Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

"Calamity seems to be her portion," said the man coolly.
 Jock's Inheritance]                                [Frontispiece

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

PUBLISHED BY WARD, LOCK & CO., LTD.

     ADRIENNE

     A GIRL AND HER WAYS

     HER KINGDOM

     MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS

     A STRANGE COURTSHIP

     UNDER A CLOUD

     NOEL'S CHRISTMAS TREE

JOCK'S

INHERITANCE

BY

AMY LE FEUVRE

Author of "My Heart's in the Highlands,"
"A Girl and Her Ways," "Noel's Christmas Tree," etc.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

LONDON AND MELBOURNE

MADE IN ENGLAND
Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I A VENTURE

II THE OLD HOUSE

III WHAT A CUPBOARD CONTAINED

IV LILAC FARM

V A HARD BLOW

VI IN NEW QUARTERS

VII VENETIA DISAPPEARS

VIII DISASTER

IX JOCK'S CONFESSION

X ORRIS'S LETTER

XI IN RETREAT

XII NEW QUARTERS AGAIN

XIII JOCK'S ARRIVAL

XIV A VISIT TO VEDDON WEAL

XV WED

XVI JOCK'S INHERITANCE

JOCK'S INHERITANCE

CHAPTER I

A VENTURE

IT was four o'clock in the afternoon in the beginning of January. The room was cosy and comfortable. Outside, there was a bitter north-east wind; the grey dusk hid the opposite row of houses, but the noise of the traffic in the next street was ceaseless, and the girl sitting before the blazing fire, her hands clasped loosely round her knees, was continually raising her head in a listening attitude. Then she heard the electric bell of her flat ring, and she rose to her feet expectantly.

The door opened, and a man was ushered in by a very trim maid.

The girl uttered an exclamation of dismay.

"'You,' Dugald!"

"Yes, it's myself," said the newcomer in brisk tones; "don't look so 'dour,' as we Scotch say."

The girl smiled. She was tall and slender, but she was not beautiful; only a pair of merry brown eyes and a humorously twisted mouth redeemed her from plainness, but she carried her inches with dignity, and she had an attractive personality.

"Sit down. I'm expecting my sister-in-law and my small niece to stay with me. It is all rather sudden. Here's her letter. What do you think of it?" She took a letter off her mantelpiece and handed it to him.

   "MY DEAR ORRIS,—

   "Calamity has overtaken me. I told you I was going to marry Captain Arteris. My wedding day was fixed for the tenth of next month, and we were to have been married in Cannes. I must tell you, about four months ago, he persuaded me to invest all my capital in an oil well of his; he said it would give me twelve per cent. right away. The oil has failed, and the company, which I rather gather is Frank himself, is insolvent. He came to me perfectly abject, saying he couldn't afford to marry, and is now on his way to try new fields of fortune in California. So that's off. The shock of it was too much for me, and I have been very ill. How are Pippa and I to live upon my small pension? I must come and talk over things with you, and I'm writing this just before leaving by the night express.

"Your affectionate sister,

"VENETIA."

"Calamity seems to be her portion," said the man coolly; "but I fail to see why you should be brought into it again. You set her up in a millinery venture, did you not?"

Orris nodded.

"She has neither the health nor capacity to earn," she said.

"Take my advice and don't offer her a home."

"I think," she remarked, "that you had better not stay. I hear a taxi, and you and she never hit it off."

"Hang her!" muttered the man under his breath. But he got up from his chair. "I came to suggest a dinner at the Carlton to-night. Marie is up in town, and wants to see you."

"I'm sorry."

She waved a rather impatient hand to him, and he left the room with a heavy frown.

"Venetia is a born parasite," he said to himself, "and Orris is a perfect fool in her hands."

Then, in a moment or two, the door opened, and Orris's sister-in-law appeared.

She shed her fur coat before she embraced. "Oh, what weather! And we've had such a rough crossing! I'm perished with cold!"

"Where's the child?" demanded Orris.

"Downstairs, chattering her head off to Dugald, who tumbled into us. Does he still live in your pockets, Orris?"

Orris flushed, then she laughed.

"You never will realize that our cousinship is a thing by itself. Ah, here comes Pippa!"

Venetia had taken off her hat and was standing over the fire; she had a pale golden bobbed head and a very short dress. She looked about seventeen in the firelight. The child who danced into the room and up to Orris was dark-eyed, with a mop of very curly fair hair. She had small features and a beautiful skin.

"Aunt Ollie—Aunt Ollie!" she cried, throwing her arms round her aunt. "Aren't you very glad to see me? I've grown yards, and mummy's shoes almost fit me if I stuff paper into the toes! And I walked all round the ship with the captain, and do you know I have a darling dove in a cage? And Cousin Dugald was saying a wicked word when he met us on the stairs, so I put my hand in his pocket quick like a thief, and picked his cigarette-case; and then he and me had a scrimmage, but he says there's a new bear at the Zoo wants to see me, and we think we'll go to-morrow."

She paused for breath. Her mother turned her head.

"Go and fetch me my handbag, Pippa. I left it in the cab, and Anita has got it."

The child instantly obeyed.

"You can put us up, Orris?"

"Of course. I have a big spare room."

"You're very comfortable in this flat. I suppose you realize that we're penniless. Pippa and I have both been in the doctor's hands. He advised a good healthy out-of-door life for us both. So ridiculous! But I couldn't stay on in Cannes."

"Pippa looks thin and white."

"She's never still; she tires me to death. I never ought to have been a mother. I haven't the health for it. Children are a never-ending care and responsibility. You'll have to take her off my hands for a bit. Have you still got your job at the club?"

"Yes, I'm still manageress."

"I should like a similar job if I could get it. You have a very good time and a good salary."

"It's good enough for one," said Orris, laughing, and her laugh was clear and ringing, "but it won't be very good for three. I'll do the best I can for you, Vennie dear. We must talk over this idea of a country life."

