Her kingdom

"He'll knock you down, if I let him go," Josie said.

"I'll risk that."

Very reluctantly they loosed their grip of his collar.

Hercules made a bound towards her. Anstice stood her ground, and smiled at him. He sniffed at her shoes, wagged his tail, and then as she patted his head, he turned up his beautiful brown eyes, and regarded her with favour, even going so far as to lick her hand.

Then Anstice turned to the little girls.

"Won't you show me the animals? I expect you have a good many pets and I want to know them."

But they took to their heels, whistling for Hercules, who bounded after them, and a wave of depression passed over Anstice's soul. Then she turned with brisk steps to search for Brenda.

"Can you leave your little charge?" she asked her when she met her on the stairs.

"Indeed, yes, ma'am. He's accustomed to loneliness, poor little soul! But I've carried him down to the library and his sisters will be in and out concocting mischief with him. For the matter o' that 'tis his brain that hatches most of their plots, and they carry them out."

"Is he able to read?"

"Yes, indeed he is, but his doctor doesn't like him to do too much of it. It gives him headaches. He's great at drawing, and has books and books full of his funny figures."

"Oh, that's good to hear! Now, will you take me over the house?"

For an hour Anstice talked and planned with Brenda, making arrangements for the comfort of them all. There evidently seemed no lack of money, but utter lack of organization. Brenda said that no good servants would come, where there was no proper mistress.

"I haven't the authority, ma'am—nor am I good at getting others to work. I'd rather do it all myself. There's an aunt of mine—she's lately been left a widow. She's a good cook and was living with some gentry about eight mile from here. I asked her wouldn't she come to us; but she knew the master was always away, and didn't like the idea of doing for the governesses who've been driven away one after the other owing to the children's wicked ways."

"Where does your aunt live? Could she come and see me? Or I could go to her?"

They discussed the matter together. Anstice longed to get help in and have the empty rooms all prepared and got ready for use.

The house was of grey substantial stone, with several quaint buttresses and corners. The windows on the ground floor all opened to the ground. There was a very large conservatory on one side of the drawing-room, but beyond one creeping rose that covered the outside wall there was not a plant in it. Old boxes and lumber of all sorts were stacked up inside it. As Anstice walked about, and noted the possibilities of the house, she felt glad that she had come to it.

"I can make it into a pretty and comfortable home, I know I can; but I wonder whether I can make it into a happy one."

A little sigh left her lips. Later on she unpacked her trunks and arranged her room according to her liking.

At luncheon the little girls appeared, expecting to meet their father at it. Anstice told them that he was away for the day. They sat together, whispering and giggling. Then suddenly Josie addressed Anstice:

"Are you afraid of ghosts? There's one in your room. We think it's mother."

"I shouldn't be afraid of her, or of any other spirit," said Anstice very gently.

"You wait and see. Our mother will be furious to find you in her room. You'd better get out."

"My dear Josie," said Anstice, "no one could drive me out of my room. And as to your mother, I am sure she would only be too thankful to me for coming here to give you a more comfortable and, I hope, a happier home."

"We don't want you," said Georgie sullenly.

"Look here," said Anstice impulsively, "I tell you what we will do. We will have a 'pow-wow' to-morrow evening in the nursery. Do you know what a 'pow-wow' is?"

"Some old rubbishy thing!" muttered Josie scornfully.

"It's what the Red Indians have. They sit round a fire, all the heads and chiefs are invited, and then they talk and talk and talk. Every one can have a say."

"What do they talk about?" inquired Georgie, a gleam of interest in her deep blue eyes.

"Whether they're going to have peace or war. It is settled once for all. Ruffie must take part in it. Shall we all dress up as Red Indians to make it real? And the evenings are chilly, we'll have a delicious drink that I know how to make. I used to make it for the school children in my old home where we had treats. And I call it 'Honeybunny'!"

"You're trying to make us like you," said Josie deliberately; "and we don't want to like you."

"Don't tell me that now. Tell me to-morrow evening. You will have the chance of saying anything you like then. I shall want you to listen to me, and then I will listen to you. Do you agree?"

"We'll talk to Ruffie about it, and see what he says."

But there was a little sparkle in Josie's eyes as she spoke.

Anstice felt that she had already scored a point.

When lunch was over, the little girls tore up to the nursery, and Anstice went out of doors. She crossed the lawn and had a few words with the old gardener, Stephen Cross, who seemed delighted to see her.

"Ay," he responded to some pleasant words of hers, "th' 'ouse ha' wanted a mistress these mony years, an' a mistress who'll bide in it, an' ha' an interest in it."

Then she went out through the little gate into the park, rejoicing in the fresh green underfoot and around her. A wide beaten path led her across the sward down to the edge of the lake. Here she found a boathouse and small landing stage, and in an enclosure fenced off from the cattle was a very pretty little chalet evidently used for making afternoon tea. The door was unlocked, and inside she found remains of a meal. Unwashed cups and saucers were on the table. An open cupboard showed more crockery and a small oil stove.

Then she went outside, and sitting on the short grass under the shade of an acacia tree, she looked out upon the blue lake before her. It was very still, only a little ripple washed up at her feet. Opposite were the blue Fells and mountains, some in the background crested with wreaths of cloud. She watched the wonderful lights and shadows playing across them, and her thoughts were lifted for the time away from rebellious children and a disordered house.

Suddenly a voice beside her broke in upon her musings.

"Good afternoon."

She turned quickly. A tall, broad-shouldered man in clerical attire stood before her. She encountered a pair of keen, kindly eyes looking at her between shaggy brows.

"I must introduce myself. I am the new parson. I was only inducted a few weeks ago and I heard Mr. Holme was here for a day or two, so came to pay my respects to him. He is my nearest neighbour."

The hearty, pleasant voice brought relief to Anstice's heart. Here was some one who would be friendly, possibly a real help-giver.

She shook hands with him.

"My husband is out visiting his tenants. I am so glad to see you. I am enjoying this most exquisite view."

"May I do the same, and sit down beside you? I have come from a busy life in Liverpool, so you can imagine what all this means to me."

"It must be a great contrast," said Anstice.

"Yes, I feel I am too young to be relegated into such a retreat, but heart trouble has enforced rest, and I'm only a crock at present."

"I expect you have been overdoing it."

"I have been told so. It is difficult to prevent it. I have a scattered parish here, a good many farm-houses amongst the Fells. I hear that Mr. Holme is seldom here. But his tenants seem devoted to him. I am sorry to miss him."

"He leaves to-morrow for a sea voyage."

"And do you go with him?"

