"How could you have been so foolish as to tell Uncle Jasper you wanted to be rich!" Celia exclaimed, in tones of intense vexation, the very first moment she and Joy were alone together. "It was such a stupid thing to say!"
"Why?" Joy demanded, wonderingly. "I meant it."
"I know, and of course Uncle Jasper saw you meant it. You needn't always say exactly what you mean, though. I want to be rich, too, a great deal more than you do, I daresay, but I shouldn't think of telling people so—especially Uncle Jasper!"
"I only meant that I would like to have a lot of money so that mother shouldn't be worried any more, and—"
"Mother isn't worried now she's living here," was the impatient interruption.
"No, but when we go home again—"
Celia turned sharply away from her sister, and would not hear the conclusion of the sentence. She was delighted with the Moat House and her surroundings. It was a pleasant change to have the best of everything provided for her; to live in a large house, handsomely and comfortably furnished; to have servants to wait on her, and dainty food in the place of the plain fare she had been accustomed to all her previous life. Mrs. Wallis and Joy found it a pleasant change, too, but they sometimes talked of their home at A—, whilst Celia never mentioned it, and hoped fervently that Uncle Jasper would want them to remain with him altogether.
Sir Jasper appeared perfectly contented with the present arrangement. He spent a good deal of time in his niece's company, and made it a habit to walk up and down the terrace in front of his house every evening leaning upon her arm. One evening, Mrs. Wallis being engaged in letter-writing Celia took her place. Joy, seated on a garden seat, watched her sister as she chatted to Sir Jasper, her bright face aglow with smiles, her blue eyes shining brilliantly, and thought how well Celia was getting on with her companion. She appeared to know exactly what to say to amuse and please him; she never made a remark it would have been better to have left unsaid.
By-and-by Joy opened the English history book she had brought out-of-doors with her, and commenced to learn the lesson Miss Mary Pring had given her to prepare for the next day. She had nearly finished her task when suddenly Sir Jasper's voice broke upon her ears.
"So you don't care for money, then?" he was saying.
Joy glanced up quickly, and saw her sister and the old man had paused at a little distance from her. She listened curiously for Celia's answer. It filled her with a sense of intense astonishment.
"Not in the very least," was the apparently careless reply.
"Nonsense, my dear!" In spite of his words, Joy noted that Sir Jasper's voice sounded very pleased. "Money is a very good thing sometimes."
"Is it?" Celia questioned, innocently.
"A very good thing sometimes," he repeated; "but there are occasions when it is useless, quite useless. What good is it to me—a poor old man who has lost his all?"
"But you do good with it," Celia reminded him, gently. "Miss Mary was telling us only yesterday how kind you have been to the poor widow of that farm labourer who died suddenly last week. And see what you have done for us!"
"You are a grateful little soul, Celia," he told her, with a tender inflection in his voice. "You are like your dear mother."
Joy heard no more, for she hastily rose and retreated into the house. She was full of indignation against her sister. What could have induced Celia to utter such a falsehood as to say she did not in the least care for money, when all her life she had bemoaned her poverty, and longed for wealth?
Later in the evening, when the sisters were preparing for bed, Joy taxed Celia with having told Sir Jasper an untruth. For a moment the elder girl was confused, then broke into a laugh as she exclaimed: "Oh, Joy, you surely don't imagine I would be as silly as you, and tell Uncle Jasper I cared for money, do you?"
"But you do care for money, Celia!"
"Of course I do, but it wouldn't be wise to let Uncle Jasper know it."
"Why not? He said himself that money is a very good thing sometimes."
"Yes, I know, but—well—I can hardly explain what I mean, but I want him to think we like him for himself, and not his money. We ought to try to please him."
"Why, so we do; but it's never right to tell a lie. It's a sin, you know it is as well as I do," Joy declared, bluntly. "Mother wouldn't have liked you to be deceitful, and say what wasn't true, even to please Uncle Jasper."
"Well, you needn't make such a fuss about a trifle. There's no reason why you should work yourself into a passion. And why should you dictate to me when I am so much older than you? I don't like it. Do you mean to get me into trouble with mother?"
"Of course not!" Joy flashed out, angrily, resentful at the suggestion.
Celia looked relieved. She proceeded undress in silence, casting side glances at Joy meanwhile.
By-and-by Joy's indignation commenced to cool; she began to wonder whether she might not have misjudged her sister, and to doubt if she had intended to tell a deliberate falsehood. Celia was so kind-hearted, so desirous of pleasing! Joy looked at her as she stood brushing her hair in front of dressing-table, and hoped she had misjudged her, for it pained her deeply to think her dearly loved sister, whom she admired more than any one else in the world, was not truthful.
"Don't let us quarrel!" she said at length.
"Oh, I don't want to quarrel," Celia replied, smiling; "but I thought you wanted to fall out with me. Don't be cross any longer, Joy. Here have I been giving up my spare time this evening to amusing Uncle Jasper, because mother has been busy letter-writing, and for my pains you accuse me of story-telling! I declare it's too bad of when I've only been doing my best to please him. You know mother wants us to make him happier, if we can."
There was a ring of reproach in Celia's voice. Joy went up to her, and putting her arms around her neck gave her an affectionate hug, and a kiss which was warmly returned. Thus did the sisters make their peace.
Mrs. Wallis and her daughters had now been at the Moat House several weeks, and already the absence of small worries was having a beneficial effect on the former's health, whilst the Devonshire air was bringing faint roses to Joy's pale cheeks, and Celia's fair face was more blooming than ever.
Mrs. Wallis was perfectly satisfied with her children's governess; and Miss Mary Pring considered herself a most fortune young woman to have obtained such a comfortable situation. She had been told that her engagement at the Moat House might be only for a year's duration; but she was of a naturally hopeful disposition, and trusted it would prove otherwise.
"Sir Jasper is growing so attached to the children," she remarked to her aunt one evening when, the work of the day over, they sat dawdling over the tea-table at Home Vale. "Of Celia he is especially fond; nor is it any wonder, for she is always ready to drop whatever she is doing to wait upon him, and her manner to him is particularly nice. She is a wonderfully thoughtful child for her age, and so kind-hearted!"
"Is she?" Miss Pring asked, a trifle dubiously, or so her niece thought.
"Indeed she is! I don't believe she would willingly hurt anyone's feelings for the world. She always tries to please."
"That is not a sure proof of a kind heart, my dear Mary. It may mean only a desire to stand well in other people's sight. However, you have good opportunities for forming a correct estimate of her character, no doubt you have judged her rightly."
"She works most conscientiously and attends to all my instructions. She is evidently desirous of learning all she can. I never had a better pupil."
"And what about the other sister?" Pring inquired.
"She is not so attentive as Celia in the general way, but she has a real talent for music. Sir Jasper gets her to play to him occasionally, and she has learnt a favorite piece of his—'The Last Rose of Summer.' I often wonder, Aunt Esther, what he means to do for those children in the future."
"So do I," Miss Pring answered, soberly. "I think he ought to make his intentions known. I've a great mind to tell him so the next time we meet."
