by L. T. Meade
do?"
"Well, Florrie, so far as I know--only I don't think mother knows I knowit--he ran away with poor Mr Alwyn."
"Ran away? What for?"
"Well, they was up at Ravenshurst having a lark--which they oughtn't tohave had anything to do with--and the lady's jewels were all stolen atthe same time. So folks say Harry did it--but whether Mr Alwyn knew--they never came back again."
"Why should they put it on Harry?"
"He was always playing tricks."
"Playing tricks isn't stealing," said Florence.
"Well, but," said Wyn, "it isn't as if he'd stood his trial--he ranaway. And they say master had never have banished Mr Alwyn if hehadn't done something downright disgraceful."
"Does no one ever talk about him?"
"Well, old Granny do sometimes to mother; and once I saw his picture,and Harry's too."
"Where?"
"Well," said Wyn, lowering his voice, "since you're his sister I'll tellyou. One day last winter Mr Edgar was ill, and couldn't come out ofdoors, and I went to tell him how all the creatures were; but he didn'tseem to take much interest, his back ached so. But he asked me to fetchhim a little leather case out of a drawer, and he opened it and lookedat it, and he let it fall. And when I picked it up I saw it was aphotograph, and suddenly Mr Edgar said, `Look at it, Wyn;' and therewas my brother Ned and your brother Harry--I knew it must be--and a tallyoung gentleman, all sitting in the forest under the big beech withtheir guns, and Mr Edgar sitting swinging on the bough behind them,like other people, and Mr Edgar put his finger on Mr Alwyn's pictureand said, `If ever you see him again, Wyn, tell him I showed this toyou. Don't you forget.' I ain't likely to forget."
"May be they're dead," said Florrie.
"Why, Florence, I look at it like this: It ain't very likely two youngmen would both die. I think it over often," said Wyn, "for I know MrEdgar thinks of it. There's places in the wood where I know he thinksof it, and I'd like to hunt all over the world to find Mr Alwyn andbring him back."
Florence was older than Wyn, and a good deal more versed in the world'sways.
"I expect they were a couple of bad ones," she said, "or they'd havebeen back before now. Well, people may say I take after Harry; but I'llnever run away, not if they tell any number of talcs of me."
"Hush," said Wyn, "here's Grace Elton. Don't you say nothing, Florence,to _no_ one."
"I ain't given to blabbing," said Florence coolly.
Grace Elton was a pleasant, well-dressed girl, though in a far quieterstyle than Florence. Wyn fell behind with a pair of boy Eltons, and thegirls chatted until they reached the little whitewashed school--close bythe church, with a great climbing rose hanging over its rustic doorway.
Ashcroft was a very small village, and the school was a mixed one. OnSunday two classes of boys, under charge of the clergyman, Mr Murray,and Miss Hardman, occupied one side of the room. The day-schoolmistress taught the younger girls at the other; and under the prettylatticed window on a square of forms sat the elder ones. They were aflaxen-haired, rosy-faced set of children, simple and ratherstolid-looking, among whom Wyn Warren, Grace Elton, and others of thehead servants' children were decidedly the superiors. As Florence andGrace came up to their class, a girl in a straight white frock, with ared sash and a large straw hat, came and sat down on the teacher'schair. "Miss Geraldine'll take us," whispered the girls, as they stoodup and curtseyed; "Mrs Murray's got a cold."
The kind-faced, white-haired old clergyman read the prayer, and then thefirst class began to repeat fluently, but with an accent that Florencecould hardly follow, a surprising number of lessons.
"Can you say your collect?" said Miss Geraldine to Florence.
"No, teacher. We don't learn lessons at home--we've no time for it,"said Florence.
"You can learn it for next week," said Miss Geraldine, with a calmnessthat astonished Florence as much as the other girls were amazed athearing Miss Geraldine called "teacher."
But there was something in the unconscious composure of this slip of agirl, who looked as if she had never been disobeyed in her life, and didnot know what a struggle to keep order meant, that impressed Florencewith a curious sense of fellow-feeling.