"Don't make me an item in it. But Pippa has a cough which ought to be cured. If I had the money, I would send her down to a country farmhouse with Anita, my maid. I suppose you can put her up too? I forgot to say I was bringing her over with us. She's half Italian, half French, and adores Pippa, and knows how to manage her."

"I think she can share my one maid's room," said Orris.

Pippa was back.

"I wiss I was a organ-man, mummy! There's one with a monkey in the street. May I go and be friends with him?"

"No," said her mother sharply; "you may not. Oh, dear! How tired I am! Orris, I'll go straight to bed. Anita will wait on me—I only want a cup of tea."

Orris took her to her spare room without a word. She saw that she had every comfort there, and then returned to her little niece, whom she found in front of the fire with two dolls and a Teddy bear.

"It's my family, Aunt Ollie—Beauty and the Beast and their little baby. I'm really fondest of the Beast; he's so soft and squeezy."

Then a fit of coughing stopped further talking. And as Orris watched the child's flushed, strained face and beating heart, sudden anxiety seized her.

"Pippa, my darling, you're nothing but a bag of bones with a little skin over them!"

She took her on her lap as she spoke, and, exhausted by her coughing, the child rested her head on her shoulder and sighed.

"Mummy hates fat people. There was a fat lady on the boat. She could hardly walk. I can run faster than anybody can catch me."

Tea was being brought in. Orris was distressed at her niece's small appetite. When it was over, she found her hands full helping the travellers to unpack and settle them comfortably for the night. But later on, she came back to the fireside and sat very still in her chair, as she reviewed the situation.

"This will make a big change in my life," she said to herself. "I cannot support Vennie in the luxury she demands, if we live on in town. And the child will die here. For Jim's sake, I must look after them. Well, it is good to have belongings; I was getting selfish and self-centred—and a few days will do wonders, I expect. I must get a doctor's opinion, and arrive at Vennie's mind. Light will come—it always does."

As she sat there, she looked back to her girlhood's days. Her first real trouble was when she was a happy careless schoolgirl of fifteen. She was recalled from her boarding-school to her young mother's death-bed. She had caught a severe chill which turned to pneumonia, and after a few days' illness passed away, whispering in a breathless way to her little daughter: "Take care of daddy."

Orris had had eight years of sheltered life with her father, who was a dreamy scholar, and lived in a world of books and manuscripts. He was twenty years older than her mother, and died leaving his daughter almost penniless.

Her one brother was a Civil Servant in India. He came home on leave at his father's death with his wife and child, and wanted Orris to go back to India and make his house her home. This she refused to do. Venetia and she had little in common. And she knew she would not be a welcome visitor to her sister-in-law.

Through an old school friend she obtained a post as assistant manageress of a woman's club in London, and proved so capable and dependable that, on the retirement of her friend, she was elected the manageress, and had been there ever since.

Trouble came again. Her brother was carried off suddenly by virulent typhus, and his widow and child came home, where Orris did her best to obtain some employment for her sister-in-law. But Venetia was not a worker; she threw up everything after a few weeks' trial, and eventually went out to the Riviera as travelling companion to a rich young widow. She had drifted about on the Continent for two years. And as Orris realized now that her small income had entirely disappeared, it needed all her courage and buoyancy to face the future.

"I think," she murmured to herself, with a smile breaking over her face, "that my role is to be one of the world's caretakers. Better that than stagnating in a lonely pool! And if Venetia may prove a difficult problem, Pippa will be my greatest joy."

And with this conclusion she went to bed. She had learnt already how to grapple with difficulties and yet maintain a cheerful contented spirit.

A week later she walked into her flat with a radiant face.

It was nine o'clock in the evening. For a wonder Venetia was at home. She was crouched over the fire reading a novel, and looked up at her sister-in-law with discontented eyes.

"What a time you've been! I've had a rotten day. I'm getting fed-up with this cold fog and rain."

"So sorry, dear! I was kept later than usual, for a Mrs. Calthrop wanted to talk to me, and our talk was so engrossing that I did not notice how the time was going. Such good news, Vennie! An open door, I call it."

Orris slipped off her fur coat and drew an easy-chair up to the fire.

Venetia looked at her with a half-scornful curl of the lip.

"You're easily pleased," she said.

"Yes, I hope I am, but even you must acknowledge that this is what we have been wanting. I had been telling one or two of the members that I feared I would have to give up my post as I wanted to try for something in the country, and Mrs. Calthrop had heard of it. I don't know if you've heard me speak of her. She's a very energetic busy woman with an only son—rather delicate. He has lately come into an old property quite unexpectedly. He was secretary for some years to the owners of it. An old man and his wife. Their name was Muir. The husband died about three years ago, and the wife the end of last year. Young Calthrop had made himself very useful to them both. And to everyone's astonishment, the whole of the property has been left to him."

"Do come to the point," said Venetia languidly. "I'm not interested in these people."

"Yes, but you must be, because of what follows. Mrs. Calthrop is anxious for her son to sell the whole of the library in the old house. It is a very valuable one, but is in a state of hopeless confusion. The death duties and taxes have rather crippled them this year, and she wants to go to Algiers with him and travel a bit. Neither of them are book lovers, but she knows I am. She knew my father many years ago, and briefly her proposition is this: that I should go down and catalogue and put the library into perfect order before it is put into the market for sale. She wants a good price for it, and will get it, I expect. I can't understand her being willing—or her son either—to part with such a possession. But there it is! She offers me board and house room, says I can take friends or relations with me, and offers me three pounds a week. I think it will be a year's task. She means to be abroad for about that time with her son, and says she would like me to take up my quarters there till they return."

"Does she boss the show? What is this son like? Not married, is he? I should like to meet him."

Venetia's interest was awakened. She lit a cigarette, and lay back in her chair, thinking hard.

