richard said. "I was beginning to think Dr. Warren and his sister meant to keep you to themselves. You have been in no hurry to come and see me!"
"Did you expect me before?" Dick questioned in surprise. "Of course I would have come if I had known that! But I've really been awfully busy these last few days!"
"Indeed! What have you been doing?"
"Helping Aunt Mary Ann in the garden for one thing, washing the insects off the roses, and tying up the carnations. Oh, by the way, we have three bantam chicks! They were only hatched out yesterday; and we were so anxious about them! Aunt Mary Ann half thought one egg was addled; but it wasn't—the chick was hatched out all right after all, though it's not nearly so strong as the other two. You don't keep bantams, do you?"
"No; I do not," Sir Richard responded, amused at his grandson's chatter. "What else has occupied your time?"
"Oh, I've written to mother and father. I began the letter days ago and finished it last night. Uncle Theophilus helped me with the spelling—he wrote too. And oh, grandfather, I've not seen you since I heard from India, have I?"
"No."
"I've had such a beautiful letter from mother, and a few words from father at the end just what he always says, you know."
"What does he always say?" Sir Richard asked curiously, his eyes fixed, on the boy's changing countenance, which quivered with suppressed emotion as he spoke of his parents.
"Be a brave boy! God bless you!" Dick quoted in husky tones. He passed the back of his hand hastily over his eyes, but could not repress a sigh that sounded almost like a sob. He set his teeth, and determined he would not cry if he could possibly help it; his grandfather would think him such a baby!
"Are Dr. Warren and his sister kind to you?" the old man inquired abruptly.
"Oh, yes," Dick replied eagerly; "indeed they are! They are kind as kind can be! You see," he continued confidentially, "they took care of mother when she was a little girl, and now they are going to take care of me till mother and father come home."
"They are very worthy people, no doubt!" Sir Richard remarked drily.
Dick scanned his grandfather's face with puzzled eyes; for he did not understand his tone, although it annoyed him somehow. He flushed, and turned his head aside, whilst he wondered if it was possible Sir Richard did not like Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus. But it was not in his nature to be silent long, so presently he re-opened the conversation.
"This is a beautiful place," he remarked, glancing around him admiringly; "but I should think you must feel very lonely here, all by yourself, don't you, grandfather?"
"It is dull sometimes," Sir Richard acknowledged. "I do not get many visitors. In August I suppose my daughter and her children will come here for a month—your Aunt Arabella—Mrs. Compton—and your cousins, Ruth and Lionel. Ruth is about your age, Lionel a year or so older. I hope you will make friends with them."
"I did not know I had any cousins," Dick replied; "but I am very glad." He was smiling with pleasure at the thought of meeting these relations of his. "And I am very glad one is a boy!" he added.
"They tell me Ruth is a perfect hoyden," Sir Richard proceeded, "and Lionel a domineering, high-spirited boy. But they do not interfere with me when they are here; their mother manages to keep them in order whilst in my presence, at any rate, though Susan Morecombe declares she spoils them. I hope you will see as much of your cousins as you can; the society of children about your own age will be beneficial for you. Mind you hold your own with Lionel; and remember you have as much right—nay, more right—in this house than he has."
Dick looked decidedly mystified, seeing which, his grandfather explained what he meant.
"This will be your home one day," he said earnestly; "your father will inherit the property from me, and you will inherit it from him. Look around and try to think what that means. Everything you see will one day belong to you. You will be the master here."
Dick did not appear so greatly impressed with this information as his grandfather thought he would be. He sat silently turning the matter over in his young mind, growing more and more puzzled.
"Well," cried Sir Richard at length, rather testily. "Are you not pleased? I should have thought you would have been delighted at the idea of being a person of some importance. To think that your father has brought you up in ignorance of your true position! And yet he always professed to love his home! I have heard him say there was no place so dear to him as the Manor House! I remember when he was a little lad no bigger than you, he used to find endless amusement in looking for the secret passage, and—"
"What is that?" Dick asked, his face showing greater interest than it had done when his grandfather had tried to raise his enthusiasm in his prospects in life.
"There is said to be a tunnel—a secret passage—leading from this house to the sea-shore," Sir Richard explained. "It may have been made at the time the house was built, or later, during the civil wars when the Gidleys sided with the king. There is a very aged man living in the village called Granfer Cole, who has often told me he remembers when he was a boy hearing his father speak of the secret passage—it was then used by smugglers for the concealment of contraband goods."