"Oh, you won't do that, surely, Aunt Esther!" Mary cried, looking quite shocked, for she stood rather in awe of Sir Jasper.
"I shall be guided by circumstances," Miss Pring replied, meditatively; "but don't be alarmed, Mary, you may trust me not to give offence."
"I AM expecting visitors this afternoon," Sir Jasper announced at the breakfast-table one Saturday morning. "Tillotson is coming to see me on business, and I have asked him to stay till Monday, and bring his daughter with him. She is an only child," he explained, putting down the letter he had been reading from his lawyer, and addressing Mrs. Wallis; "she will be a rich woman, some day, for her father's a prosperous man, and more business is transacted in his offices at T— in one day than in the other lawyers' offices in the town in a week."
"Is Miss Tillotson grown up?" Mrs. Wallis inquired.
"No, she's about the age of Celia, I fancy. Tillotson has brought her here by my invitation on several occasions. He's devoted to her, and spoils her, I've little doubt. She's not a pretty girl, but I suppose she's what people call stylish." Sir Jasper gave a little chuckle of amusement as he spoke. "I daresay she'll prove a congenial companion for Celia and Joy," he concluded.
"What is she called, Uncle Jasper?" Celia asked, much interested.
"Her name is Lucinda, but her father calls her Lulu. She will be your guest, remember children, so try to make her short visit a happy one."
"Oh, yes!" the little girls replied, readily.
"Is there no Mrs. Tillotson?" Mrs. Wallis questioned.
"Tillotson is a widower. His wife died soon after the birth of her child. He is a silent, reserved sort of man, but he was as deeply attached to his wife as he is now attached to his daughter, for whom he thinks nothing too good. He simply grants her every wish."
"But that cannot be well for her," Mrs. Wallis said, beginning to wonder if this spoilt child would prove a very desirable companion for her own daughters.
"No, of course it is not," Sir Jasper agreed. "I've no doubt she thinks that all the world was made for her; but she'll find out her mistake some day. I've a great respect for Tillotson, but he doesn't know how to rear up a girl. Miss Lulu is practically the mistress of her father's house, although he keeps a housekeeper who is supposed to manage everything."
Saturday was a whole holiday for the young people at the Moat House. In the afternoon Sir Jasper generally ordered the carriage, and Mrs. Wallis and the children went for a long drive; but to-day they remained at home to welcome Sir Jasper's guests. It was nearly four o'clock when the visitors arrived, and were shown into the drawing-room, where their host was awaiting them with his niece and her two daughters.
"I am very glad to meet you again, Mr. Tillotson," said Mrs. Wallis, as she shook hands with the lawyer. "And this is your daughter? I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear. These are my little girls—Celia and Joy."
Having shaken hands with Sir Jasper, who greeted her very cordially, Lulu turned her attention to the others. She glanced at Mrs. Wallis carelessly, but meeting a very kindly smile, gave her a second and more interested look. Then her eyes wandered to Joy, from Joy to Celia, upon whom they rested in rather an ill-bred stare, though their owner had evidently no intention of being rude.
Lulu Tillotson was a tall, slight girl of about fourteen, with a freckled complexion, light, somewhat sandy hair, and pale blue eyes. She was most fashionably dressed in a pink frock much befrilled, and trimmed with expensive lace; her fingers—she had removed her gloves—were laden with rings; and she wore an exceedingly handsome long gold chain, twined around her neck, and fastened to the watch in her waist-band. Her manner was self-satisfied and assured; the expression of her face complacent and rather good-humoured. After shaking hands with Celia and Joy, she seated herself in a chair by Mrs. Wallis's side, whilst Sir Jasper immediately bore Mr. Tillotson off to the library to talk on business matters.
"Did you have a pleasant drive from T—?" Mrs. Wallis asked.
"Oh, yes, pleasant enough," Lulu answered carelessly; "but father drives so slowly and carefully—he always does, you know—that he allowed several carriages to pass us on the road, the consequence being that we were almost smothered with dust, and that made me cross. I told father I wished I had refused to come, and that the dust was simply ruining my new hat, but he wouldn't drive faster."
Mrs. Wallis glanced at the hat in question—pink, to match Lulu's frock, with a bunch of white ostrich feathers as trimming—and wondered who had purchased it for her, or if it was her own taste.
"Would you like to go up to your room my dear," she enquired, "or will you stay where you are and talk to me? Tea is at half-past five."
"Oh, I'll stay where I am, please."
"Then you had better remove your hat. Joy will take it upstairs for you, won't you, Joy?"
"Oh, yes," Joy answered, coming forward and receiving the wonderful article of millinery, which Lulu handed to her without a word of thanks. She carried it gingerly out of the room, whilst Celia drew nearer to the visitor and joined in the conversation.
By the time Joy came back her sister and Lulu were doing most of the talking, whilst Mrs. Wallis was listening, a faint smile of amusement upon her lips. Lulu had been giving them a graphic description of her music-master at school, and though she had ridiculed his peculiarities, it had not been unkindly done.
"You have Miss Pring's niece for a governess, don't you?" she said. Receiving an affirmative answer she rattled on: "I know old Miss Pring—father knew her years ago, when she was a rich woman—and I can't bear her. Such an interfering old creature she is! Father will take me to see her sometimes—I never wish to go!—and to-day he insisted on calling at Home Vale on his way here, and the very first words Miss Pring said, when she saw me, were: 'Bless the child, she looks like a cockatoo!' I never felt angrier in my life."
There was a general laugh at this, for Lulu looked so aggrieved; her listeners guessed, with truth, that Miss Pring's observation had been directed at the feathers in her hat. Celia was the only one who had an answer ready.
"It was very rude of her," she said.
"Yes, indeed!" Lulu agreed. "She certainly apologised afterwards, and said the remark had been surprised out of her, whatever she may have meant by that. I call her a spiteful old woman! If she can't afford nice clothing herself she shouldn't be envious of others."
"Oh, you misjudge her there!" Mrs. Wallis exclaimed, in accents of gentle reproof. "I am sure Miss Pring is much too good and kind to be envious, though perhaps she is a little too outspoken, sometimes."
"A great deal too outspoken, I think!" Lulu cried, tossing her head, for she still felt very angry.
"Yes, indeed," Celia assented, earnestly.
Lulu regarded Celia with growing favour; but she took no notice of Joy, and when later she rose to go to her room to prepare for tea, it was the elder sister she asked to accompany her.
"Mother, what do you think of her?" Joy asked, the minute she and her mother were alone together.
"Poor child, she is much to be pitied," was the answer she received in tones of deep compassion.
"Oh, mother! Why?"
"Because she has no one to correct her faults, my dear; no one to tell her what a self-centered little girl she is, so wrapped up in her own affairs and so vain of her dress. I do not like the way she speaks of her father, it is not a respectful way. I am glad she is only going to stay till Monday, for I should not care for you to be very friendly with her."
"I am not likely to be that," Joy said, soberly, for she could not help feeling a little hurt that Lulu had taken no notice of her, though she was not in the least jealous of her sister. "She has scarcely spoken to me yet."
"Never mind, my dear."