"I think she is boss, if you ask me. I have only seen her son once, and then he struck me as a good-looking effeminate creature. I believe one of his lungs is affected. No, he is not married, I'm glad to think. He's not your sort, Venetia."

"My sort," said Venetia, taking her cigarette out of her mouth, and watching the spiral of smoke ascend from her lips, "is anyone with decent manners, and a good balance at his bank."

"I don't fancy he has too big a balance at present, but I daresay later on, he'll be all right. The house is charming, I believe, but rather in the wilds. It is on the borders of Hampshire, on high ground, and is in the pine district. Very healthy, she says. I was thinking what a chance for Pippa!"

"And what about me?"

Orris looked at her sister-in-law with a good-humoured tolerance.

"You must come with us and make the best of it. The salary, of course, isn't much, but we can make it do, with board and lodging thrown in. In two years' time Pippa will, we'll hope, be strong and robust. I believe there are three or four good old servants left with the house, so we shall be comfortable."

"I conclude you have accepted the post?"

"Not until I have talked it over with you. But we should be fools to throw such a chance away. I am to let Mrs. Calthrop have my decision to-morrow morning."

There was silence. Orris knew her sister-in-law well enough not to urge her consent.

And at last, Venetia spoke.

"We can but try it. It will be good for the child. I think that I'll let you take her down and settle in first. I've promised to pay the Lucas-Seymours a visit the beginning of next month."

"All right. I rather think I can get Mary Watson to come back to the club for a bit. She resigned, you know, because her brother lost his wife, and wanted her to look after his children, but the eldest is home from school now, and she's not wanted in the same way. There will be a lot to see to, but I shall try to sub-let this flat. I don't want to store my bits of furniture."

A busy time for Orris followed. Once having made a decision, she never looked back. Her friends and a few relations objected to her leaving town. Her cousin, Dugald McTavert, was one of these.

"It's the height of folly turning yourself into a book grubber for such a paltry screw, and burying yourself in a mouldy rat-eaten ruin for the sake of a child who could be boarded out quite cheaply in any lodgings or farm."

"Well, now," said Orris, facing him gravely, "I always tell you that I am led into pleasant pastures. I'm longing myself, after three years of London turmoil, to breathe pure country air and live a quiet life. It has come to me so easily and quickly that I simply look up, and give thanks for it."

"As you gave thanks for your job in town," said Dugald.

"Yes, I did; and I've enjoyed all of it. I love my fellow-creatures, and I've had some experience in dealing with them. And I won't say that my brain hasn't benefited by my town life, and all the lectures and music that I have enjoyed. But there's another side of me that I have not cultivated. I've never had time to think—I won't use that old-fashioned word, meditate—but I shall have time to browse amongst my books, and have Nature around me."

"Deadly dull, you'll become!"

"Not I, with a child like Pippa to keep me young. She's alive to her finger tips, and she's worth keeping in this world, Dugald. To let her pine and die for lack of the right atmosphere would be pure murder!"

"And Madame la Mère?"

"Well, we must wait and see. She's willing to make the experiment, and she will put in some visits when she's bored."

"I'm a relation, so I'll look you up one weekend," Dugald announced.

"My mouldy ruin won't interest you. I wish you could see the photo of the house which Mrs. Calthrop showed me. It isn't anything near a ruin. And the garden is a dream. But, of course, you can come and see us, if you can tear yourself away from town."

"You'll hail my advent with joy. You aren't made to live alone, Orris, as you'll find to your cost. Your life has been pretty full of acquaintances and friends these last few years, and it will be a big drop down to one small child and a few country yokels! As for Madam Parasite, she'll flee back to town after two days of it. Why, Calthrop himself won't live there!"

"It's his health," Orris said; "he was there for some years as secretary."

"Yes, he was preparing his habitation. Do you know that there's a nephew of the old Muirs somewhere? Rather hard lines on him! A rolling stone, I believe, couldn't stay at home, and they took offence, and cut him out of the will. But people say Mrs. Calthrop is a powerful personality; she was a cousin of the Muirs, was she not? She stayed a good bit with them. The rotten part of it all is that the old people left her son the property as he appreciated their library so. That is mentioned in their will, and the first thing he does is to sell the blooming concern!"

"It isn't sold yet. How did you hear all this gossip?"

"I looked up the will at Somerset House, and I've known Calthrop. He belongs to my club. He's a nincompoop, and entirely under his mother's thumb."

"Well, they've been very good in giving me the job, and I'm not hearing anything against them."

"You and Pippa in a lone empty country house—ghosts perhaps! My dear girl, you're taking a false step. Back out of it!"

But Orris laughed at him and pursued her own way. And at last, her affairs were settled, and one grey day towards the end of March, she and Pippa and the Italian maid started from Waterloo for their new home.

CHAPTER II

THE OLD HOUSE

"NOW, my Pippa, wake up! We are going to get out."

The child had been wildly excited for the first half of the journey. Her tongue and limbs were in perpetual motion. Climbing up and down on the seat to see out of the window, putting her head out of it when she had a chance, peeping out in the corridor and addressing every one she saw out there, planting her Teddy bear in all sorts of impossible positions, and chatting ceaselessly to Anita and her aunt. Orris was very thankful when, after a substantial lunch had been eaten, Pippa grew quieter, pillowed her head against her aunt's shoulder, and finally dropped into a sound sleep, which lasted till they arrived at their destination. Orris had started on her journey early in the day, as she wanted to arrive before dark; and now, as they gathered up their belongings and followed the porter out into the road, bright golden sunshine greeted them. A shabby old private omnibus was waiting for them.

The Muirs had been far too old-fashioned to start a car. Their carriage and horses had been sold. The 'bus was the only vehicle that occupied the roomy coach-house and the old cob started off now at a pace somewhere between a walk and a trot. Orris sat back and regarded the country road with some interest. Pippa had hardly recovered from her sleep, so was silent. Steadily they wound round, up-hill all the way. The air got keener and fresher.