"What are contraband goods?" Dick asked.
"Goods brought from foreign countries which have never had taxes paid on them. A hundred years ago a great deal of smuggling was carried on along this coast; silk, wine, brandy, and many other commodities were landed here by stealth under cover of darkness, in order to escape payment of the custom-house duties. That was cheating the revenue; but even gentlemen then were not above lending a helping hand to do that, and the master of this house was doubtless among those who deliberately winked at the smuggler's doings. The secret passage must have been a capital place of concealment for the smugglers and their treasures. Granfer Cole says he can remember the time when there was not a household in Holton, however humble, but kept a supply of best French brandy; it was obtained at a cheap rate, for every one was hand and glove with the smugglers."
"Were smugglers good sort of men?" Dick inquired.
Sir Richard smiled sarcastically, and shook his head as he replied:—
"They were neither honest nor law-abiding, but they were a daring lot, and had many sympathisers even among the higher classes."
"But if they were not honest, how was it people liked them?" Then as Sir Richard made no reply, Dick exclaimed: "How I should like to see that secret passage! Haven't you the least idea where it is, grandfather?"
"Not the very least! I have no doubt the entrance to the passage from the sea-shore has become blocked by stones and rubble; I have no clue to the other entrance either—many and many a time I have tried to think where it can possibly be, and your father used to be continually searching the floors and walls of the cellars beneath the house, hoping to find the entrance there, but all to no purpose. If there is a passage, and I believe there is, it must be more than half a mile in length!"
"Oh, what a wonderful place this is!" Dick cried excitedly. "May I tell Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus about the secret passage when I go home?"
"Certainly," Sir Richard replied carelessly, "though I daresay they know as much about it as I do! By the way, is Dr. Warren going to fetch you, or will he expect me to send you home?"
"Oh, Uncle Theophilus said he would fetch me about seven o'clock! May I see the picture-gallery before I go, grandfather?"
"Yes. Go into the house and find Susan Morecombe. Tell her to get tea ready in the dining-room. You can wander where you please about the house, as long as you do not get into mischief."
Dick thanked his grandfather, and went off in search of Susan Morecombe, entering the house by the dining-room window. Nero followed him, whilst Sir Richard remained seated on the garden seat a little longer. The old man felt in a decidedly better humour since his visitor had arrived. It had gratified him to see how deeply interested Dick had been in their conversation, though he was somewhat disappointed that the boy had evinced no great pleasure at learning he would one day be the owner of the Manor House. Certainly his would be a goodly heritage! Pride and satisfaction mingled in Sir Richard's heart as he glanced around him at the ancient house, and the fair landscape which stretched before it. He was better pleased with his grandson than he had been on that day when he had met him for the first time in the doctor's drawing-room; then, he had seen only a small, pale-faced boy; now, he recognised the brave spirit which animated the fragile form, and was more satisfied.
Meanwhile Dick, in company with Susan Morecombe, was paying his second visit to the picture-gallery, asking dozens of questions, and receiving much information in return. Then he had a splendid tea of raspberries and cream, and another talk with his grandfather before Dr. Warren arrived in his gig to take him away.
"Come again! Come when you like!" Sir Richard said to Dick after he had exchanged a few words with the doctor.
"Oh, thank you!" the little boy replied, thinking how much pleasanter his grandfather seemed to-day than on the occasion of his first visit to the Manor House. "I have enjoyed myself so much! May I come again soon?"
"Yes," the old man nodded, looking gratified. He turned to Dr. Warren, and added: "The child appears brighter and stronger already!"
"Ah, the scaffolding is sound enough," the doctor returned quaintly; "there's a good frame-work to build upon; we'll soon put a little flesh on his bones!"
Sir Richard watched the gig as it slowly disappeared from sight, Firefly taking his time as usual. At that moment he almost wished he had consented to make a home for his grandson at the Manor House; he felt lonely now he was gone. Nero came and poked his cold, damp nose into his master's hand, and looked up into the old man's face with his expressive eyes.
"Are you sorry your playfellow has left?" said Sir Richard, as he gently patted his favourite's head. "Would you, too, have liked him to remain? Never mind, Nero, he will come again!"