"Oh, mother, I don't mind, or at least, not much," she amended, truthfully; "but she never even said 'thank you' when I carried her hat upstairs for her."
"I noticed that, but I do not think her rudeness was intentional. You must try to judge people by their intentions, my dear, and not by their acts. Don't take a dislike to this motherless little girl. I have no doubt she has her good qualities, which we shall discover by-and-by."
Joy impulsively threw her arms around mother's neck, and kissed her many times. She was wondering what she herself would have been like if she had had no mother to correct her faults, and guide her all her life. Her earliest recollections were of her mother, who had taught her to be courteous to everyone, to study other people's feelings, and who had always set her an example of unselfishness and thoughtfulness, which she earnestly desired to follow, so that her heart softened towards Lulu when she remembered that God had denied her a mother's tender care.
Meanwhile, Lulu and Celia had gone upstairs to the large front bedroom which had been prepared for the former. Though Lulu was only to remain till Monday morning, she had brought a second frock, which she drew from her portmanteau with great pride, for it was even finer than the one she wore. She held it up for Celia's inspection, and Celia went into raptures of admiration as she examined it, and exclaimed on the beauty of its colour—it was palest blue—and its quality.
"Yes, it is very nice," Lulu allowed complacently, as she laid the garment carefully on the bed. She glanced from it to her companion, clad in her blue serge skirt and cotton blouse, as she asked, "What is your best frock like?"
"It's a grey cashmere," Celia answered, flushing under the other's scrutiny. "It's rather pretty, I think, but not to be compared to this!" —and she sighed enviously as she touched Lulu's blue gown.
"Why doesn't your mother see that you have prettier frocks?" Lulu questioned, abruptly.
"We are not rich people," Celia responded, with a shade of dignity in her tone, which was quite lost upon Lulu, however, who exclaimed,
"Not rich people? No, perhaps not, now, but you will be."
"I don't know what you mean," Celia cried, alternately paling and flushing with excitement.
"You will be rich people when you get Sir Jasper Amery's money."
"But I don't know that we are going to it."
"Well, of course, I don't know it, either; but I expect you will. I heard father say that Mrs. Wallis is Sir Jasper's nearest relative."
"Does your father think—" Celia hesitated, not liking to finish her sentence, but Lulu did so for her.
"Does father think Sir Jasper is going to leave you his money? I'm sure I can't tell, and I am sure I should not like to ask him, for he'd be really angry with me if I did. He never talks about the affairs of anyone he's connected with in business. But, you may depend upon it, Sir Jasper would not have invited you all here if he had not meant to leave you his property. I've heard people at T— talking about it, and they all say that."
Celia shook her head doubtfully; and Lulu continued,
"I should ask him to give me some new clothes, if I were you. He isn't a bad-natured old fellow."
Celia looked slightly aghast at hearing the master of the house spoken of in such a flippant manner. She stood gazing thoughtfully at the blue frock, whilst Lulu concluded:
"I shall wear it to church to-morrow; that's why I brought it."
At that moment the tea-bell rang, and they hurried downstairs. Lulu linked her arm within Celia's, and thus they entered the dining-room together, much to the astonishment of Joy, who failed to understand how they could have got on such friendly terms in so short a time.
"Lulu has the loveliest dress you can possibly imagine to wear to church to-morrow," Celia confided to her sister, when they were going to bed that night.
"Has she?" said Joy, indifferently.
"Joy, don't you wish you and I had handsomer dresses to wear on Sundays?" Celia inquired, rather aggrievedly.
"No," was the response, somewhat bluntly spoken. "I don't want to be like Lulu Tillotson. We go to church to worship God, and it doesn't matter to Him about our clothes, so why should it matter to us?"
THE Moat House was situated about half-a-mile from Crumleigh, a little village which consisted of one straggling street and one old church surrounded by a small bury-ground. The inhabitants of Crumleigh were nearly all of the labouring class, the heads of the families being employed on the neighbouring farms, so that the worshippers who assembled at the church on Sundays were, with a very few exceptions, working people who earned their livelihoods on the land.
Sir Jasper Amery never went to church nowadays. Since his son's death he had shrunk from appearing in public, and generally spent Sunday mornings shut up alone in the library, whither he, as a rule, repaired as soon as he had breakfasted. On this particular Sunday, though, which Mr. Tillotson and his daughter were spending at the Moat House, Sir Jasper inquired into the intentions of his guests, and desired to know who was going to church.
"Are you?" he asked Mr. Tillotson, after learning that his niece meant to take the little girls.
"Not if you would like me to keep you company, Sir Jasper," the lawyer answered, kindly and considerately.
"I wish you to please yourself, Tillotson," Sir Jasper said; but he looked as though he would like his guest to remain with him, so Mr. Tillotson elected to stay at home.
At half-past ten o'clock Mrs. Wallis and the three little girls started to walk to Crumleigh. The service at the church did not commence till eleven, so they had plenty of time. Celia and Lulu walked ahead of Joy and her mother. The way led from the high road through exceedingly muddy lanes. There had been heavy rain during the night, which had cleared, however, and given place to a perfect summer's day, though Sir Jasper had foretold at the breakfast-table that there was more rain to come. Fresh sweet scents arose from the moist earth, and the air was fragrant with the perfume of dog-roses, meadow-sweet, honeysuckle and other summer flowers.
Celia and Lulu chatted merrily; but Joy looked unusually grave as she walked quietly along by her mother's side, her eyes fixed on the couple in front; and she was so occupied with her own thoughts that she awoke from her reverie with a start when Mrs. Wallis addressed her.
"What was it you said, mother?" she asked. "I did not hear."
"I remarked that Celia and this new acquaintance of ours appear to get on well together."
"Yes," Joy agreed, "they are quite friends already, are they not? What do you think of Lulu's best dress, mother?"
"It is very handsome, but quite unsuitable for a young girl."
"Celia says she wishes she had one like it to wear on Sundays."
"If she had I fear she would be thinking more of her finery than of her devotions. Why are they stopping? Oh, I see. Lulu has splashed into a puddle of muddy water."
"I never knew such rugged lanes as these!" Lulu cried, irascibly. "Do look at the wheel ruts! And do look at the splashes of mud on my frock! I shall not be fit to be seen by the time we reach the church."
Mrs. Wallis could not help smiling at the sight of the girl's rueful face; however, she very kindly produced her own handkerchief and tried to rectify the damage done, but without much success, for the mud splashes left great, dark stains on the pale blue material. This fact made Lulu very cross; but she recovered her temper, when, church reached at last, she followed Mrs. Wallis up the aisle, conscious of the many pairs of eyes watching her gaily-clad figure. She reflected that it was not often the simple villagers saw anyone so fashionably dressed as herself. This knowledge made her very self-conscious, and she fidgeted with her bracelets, and was so fussy that even Celia, who was inclined to think all their visitor did must be right, wished she would get settled; but it was not until she caught Miss Pring's gaze fixed upon her, whilst the clergyman was reading the second lesson, that a sudden stillness fell upon her, and she was quiet during the rest of the service.