"No, I shall stay here. There are his children to be mothered, and I am going to try to do it." Then she added impulsively: "I am a stranger here, and I am wondering whether I am going to prove a success or failure. Can you give me a receipt for winning love?"

He looked at her with a smile.

"You will not find that difficult. Love as you are loved."

"Ah, but I have come into a hostile atmosphere, as far as the children are concerned."

"Love as you are loved," he repeated. "The Hand that fashioned all this fair beauty before us is holding your life in its loving keeping."

Anstice looked grave.

"I had a good mother, and heard about good things from her till I was sixteen, yet somehow they have never taken a vital hold of my heart. I was thinking just now, as I looked over to those beautiful hills, how remote and serene they are, so near heaven that earth's little worries cannot touch them. I believe some people's lives are like that. My own mother's life was, but I could never attain to it."

"I don't believe in straining and climbing overmuch," said Anstice's new friend. "Thank God that He reaches down just where we are and as we are. A child has only to raise its arms to its mother. She does the lifting."

Anstice drew in a quick breath, and looked at him with glowing eyes.

"I dare say it is because I have always felt so capable, that I have never wanted to be raised," she said. "Now to-day I am feeling my own helplessness."

"It's a good attitude in our soul's affairs."

Silence fell between them. Then he began to talk about village interests. He told her his wife was an invalid, and that he was in need of an organist, for the last rector's wife had always played for the services.

"Are you musical?" he asked her. "I wonder if you could help me?"

"I can play. I always used to in our little village church at home, but I cannot promise to undertake outside work just yet. I must feel my way. May I let you know later on what I can do?"

After a little more talk, they walked back to the house together.

"May I see the children?" he asked, as walking along the terrace they heard their voices through the open library window.

Anstice took him into the room at once. Here they found the little girls on the carpet sorting over a bag of feathers, Ruffie looking on with the keenest interest. They looked up surprised at the grown-ups' intrusion, but the Rector quickly put them at ease.

"I'm not going to stay, I only want to shake hands, and say that I hope we're going to be friends."

Hands were shaken in grave silence.

"Now, did I see any of you at church?"

Josie shook her head vigorously.

"We don't hardly ever go. It's so dull. And Mr. Penfold looked so cross and old."

"I'd like to go one day," announced Ruffie. "I'd like to hear the music."

"You shall," promised Anstice.

Then the Rector took his leave. But he placed his hand on Ruffie's head before he went, and said softly, "May the Good Shepherd gather His lamb with His Arm and carry him in His Bosom."

And Ruffie stared at him with open eyes and mouth, as if he were an unknown wonder.

CHAPTER IV

LEFT TO HERSELF

WHEN Justin reached home that evening, he found dinner in the dining-room. A bowl of pink tulips adorned the table. Anstice in a black lace gown with some early white roses at her breast sat opposite to him, and talked in her soft, happy voice of all that she had done and seen during the day.

"I had better warn you," said Justin in his hard, matter-of-fact tone, "that the lake is not safe sailing for you. I keep the boathouse locked. The children are absolutely forbidden to go on the water by themselves. You might take out the rowing boat on a very fine settled day with old Stephen. He knows the lake better than I do, but keep the boat away from the children."

"I don't want to curtail their pleasures. Do you let them drive about the roads by themselves? They went off in the trap after tea to-day."

"Josie is a good whip and is allowed to drive about the lanes, but the high road is tabooed. There is too much traffic with all these char-à-bancs and cars."

Then he gave a short laugh.

"The less restrictions you lay down, the better for you and them," he said. "As Josie once said to me: 'If you don't make rules we shan't break them!' And there's sound reason in that."

After dinner, he went off to his smoking-room.

Anstice sat on the terrace until dark. It was a still, warm evening. Just before ten o'clock he came out and joined her.

"Are you regretting our hasty step?" he asked her abruptly.

"Why should you think so?" Anstice inquired.

"I don't think about it. I asked out of mere curiosity."

"Well, if I did, and if I ever do, I shall never tell you," said Anstice quietly.

There was silence, then Justin said:

"I find I shall have to leave early to-morrow morning, for I have business to do in Carlisle before I sail; so this is our last opportunity for any conversation. You will find your cheque book in the writing-table drawer in my smoking-room. I have placed two thousand to the credit of your account at the Bank in Penrith. Make any improvements in the house and garden that you feel desirable—I give you carte blanche to do as you like in my absence. You can send me a letter every month if you like, and of course cable out if anything alarming occurs."

"To the high seas?" asked Anstice, smiling.

"Oh, well, I will give you the address of my first, landing-place. Is there anything you want to know?"

"I think not, thank you."

How entirely indifferent he was to her welfare! He did not seem to realize what a difficult time she might have. And yet, she reminded herself, that he might consider that matters were evenly balanced. She was being given a home, and enough money to make it thoroughly comfortable; also a certain position as mistress of the Manor. Would not that compensate for loneliness, and constant contentions with unmanageable children?

She shook her head with a smile, and then encountered a look from Justin; rather a searching look, as if he were trying to probe her thoughts.

"You are very capable," he said briefly, and she made no reply.

Presently she got up from her seat. "Good night," she said. "I suppose I shall see you in the morning before you go? What time do you start?"

"Nine o'clock. Good night."

He held open the door for her, and watched her graceful figure pass up the stairs, then he went back to his smoking-room.

At half-past eight the next morning, he was in the nursery holding his boy in his arms. And once again Anstice was called in to take part in a discussion.

"Ruffie wants to know whether he can have any boating this summer. Last year I was home, and we were on the water a good bit. I have told him he must ask you."

"Of course we'll go on the lake," said Anstice promptly; "I can row, and with Stephen, we'll have some lovely picnics."

Ruffie looked up at her with what she mentally dubbed his "Pucks" expression.

"Can you swim?" he asked.

"Yes."

He gave a little wriggle of disgust and muttered:

"I s'pect you're a kind of witch that can't be got rid of!"

She caught the words, but his father did not.

Then Ruffie glanced up at Justin.

"We're going to have a big talk with her to-night, all of us—dressed in feathers like Indians. Josie is making Hal kill two cocks, so that we can get their tail feathers."

"What are you going to talk about?" said his father idly.

"We're going to discuss the situation," explained Anstice.

"What situation?"

"That of a strange woman coming to take possession of a strange house, and make friends with its belongings. We're going thoroughly to thrash out the subject, and hear all sides of the question."

Then Justin smiled.

"I wish you good luck. Now, my boy, I must go."

"Oh, Dad!"

The little arms were flung round his neck tightly, and the golden head buried against his shoulder.