"DID Sir Richard say anything to you in reference to his expecting visitors next month, Dick?" Miss Warren asked at the breakfast-table the following morning. "He usually has his daughter and her children to stay with him during August. I wonder if they are coming this year?"
"Yes; he said they were," Dick replied. "I meant to have told you last night; but I was thinking so much of the secret passage that I forgot everything else. Grandfather didn't tell me much about them!"
"The children had the measles when they were at the Manor House last summer," Miss Warren said. "You thought them nice children, did you not, Theophilus?"
"Yes, as far as I could judge from the little I saw of them. Their mother said they were tiresome monkeys; but that might have been because they were not very ill, only poorly enough to be cross and fidgety," the doctor responded with a slight smile. "So they are coming again this summer, are they? That will be pleasant for you, Dick!"
"Grandfather said he hoped I should be friends with them," Dick remarked. "What is Aunt Arabella like, Uncle Theophilus?"
Dr. Warren hesitated, and glanced at his sister before replying; but her eyes were fixed on her plate, and for once she appeared glad for him to take the lead in the conversation.
"Mrs. Compton is like your father in personal appearance," he answered at length. "She is tall and handsome, with commanding manners."
"Oh, if she is like father—" Dick was beginning, when his uncle continued,—
"She is several years older than your father, and was married before he was. Her husband, who was a barrister, died shortly after the birth of her little girl. Mrs. Compton lives in London, at Hampstead. I have heard her say she dislikes the country; however, she visits her father every year when her children have their holidays from school in the summer. I have no doubt she is curious to see her nephew," he concluded, with an affectionate glance at Dick.
"Does she know mother?" the little boy asked eagerly.
"No; Mrs. Compton and your mother have never met."
Dick looked disappointed. Miss Warren now joined in the conversation, which she adroitly turned into another channel.
Later on, when Dick was driving with Dr. Warren, he told him all Sir Richard had said concerning his being the future owner of the Manor House. The doctor listened in silence; but after he had heard almost word for word the conversation which had taken place between Dick and his grandfather, he brought Firefly to a full stop. They were then at the top of a hill overlooking the village on one side, and the blue waters of the English Channel; whilst on the other, fully half a mile distant, the chimneys of the Manor House might be seen in the wooded valley beneath.
"Do you see those broad meadows and green fallows?" Dr. Warren said; "and those magnificent woods? Look all around you, Dick; as far as eye can see the land belongs to your grandfather; in time it will be your father's; and if you live, it will one day be yours. But when you think of the earthly possessions which will be your inheritance, do not forget that they will be yours but for a while, that in due season they will pass from your grasp, and your portion will be where neither money, nor worldly position, nor any of those things which men value here, are of any account. 'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him!' Remember that, and do not let the thought of your inheritance in this life come between you and the kingdom of God! Do you recall the story of the young man who came to Christ and asked Him what he should do to inherit eternal life?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Dick, "I know! The young man said he had kept all the commandments from his youth up; and Jesus told him to sell all he had, and give the money to the poor, and then he was very sorrowful!"
"And do you remember why he was so sorrowful?" Dr. Warren questioned gravely.
"Yes, because he was very rich."
"Exactly. He had great earthly possessions, which he valued more than a place in the kingdom of God. He was doubtless proud of his riches; probably people thought more of him because of them, and though he pretended he was ready to do anything to inherit eternal life, he lacked the humble trust of the true Christian who is willing to give up all for God. Now, Dick, I daresay you wonder why I am talking to you so seriously and at such length upon this point; but you will find many temptations assail you which you would never have had to face if you had been born in a different class of life—if you had no expectations, in short. You will be tempted to be proud of your ancient name, of the position your family has always held in the county, and I wish to warn you not to let this pride have the mastery over you. Sir Richard—"
"Oh, I think he's awfully proud!" Dick interrupted. "He speaks as though he is, even when he's in a good temper! I don't want to be like grandfather! Oh, Uncle Theophilus, you don't think I could ever be like him, do you? I am sure father is not! Father would not speak to people as grandfather does!"
"No; I am sure he would not! But we will not discuss your grandfather; if he is proud, he has many excellent qualities. Every one knows he is the soul of honour!"
"But he is very unforgiving," Dick said, with a sigh; "that's dreadful, I think! No wonder he looks so cross and unhappy!"