"She's got a spirit of her own," she thought; but Geraldine was onlysecure of her position and unquestioned in her relation to the girls shewas teaching.
"Yes, teacher; and I'll look over a hymn too if you like, teacher," saidFlorence with alacrity.
"A psalm. Grace Elton will show you."
When the lessons were over the young lady asked questions on them in aclear, steady little voice, which were nicely answered by the girls, andthen proceeded to hear the Catechism, and, thinking to be polite to thenew-comer and give her an easy piece, asked her her name, to begin with.
Florence was not accustomed to say lessons standing up, nor to say theCatechism at all, and at the first attempt to repeat her long name shewent off into a hopeless giggle, and stuffed her pocket-handkerchiefinto her mouth. Some of the other girls giggled also. Miss Geraldine'sdark eyes gave a little flash.
"When you have done laughing, Florence, I'll ask you again. Grace, goon."
Florence did not know the next answer that came to her turn, and it soonbecame apparent that a great girl of fifteen could not say herCatechism--a fact common enough at Rapley, but unknown at Ashcroft.
She pouted and shook her shoulders; but there was an odd fascination forher in this young, firm little teacher, and when the marks were given atthe end of school she anticipated notice for her giggling by saying witha benevolent smile:
"Law, teacher, I'll say my Catechism next Sunday. I ain't a-going togive you any trouble."
Geraldine had never seen anyone in the least like Florence before. Hersmiling absence of deference and good-natured patronage amazed her.
"I suppose you don't _intend_ to give trouble," she said. "I am sorryyou don't know your Catechism, but we'll try and teach you while you'rehere. Learn the first three answers for next Sunday."
The two pair of bright eyes met, a little defiantly, but somehowFlorence felt uncomfortable.
"Well, she is a plucky little thing," she said to her neighbour as theyrose. "_She_ ain't afraid of us."
"Miss Geraldine!"
"I like the look of her," said Florrie. "I shall try behaving myself.I can if I choose; some girls can't."
CHAPTER EIGHT.
GRANNY.
After church Wyn went to attend to the supper of some of the animalswhich were in his special charge, and Mrs Warren took Florence up tothe great house to see her old mother-in-law, who had once beenhousekeeper, but was now old and rheumatic, and confined to one room.As they walked through the park they met Geraldine and her governess.Mrs Warren made her dignified little curtsey, and Florrie grinned fromear to ear with extreme good-nature, and what she felt to be the kindestnotice of her new teacher. Mrs Warren noticed, but again said nothing.They walked through the great fruit-gardens round to the back entranceand into the servants' hall, from which they went first to visit MrsHay in the housekeeper's room. Mrs Warren was a welcome guest, andthere was plenty of politeness to her young friend. Florence was anobservant girl; her ideas of superior service had risen hitherto to avilla "where three were kept." These solemn upper servants, with theirvast comfortable premises, their handsome clothes, and their intensesense of superiority, were more overawing to her than their masters andmistresses would have been.
"They can't have much to do but look at each other," she thought, withsome truth; for the establishment at Ashcroft had never been reducedwhen the gay rush of social life, for which it had been calculated, hadstopped altogether.
Aunt Stroud had certainly talked of the Ashcroft household, but Florencehad been rather in the habit of supposing that all these respectableladies and gentlemen had been invented for her edification. Like allgirls of her sort, Florence, if she _did_ feel shy, had absolutely nomanners at all and when Mrs Hay spoke to her she only sniggered andstuck out her
foot, feeling relieved when they went upstairs to see"Granny."
Mrs Warren was a little old woman in a black gown and old-fashionedfrilled cap. She had been in the family when the present Mr Cunninghamwas born, and she was always treated by him with the greatest respect.Her great trouble was that she was too lame to go and see Master Edgar,and it had been no small loss to the lonely Edgar when old "Bunny," asby some childish play on her name of Warren she was always called, wasno longer able to pay him visits, and give him all the petting which,poor fellow, he ever