"Why do you leave us so much? Why can't you take me with you? Why do you bring this new person here and leave her? If she won't leave us, what shall we do? Oh, Dad, will you never come and live with us prop'ly?"

Anstice slipped away, leaving father and son together. There was no question of their affection for each other, but the little girls seemed supremely indifferent to their father's presence or absence. She heard them as she went into the dining-room to breakfast, calling to Hercules; and there were sounds of great disturbance in the poultry yard.

Yet Anstice felt thankful that her proposition had found favour in their eyes.

Justin made a hurried breakfast. Then the car arrived, and his luggage was taken out. He turned to his wife.

"Well, this is good-bye for about six months. I hope you won't regret the step you've taken."

He held her hand in his for a moment, and Anstice faced him with sweet, resolute eyes.

"I don't think I shall regret it," she said, "for I shall have plenty to do, and I am always happy when I am busy."

Then he surprised her by stooping, and giving her a swift kiss on her cheek.

"A husband's privilege," he said with a queer little smile about his lips.

Anstice's colour had risen.

"But not necessary," she said, "and I would rather say a partner—hardly a husband."

"Good-bye, Dad. Bring us some presents when you come back," sang out Georgie.

"And if you find the new person gone when you come back, don't be surprised," added Josie.

Their father stooped to kiss them, but tapped Josie sharply on the shoulder. "That is not the way to speak of your stepmother."

He was gone. Anstice waved a farewell to him, and his children imitated her example. Then they rushed away and Anstice saw them no more till luncheon time.

She was very busy herself looking over store and linen cupboards, and making lists of what was necessary for the comfort of the household.

In the afternoon she started out across the Fells at the back of the house to see Brenda's aunt. She lived with a sister, a farmer's wife, and the farm was a good three miles off. Anstice was a good walker, and she had decided to see her as soon as possible, and ask her if she would like to come to the Manor as cook.

She turned up a steep lane for about a mile between buttercup meadows and rich pasture land. Then she came to a gate which led directly on to the Fells. Meeting an old man, she asked him the way to Hockerdale Farm.

He rubbed the side of his head and looked at her doubtfully.

"Noo, wat be 'ee wantin' ower yon?" he demanded.

"I want a Mrs. Parkin," Anstice said.

"Then ye may taak her an' be kindly welcome to ha' 'er!" he said, rubbing his hands, and giving a little satisfied chuckle. "My Ja-ane an' she be sisters, an' M'ria be too maanagin'. She be wantin' to rule the hoose, an' we all togither—Ye be a straanger in these paarts, I reckon? Noo, list to me, an' keep yer weather eye open. Foller this shaap track, an' doan't 'ee turn aside, fur strangers have a way o' missin' the track, an' bleachin' their bones on the crags below. This 'ere path leadeth to Hockerdale. My missus wull giv' 'ee a dish o' tay, an' more beside, if ye win M'ria awae fra our fireside."

He went on his way with sturdy independence.

Anstice was amused by his speech and manner. And then she lightly sped along the little winding path in front of her. The young bracken was just beginning to uncurl. In some sheltered spots there were sheets of bluebells; then, as she mounted higher, the air grew keen and sharp. Rabbits scudded in and out of their holes, mountain sheep with lambs gave room to her as she passed. She seemed alone in Nature's wilds, and her passionate love for the country filled her heart now with complete satisfaction. Occasionally she would turn and look down at the blue lake beneath her. Then gaze over to the opposite Fells, and in the distance the long range of Helvellyn would stand out, as if guarding the green valleys from the storms that would sweep over his crest.

It was not all stiff climbing. The path led between steep crags at times, and round every turn fresh views would delight her eyes. Cottages and farmsteads were scattered here and there over the Fells, and before very long she came to her destination.

She knew it by Brenda's description: "'Tis facing down a dale, and has a fir wood of shelter behind it, and a couple of tilled fields on the fiat beside it."

It was a grey stone building with slated roof, and a deep square porch before the door.

A woman stood just outside the porch, shading her eyes with her hand, but watching Anstice approach with some interest.

"I am Mrs. Holme," said Anstice pleasantly. "I have only just come here to live, but Brenda has sent me up here to speak to her aunt, Mrs. Parkin. Is she at home?"

"I am herself," said the woman. "Come ye in an' I'll fetch my sister who's the rightfu' mistress of this house."

She led her into a most delightful kitchen, with a blazing fire. Shining copper and brass pans stood on shelves on either side of the wide hearth. Hams were suspended from the beams across the ceiling. Hot bread was just coming out of the oven, and Mrs. James, the farmer's wife, very deliberately set her loaves out on the old oak dresser, before she turned to speak to Anstice.

"Please take a seat, ma'am. 'Tis a pleasure to make acquaintance with you so soon. The Squire were up here yesterday, and did tell us the news. It be a gran' thing for those poor little lasses of his."

Anstice sat down on a cushioned seat near a window, where musks and early geraniums stood on its wide sill. She smiled.

"I have come to ask Mrs. Parkin whether she will come and help me to make a comfortable home at the Manor."

Then she unfolded her errand. Mrs. Parkin, a stout, pleasant-faced woman, listened to her in silence and appeared to be pondering over the matter. Then after a long pause she said:

"I'll come to you and give it a trial, ma'am. Brenda has been at me times without number, but I'm a lover of order and method, and could not face the loneliness and shiftless muddle there."

"I will give you help in the kitchen as soon as I can. I am going to get several maids. But it will take time. When can you come to us?"

"Right off if you like, ma'am. I seem to be out of place here, and my room wanted more'n my company."

"Now, M'ria, don't get in such havers! You'll stay an' have a cup of tea with us, ma'am? I have some fresh-baked scones and a currant loaf."

Mrs. James was bustling about, laying a spotless cloth on a spotless table, so Anstice, seeing she would be hurt if she hurried away, stayed and chatted on with them both, learning much about the neighbourhood and its ways. Her husband's continued long absences from home were deplored.

"There be a certain set of the landlords hereabouts that only come down to enjoy themselves in the summer, but there be those which doan't, and our Squire's feyther were the mon who bided at hoame an' tended to his land hisself. Squire Justin 'ave all the qualities o' his feyther, but he be terrible fearful of living a lone life up there, wi' his children. Noo that he be wedded, we'll look fur better times. He telled us, he be bound by praaperty to go out this voyage, but we'll hope 'twill be the laast. I told him 'twere a shockin' way to traate a bride."

Anstice laughed happily.

"When his home is made comfortable for him, you think it will be a different story, Mrs. James? With Mrs. Parkin coming to me, I am not afraid to face the future."