Dr. Warren made no reply, for he did not wish to say a word against Sir Richard to the little boy. He gave Firefly a touch with the whip, and they were soon descending the hill towards the village. Dick continued to look very thoughtful; but at last his face cleared somewhat, and he glanced up into the doctor's grave countenance with a smile.
"Uncle Theophilus, I hope I shall never be like that young man who went away from Jesus very sorrowful," he said seriously. "I shall pray to God to help me not to be proud."
"Ask Him to teach you to set a right value on earthly possessions, my boy, and then you will not go far wrong. Remember God expects from you according to the advantages you have. Wealth and position are good gifts if properly used. By the way, did you not tell me that you saw the picture of Paul Gidley the martyr again, yesterday?"
"Yes; I do like his face, Uncle Theophilus! He looks so brave and good! I wonder if he was afraid when they tied him to the stake!"
"God was with him," said the doctor reverently. "There was one Gidley, at any rate, who counted honour, and home, and riches as nothing compared with eternal life. He gave up everything for Christ! He did not go from the Master's presence very sorrowful, as so many have done, because he had great possessions!"
"Oh, no! How I wish I could be like him!" Dick cried enthusiastically.
"You may not be called upon to be a martyr, my boy; but you may imitate the martyr's faithfulness, his bravery, and his love of truth!"
"And I may be proud of him, Aunt Mary Ann says!"
"Certainly you may, as we are proud, only of course in a much greater degree, of our Saviour's death upon the Cross!"
"It's a great thing to have had a martyr in one's family," Dick declared solemnly. "I like Paul Gidley's picture better than any other in the gallery. I told grandfather so—he was surprised; and I told mother when I wrote to her the other day—she will understand."
"I am sure she will," Dr. Warren agreed.
They were now passing the parish church. It stood at the top of the village, surrounded by a small graveyard, from which there was an extensive view of the sea; it was built of granite, and had withstood the storms of many hundreds of winters. Outside the lych-gate was a small, white-washed cottage, seated in the porch of which was a very old man bent with the weight of years.
"That's Granfer Cole," Dr. Warren told his nephew; "he's the oldest inhabitant of Holton."
"Oh! grandfather said he knew about the secret passage! Shall you speak to him, Uncle Theophilus?"
"Certainly; he would be greatly offended if I did not!"
The doctor brought Firefly to a standstill; and the old man lifted his head, revealing a wrinkled countenance, mild blue eyes, and a flowing white beard. He was nearly a hundred years old; but his intellect was as bright as ever, though he was almost blind. He had been a fisherman, and knew the coast well.
"Good-morning, Granfer," said Dr. Warren, in his cheery way. "It is pleasant for you there in the sunshine, and you can get the benefit of the fresh air, too! I know you love the salt sea breeze!"
The old man nodded and smiled. He rose and came close to the gig, peering up at its occupants. The doctor guessed he was curious to know who was with him; so he explained that his companion was his little nephew from India.
"That'll be Sir Richard Gidley's grandson, eh?" questioned Granfer.
"Yes! You remember Captain Gidley, do you not?"
"That I do; and two generations before his. Why, I was a man grown when the present Sir Richard was a child! Think of that! I'm the oldest body in the parish, I am!" and Granfer chuckled, as though he was mightily proud of the fact.
"So my uncle was telling me just now," Dick said politely.
"I mind more than most," Granfer continued; "that's why folks come to me when they want any information about the neighbourhood; and I'm willing to oblige them, I am!"
"I wish you would tell me about the secret passage from the Manor House to the sea!" Dick cried eagerly. "My grandfather told me that you remember your father speaking of it!"
"So I do, so I do! There's a secret passage sure enough; but no one knows where it is—no one!"
"I should like to find it!" Dick exclaimed.
The old man lifted his almost sightless eyes to the boy's face, then shook his head regretfully.
"I wish I could see you, young gentleman," he said in wistful tones; "but my eyes are dim with age. You've got the same ring in your voice as your father had when he was a boy; and by that I can tell that you've a brave spirit like all the Gidleys. Is he like his father in appearance?" he asked of the doctor.
Dr. Warren assented; adding that every one remarked the likeness.
"What a pretty garden you have," Dick said, noticing a patch of ground on one side of the cottage gay with flowers—marigolds, candy-tuft, and other hardy annuals.