Then they reached the busy little market town of Spenbury on the top of the hill; they jogged along the cobbled streets, past an old square-towered church, a covered market-place and a long row of shops, and then long rows of pines appeared on either side of them. The sun was setting now, and sank like a red ball of fire through the slender stems of the pines. Pippa caught a glance of it and was roused at once.

"How does the sun know to the very right minute when he has to go to bed, Aunt Ollie? I wish he'd forget to-night and not go quite so punctil. I don't like roads when they're dark, do you?"

"We shall be home before dark, darling. I think we are only three miles out of the town which we have passed already. Can you smell the pines, Pippa? I think they are my favourite trees."

Pippa did a good deal of sniffing, and then announced—

"I smell kittens in the straw."

Orris laughed.

"You mean you smell straw. I think the 'bus has a stable smell, musty and fusty—but not kittens."

"Our kittens in Cannes were 'always' in straw," said Pippa firmly.

They were climbing another hill now, and then crossed a wild bit of heath. At last some big iron gates appeared, and a high wall on either side of them. There was a little lodge inside, and the gates were opened by a woman. Pippa kissed her hand to her in her friendly little way. The drive was bordered with thick masses of evergreen, but in a very few minutes they came upon a square substantial old stone house, with a low wing on each side of it covered with ivy.

"Look, look! There are candles in the windows!" cried Pippa.

But it was only the reflection of the red shining sun, and Orris smiled at her small niece.

"It's just kissing the house good-night before it goes to sleep, Pippa. We are here at last. Isn't it a dear old house?"

"It's 'rather' like a castle," said the child.

They ascended some broad stone steps and the door was opened promptly by an awkward-looking youth. A wide hall confronted them. At the farther end, there was a wide fireplace with a blazing log fire. An old oak staircase rose from the middle of the hall. There were no stair carpets or rugs, and Orris shivered a little as she stood on the black-and-white flagged floor. Then, with a little bustle and importance, an elderly servant came forward to greet them.

"Good evening, ma'am. Mrs. Calthrop will doubtless have told you that I am cook-housekeeper here. Mrs. Snow is my name. Twenty-seven years I've lived here. She's asked me to make you comfortable whilst you are here. I've prepared the old nurseries for the little lady; they're in the west wing over the library, and, thinking she might be lonely, I've given you the big bedroom close to her. But you can take your choice to-morrow. I thought you'd like to be over the library, but I'll have you moved into one of the south rooms, if you prefer it. Now, Dan, what are you staring at? Get the luggage in 'at once!'"

From a very gentle suave voice, Mrs. Snow turned into a perfect virago as she glared at the unfortunate youth. Then she added in an aside to Orris:

"These country boys are impossible to train. I remember the time when a butler and three footmen were in our service. Now I am running the house with a tweeny and a housemaid and this lout who is supposed to do the parlour work. Of course, I have been by myself for a couple of months now. Mrs. Calthrop finds it dull, but I'm hoping she'll settle in before long. When they've travelled a bit she tells me they mean to come home."

Orris smiled pleasantly at the talkative woman.

"I expect the nursery wing will suit us perfectly. Shall we follow you?"

Up the broad shallow oak stairs, then along a corridor, through a green baize door, and then they were ushered into a big square room which faced the setting sun. Pippa scampered about immediately, peeping into everything. It was plainly but comfortably furnished—a stout oak table in the middle of the room, a couple of easy-chairs, an oak chest, a big cupboard in the wall, and a bookcase with some very shabby books on the shelves. A few chairs, an old roomy couch, and a faded Turkey carpet completed the furnishing. Some coloured prints were on the walls, one descriptive of the Battle of Waterloo, the others chiefly ships. A bright fire was blazing in the grate.

"It isn't damp," said Mrs. Snow; "I've had fires for the past week in all the rooms. It's a long time since they've been used, but I pride myself on keeping the house free from damp. There are two big bedrooms beyond this—one leads out of it."

Orris found all quite satisfactory. She arranged that Pippa, with Anita, should sleep in the night nursery, and she took the other bedroom farther down the passage. The outlook of all the rooms was over a big lawn, with a cedar tree in the middle of it. Beyond were slopes of wild moor and pine woods.

Later on, when Orris and her small niece sat down to a comfortable well-served supper, in what Mrs. Snow called the morning-room downstairs, Orris said to the child:

"Well, Pippa, we've fallen on our feet. I think, if you and I can't make ourselves happy here, we shall deserve to be hung and quartered!"

Pippa laughed merrily.

"I think it's a fairy-palace, Aunt Ollie. I shall play hide-and-seek all over it. Why, I can run my hoop along the passages, they're so never-ending!"

In a few days, they had settled down. The big dining-room and drawing-room remained shut up, as also was the smoking-room. Orris made the small morning-room her sitting-room, and had her meals there. Pippa shared breakfast and lunch with her, but she had her tea and supper in the nursery. Anita, a wonderfully adaptable, good-tempered girl, seemed perfectly content with her surroundings, and Orris started work at once in the old library.

It was the room she loved best in the house. It was in the west wing of the house and was fifty feet long with six great windows all reaching to the floor. Every available inch of wall was packed with shelves and books, most of them with glass doors to preserve them.

Her favourite position was at the big writing-table drawn up between the two centre windows. She looked out over a wide stretch of country, with blue hills in the distance, and sometimes she would drop her catalogue and MSS., and, leaning her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands, would gaze out dreamily over the fields and pine woods and wide expanse of sky. She had the inherited scholarly love for ancient books, but she had also a poet's and an artist's soul. And sometimes she would spring up from her chair and dash out of one of the half-open windows to join her small niece in her play upon the lawn.