The women struck her as not inquisitive and gossipy, but profoundly interested in the life of their Squire and his children.

"My niece Brenda be just wrapped up in the poor little lad," Mrs. James asserted, "but the little lasses be limbs of mischief, and I'll dare say that ye'll have a terrible time wi' them."

"I hope we shall be great friends," said Anstice.

"Ah well, ye'll not be a guv'ness. They've had a feckless set down there, wi' no authority nor grit o' purpose, an' the lasses have driven them away wi' their tricks."

Anstice left the farm a little later, feeling light-hearted. She was convinced that Mrs. Parkin would be the first step towards bringing order and comfort to her new home. Brenda, however willing, was not equal to the demands made upon her. Her path back across the Fells was a sheer enjoyment to her. She faced the lake the whole way. The woods and trees overhanging it were in their freshest green. One or two boats were out upon the water; on the opposite side the distant Fells were a deep purple against the sky.

"Oh, it is a lovely country," she exclaimed. "I am glad I came."

When she reached home, Brenda came forward eagerly to hear the result of her visit. She drew a long breath of relief when she heard that her aunt was coming.

"You'll find her all you need, ma'am. 'Tis what the maaster has needed for these many year. A body who'll be head o' the kitchen, and not only cook but keep an eye on his interests."

Then she added:

"I've laid your tea in the library, ma'am, but the children are having theirs in the nursery, and I am to ask you not to go near them. They have locked themselves in and are making great preparations for this evening. Some game with you, they say 'tis."

"Something more than a game, I hope, Brenda. You tell them that six o'clock is the time for our meeting."

At six o'clock punctually Anstice walked into the nursery robed in a red and white silk rug she had taken off an ottoman in her room. She had tied her hair up in a coloured handkerchief, and considered herself sufficiently dressed for the occasion.

Anstice had arranged them . . . in a circle round the fire.

Her Kingdom      Book I, Chapter IV.

But when she came into the nursery, she found some startling little apparitions awaiting her. Josie and Georgie were a mass of feathers and paint. They had liberally spotted their faces and arms with red and blue paint, and had decorated Ruffie in the same way. Some of the feathers had been coloured, and hung in strings round their necks. Their heads were in caps with cock's feathers sticking up in all directions.

In a few minutes Anstice had arranged them according to their satisfaction, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in a circle round the fire. Ruffie was made comfortable in a nest of cushions. He refused to stay on his couch.

"My name is Chief Baggwanda," he said, "and I've come through black forests to talk in this pow-wow."

"And I am Chief Rattleskunk," said Josie, lifting a stick and brandishing it aloft as if it were a sword. "I am for war."

"And so is Chief Wallajinks," cried Georgie, "which is me. I am for the scalp of our bitter enemy!"

"My brothers," said Anstice, falling into the game at once, "I, the oldest Chief in our country, must speak first. I, Hiamona-stagabrokkin, know not whether we are for peace or for war. That cannot be settled by one or two, it must be settled by us all. And now let us start. Give me your ears."

She paused, then she fell into her natural tones.

"I have come up here at your father's wish to make this house a happy home for us. I am not going to teach you, or give you lessons. I am not clever enough to be a governess. Brenda has tried her utmost to provide you with clothes and food; your father has provided the money, but it is too big a house for Brenda to run by herself. I am here to help her."

Josie had listened so far with impatience. Here she broke in:

"We don't mean to be managed; Georgie and I manage ourselves. We won't have anybody ordering us about, and if you're going to start telling us what to do, we shall get rid of you. We've got rid of six governesses already. We know how to do it."

"You see," said Georgie, putting in her word eagerly, "we're the new race, that's what Mrs. Penfold, the clergyman's wife who went away, was always saying. She said modern girls were awful, and couldn't be managed anyhow. That's Josie and me. We're awful, and we'll show you how awful we can be!"

"I don't doubt that," said Anstice, nodding her head gravely. "But the trouble is that you won't be able to turn me out. I have come to stay. I am not a governess, and this is my home, and everything in this house belongs to your father and me, and of course you go shares! You can treat me like your governesses, but you will find I can't be frightened or threatened or driven away. The only thing you could do would be to poison me or drown me or kill me in some way; but if you did that, it would of course, be found out, and you would be taken away by the police."

"Would they be hung?" asked Ruffie excitedly.

"I think most likely they'd be sent to a children's prison, a reformatory, where instead of managing themselves, they would be ruled up all day long and kept continuously at work. They would never be able to come home. Ruffie would be so lonely that he would die of a broken heart. Your father would feel the disgrace and shame of it so much that he would sell the house and the grounds and everything that was in it, and go away to foreign lands and live and die there and never come home again. DO you think that would be a happy thing for all of us?"

The little girls were much impressed, though it was difficult to tell beneath their paint and powder how they were taking it.

Anstice turned to Josie politely.

"Brother Rattleskunk, will you speak now?"

For a moment Josie hesitated.

"If you let us alone, and let us do what we like, and just do things in the house without interfering, we might be friends."

"We might be, but we'll promise nothing," said Georgie.

"Well, now we're going into the matter thoroughly. What do you mean to do with yourselves? No lessons, of course. You know how to read and write, but you don't want anything more. You have been born into the world with brains which you don't intend to use. You will grow up, not troubling to open the wonderful treasure chests of knowledge."

"Let me tell you of a spoilt child I knew some years ago. She would do no lessons, and her mother gave way to her. I met her at a dinner-party once. She was a pretty girl, but we had some clever people round the table. She was taken in by a French Count, and she couldn't speak a word of French to him. She could take no part in the conversation lest she should show how ignorant she was. When they talked of England as it was in olden times, she knew nothing about it. She asked if the Coliseum at Rome was a play, and whether Whigs and Tories were savages over the seas. Before the evening was over, she was left in a corner by herself. Nobody cared to talk to her, for they thought she must be an idiot, some one who hadn't sense or understanding. I suppose, Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks, you will decide to grow up like that poor girl?"

There was a pause, and Anstice, wishing her words to have weight, now turned to Ruffie.

"And what does Brother Baggwanda say?"

Ruffie's eyes twinkled; he looked from his sisters to Anstice, and from Anstice to his sisters.

"Brother Baggwanda is opening his ears, but not his tongue. He will speak when all have spoken."

"But he's with us, he's with us, and not with you!" cried the little girls almost simultaneously.

Anstice laughed her rippling merry laugh. Then she became grave again.