"I can't see to tend it myself now," Granfer responded; "but I've grandchildren living in Holton, and one or another of them look after it for me. I can smell the scent of the flowers, and tell one from the other that way. I've a deal to be thankful for! Nigh a hundred years of life has the Lord given me, and good health all my days! I've worked hard in my time; but I've always loved the sea, and now I can't sail on it any more, I can bide near it still, and smell the salt air, and hear the waves dashing against the cliffs in a storm, and think of Him who loved the sea too, and made His friends of fisher-folk like me!"
"I am sorry your sight is so bad," Dick said compassionately. "It must be dreadful not to be able to read!"
"I could never read, young gentleman—I was never taught; but I've always had a good memory, and I can remember what I hear in church on Sundays even now! 'Tis a blessing my home is so near the church, I say!"
At that point Dr. Warren remarked that he must proceed as he had still several patients left to visit. So they said good-bye to Granfer Cole, who went back to his seat in the porch, gratified at having had an interview with Sir Richard Gidley's grandson, for it had given him something fresh to think about.
"I never saw any one so old as Granfer Cole before!" Dick exclaimed, as Firefly turned into the village street. "Fancy having lived nearly a hundred years, and never having learned to read in all that time! I do wish he had said more about the secret passage, Uncle Theophilus!"
"I do not think he really knows more about it than other people; he heard it mentioned by his father, and so has no doubts about there being a secret passage somewhere; but he has no more idea than I have where it is. What makes you think about it so much?"
"I hardly know! It would be such fun to find it! Wouldn't father be surprised?"
"Well, Dick, I cannot advise you where to begin a search if you mean to make one. The knowledge of the entrances to the passage died with one of your ancestors; people say he was a smuggler, and that those others who knew about the passage were killed in a fray with the custom-house officers under the cliffs more than a hundred years ago. You may well look shocked! Sir Richard evidently did not tell you that?"
"No," Dick replied, appearing much impressed. "Is it very dishonest to be a smuggler?"
"Yes, very. A smuggler is a thief because he robs the revenue of his country."
Dick looked thoughtful. It was not pleasant to think there was a thief in his list of ancestors, however daring he might have been.
Before going home Dr. Warren paid several calls upon patients in the village, whilst his little nephew waited outside the houses in the gig, holding the reins; for the doctor was by no means fearful lest Firefly should become restive or run away. At last, however, Dr. Warren paid his last call for that morning, and drove homewards. As they drew up before the door of No. 8, Dick remarked—
"After all, Uncle Theophilus, I don't know what good it would be if I did find the secret passage."
"No good that I can see," the doctor agreed; "you might be better employed. Have you enjoyed our drive to-day?"
"Oh, very much, thank you!" Dick answered gratefully, as he clambered down from the gig. "I must go and find Aunt Mary Ann, and tell her I've seen the oldest man in the parish!"
ALTHOUGH Dick had decided that it would not benefit either him or any one else if he found the secret passage, yet he could not put the matter out of his mind. It fascinated him; and he thought of it the first moment he opened his eyes in the morning, and the last thing at night; it haunted him in his sleep, and more than once he awoke screaming and shaking with excitement after a vivid dream that he was being chased by smugglers armed with pistols and knives. On one of these occasions he shrieked so loudly that he awoke Miss Warren, who rushed to his room to see what was amiss. "Good patience, child!" she cried, as she bent over him. "What is wrong? Don't scream like that! Don't you know me? It's only Aunt Mary Ann!"
"Oh, oh!" gasped the little boy. "They're after me!"
"Nonsense! You're only half awake yet! Who's after you, pray? There's no one here but me! You've no real cause to be frightened!"
"I am very sorry," Dick said apologetically "I think I've had a bad dream!" and he shuddered at the remembrance of it.
"A bad dream," Miss Warren echoed. "Nightmare, most likely! Bless the child, you're shaking like an aspen leaf!"
"I'm very sorry," murmured Dick again. "I know I've been very silly. I'm not frightened now."
"There is nothing to be frightened at," Miss Warren told him reassuringly. "Who did you think was after you, my dear?"
"The smugglers. I was dreaming of the secret passage, and—"
"There, now!" Miss Warren interposed vexedly. "I guessed as much! You have had your head filled with tales of smugglers, and secret passages, and nonsense of that kind till you've let your imagination run away with you! I'll sit by your side till you go to sleep, and then you'll feel perfectly safe, will you not?"