"It was a nice sermon, wasn't it?" said Celia, as she and Lulu started for the homeward walk together as they had come. "It was the Vicar—Mr. Cole—who preached; he often comes to the Moat House to see Uncle Jasper."
"I didn't hear a word of the sermon," Lulu acknowledged, frankly, "not even the text. I never listen to sermons; they're always so stupid."
"Oh, do you think so?" Celia was not quite ready to agree with such a sweeping assertion. "Oh, here's Joy!" she cried, as her sister ran up to them.
"Mother's coming behind with Miss Pring and Miss Mary, so I thought I'd walk home with you, Celia," Joy explained.
"Oh, let us get on! Don't let us wait for Miss Pring!" exclaimed Lulu. "You should have seen how severely she looked at me in church."
"That was because you didn't sit still, I expect," Joy replied; "once I thought mother was going to speak to you about it."
Lulu was silent for a few minutes, slightly abashed; at length she remarked;
"I think your mother's rather particular."
"Oh, no, she isn't," Joy answered, quickly; "but she always says people should be reverent in their manner in church, and remember they are in God's house."
"And wasn't I reverent?" Lulu demanded, in astonishment.
"Well, no, I don't think you were," Joy admitted, after a moment's hesitation.
"Oh, Joy!" Celia whispered, fearing their visitor would take offence.
"Let her say what she thinks!" Lulu cried, sharply. "I wish you'd tell me what you mean," she said to Joy; "come, you may as well."
"You—you seemed to be thinking of yourself all the time," was the frank response— "of yourself and your clothes, you know."
"Well, what ought I to have been thinking of, then?" Lulu questioned, flippantly.
"Of God," Joy answered, in a low voice.
There was a brief silence, broken by Celia, who addressed Lulu in conciliatory tones.
"You mustn't be offended with Joy," she said; "she means no harm—she's always so outspoken."
"Oh, I don't mind that! I like people to say what they mean. It's only when people make a point of snubbing me, like Miss Pring, that I get annoyed." She looked at Joy with more interest in her glance. "You're a queer little thing!" she told her, but she smiled as she said it, and was evidently not offended.
Lulu's manner was slightly subdued during the remainder of the walk.
They had to pass Home Vale on their way, and waited at the gate to speak to Miss Pring and her niece, who were following with Mrs. Wallis.
"Well, young people, what did you think of the sermon?" asked Miss Pring, as they stood in a group talking for a few minutes. "A sound, plain sermon, I considered it, full of home truths. I expect it conveyed lessons to us all."
"I expect so," Mrs. Wallis agreed; "the text is one that will bear many constructions."
"What was the text?" Lulu whispered to Celia, but not in a sufficiently low tone to be unheard by all the others, for Miss Pring repeated the question sharply.
"What was the text? And do you mean to say you have forgotten it already! Oh, you did not hear it? I should be ashamed to confess it. The text was: 'Little children, keep yourselves from idols.'"
"But we don't worship idols nowadays!" Lulu exclaimed, with pretended innocence.
"Oh, do we not!" Miss Pring cried, "You should have listened to the sermon, child, and perhaps you would be a little wiser for having done so. We don't worship idols nowadays, you say? Remember, there are other idols but those made of wood and stone! People worship money, and position, and fame, and fine dress, and all these things and many more may come between the soul and the living God."
"Oh!" cried Lulu, suddenly abashed. "I see what you mean."
"I am glad you do, my dear," said Miss Pring, significantly. "It's a pity you missed that sermon, though."
The afternoon, which was fine, the three girls spent in the rock garden, but in the evening it rained again—such an incessant downpour that the half mile walk to Crumleigh Church was quite out of the question. Mrs. Wallis sat down at the piano in the drawing-room after tea, and commenced the accompaniment of a hymn which she sang with the children. The sounds of music brought Sir Jasper and Mr. Tillotson from the dining-room to listen, and Lulu forgot her dress and her affectations, as she joined her voice with Celia and Joy's, and afterwards declared she had never before in her life spent such a happy Sunday evening.
"I think I shall try to learn to play some hymn tunes," she confided to Celia, later on; "it's so dull at home on Sunday evenings if we don't go to church; and sometimes in the winter I get such bad colds that I'm obliged to stay at home. How beautifully your mother plays! You can't think how I envy you and your sister."
"Oh, why?" Celia cried, intensely surprised, for she considered she had more cause to envy Lulu, the rich man's daughter, than Lulu had cause to envy her. "I thought you had everything you could wish for. Doesn't your father give you all you want?"
"Oh, yes, of course he does!"
"Then, why should you envy Joy and me?"
"Because you have a mother to love you—mine died when I was baby, you know. I like your mother very much, but I'm afraid she doesn't altogether approve of me!"
"What makes you think that?" Celia asked uneasily, for she knew it was so.
"The way I have caught her looking at me several times to-day—half sorry, half vexed." There was a slight pause, after which Lulu proceeded in a lighter tone: "I've really enjoyed this Sunday, and I do hope Sir Jasper will invite me here again. I wonder if your mother would let you come and stay with me at T—? Our house is in the main street, but there's plenty of room in it, and it's very comfortable. Would you like to come?"
"Oh, indeed I should!" Celia replied, delighted at the idea.
"I will speak to father about it," Lulu said, "and get him to ask Mrs. Wallis to let you come. I suppose you will have holidays later on?"
"Yes, they will begin at the end of July, when Eric comes home."
"Oh, I had forgotten your brother! Perhaps you will not like to leave the Moat House whilst he is here?"
"Oh, I shall not mind." Celia blushed as she caught her companion's glance of surprise. "Of course I am looking forward to seeing him," she explained, hastily, "but he and Joy spend most of their time together during the holidays."
"Sir Jasper has not seen him yet, has he?" Lulu questioned. "Perhaps he will make him his heir," she added, after Celia had replied in the negative.
"His heir?" Celia repeated. "Did you know Uncle Jasper's son?" she inquired, presently.
"I never spoke to him, but I used to see him a T— sometimes, driving in the town, when he was visiting his father. His was a dreadful death, wasn't it?"
"I never heard how he died. I suppose mother knows, but she has not told us, and I never thought of asking her."
"He was drowned."
"Drowned? How dreadful!"
"Yes, and especially as his body was never found."
"How did it happen?"
"He went for a walking tour with a friend, a gentleman from London, a barrister like himself, and whilst they were going along a cliff path somewhere in Cornwall, Mr. Amery tripped, and fell right over the cliff into the sea. The tide was going out at the time, and his body was never found."
"Oh, poor fellow!" Celia cried. "And poor Uncle Jasper!" she added sympathetically; "no wonder he looks so sad sometimes."
"He is much brighter than he was before you all came here," Lulu said. "He seems very fond of your mother, doesn't he? I don't wonder, for she has such pleasant manners. Oh, don't you know what I mean? She doesn't rub me the wrong way like Miss Pring does. I believe Miss Pring thinks me a dreadful girl. And when she begins to moralise with me, she aggravates me to such an extent, that I just say the first thing I can think of that I know will shock her."