"Now I'll give you my idea of this beautiful home of yours as it ought to be. And then you'll give me your idea of it. It must have a beautiful drawing-room with flowers and pretty things about, but not too grand for everyday use. In the evening, Brother Baggwanda may rest amongst the soft cushions on the big couch by the window. He can look out upon the still blue lake, and the rosy sunset sky. And from his couch, he will be singing joyously some lovely little songs which his brother chiefs are joining in. Brother Hiamona-stagabrokkin will be playing on the grand piano, and Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks will be dancing as they sing."

"Shall we describe a happy day? In the morning every one very busy. It is the time for work of all sorts, and every one has their own particular business to do. But in the afternoon there will be picnics on the lake, and drives and tea with gipsy fires on the Fells, and as the winter comes on, there will be games and stories told in the firelight, and sometimes some of us will have shopping at Penrith or Carlisle, and then there will be surprise packets for the ones at home. Every one will go singing about the house, for every one will be happy."

"And then when Dad comes home, he will look round with wonder. He will see new curtains and carpets and there will be no dusty unused rooms, except perhaps some unwanted bedrooms. I fancy in the distance, I can see a charming little sitting-room made for Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks, with perhaps a small cooking stove in it, on which they will cook some delicious scones and cakes when they ask Brother Baggwanda to tea with them. And no one but themselves will have a right to enter that room unless they receive an invitation to do so. Dad will see new things—many of them—when he comes home. He will think he has new children, but though different, they will be the same, and joy and happiness and peace will be in Dad's home, and that is what Brother Hiamona-stagabrokkin sees, as he looks out into the future."

Again a long pause.

Anstice produced some long clay pipes out of the folds of her gown.

"Brothers, shall we smoke the pipe of peace together?"

But the little girls shook their heads.

"Not yet, we haven't talked half as much as you have. What about governesses and lessons? That is what we want to know. You've made it sound nice, but will it be true?"

"If we all work together to make it true, it will. The morning will be the time for lessons, but we won't have them dragging on all day. The afternoons will be free."

"And who's the governess going to be?"

"Ah, that we must leave for the present. She must be as different from your young governesses as chalk is from cheese. If a governess and pupils do not like each other, no good will be done. There is going to be no dislike in this new home of ours."

"We'd like the sitting-room of our own, if we can furnish it as we like, and we shall like the picnics and fire in the afternoons, but it's the lessons in the mornings that we don't want."

"That will have to be thought about. The best thing will be to call a truce between us, and have pax for a month. Give the new system a trial. Then we'll have another pow-wow and see if it is to be stopped, or go on."

"How will it be stopped?"

"I suppose school must be tried again."

The little girls' faces wrinkled up in disgust.

Then Anstice leant forward with a flash in her eyes, and great earnestness in her voice.

"Oh, don't be weak inefficients! Have grit and purpose and determination in your lives. Does anyone get to the top of the Fells here and enjoy the lovely views without the trouble or toil of climbing? Can't you endure anything that may be a little hard and dull at first? Do you mean to go through life wrapped in rose-leaves and letting others carry you over the stony places? Won't you prove yourselves men, my brothers, men of courage, of heroic patience and determination? Won't you brace your shoulders and prove yourselves men of mettle? And scorn to be afraid of the necessary difficulties that come before you? You are no longer infants in the nursery, to play with toys all day and be lulled to sleep after you are fed. You are no animals to eat, and drink, and go your own way like the cows and the sheep feeding and wandering to and fro in the Park with no one to hinder their movements."

Three pairs of eyes were staring hard now at Anstice.

Then she smiled.

"I forget. I think of you as older, more reasonable than perhaps you are. I have been talking over your heads."

But she had not. Never in their lives had the children been talked to like this, but they liked it. And being intelligent, perhaps precocious for their age, they understood, and their hearts had responded quickly, as an instrument might respond to the skilled hand which with a touch knows how to draw out its beauty.

Another pause followed Anstice's words.

"Shall we have a month's trial of my plan?" she said.

The little girls were silent. They looked at Ruffie, and then very quietly, he pointed his two thumbs upwards.

"Yes, we'll try. It's a truce remember, only a truce."

"But it will be pax for a month," said Anstice quietly, "and I give you notice that I'm going to try hard for 'Pax' altogether. Now let us smoke the pipe of peace, my brothers, and we'll have a drink of 'Honeybunny.'"

She rang the bell. Her delicious concoction had been made, and Brenda brought it in on a tray. Four glasses were handed round and filled with some golden fizzy drink. The children sipped and pretended to smoke.

"It's like honey and wine and sherbet and lemon," said Ruffie appreciatively.

"If Ruffie had held his thumbs down, you'd have been done for," said Josie, turning to Anstice confidentially.

"Then I have only just escaped by the skin of my teeth," said Anstice. "I must be thankful."

The "pow-wow" was over. Anstice felt in her heart that she had made a good beginning.

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST SUNDAY

WITHIN the next few days, Anstice made some discoveries.

One was that Ruffie possessed real talent in drawing, was fond of music, and had a most beautiful little voice in singing. The other was that Josie shared Ruffie's love for music, and that Georgie was a rapacious reader.

After tea in the afternoon, she gave herself up to the children for an hour. She took them into the drawing-room, and taught them songs, played dance music; and lastly told them thrilling stories of adventure and travel.

The weather turned stormy and wet, but the children seemed never at a loss for amusement; and though the little girls kept away from her at first during the day, they invariably turned up in the drawing-room at six o'clock. Anstice was a born story-teller; they hung upon her words with breathless delight; and her gift in this direction did much to win them.

She was given no peace till the room was set apart for the little girls' private use. A small bedroom on one side of the nursery was chosen, and the children were induced to get it ready themselves. Then one afternoon they went off to Penrith in the trap to choose carpet, and curtains, and chair-coverings for it. There was a slight contention at the outset when Josie insisted that she should drive. Anstice quietly took the reins out of her hands.

"Not along the high roads, Josie. You know your father's command."

"Then I shan't come at all."

She flung herself out of the trap in a passion.

"I am afraid I shall have to help Georgie, then, in choosing the carpet and curtains. You will have to be content with our choice."

Back into the trap dashed Josie.

"It has nothing to do with you."

Anstice looked at her.

And somehow or other a quiet look or word from Anstice was enough to bring Josie to her senses. She coloured up and subsided, being specially quiet and amenable for the rest of the day.

Mrs. Wykeham very soon arrived to call upon the bride. Anstice had to bear a good many interrogatories about herself and her marriage.

"I can't understand your husband leaving you."