Dick assented gratefully. He was very ashamed of himself for having disturbed his aunt's rest; but it was a comforting thought that she was near. She was as good as her word, and remained patiently watching him till he fell asleep.
The next morning, at the breakfast-table, she told her brother of the scene which had been enacted during the night, and gave him a description of Dick's terror at his dream.
"A fine fright he gave me too!" she said in conclusion; "I thought something dreadful had happened, and was quite relieved to find he had only been dreaming!"
"He could not help it," the doctor replied with a glance of sympathy at his little nephew's pale face. "I remember when I was a boy, I used to have nightmare myself, and imagine I was falling out of a window, or down a precipice, or being chased by a wild animal, or something equally ridiculous. You shall have your supper a little earlier for the future, Dick. So your nightmare took the shape of smugglers, eh?"
"Yes," Dick said; "and awful-looking men they were, with dreadful, wicked faces. I thought I was in the secret passage, and they were running after me; then I suppose I screamed, and Aunt Mary Ann heard me, for when I woke up, there she was standing by the bed. Oh, wasn't I glad to see her."
"I believe I was almost as much frightened as Dick," Miss Warren acknowledged.
"Well, you have both recovered from your fright now," the doctor remarked; "and I daresay last night's scene will never be enacted again. I am not going to take you with me this morning, Dick, because I am going to visit a patient who lives five miles distant, and may have to remain there some time."
"Perhaps Dick and I may spend our morning on the beach," Miss Warren suggested. "I could take my needlework with me, and Dick would find his own amusements."
"Oh, yes!" Dick agreed delightedly. "The tide will be out, and it's always nicer then!"
"Mind you do not fall on the rocks," Dr. Warren said warningly; "some of them are as slippery as glass, covered as they are with sea-weeds. Be careful—there's a good boy."
An hour later found Miss Warren and Dick wending their way to the sea-shore. The latter carried a camp-stool which, upon their arrival on the beach, he set up in the shade of a rock for his aunt to sit upon.
"Now, my dear," said Miss Warren, as she took her seat and proceeded to unfold a parcel of plain needlework which she had brought with her, "you need not stay with me, you know; only keep within sight and I shall be easy in my mind about you."
"All right, Aunt Mary Ann; I will," Dick answered, truly meaning what he said.
He ran off towards the edge of the water, Miss Warren glancing after him with a bright smile. She had grown to love her little nephew very dearly; he added to the happiness of her life, and she was quite grateful to his grandfather for having declined to take charge of him.
"How we should miss him if he left us!" she reflected. "I do not believe his parents would allow Sir Richard to have him now! Theophilus says he believes the old man is growing really to like the boy. Oh, I hope he will never want to take him away from us! Good gracious!"
The last exclamation broke from her lips as a large black dog bounded past her, and made for the little figure at the water's edge. It was Nero. Miss Warren recognised him immediately, and glanced around nervously, expecting to see his master near; but the dog was apparently quite alone. She drew a sigh of relief, and watched Nero with some amusement as he sprang around Dick, barking with delight at having discovered his new friend.
"Dear Nero! Good dog!" Dick cried, his face aglow with pleasure.
Nero allowed himself to be patted and caressed with exemplary patience for a few minutes; then he bounded into the sea, and back to Dick's side again, evidently inviting him to throw something into the water for him to fetch. The little boy at once complied with the dog's request, and soon he and Nero were having a most enjoyable time together. Dick tired of throwing stones long before Nero tired of fetching them. The sagacious creature never made the mistake of bringing another stone instead of the one thrown.
Miss Warren watched the boy and the dog for some while, her face wreathed in smiles, then she turned her attention to her needlework.