"Oh, what a shame!" Celia cried, but she could not help laughing. "I don't care for Miss Pring myself, but Joy likes her, and Miss Mary thinks there is no one so good as her aunt. I believe she is very kind; but, did you ever see anyone dress with less taste?"
"Never," Lulu admitted. The conversation having once more turned upon dress, she told Celia of the various costumes she had at home.
"Does your father let you wear what you like?" Celia asked.
"Yes. I always choose my own frocks. Don't you?"
"No."
"It's a shame you can't have nicer clothes!" Lulu said; adding with frank admiration, "And you are so very pretty, you know!"
"Oh," cried Celia, her fair face aflame with blushes, "you mustn't flatter me like that!" But she was very pleased, in spite of her words of reproof, for she was a vain little girl at heart.
MRS. WALLIS was far from being desirous that Lulu Tillotson should become very friendly with her young daughters; but, when the lawyer, before bidding her farewell on Monday morning, besought her very earnestly to allow Celia and Joy to spend the following Saturday at his house at T—, she hardly knew how to decline his invitation; and whilst she was hesitating, Sir Jasper interposed, and said it would be a pleasant change for the children.
"You know, my dear Margaret, the carriage is always at your disposal, so there will be no difficulty about sending or fetching the young people," he remarked; "let them go, by all means."
After that Mrs. Wallis saw no course open for her but to accept the invitation, though she did so with some misgivings. She did not dislike Lulu, and was sincerely sorry for the motherless girl; but she much feared she was not a good friend for Celia, for whom she evinced great partiality.
"I would as soon stay at home as go," remarked to her sister as she was getting ready to start for the drive to T— on Saturday morning. "I don't believe Lulu Tillotson wants me, she only asked her father to invite me on your account."
"Don't be silly!" Celia retorted. "You had a lot of friends at school, and I had none, but now Lulu and I are friends you don't like it. You must be jealous."
"Oh, Celia, how can you think that!" Joy cried, reproachfully. There was sufficient truth in her sister's speech, however, to make her pause and reflect. "I only meant that two's company and three's none," she proceeded, after a short silence. "I don't think I am jealous of Lulu; I hope not, but I know you and she will be so wrapped up in each other that I shall be out in the cold."
This actually proved to be the case, for the moment Sir Jasper Amery's carriage drew up before the lawyer's house and the two girls stepped out, Lulu, who had been anxiously awaiting their arrival, appeared on the doorstep and took possession of Celia at once.
"Come up to my bedroom and take off your hat," she said; then turning to Joy she added, apparently as an after-thought: "And you too, Joy."
The lawyer's house was comfortably furnished, regardless of expense, and Lulu's room was as fresh and dainty an apartment as any little girl could wish to call her own, with its suite of white enamelled furniture, and its brass-mounted, white-curtained bed. The window looked out into the main street of the busy town, and Saturday being market day at T— there were many people about, mostly farmers and their wives and daughters. Joy watched the pedestrians passing to and fro, whilst Lulu disclosed the contents of her set of drawers and wardrobe, which she evidently considered a mode of entertainment, for Celia's benefit.
Many were Celia's exclamations of gratification as she turned over Lulu's numerous possessions; but she shook her head when Lulu would have made her a present of a turquoise brooch which she had particularly admired. "No, no, I can't take it, but thank you so much for wishing to give it to me," Celia cried, gratefully. "It is a lovely brooch; but I am certain mother would not like me to accept such a valuable present."
"Oh, you must have it, Celia! These blue stones are the very colour to suit you. Surely Mrs. Wallis would not mind your taking it when I so much wish you to have it? Let me pin it in your frock, and then you will see how it looks."
This was done, and Celia surveyed herself in a looking-glass. Lulu was right; she thought the brooch with its blue stones certainly suited her fair complexion. She longed to keep it, but she knew her mother would not approve of her doing so; therefore, she shook her head more decidedly than she had done before, and unfastening the brooch, handed it back to Lulu. "It is very kind and generous of you to wish to give it to me," she said with a sigh, "but I must not take it, really. Mother would not like me to do so, would she, Joy?"
"No, she would not," Joy agreed, decidedly. "I think if you took it she'd most probably make you return it," she added, bluntly.
Lulu looked really disappointed, for she had set her heart on making a present of the brooch to her new friend; but she now put it away without another word. She was not so disappointed as Celia, though.
When Lulu had exhibited all her treasures, she took her visitors into the drawing-room, which was upstairs, as most of the lower rooms of the house were given up to offices; she explained that she was always trying to induce her father to take a private house in the suburbs of the town, but he would not.
"He says perhaps he will when I leave school," she told her companions, "but that won't be for ages. That's my mother's likeness over the mantelpiece."
It was an enlarged photograph of quite a young girl with a happy-looking countenance, which bore some slight resemblance to Lulu's.
"How very young she looks!" Celia exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes; she was only nineteen when she died," Lulu replied. "Do you think I am at all like her? Father says I am, sometimes." Then, without waiting for a reply to her question, she continued: "Do you know, father declared the other day that occasionally I appear older to him than my mother when he married her."
"How strange!" cried Joy, her eyes still examining the photograph of the late Mrs. Tillotson.
"He was cross with me when he said it," Lulu confessed, "and he isn't often that. He had caught me reading a book he didn't approve of, and he said he didn't know what the children of this generation were coming to. I am sure it was a very nice book."
"What was it?" Celia asked, curiously.
"It was called 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' a most exciting story about a nobleman's wife who stole some jewels, and put the blame off on someone else. One of the servants lent it to me, and father made me give it back to her; but I borrowed it again, and finished reading it after all. You would enjoy it, Celia. It is so interesting. Father said himself there was no real harm in it," she proceeded, hurriedly, as she noticed both her hearers looked surprised, and more than a little shocked; "he said it was mere trash, but it was most exciting, and a I'd rather read a story like that than the books he would like to see me with—Sir Walter Scott's novels, for instance."
"Joy thinks Sir Walter Scott's novels are splendid," Celia said with a smile, "but I find them rather dull myself."
Being market day, Mr. Tillotson was very busy, and had no time to devote to his daughter's visitors; but at dinner he suggested that Lulu should take them for a walk, and show them the town; so a little later in the afternoon they put on their hats and sallied forth into the street.
Celia and Lulu had so much to say to each other that Joy was quite left to herself, and began to feel aggrieved. She followed her companions from shop to shop, and waited patiently whilst they remarked on the goods in the windows, and discussed the fashions; but the time dragged for her, and the afternoon seemed interminable. They visited the market, where Joy found some amusement in watching the farmer's wives and daughters gossiping behind their stalls; but they did not remain there long, and returned to the shop windows.
Joy was rejoiced when their walk was over, for she had never been so utterly ignored in her life before, and was really very indignant. Mr. Tillotson was not present at tea-time; but he came from his office when Sir Jasper's carriage arrived to take the little girls back to the Moat House, and shook hands with them very cordially in the hall.
"I hope you have spent a pleasant day," he said, in his quiet, serious way, his eyes resting first on Celia's smiling face then on Joy's, which was graver than usual.