Pippa was a very busy little person, and everything that came to hand was thoroughly investigated. Before she had been there a week, she knew the family histories of the servants indoors and out. The cows and pigs and fowls were all individuals to her with characteristics of their own. The trees and shrubs were objects of her interest. She never rested till she knew the names of all, and Randall, the old gardener, would push up his hat and scratch his head, as he was questioned by the eager child.

"Ay, dearie me! 'Tis the Lord A'mighty Himself ye must question when it comes to why one tree beareth fruit, and another nought. But they all bear seed to carry on. And that's the business they were given to do."

"Yes, but I'm quite certain God doesn't want you to be cutting the darling daisies and the dandelions when they come up," she retorted, shaking her curly head disapprovingly; "and that's what you say you do always."

"The A'mighty teached the first gardener, missy. And everythink I do is right; you just think on that."

Pippa was quenched. She stared at the old man with her far-seeing eyes.

"And how many gardeners afore you?" she demanded.

Randall trundled his barrow away out of her reach, muttering, as he did so:

"'Tis the tongue of a female, sure enough, small though she be!"

To Pippa the garden was fairyland. There were winding walks through shrubberies, and a sunk water-garden with a fountain in the middle playing over the Cupids. Pippa called them angels. There was a summer-house at the end of a broad terrace walk, which was under a pergola of beautiful creepers, and there was an old walled fruit and vegetable garden, with mossy paths and box borders. But she would cheerfully leave all these attractions for a walk with her aunt through the pine woods.

Orris loved taking her into the woods. She and Pippa would make a little fire of cones and needles, and sit by it, watching the blue smoke rise into the sky, and inhaling the sweet aromatic fragrance of the pines.

There was no village near them, only a small hamlet of houses. The church and village of Veddon Weal was a mile away; their nearest neighbours were the labourers' families who worked on the farm adjoining the house. The postman, who was the local carpenter, occupied the biggest cottage, and the schoolmaster and organist lived in an old toll-house on the high road.

Orris began to feel that Venetia would not stand the isolation of the place, but she enjoyed it; and Pippa's cheeks grew round and rosy, and her appetite increased in a marvellous fashion.

Mrs. Snow soon enlightened Orris as regards her neighbours.

"We've got a pleasant Rector, but his wife gives herself airs, and only visits the county. The Rector has a sister who's little more than a drudge in the house. She's rather a poor hand at visiting, seems too shy to get out her words. The only big house near this is the manor, and belongs to a writer. They say he has a big name in London, but his books are too clever for most of us. He lives in it quite alone, and goes abroad every winter. He's away now. Then there's the two Misses Dashwood. They live next the rectory in a cottage belonging to the Rector. But I don't think you will be troubled with visitors."

"I don't want them," said Orris, with her happy laugh. "I haven't come here to enjoy society, but just to do my job, and enjoy this exhilarating air. I've never lived eight hundred feet above sea-level in my life before. It makes me feel quite skittish!"

She had a feeling that Mrs. Snow did not approve of her light-hearted ways. The good woman seemed to have no humour, and would listen to Pippa's astounding assertions with a solid expressionless face.

"Do you like being tickled, Mrs. Snow?" Pippa asked her one day, when she met her on the stairs. "I'm very fond of tickling persons, 'specially cats.

"We had a cat who always lay on her back and held up her arms to be tickled, she loved it so," Pippa continued.

"I'm sorry I can't be a cat to oblige you," was Mrs. Snow's stiff response. And then she passed on.

And Pippa gazed after her wistfully. She felt sorry for people who did not want to talk to her.

She was more successful with John Tinker, the postman.

She very often ran down the drive to meet him, for he did not arrive till after she had had her breakfast.

"You're my favrit person outside the house," she informed him. "I'm always expectin' letters from my mummy. You're like a everyday Father Chris'mas. You bring us surprises, and we never are quite sure what."

"Ay, missy, I be a pretty powerful sort o' person," responded John. "I often thinks much the same meself. There's nobody, not the king hisself, that holds so many messages o' life and death in his hands. I brings joy and wealth to some folks, and mourning and woe to others."

It was not long before Pippa visited him in his cottage, where he introduced her to his old mother, a comfortable smiling dame of seventy years. Here Pippa made herself completely at home; she helped Mrs. Tinker to iron, to bake cakes, to weed her small garden, and when not with her, she was to be found with John in his workshop watching him work with the greatest interest, collecting his wood shavings—or curls as she called them—and very often coming home with a bunch on each side of her small head, tumbling over her ears.

She also collected a good deal of local gossip. Orris sometimes reproved her for repeating things.

"But I'm so 'normously interested, Aunt Ollie; I like to know every bit about everybody. If John could only get a proper car, he'd take me round with his letters, but his cycle will only hold him and his bags. And there's one house he goes to that has a myst'ry."

"Nonsense, childie."

"It isn't nonsense, Aunt Ollie. Listen! It's a very very old house called Ivy Towers. You can see nothing but ivy, and just bits of windows, and some windows are covered right over, and always, always, always, something happens in that house, and nobody ever lives there over three years."

Orris laughed.

"Things happen, as you call it, to us all, darling. John is an old gossip."

But Pippa was too much in earnest to feel snubbed.

"They die, and they have naxidents, and they lose their money. And it's been empty for a very long time, and now peoples are coming into it, and John says they'll have bad luck."

Orris laughed again. She was not much interested in her neighbours. The library was beginning to engross her life and thoughts. Orris was a true scholar's daughter. She inherited her father's love for books and she dipped into old philosophers' treatises with as much zest as a girl shows over her first novel.

One afternoon she walked over to the village to interview the village laundress. On the way she met two ladies. One of them was vainly trying to reach a bit of flowering palm in the hedge. Being a good head taller than she, Orris came to her help. She was cordially thanked for her services.

"How very kind of you! My sister and I are always bringing home spoils from the hedges. Now I wonder if I may ask if you are at Pinestones? And if so, would you—may I call?"