"I suppose," said Anstice slowly, "that it would have been better in the world's eyes to have put off our marriage till he returned. He has gone out partly on business, you know. He has some land out there. But a mistress was badly wanted here; and I consented for the sake of the children to marry him at once. Don't you think I have done rightly? This house has missed a woman's hand over it. I shall improve many things, I hope, by being here myself."

"Oh, you've done wonders already. I see it in the arrangement of this room, in the look of the hall when you enter it. And in the appearance of the children whom I encountered out on the terrace."

"With them a question of new frocks!" laughed Anstice.

"Partly. What do they call you? 'Steppie,' isn't it?"

"Yes. Ruffie has christened me that, short for stepmother. He and I have become great pals already, over his drawing. That child is a born artist."

"You may be glad to know that when I asked how everybody was, Josie answered, 'We're all right. Have got some one at last with a little sense!' 'I hope you're very polite and nice to her,' I said. 'Oh, we shall treat her as she treats us.' 'And how is that?' I asked. 'Scrumptious!' was the short reply."

Anstice laughed.

"We shall get along," she said. "I shall have things my own way in time; but I have to go slowly."

"Well, now; we must keep you from feeling lonely," said good-natured Mrs. Wykeham. "Will you lunch with me next Tuesday, and I'll get some of our neighbours to come and meet you?"

"Do you know that I would much rather come to you alone. I want to be quiet here for the present. There is a great deal to see to, and to arrange. I don't intend to be a hermit, but I don't want to plunge into social life just yet. I would rather have no callers till the house is more shipshape."

"I understand; then I won't ask a soul. There will be my husband and myself only. I will send my car for you."

Then she asked about servants, and was able to recommend a good strong girl who had been with her as kitchen-maid, and wanted to do housework as she did not care for cooking.

"You shall see her when you come over."

Though she was thoroughly kind, Anstice was relieved when the visit was over. Anstice was not fond of being managed; and Mrs. Wykeman always gave her friends the impression that they were poor inefficients, and that she was the only one in the neighbourhood who had sound common sense and capability.

Anstice never forgot her first Sunday in her new home. It was a lovely day in early June. At breakfast the little girls came in, and told her they wanted to go on the lake.

"You have the boathouse key, Brenda says."

"Yes, but you and I are going to church this morning."

"Georgie and I hate church," said Josie hastily; "we haven't been for months."

"Yes, I know that; but you are coming with me to please me this morning. You have a big family seat, I hear. How can I fill it by myself? You will come to church with me to-day, and then I will come on the lake with you to-morrow. Isn't that just and fair? You know you are not allowed to boat alone."

"We weren't going to. We were going to sit in the boat when it was tied up, and make it rock a bit."

They stood there with mutinous eyes. Anstice smiled at them.

"Have a piece of toast and honey," she suggested; "it will make things easier. I always think honey acts as oil on troubled waters."

She handed them each a slice of toast. For a moment there was doubt as to which side would win, but the honey did it.

"We hate wearing best frocks," said Josie, munching away contentedly.

"You look very nice in those you are wearing now."

Georgie gazed at her light brown jumper suit rather scornfully.

"Everybody comes to church in their best; as if God cares what we wear! But we don't want to be different to the others."

"I don't mind what you wear as long as you are neat and tidy. How long will it take us to walk to church?"

"Ever so long; it's right away from the lake. It will tire us out."

"Oh, we aren't made of china. I'll be ready at half-past ten."

The little girls slipped out of the room with down-fallen faces, and Anstice drew a sigh of relief. At present, her authority was a very uncertain fact. She wondered, even now, if the children would come with her.

But at half-past ten, they were in the hall waiting for her. They had changed into their new white crêpe-de-chine frocks, and wore their best straw hats with wreaths of small roses round them. It was the first time of wearing, and they were a little self-conscious of the fact.

"I hope I look as nice as you do," said Anstice with her bright laugh. "Now come along. You will have to show me that way."

"It's just as if we're going to a party," muttered Josie.

"Well, I suppose we are," said Anstice. "It is a gathering together to meet a King in His Palace."

They walked for a mile along the high road, then turned up a lane between buttercup meadows and arched over with lime trees, which were sending their sweet flowering scent over the fields.

"I'm making a plan for this afternoon," Anstice said. "I wonder if you will fall in with it. I thought we would take Ruffie down to the lake side by the little chalet, and then we can all sit out there, and have our tea in the chalet, and I will read you a lovely story that I used to read when I was a little girl. It is about some adventures of some pilgrim children."

"Then we can have the boat anchored and sit in it," said Josie.

"Yes, perhaps you can. It is such a lovely day that it is a pity to stay in the house."

By and by they came to the church, which was on the road with the Fells rising up steeply behind it. The bell was tolling; and a few country people were making their way into it.

Very curious gazes were sent in the direction of the Squire's seat that morning. It was one of the side seats in the north apse of the church.

There was a good congregation for a country church. Anstice was aware that there was a fair sprinkling of the upper classes. Mrs. Wykeham and her husband occupied the first seat under the pulpit. Behind them were an old couple with their two daughters, who showed, from their bored, indifferent faces, how little interested they were in the service. Farther back in the church was a strikingly handsome, grey-haired woman. Anstice wondered who she was, and thought that she would like to know her.

Then she took herself to task for wandering eyes and thoughts, and for the rest of the service was unconscious of those around her.

The little girls behaved wonderfully well until the sermon commenced. Then they began to whisper and giggle.

In front of them were seated a stalwart farmer, his wife and two small boys. Suddenly there was a yell from the smallest of these two, and he clasped his head with his hands. His mother promptly cuffed him, and tried to hush his sobs. Finally she took him out of the church.

Anstice's quick eyes had seen the cause of his outcry. Georgie, sitting behind him, had pricked his head sharply with a pin. Without a word, Anstice made her move to the other side of her. When separated, the little girls had looked as black as thunder, and wriggling into the corner as far away from Anstice as she could, Georgie had muttered audibly: "I hate you!"

This rather distracted Anstice from the sermon. The Rector, Mr. Bolland, was very earnest and forcible in what he said. His sermon was short, but straight and simple enough for even the children to understand.

When they came outside the church, Anstice saw that Georgie was prepared to make a bolt of it, so she turned to her quite pleasantly, and said:

"I am afraid I made you very angry in church, Georgie, but I had set my heart upon being proud of my small stepdaughters. You both looked such darlings that I was horrified when I realized that you would disgrace us all. It was only fun to you, but it wasn't fun to the poor little boy. Would you like to have been in his shoes?"

Georgie didn't reply.

"Are you going to punish her?" inquired Josie eagerly.