"Oh, yes! We have had such a happy time!" Celia answered. "I don't know when I have enjoyed a day so much."
He escorted them to the carriage, telling them they must come again soon, whilst Lulu stood on the doorstep, and waved her hand in farewell.
Joy nodded and smiled at Mr. Tillotson as the carriage was driven away, but she never glanced at Lulu.
For a while there was silence between the sisters; but Joy, her heart swelling with indignation, was too angry to keep silence long, and presently she burst forth:
"How I dislike that Lulu Tillotson! I will never spend a day with her again—not if she asks me a hundred times. If Mr. Tillotson invites us, you may go, but I will not—and so I shall tell mother."
"What's the matter, Joy?" Celia asked, apparently very surprised.
"As though you do not know! But you are as bad as Lulu. You took no notice of me all the afternoon. You never spoke to me once, or thought of asking if it was fun for me to be looking at the fashions in the drapers' windows. You were so wrapped up in that silly, frivolous girl, who is just like a dressed up doll, that you thought of no one else."
Joy's quick temper was now at its height. Celia knew from experience that it would soon begin to cool, so she remained silent, her conscience not quite easy.
"I don't think Lulu is a nice girl at all," Joy proceeded; "you heard what she said about reading that book her father didn't wish her to read? She didn't mind disobeying him. I am sure mother would think that was very wrong."
"Oh, surely you are not going to tell tales about poor Lulu!" Celia cried, reproachfully. "That would be a mean thing to do. Whatever you may think of her, you ought to remember we have been her guests, and that should keep you from running out against her. And you must not blame her for not talking as much to you as to me. You don't care for the same things as she does. Why, when she was showing us her clothes you were not a bit interested, but sat looking out of the window all the while! I am sure she has not the least idea she has displeased you. Don't be foolish and resentful, Joy, for it is not worth while. We may not see Lulu again for ages."
"I hope not," Joy answered; "the less I see of her the better I shall be pleased."
"I don't think she's a bad-hearted girl," Celia said, reflectively. "See how she wanted me to take that turquoise brooch. She must be very lonely sometimes, I expect, with only the housekeeper and the servants to speak to. She says that often her father remains in his office till late at night. Don't be too hard on her."
"Well, I won't," Joy said, her face clearing, "for, after all, if she was rude to me, I daresay it was because she knew no better. Perhaps if her mother had lived she would have been different," and her heart softened, as she spoke, towards the motherless girl.
"You won't complain about Lulu to mother, will you?" Celia asked, presently, in coaxing tone.
"No, I won't."
Celia heaved a sigh of relief. She realized that Joy had just cause to be indignant at the indifferent manner in which Lulu had treated her; but, at the same time, she was conscious that she herself had been at fault for not including her sister in the conversation, as she might have done. Flattered by Lulu's preference for her society, she had no desire to share her friendship with Joy. She was not blind to Lulu's faults; but she was glamoured by her fine clothes and personal possessions, and longed to be as well off with this world's goods as the lawyer's daughter, who had only, so it seemed to her, to wish, to have. Although she had said they might not see Lulu again for ages, yet she had been making plans with her as to how and when they should meet again. The Moat House, being only two miles from T—, was within walking distance of that town, and Lulu had declared her intention of accompanying her father when he paid Sir Jasper the calls he frequently made during the summer evenings, after office hours.
Celia gave her mother a glowing account of everything she had seen at T—, but Joy proved herself unusually reticent, so that Mrs. Wallis imagined she had not been very pleased with her day's visit, and shrewdly guessed that Lulu had made more of the elder sister than the younger. She was sorry for Joy, who hitherto had been Celia's sole confidante, but deemed it wiser to ask no questions.
There was a decided feeling of constraint between the sisters for a few days after their visit to T—, but it gradually wore off, and they were soon as good friends as ever.
"I must have been a little jealous of Lulu or I should not have minded so much being left out in the cold," Joy came to the conclusion; "and it is absurd to be jealous. As though Celia would ever be fonder of Lulu than of me!"
IN a corner of the rock garden at the Moat House was a rustic seat beneath an arbour, where Celia sat one warm, July evening, her fair head bent over a limp, paper-covered volume, whilst several books of a more substantial make lay by her side.
Presumably she had retired to this sheltered nook to learn her lessons for the following day, but actually to read by stealth the entrancing story, "Lady Isabella's Treachery," which Lulu Tillotson had surreptitiously brought to the Moat House for her perusal. The lesson books lay unheeded as Celia followed the fortunes of Lady Isabella, who was represented as a woman of wonderful fascination; and she was deep in the account of her jealousy of a beautiful but penniless girl, a dependent in Lady Isabella's household, and was reaching a most exciting part in the story, when she heard Joy's voice calling her by name. Hastily closing the novel, she thrust it into a cranny between two rocks at the back of the arbour; and, seizing one of the lesson books, opened it at random, and pretended to be deeply engrossed in its contents.
"Celia! Celia! Where are you?"
"Here. What do you want, Joy? I'm busy learning my lessons for to-morrow."
The lie rose glibly to Celia's lips. Time was when she would have scorned to speak anything save the truth. But two months had elapsed since Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters had taken up their abode at the Moat House, and those two months had not improved Celia's character. She had longed to live in a beautiful house like her present home, to have every comfort and luxury; and yet, now, when all these good things were hers to enjoy, she could not fully appreciate them for thinking of the time when she might have to give them up. If she was certain she would remain at the Moat House, she thought she would be perfectly happy; and she tried her utmost to ingratiate herself with Sir Jasper, and succeeded so well that he always looked forward to the evenings when, her lessons finished, she would be at leisure to devote an hour or so to him.
"Where's my pretty Celia?" he would ask, and Celia would smile, and give him her arm to lean upon as he hobbled up and down the terrace, or would take him for a little walk in the rock garden. She had to sacrifice her own inclination often to wait upon him; but it was not an unselfish motive that urged her to do so; she desired to make her presence indispensable to him. At first she had been gratified by his preference for her society to Joy's; but she was beginning to find the old man a great tie; especially when, as on the present occasion, she wanted her leisure time for herself, so she looked up with a slight frown on her face as Joy came running towards her, followed by a liver-and-white spaniel puppy named Wag.
"Well?" she said, impatiently. "What is it?"
"Haven't you finished your lessons yet?" Joy exclaimed. "I learnt mine directly after tea, and Wag and I have been having such a game! I came to tell you that Miss Pring is here. Will you come in to see her?"
"No; not unless mother sent you to fetch me. Is Uncle Jasper in the drawing-room?"
"Yes. He asked for you, so I thought I'd better find you."
"What a nuisance!" Celia's tone was decidedly cross. "I never get any time to myself. Need I go in, do you think?"
"Shall I tell Uncle Jasper you have not quite finished learning your lessons?" Joy suggested.
Celia assented, and away went Joy. The minute her sister was out of sight, Celia turned round in search of the novel she had hidden; but, to her great amazement, it had disappeared. Whilst she was wondering what could possibly have become of it, the sound of a delighted bark broke upon her ears, and the puppy gambolled past her, shaking and worrying what looked like a bundle of loose papers, but was, as the little girl rightly guessed, the book she was in search of.