"I shall be delighted," said Orris, smiling. "It is a lonely life after London, but I am too busy to be dull. I expect you are the Misses Dashwood. Mrs. Snow has mentioned your names."

She glanced at the sisters as she spoke. The eldest and most active was rather a striking looking woman—grey-haired, with dark vivacious eyes and bright colouring. She was very upright and quick in her movements. The younger one was fair and pale and fretful-looking.

"Yes, we are the Misses Dashwood—I am Louisa, and my sister is Grace. It is a quiet life here, as you say. I lived in London for thirty years before I came here. We have been in our little cottage over seven years now, and are very happy there."

They turned back with her towards the village, and before they reached it, Orris felt that she had made a friend. Miss Louisa Dashwood was a clever cultured woman, had been principal of a ladies' college for some years, and had taken part in many philanthropic objects after she had retired. Orris wondered how she could have come to the country. But she gathered that it was for her sister's sake. Miss Grace said little, and when she spoke her voice was plaintive and complaining.

"There is no Society, and no Squire since Mr. Muir died, and the Rector is absorbed in botany and in his parish. We just vegetate, and talk about the butcher's wife and her delicacy, and the cobbler's truant son, and the uppishness of our servant-maids."

"I think we are happy in having neighbours to talk about," said Miss Louisa cheerily.

Then, coming to their cottage, a little grey stone building covered with creepers, they parted with Orris, Miss Louisa promising to come and see her in a very few days.

This she did. Her sister did not accompany her. As they sat in the pleasant library together, their talk became rather intimate.

"Do you ever look back and think how wonderful your life has been?" Miss Louisa asked. "Of course, you are young, but even you have had your environment changed once or twice, I expect."

"Yes," assented Orris. "I have had rather a full life up to now. I think it has always been my lot to have others to think about, and that is a blessing, is it not?"

Miss Louisa's eyes sparkled.

"Yes, but it has its dangers. I have had luxury and hard work, and now I have comparative ease, combined with poverty. I felt leaving my work in London, but I've been put into another class, I tell myself. You know 'doing' is sometimes an easier thing than 'being.' Do you follow me? We are too busy sometimes with what we call good works and charity to remember the charity of our Bible."

"How?" asked Orris.

"The perfecting of our personal character. Workers are apt to be very slipshod over virtues. They're easily puffed up, easily provoked, very overbearing and intolerant, too sure of their own powers, too severe on others' failings. They don't shine in their home life. I have been made to see this. I've worked and tried to form character in others; now I find hard work in moulding my own according to the pattern on the Mount! What a prosy person you must think me."

Orris did not think her so. She was intensely interested. And when Mrs. Snow gave her a few more details about the sisters, she was still more so.

"The eldest Miss Dashwood is a proper saint. Her sister, Miss Grace, has fits of epilepsy, and at best she's a discontented soul. Miss Louisa gave up all her work in London, and came to live with her sister when their mother died. I know all about them, for my niece has lived with them these four years or so. Miss Grace fair bullies her sister. She's her willing slave. If she goes out in the afternoon to anything sociable like, and Miss Grace is too ailing to go, Miss Grace cries like a child all the time she's away, and tells her sister when she comes back that she neglects her and doesn't love her, and goes on at her terrible. And Miss Louisa is always bright and cheerful; my niece says 'tis a pleasure to be near her."

"Do they ever come here?" Orris asked. "Does Mrs. Calthrop know them?"

"They're on visiting terms." Then Mrs. Snow slightly changed her tone. "Of course, they'll not be visiting here now. Not till the mistress returns."

Orris laughed her merry laugh. Mrs. Snow's snubs did not affect her in the least.

"You want to keep me in my place, don't you? I assure you I'm much too busy to want visitors. But I have already made Miss Dashwood's acquaintance, and we may see more of each other."

"I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Snow, "I meant nothing slighting." And then she hastily made herself scarce, and Orris laughed again.

"Poor old thing! I suppose she has a supreme contempt for any lady who earns her living. She's a thorough Early Victorian old retainer."

CHAPTER III

WHAT A CUPBOARD CONTAINED

THE day had been wet and cheerless. Orris had hardly moved from her chair in the library, except to go to and fro between her big table and the bookcase. She had seen Pippa at mealtimes, but the child was much engrossed in turning a big wooden box into a dolls' house. Anita was helping her, and with her clever fingers was making a very good job of it.

The Rector appeared at tea-time. It was his first call, and Orris found him a very pleasant visitor.

When he departed, she accompanied him to the hall door, and for a moment looked over the wide vista of dusky fields and pine woods, and above them a pale lemon sky. The rain had stopped. The sun was having his innings for a few brief moments before he finally disappeared. Orris stood with parted lips breathing in the fresh pure air, and enjoying it as she did so. Then she suddenly bethought herself of Pippa, who usually came to her at this hour. Leisurely she mounted the broad oak steps, calling "Pippa! Pippa, come along, my sweet!"

There was no sudden rush of flying footsteps; no response to her call. She hastened her steps. Pippa very quiet, meant Pippa in mischief, and when she found the nursery door locked, she shook her head.

"Oh, Pippa," she cried, "you must never lock me out. Open the door at once."

There was a fumbling of the lock, and Pippa appeared, with big mysterious eyes.

"What is the matter, darling? Why are you locked in alone?"

Pippa retreated to the hearthrug, where she stood dancing up and down on her toes with clasped hands and big open eyes and mouth.

"Nita is at her tea. I've been enjoying myself 'normously."

"I'm so glad. What's up, you monkey? You had better confess."

Pippa smiled tremulously, then pursed her lips primly together.

"It's a secret, Aunt Ollie."

Orris stood still and waited. Pippa's secrets were never of long duration. It was a question of patience.

Then suddenly the child darted to the big hanging cupboard at the end of the room.

"I've got a man here," she cried triumphantly; and then she flung open the door. "And he isn't a buggler!" she added.