"I hate punishing," said Anstice. "I am sure Georgie won't do such a thing again. We will say no more about it. I expect you know every one in church. Who was that tall, grey-haired lady who sat by herself in the middle aisle?"

"That's Mrs. Fergusson," said Josie. "She's got a boy who's got a sailing boat; he's at school now. But when he's home, we go out on the lake with him. Georgie and me mean to sail a boat of our own as soon as we can save up money to buy one."

"I wouldn't like to sail on this lake by myself," said Anstice.

They were just in view of the lake now, and she pointed out a small sailing boat that was staggering under a strong wind.

"Can you swim?" she asked.

"No."

"I can. I must teach you. Could we bathe in our tiny cove?"

"Dad does, but do let us, do!"

"We'll see. If I'm with you, I don't think you would come to harm."

Georgie had quite recovered her temper. And when they came towards the house, and Josie had run on to the stables to call the dogs out, she pulled hold of Anstice's sleeve.

"I'm sorry I said I hated you," she said in a bashful voice with downcast eyes. "I don't really."

"I'm so glad," Anstice said cheerfully, "because I'm getting to like you very much, Georgie, and I'm anxious that every one else about here should like you too."

"Everybody hates us," said Georgie carelessly; and then she ran on to join her sister.

Two hours later, a happy little party was established on the borders of the lake. Ruffie lay in a nest of cushions under the shade of the acacia tree. Josie and Georgie had pulled the boat out, and as it was tightly moored to its post, Anstice allowed them to get into it, but she had prohibited them from having the oars in the boat, and there had been at first a great commotion over that. Anstice looked at them with a twinkle in her eye.

"I know how you would be tempted," she said, "and I'm going to save you from temptation, if I can. When I would be deep in my story, one pair of hands might softly steal up and unfasten the painter, the other pair of hands would slip the oars over into the water, and away you would go, laughing at my helplessness. I should have helped you to disobey your father."

This was so exactly in accordance with the children's intention, that they stared at her in angry dismay.

"You're a kind of witch," muttered Josie, giving up the argument.

"No, but I'm not a fool," said Anstice, "and when I was a little girl, I was rather like you, a bit of a tomboy. I had a boy chum and we were up to every kind of mischief. That's why I shan't be hard upon you. Because I understand and remember."

"And I can't do nothing, never at all!" exclaimed Ruffie plaintively.

"Well now, we'll settle down, and read about some children who did a good deal."

The story-book proved enchanting. It was an old-fashioned book, an allegory of children who started on a pilgrimage somewhat after the style of "Pilgrim's Progress." As the children had never seen or read the latter book, the idea was quite a fresh one to them.

Josie's comment on it, as Anstice closed the book, and said it was time for tea, was:

"There, you see! How well those children managed for themselves without any grown-up person to interfere with them! And we could do alone, I know we could. We don't want governesses to bother our lives out."

"Or me," put in Anstice, laughing. "But, Josie, see how much trouble these children got into, until they got hold of and held on to the golden thread. And you know who held the other end of that thread? It was the King Himself, the King of the Golden City. We ought to be all travelling with our fingers on that thread. Heaven is the city, and prayer is the golden thread which keeps us in touch with our Saviour and King. We cannot and ought not, any of us, to travel through life entirely on our own."

There was silence; Josie was rocking the boat to and fro, but she was thinking, and Ruffie's beautiful eyes were dreamily gazing over the lake to the opposite hills, which were tinged with gold from the sun behind them.

"I'd like to have a message to me to set out there," he said very softly.

Anstice could not reply. A lump came in her throat. Could she, had she the knowledge and the power to place his tiny fingers on that golden thread? Was she reading and talking of what she herself had not experienced?

She sprang to her feet.

"And now we'll have tea; but first we must put the boat back till to-morrow."

"Can't we leave it where it is?" questioned Josie. "We shall want it early to-morrow morning."

Anstice stood and looked at them.

"I don't properly know you yet," she said. "Do you keep promises? Can I trust to your honour, not to touch the boat, if we leave it out?"

"Of course we're to be trusted," said Josie, tossing her head in the air. "We won't touch it."

So the boat was left where it was, and the little girls helped Anstice get the tea. Brenda had gone up to the farm to tea. It was not often that she got away, but Anstice had promised to be with the children till six o'clock.

Nothing marred the happiness of the little party. And when Brenda returned, she informed Anstice that she had never known a Sunday pass so peacefully. Anstice wisely left the children, when Brenda took charge again. She knew that her presence with them from morning to night was not desirable; and she determined to go off to evening church.

As she walked along the quiet country lane, a great desire sprang up within her heart. The reading of the childish story had fostered it; the sermon in the morning had begun it. Mr. Bolland's text had been:

"Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known Me?"

And Anstice knew that though brought up on her Bible and Prayer Book, they had never been inspired books to her. She had had a religious training, but it had only taken possession of her head, and not of her heart. She had never gained a real knowledge of her Lord as a personal Friend. And she felt now that she had children to teach and train and influence, that she must have something worth passing on.

The service in the little church soothed and rested her. The evening light stole in through the coloured windows. There was a great hush and peace in the atmosphere. Only the country people formed the congregation. She knew that few of the upper classes now attended church twice a day, and when the sermon commenced, she settled herself back in her seat to listen almost hungrily to it. She could not forget her first talk with the Rector. Mr. Bolland had impressed her as few clergymen had of late years. He had life, and force, and reality of conviction, which made his words go home to the hearts of his hearers. And his text was:

"Ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh."

He began by saying: "Is the world getting nearer to its Creator and to God, or farther off?"

Then he touched on the characteristics of the present generation, comparing them with those laid down in the Bible which were certain to come, even when Christianity was spread throughout the nations. He finally made a personal appeal to his congregation.

"We will leave generalities and other people, and come straight away to ourselves. As the years roll by, are we getting to know our Master with a deeper love, and a greater reality, or with less affection and conviction than when we were young?"

Anstice listened spellbound. She said to herself: "I have never really known Him at all. I have always been far off from Him." And she came out of church with an ache in her heart. She was standing a little way from the church, on a rising hillock overlooking the lake, when a voice behind her made her turn.

"Good evening, Mrs. Holme."

It was the Rector. She did not know in her present frame of mind whether she was glad or sorry to see him.

"I am coming your way," he said. "I want to see a sick parishioner in Butterdale—"

They talked of various things, and then Anstice said impulsively:

"You have made me very unhappy this evening."

"How? My mission is to make people happy, if I do my work rightly."

"You have shown me what I have suspected, that I am far away. I don't think I have ever been really near."

"No? But that can very soon be remedied."