She darted after the dog, calling to him softly and insinuatingly:
"Wag! Wag! Good dog! Come here! Come here!"
But Wag took no heed. He was having a splendid time, for the novel, in its limp paper cover with its fluttering leaves, proved a capital plaything. First the puppy hid behind one rock, then another, as Celia chased him till she was breathless, allowing her to get nearly within reach of him, and then darting away again.
"Wag, you little wretch, come here, sir!" Celia cried, her voice changing its tone, and becoming stern. "Come here, this minute, you bad dog!"
But the bad dog merely circled around with the novel in his mouth; and then, as she made a grab at him he doubled suddenly, and was off in the opposite direction. Celia did not follow him, however; she retired behind a big bush, and waited to see if he would return. Presently peeping out from behind her place of shelter, she saw the puppy coming back, evidently in search of her, and suddenly darting out in the hope of catching him unawares, her foot slipped on a loose stone, and she fell with some force to the ground.
It was with difficulty that she repressed a cry of pain as she endeavoured to rise, for she had twisted her ankle in her fall, and now found she could scarcely move. Looking around, she espied the puppy at a little distance, watching her with roguish brown eyes, whilst he contentedly chewed the loose leaves of "Lady Isabella's Treachery." Celia burst into tears at the sight, realizing how incapable she was of getting possession of the book, and knowing that her mother would be extremely angry with her for having borrowed it from Lulu; not that she had ever been forbidden to read anything of the kind, but her conscience told her that such literature would not meet with her mother's approval. She covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly, overcome with mingled emotions.
Meanwhile, Joy had returned to the drawing-room, and reported, in all good faith, that Celia had not quite finished learning her lessons, but would be in presently. Sir Jasper, looking brighter than usual, was talking to Miss Pring and Mrs. Wallis; by-and-by he suggested a stroll in the rock garden, and thither they accordingly repaired, Sir Jasper leaning on his niece's arm, whilst Miss Pring followed with Joy. So it was they came upon Celia, seated forlornly upon the ground, indulging in floods of tears.
"My dear child!" cried Mrs. Wallis, whilst Sir Jasper uttered an exclamation of dismay, and Joy ran to her sister's side, beseeching her to say what was amiss, and Miss Pring surveyed the scene in silence. "What has happened? Are you hurt?"
"My foot!" gasped Celia. "I think I have twisted it! I was running after Wag and I fell!"
All looked at the puppy. Wearied out its gambols, he now lay quietly, with the novel between his paws. Whilst Mrs. Wallis was examining Celia's injured foot, and assuring herself not much damage had been done, Miss Pring stepped up to the little dog and took possession of the cause of all the trouble.
"What has he been destroying?" Sir Jasper asked. "I trust he has not done much mischief."
"He has torn up a cheap, sensational novel, that's all," Miss Pring replied.
"Where did he get it, I wonder? It is not yours, I suppose, my dear?" Sir Jasper inquired of Celia.
"Oh, no, it is not mine!" Celia answered quickly, glancing up with tearful blue eyes.
"Probably it belongs to one of the servants," Miss Pring remarked. "'Lady Isabella's Treachery!'" she read out. "Humph! Flashy, low-class literature!" As she spoke she happened to glance at Joy, who had suddenly turned crimson. She knew Joy was exceedingly fond of reading, and a suspicion crossed her mind that the book might be hers. Sir Jasper also noticed the younger sister's evident confusion, and he addressed her so sharply that she started, and trembled.
"Is the book yours, Joy?"
"Oh, no, Uncle Jasper!"
"You never saw it before?" he questioned, suspiciously.
"Never!" she answered, promptly.
"Then, why, pray, are you looking so guilty?" Sir Jasper persisted, whilst Mrs. Wallis turned her attention from Celia to Joy in surprise. "If you know nothing about the book, what is the meaning of your confused manner?"
His keen eyes were searching her face, noting her painful blushes, her uneasiness. She did not like to say that she had recognised the title of the book from having heard Lulu Tillotson mention it, for she guessed that Lulu had lent it to Celia, and that Celia meant to keep the fact a secret. It was very wrong of Celia; but Joy felt she could not get her sister into trouble, especially when Celia's tearful eyes appealed to her to keep silence.
"I hope you are not trying to deceive us, Joy," Sir Jasper said, severely. "If you have been tempted to read this silly, sensational story—I can judge the class tale it is, and I daresay it fascinated you—why not confess it?"
"I have not been reading it, Uncle Jasper," Joy replied, steadily, in a low, pained tone. "I never saw it in my life before."
Sir Jasper turned from her impatiently, and bent over Celia, who still sat on the ground. Miss Pring now came forward and assisted Mrs. Wallis in lifting the girl to her feet, and between them they bore her into the house, and laid her on the drawing-room sofa. Joy timidly offered Sir Jasper her arm, but he declined it curtly, and retraced his footsteps alone, whilst Joy lingered in the garden, a prey to feelings of mingled indignation and grief. Why could not Celia have spoken out, and spared her Sir Jasper's suspicion? It was indeed hard to be so misjudged.
She took up a position from which she had a view of the front door, and presently saw Miss Pring come out, and look about her as though in search of someone. Joy immediately hastened to join her.
"Ah, Joy, there you are!" Miss Pring exclaimed, in her deep voice. "Will you walk as far as the gate with me, my dear? Your mother is bathing Celia's foot, I don't think she requires your help. Celia has sprained her ankle, and will be a prisoner in the house for some days. What's become of that mischievous puppy?"
"I don't know," Joy replied. She glanced timidly up at her companion's dark, plain face wistfully, as she asked: "You don't believe I'd been reading that book, I hope?"
"No, I do not."
"Oh, thank you for saying that!" Joy cried gratefully. "Indeed I am not a storyteller."
"But you appeared guilty enough when Sir Jasper spoke to you about it to make anyone think you were the real owner of the book," Miss Pring continued. "I am not going to ask you why that was, because you evidently do not mean to tell, but, do you think it is right to shield someone at your own expense?"
Joy was silent, looking, as she indeed was, very unhappy. She was deeply indignant and hurt that Celia should have allowed her to be misjudged. If Celia had only spoken out, and confessed that she had been reading "Lady Isabella's Treachery," her mother would have reproved her, and she would have been made to return the book to Lulu, but there the matter would have ended; by keeping a cowardly silence, she had thrown suspicion on Joy, and Joy rightly felt she had been injured. It was balm to her wounded spirit to find that Miss Pring accepted her word; she knew her mother would believe her too; but not so Sir Jasper.
After she had parted from Miss Pring at the gate, she went straight back to the house. On entering the hall she encountered her mother coming from the drawing-room.
"Oh, my dear," Mrs. Wallis cried, "I have been wondering where you were!" She laid a firm hand on her little daughter's shoulder, as she asked: "Tell me truly, had you been reading that flashy novel?"
"No, mother, I had not," Joy answered steadily. "You know I never told you a lie in my life. Oh, do believe me!"