Meanwhile, Dick having wearied of throwing stones, wandered away between the rocks. He took off his shoes and stockings, and placed them in a spot where he thought he would have no difficulty in finding them again; and then, rolling up his knickerbocker above his knees, paddled in and out of the little pools between the rocks. He forgot all about his aunt's desire that he would not go out of sight, and his promise, and presently found himself walking beneath the shade of the high cliffs which surrounded the coast at that point. How he wished he could find the entrance to the secret passage! Fired with the ambition to do so, he peered hither and thither into every nook and cranny he came across, totally regardless of how the time was passing. Nero kept by his side, every now and again picking up lumps of sea-weed and offering them to Dick as though he realised the boy was looking for something, and desired to assist him if he could. At length Dick, for the first time, glanced behind him, and saw that he had wandered much further than he had intended. Holton beach, with Miss Warren seated on her camp-stool, the fishing-boats drawn up out of reach of the incoming tide, and the nets spread to dry in the sun, were out of sight; only a strip of rock-strewn sand beneath overhanging cliffs was to be seen. Suddenly remembering that he had disobeyed his aunt, and not kept his word, Dick hastily retraced his footsteps. When he reached the spot where he considered he had left his shoes and stockings, they were nowhere to be seen; he glanced hastily around, and lo! there they were apparently floating out to sea. For one moment Dick was in despair of ever getting them again; but then he remembered Nero, and, pointing them out to him, the intelligent animal grasped the situation at once and fetched them immediately.
"Nero, you are the dearest, cleverest dog I know!" cried Dick, with mingled enthusiasm and gratitude in his voice.
One trouble over, Dick hastened on, and had nearly turned the corner of the cliff which would bring him within sight of Holton beach, when he slipped on a piece of sea-weed and fell into a pool of water on his face and hands. He emerged sputtering and dripping, whilst Nero barked as though he thought it the best joke in the world.
Dick was in despair. What would Aunt Mary Ann say when she saw his deplorable condition? She would have every right to be very angry. Whilst he was thinking thus Miss Warren herself came upon the scene, having missed him, and become uneasy as to his safety.
"Dick!" was all she could find voice to say, as her astonished eyes fell upon the little, dripping figure; "Dick!" she repeated, and positively gasped with dismay.
"I'm rather wet, Aunt Mary Ann," Dick acknowledged with a slight shiver. "I fell into a pool. I don't quite know how it happened. Oh, it wasn't Nero's fault!" he added quickly, as he saw her eyes turn to the dog. "Nero has been so good! The tide came in and carried my shoes and stockings out to sea, and he fetched them back. Wasn't that clever of him?"
"You had better put them on at once," Miss Warren said, the vexation she felt sounding in her voice.
Dick obeyed; but it was a difficult task, for his shoes and stockings were perfectly sodden with seawater; at last, however, it was accomplished.
"Now, come home!" said Miss Warren. "I don't know what the villagers will think of you, I'm sure! Fortunately salt water does not, as a rule, induce cold; still, we had better hurry home."
"Shall I carry your camp-stool, Aunt Mary Ann?" Dick asked, in a meek voice.
"No, thank you; I prefer to carry it myself!"
Miss Warren marched on in front looking extremely dignified, and Dick followed with Nero at his heels. It would have been difficult to say if the boy or the dog was the wetter.
Dick walked with great discomfort, for his garments were sticking to his skin; and he was fully conscious of the looks—half-astonished, half-amused—on the faces of those he met. He knew his aunt was angry, and not without cause. He was feeling extremely miserable and dejected; so that when he saw his grandfather's figure emerge from a shop doorway, his first impulse was to take to his heels and run away. Instead of acting thus foolishly, however, he continued to advance, though he could not help growing uncomfortably red.
"Good-morning, Miss Warren!" Sir Richard said; and she was obliged to stop and shake hands with him. He seemed in a particularly genial humour, and viewed his grandson with a twinkle of amusement in his keen dark eyes.
"Have you met with an accident, Dick?" he inquired. "You look—well, to put it mildly—a trifle moist!"
"Moist!" echoed Miss Warren. "He is dripping, simply dripping!"
"Has he been bathing with his clothes on?" Sir Richard asked. "Why, here's Nero!" he continued, without waiting for a reply to his question. "He deserted me an hour ago! Where have you been, you bad dog?"
"He has been with Dick for the last hour," Miss Warren explained.
"Did he lead you into mischief, Dick?" Sir Richard questioned. "He loves the water, I know."
"It was not Nero's fault," the little boy declared. "I fell into a pool; that's how it is I happen to be so wet. It was very careless of me; but really I couldn't help it!"
"I shall not mind if he does not take cold," Miss Warren said, looking relentingly at the offender's abashed countenance. "You will excuse us, Sir Richard—Dick must get home as quickly as possible."