Orris had occasion to be startled when a tall figure appeared from behind Pippa's dressing-gown and coats and confronted her. He was dressed in a rough tweed shooting suit, had a lean, rather pleasant-looking face, very broad shoulders, and was unmistakably a gentleman.

"You little traitor!" he said, turning to Pippa. "A nice keeper of secrets you are!"

"I couldn't! It just bursted right through me," said Pippa contritely.

The man looked so crestfallen, and the child so proudly elate, that Orris, after gazing helplessly at them both, surprised herself and them by a mellow peal of laughter.

"I can't help it," she gasped. "They say laughter is caused by sudden surprise. Will you give me some explanation of this extraordinary proceeding on your part?" She turned to the stranger as she spoke.

He did not look in the least uncomfortable, but drew forward an easy chair for her near the fire, and got hold of another for himself.

"Let us all sit down and be comfortable," he said; "there's no reason why we should not be. And then I'll tell you all, and anything you would like to know. It begins and ends with Snuffy, the person you call Mrs. Snow. I've always called her Snuffy, because as a small kid, she was perpetually saying to me, 'That's enough—that's enough, Master Jock.' It soon becomes 'snuff' if you say it fast enough!"

He was turning to Pippa now, who was regarding him with admiring eyes.

"The first question I would like to ask is, how did you get here?" said Orris gravely.

She resented his light gay manner, though light was dawning upon her as to his identity.

"Snuffy refused me admittance this morning. And that put my back up."

"Oh, let me tell her," interrupted Pippa. "It was so 'lovely,' Aunt Ollie! He came climbing up my wall, and looked in at the window, like the prince in my fairy-book does to the lovely princess shut up in her tower. And I opened the window a teeny bit and said:

"'Are you a prince?' And he said, 'I see you're a princess.' So then o' course he came in, and he sat down on the floor and told me a story about a alligator and him on the other side of the world. And then we heard you calling, and he said he must be hid, or he would shock you, so I hid him."

The man laughed.

"That's that!" he said. "Just in a nutshell. I spent the first half of my life here, and I was furious when Snuffy kept up her old grudge against me, and shut me out. I wasn't aware that the old nursery was inhabited till I climbed up and saw the light. I meant to go downstairs decorously, and confront Snuffy again on the inside of the door, and insist upon being presented to the lady in possession."

"That is hardly my role," said Orris quietly. "Pippa and I are birds of passage. You must be old Miss Muir's nephew, who went abroad."

"The scamp and blackguard and ne'er-do-weel. Don't I look it? Isn't scrambling up the old ivy roots and frightening an innocent babe just what is expected of such a character?"

"But I wasn't frightened. You couldn't frighten me," said Pippa, darting forward and perching herself on his knee. "I knewed you weren't a buggler; you told me so."

"I'm a bad hat," the stranger said, but his hand caressed the curly head.

And Orris, looking at him calmly and critically, liked him on the spot. He had humorous, kindly grey eyes, and his face, though tanned and weather-worn, had no signs of dissipation; he looked as if he had lived out-of-doors by night and day. His lips and chin were determined, and he had, for a man, a peculiarly sweet smile.

"Cousin Letitia," he went on; "or Mrs. Calthrop, as you know her, left orders with Snuffy that in her absence I was not to be admitted to the house. She guessed I would come racing over the ocean when my poor aunt departed this life, but why she should grudge me a sight of the old place I don't know. I hear her son has been left everything—so virtue is rewarded. How he stuck to the old library! And oh, how he hated it!"

Orris looked up questioningly.

"Did he attempt my job?"

"My dear Miss Bright Eyes—I don't know your name, so have coined one for you—my uncle and aunt were simply demented over their library. Personally they did not care for books, but a neighbour, a Mr. Dunscombe, on one unfortunate occasion told them that they possessed an untold mine of wealth in their books. He is a writer himself, and wanted to avail himself of several books of reference.

"About two hundred years ago, the Muirs came from Scotland and settled here, and they bought the old library with the house. It had belonged to some Charter-houses for many generations, but the family had died out. The books were in hopeless confusion. I suppose you see that. So my uncle began to make a catalogue. He had no gift for languages, and when he saw Persian, Chinese, Italian, and ancient Egyptian scripts, he gave it up in despair.

"Then I was called into the breach. I had been to Oxford, and had slipped through my term there fairly creditably, so of course I was the one to do it. I was set down in that dry and dusty library, and expected to work seven or eight hours a day. A perfect catalogue must be made and I was to do it. I stuck it for seven months, and then I struck. There was a row! I decamped for a time, and wandered over the Continent for a few years, till my uncle died.

"Then I came home and was received by my aunt with open arms, but Cousin Letitia and son had come to share her loneliness, and dear Edmund had accepted the post as librarian. I did not somehow fit in. I discovered Edmund making away with some valuable old MSS. He parted with them to a Jewish bookseller in town—a man I happened to have had some dealings with, when I was home before. I promptly exposed him—very impulsive and rash! Cousin Letitia never forgave me. My aunt was slipping under her powerful and persuasive personality. Snuffy likewise succumbed to it. She and I never could hit it off. From a boy I had teased her, and she cannot understand or take a joke. I expect you've found that out, haven't you?

"Well, there was nothing for me to do. I wanted to take over the home farm, that would have been a job after my own heart! But my aunt would not hear of it. It was a divided camp—secretly my aunt favoured me, but she was timid, and had not the courage of her convictions. And a man has no chance against a clever woman's tongue. I don't know to this day how it was my aunt was poisoned against me, but I saw, though the house had been my home since I was three years old, it was to be my home no longer.

"So, to cut a long story short, I said good-bye to them all, and went off to New Zealand. For ten years I have been farming there, and now I come back to find her gone, and my cousin in possession. No, I am wrong; it is you and this wee elf in possession. Let me warn you against expending your health and strength among those books. It will be the work of a life-time to get them in proper order. And if they mean to sell the whole, just sort the books into lots—according to the language—" He paused for breath.