"Most certainly I believe you, my dear. I never caught you in a falsehood, or even knew you to prevaricate; but Uncle Jasper seemed to think—no matter, he will find out your word is to be trusted."
"I know he believed I was telling stories," Joy said, blushing painfully, "but I was not. I never heard him speak so sternly before, and—and—it was so unjust!"
"And therefore very hard to bear."
Mrs. Wallis kissed Joy tenderly, and bade her not to trouble. Then she told her to go into the drawing-room to Celia. Joy obeyed, and found her sister alone, lying on the sofa, her face pale, and her eyes slightly red.
"Does your foot hurt you much?" Joy asked.
"No, not much," Celia answered; "it is a great deal more comfortable since mother bathed it. Joy, you've been crying!" she cried, accusingly. As her sister made no response, she continued: "What made you blush and look so confused when Uncle Jasper spoke to you about 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' in the rock garden? Why couldn't you have simply said you knew nothing about it?"
"Because I thought—I fancied—didn't you get the book from Lulu Tillotson?"
"You don't know that I did, and if so, that was no reason why you should have behaved in that stupid way. Really, Joy, you have only yourself to blame that Uncle Jasper spoke to you so sharply."
"I don't mind how he spoke to me, if only I could make him believe I told the truth. You ought to have told him the truth!" and Joy flashed an indignant look at her sister. "It's very hard that I should suffer on your account," she added, somewhat bitterly; "Miss Pring believes in me, and so does mother, but Uncle Jasper thinks I told him a falsehood."
"He will soon forget all about it," Celia said, soothingly. "You have not told mother—"
"Don't fear! I've not been getting you into trouble," Joy interrupted. The tears gathered in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "If anyone had told me you would treat me so shabbily I would not have believed it!" she declared tragically, and without waiting to hear Celia's response, she hurriedly left the room.
SIR JASPER had never taken as much notice of Joy as of Celia, though he had been pleased when the former had learnt his favourite piece of music, and had on several occasions called her into the library and requested her to sit down at the old piano and play to him, which she had done very readily; but after the evening when the puppy had caused such mischief, the old man almost ignored her.
Celia was confined to the house much longer than had been anticipated. For several days, as her foot was very painful, she was excused from doing lessons, and lay on a sofa in the sitting-room in the east wing, whilst Joy was at work with Miss Mary. The time hung somewhat heavily on her hands, for she liked none of the books Sir Jasper recommended for her perusal, so that when Saturday came, and her mother brought her the news that Lulu Tillotson and her father were coming to spend the week-end at the Moat House, her spirits, which had been decidedly downcast, rose immediately, and her eyes sparkled with anticipated pleasure.
"Joy will have to do her best to entertain Lulu now you are unable to get about," Mrs. Wallis remarked.
"Oh, Lulu will spend most of her time with me, I expect," Celia replied.
But she was mistaken in her surmise. Lulu was sincerely sorry to hear of her friend's accident, and was very kind and sympathetic in her manner to the invalid, but she was a selfish young person, and had no idea of passing the pleasant summer hours indoors. She sat down by Celia's side for a little while, however, and talked to her whilst Joy hovered near.
"How did you manage to fall?" Lulu asked.
Dropping her voice to a confidential whisper, Celia explained exactly how the accident had happened, keeping an anxious watch on her sister as she spoke. She told how the puppy had stolen the novel, and how she had sought in vain to recover it. Lulu seemed to find amusement in the story, for she laughed heartily, and declared she could picture the scene.
"What would have happened if your mother or Sir Jasper had found out you had been reading the book?" she inquired, curiously; "there would have been a great to-do, I suppose?"
"Yes," Celia assented uneasily. She did not think it necessary to speak of Sir Jasper's suspicion of her sister, and Joy kept silence. "I should have been blamed, and you would have been blamed, and things would have been very disagreeable altogether."
"Well, then, I am glad you held your tongue," Lulu said, frankly, "for perhaps if it had become known that I had lent 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' Sir Jasper might have spoken to father about it, and I should have got into trouble, too. I suppose the book was quite ruined?"
"Quite. I'm so sorry."
"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least!—it only cost sixpence in the first place, I believe."
"I was vexed I could not finish reading it," Celia acknowledged, regretfully. "I never was so interested in a story before. But you'll not tell anyone you lent it to me, will you?"
"Not without I'm asked outright, of course. I couldn't tell a story about it."
Joy looked at their visitor in silent amazement. Lulu rather prided herself on speaking the truth, although she had no scruples about acting a lie. She would prevaricate and deceive, but she would not tell a deliberate falsehood.
"Oh, no one is likely to ask you," Celia said, with a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad you've come, Lulu. I've been so dreadfully dull these last few days."
"I dare say. It's such lovely weather, to be kept indoors. How long has Sir Jasper had this puppy—Wag, didn't you call it?"
"Yes, Wag," Joy responded, joining in the conversation for the first time, her face brightening; "such a jolly little dog he is! An old sporting friend of Uncle Jasper's sent the puppy as a present about a fortnight ago. Uncle Jasper didn't want the dog, but he didn't like to send him back, so Wag lives in the stable with the horses; he isn't allowed in the house."
"I should like to see him—the pup, I mean," said Lulu. "Can't we take him for a run in the garden, before tea?"
"Oh, yes!" Joy cried. She glanced hesitatingly at her sister, and added: "I don't suppose we shall be away long."
"Oh, don't mind me," Celia replied trying to speak carelessly, but rather hurt at Lulu's hurry to leave her. "You'll find me in the dining-room when you come back, for mother is going to help me downstairs to tea."
So Lulu and Joy went off together. They fetched the puppy from the stable, and bore him away to the rock garden. Lulu was fond of animals, and she forgot her fine dress as she played with Wag, laughing merrily at his funny ways. At length when both children and dog were tired, they rested on the seat beneath the arbour, where Celia had sat reading "Lady Isabella's Treachery," and began to talk.
"What a dear little fellow he is!" Lulu exclaimed, referring to the puppy, who lay comfortably on her lap. "Aren't you glad Sir Jasper kept him?"
"Oh, yes! Celia doesn't like dogs, and Wag has found that out somehow, for he generally keeps out of her way."
"I should have liked to have seen her chasing him the other evening," Lulu cried with a laugh. "I'll be bound to say she was in a fine rage with him. Cannot you picture the scene? It ended unfortunately for her, however. Poor Celia!"
"She ought never to have borrowed that book from you," Joy said, seriously.
"I offered to lend it to her. I enjoyed reading it so much myself that I wanted her to read it too. What are you looking at me so solemnly for?"
"I was wondering how you could enjoy reading it after what you told us your father had said about it."
For a moment Lulu seemed taken aback, then she laughed, and replied good-humouredly: "What a wise little owl you look with your big, grave eyes. No one would think you and Celia were sisters. Do you dictate to her what she ought, and what she ought not to do?"
"No, of course not," Joy returned quickly. "Celia doesn't often do anything wrong," she continued loyally, "but it was wrong of her to borrow 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' from you, because she had to read it on the sly. It was very deceptive of her."
"And I suppose you think I'm very deceptive too?"