"It is my turn to ask 'How?'" said Anstice wistfully.

"Did I not make it clear?"

"Yes, in a way you did. But belief and faith have been with me from a child. I believe everything."

"Men can believe in a general, a leader; but they never get near him until they come to him and give themselves up to him as his fighters and followers. Perhaps you may never have enlisted—dedicated yourself, shall I say, to His Service? In Baptism and Confirmation you have had the opportunity, but I have known many pass through those times, and still be very far away."

A flash of enlightenment came to Anstice.

"I don't believe I have ever done that," she said.

"It was what the young ruler lacked," said Mr. Bolland. "His life was outwardly blameless, but he could not bring himself to cast in his lot with the Master and follow Him to the death."

Mr. Bolland said little more. He was a man of few words out of the pulpit, and Anstice wanted no more from him.

When their ways parted, she walked on by herself, and when she came to her gate she turned down across the park towards the lake. Here she sat down on a low seat by the boathouse and looked out across the shining water. With hands clasped loosely round her knees, her thoughts and resolves were wafted beyond the earth.

Quite quietly, quite unemotionally, she gave herself then and there to the One whom she wanted to know. And when, about half an hour later, she walked back to the house, there was a peace and joy in her heart that she had never experienced before. The stillness and sweetness of that Sunday evening were to remain with her for many a long day to come.

CHAPTER VI

A RAMBLE IN THE FELLS

MONDAY dawned bright and fair. The picnic on the lake was a great success. Ruffie was made comfortable with cushions in the boat, and the little girls were allowed to take an oar together, whilst the old gardener Stephen took the other. They rowed across to a small island, and landed there for lunch.

At six o'clock they came home; a rather tired but a very happy little party. Anstice had the art of making and keeping children so.

She overheard a conversation about herself between Ruffie and his sisters which rather amused her. She was planting a small bed with seedlings outside the library, and their voices came to her through the open window.

"I love Steppie."

This emphatically and a little defiantly from Ruffie.

"You've gone over pretty soon! I'm going to wait a month to see what she's like."

This was Josie speaking.

"Yes," said Georgie. "She may be just pretending to get us under her thumb, like the wicked witches do in the fairy stories."

"No," said Ruffie in his decided little voice, "her face couldn't be a witch's. She looks at me as if she—well, you know—liked me ever so."

"That's only the spell in her eye! I'm going to wait. If I find her out, it will be war at the end of the month."

"She wants to do nice things for us," went on Ruffie; "she's going to have flowers in the conservatory, and one end of it she's going to have doves and birds in a big room with trees and nests in it. She calls it an 'aviary.'"

"That's another spell," said Josie, but there was hesitation in her tone.

"Well, we've got a month to find out what she's like," said Georgie. "Anyhow, she doesn't worry us with lessons."

"But," said Anstice to herself, with a shake of her head, "that is exactly what I am going to do, my poor dears."

The very next day she set out on her errand to Mrs. Fergusson's.

The fine weather had suddenly departed. Rain and mist set in from over the Fells. But Anstice was indifferent to weather. She started out for her two-mile walk in waterproof coat and skirt, and revelled in the moist sweet air, and the scent of wet pines and earth as she passed along the wooded road. She turned up from the high road before long, and then winding up and down she reached a little cottage in front of a cluster of pines, with a magnificent view of the lake below, and the Fells beyond it.

The door was opened to her by the tall, handsome woman she had noticed in church.

"I must introduce myself to you," said Anstice with her happy smile; "but my husband, Mr. Holme, wished me to call upon you about a certain matter which is troubling us."

Mrs. Fergusson led her into a very cosy little sitting-room. A cheerful wood fire was burning in the grate. As she took her seat again after settling Anstice upon a comfortable couch, she took up some very pretty fancywork she was doing, and continued to sew, saying:

"I feel sure you will excuse my working. This is a cushion cover, an order which I must execute in time for a wedding the end of this month. I am very fond of needlework; I used to do a great deal when I was in Russia, and a certain firm in London gives me orders which helps with my son's education. He is at Harrow, and that costs money."

She spoke so simply, and yet with such dignity, that Anstice felt at ease at once.

"May I tell you of our trouble? It is the education of my husband's two little girls. He is away now, but before he went, we talked it over together. You see, now I am with them, they do not need a resident governess. And we were wondering if you could possibly help us in the matter?"

Mrs. Fergusson put down her work in her lap, and looked across at Anstice with smiling amusement in her dark eyes.

"You don't know, Mrs. Holme, how I have longed to take those young pickles in hand! I have always loved teaching. It is a most delicious thing to impart to others what one has acquired for oneself. I have of course seen the relays of young governesses that have come and gone at the Manor. One or two confided in me, but those were the ones who could not stand the solitude and isolation of their position. Once, owing to Mrs. Wykeham, I was very nearly offering my services; but I could not manage to give up my whole time to them. They needed a resident governess, and I have to keep up my house for my boy, and my needlework is my occupation."

"But could you come to them or let them come to you for the morning hours only?"

They plunged at once into a discussion of the subject. Anstice felt the charm of Mrs. Fergusson's personality. She did not wonder that her services had been requisitioned and valued by one of the royal families in Russia. When she asked her how it was she had settled in these isolated wilds, Mrs. Fergusson had made reply:

"I am close to my childhood's home, and in the Lake District which I love. I used to live at Helvellyn Towers, not so many miles from here. My father lost his money when I was just grown-up. I had been extremely well educated, and through interest, I went to Russia and stayed in the Grand Duke's family, the Serge V—'s, for just twelve years. I taught their three girls, and then met my husband who was an attaché in St. Petersburg."

"I came home to be married, had three happy years, then he went to the War, and was killed after four years' hard fighting. My boy was born in the first year of the War. I have had some hard and lonely years since, but settled down here three years ago, and am quite contented now with my lot. The awful tragedies in Russia and my own sorrow have whitened my hair. But I am not an old woman even now, and I long to rub up my teaching faculties sometimes. I know I have a gift in that direction. Will you tell me a little about your small stepdaughters? My boy and they have scraped up acquaintance, but they fight shy of me. I think they heard that I had been a governess once, and that was enough for them!"

So Anstice told her a good deal about the children, and felt what a boon her experience and insight of character would be to the little girls, and also to herself. She returned home having settled that Mrs. Fergusson should come regularly every morning to give the children lessons from nine to one. She preferred to come to them rather than that they should come to her, and Anstice was relieved, for she had feared that the temptation to play truant sometimes would prove too much for them.

When she came home, she broke the news at once to the little girls.

They were astounded and at first most indignant.