"Oh, do talk to me now," pleaded Pippa. "Will you take me down to the stream to-morrow, where you used to catch the little frogs?"

"What does your aunt say? Is she going to be friendly with me?" His eyes met Orris's grave scrutiny with great composure. "I really have no black deeds on my conscience. I have just been a hard-working farmer. You can't be a villain if you love the earth as I do. It is men and cities who make criminals. And I am staying with Dunscombe. He and I came back in the same boat part of the way. I only landed at Southampton three days ago. And Burton, my aunt's lawyer, was the one who has given me the news."

"Were you expecting to come into this property yourself?"

He smiled.

"It wasn't a shock to me to find the cousins first. I believe my aunt thought I had gone to the bad. I used to write occasionally, but I never had a line from her."

"Oh, Aunt Ollie, I think he's a 'dear' man," cried Pippa, not understanding all the conversation, but gathering from Orris's face that she was rather doubtful of the stranger. "Do have his bed made up in one of the big empty rooms. Mummy would love to see him, and she's coming very soon."

Orris could not help laughing, and Jock Muir joined her.

"That's right," he said. "Now we're all friends, and we'll just go down and confront Snuffy, and then I'll get back to my host. She must understand that your friends are not to be shut out."

"I don't see what right she has to keep 'you' out," said Orris.

And then there was a slight cough outside the door, and the person under discussion appeared.

To say she was startled is too mild a way of putting it. She was dumbfounded.

"I thought it might be the Rector," she explained. "I heard a man's voice, and I could not understand how he had come upstairs."

"And you little thought to see me, Snuffy! But here I am, completely at home, as you see, and very interested in the present inmates of Pinestones."

Orris pitied Mrs. Snow's confusion.

"I know all about Mr. Muir," she said to her; "and I really do not think Mrs. Calthrop would wish you to shut the door in his face. As he is staying in the neighbourhood, it is only natural that he should give you a call. Mrs. Calthrop told me I should be free to receive any visitors, so I am sure you will admit him next time he comes."

"I won't run away with any of the plate, Snuffy, I assure you. But I think I can claim my two cricket cups on the dining-room sideboard, and there's that trunk of mine in the attic. I shall have to overhaul that."

Mrs. Snow drew herself up to her full height as she replied:

"I am responsible to Mrs. Calthrop now, Master Jock. I am in her service, and, difficult as it may be, I try to carry out her orders. I will have your belongings sent to your present address, sir, if you will give it to me."

"I'm staying at the Manor," said Jock good-humouredly. "I won't be hard on you, Snuffy, for it's good for you that you can transfer your allegiance so thoroughly. I am here because I determined to be here, and when it comes to a pitched battle between us, I generally come off victor. But I shan't trouble you much—not at present. After all, it may be the house that you care most for. The inhabitants are regarded by you as useful in helping you to stay on."

Then he stood up and held out his hand to Orris, whilst Mrs. Snow beat a retreat without another word.

"Good-bye. We shall meet again. I seem to have taken up all the time in pouring out my life's history to you. Can't think why I did it. I'm not generally so communicative."

"I've been very interested, and I am entirely sympathetic," said Orris, wincing at the strength in his grip.

"Oh," cried Pippa, "will you climb up into my nursery another day?"

He shook his head.

"My legs are not so agile as they were. I thought nothing of it as a boy, but we shall see a lot of each other, little elf. And we won't let Snuffy get the better of us."

He strode out of the room, and down the stairs. Pippa ran after him, and kissed her hand to him from the corridor above.

"I wiss you would stay and go to bed here," she cried. "But you're my friend now for evermore, and I'll tell God in my prayers to-night that if Mrs. Snuffy locks you out-of-doors again, He had better send His Angel to open it without a key, like He did for Peter."

Then she came back to her aunt and stood in front of her, looking up into her face with her mischievous eyes.

"Auntie Ollie, he is a 'darling' man! Nobody has ever climbed up into a window where I was before. Wasn't it quite a 'venture?"

"It was, most assuredly, Pippa. But I wouldn't advise you to welcome and harbour 'any' strange man who climbs in at a window."

"No, I wouldn't," said Pippa thoughtfully; "not if he had a red nose and was dirty. When do you think he'll come and see us again?"

"We won't think any more about him. Now, won't you let me have a look at this wonderful dolls' house?"

Pippa danced back to her nursery. For a time her thoughts were turned into another channel, until her prayer-time came.

Her aunt, who always came to her for that occasion, was sitting in the low chair by the nursery fire, and Pippa in her blue dressing-gown was kneeling by her and with bent head and clasped hands was murmuring her usual formula in the most angelic voice. She very often made startling postscripts to her prayers, so Orris was not surprised at her sudden energetic appeal.

"And oh, please, God, bless my dear man, and make Aunt Ollie love him as much as I do, and ask him to a tea-party very soon. And never, never let Mrs. Snuffy get the better of us." Then she jumped up. "He said she shouldn't, you know, Aunt Ollie, but I think God had better help us, hadn't He? Because she thinks the house belongs to her more than to us."

"And I think she is right, for it is her home, and we are here only for a time. But, my darling, you mustn't call her Mrs. Snuffy; she would be very angry if she heard you. And I don't like angry people. I want to live in peace."

"I won't to her face," said Pippa earnestly. Then she scrambled into bed. "He's rather like a grown-up Peter Pan, isn't he?"

"Go to sleep and forget him," said Orris, kissing the little upturned face.

But she herself found her mind full of Jock Muir. She wondered that there had been so little bitterness in his tone when telling her how, quietly and thoroughly he had been defrauded of his home.

"He is either the most clever dissembler or the most angelic of men. I wonder which he is," she mused. "And why should he torture himself by staying in the neighbourhood, and subjecting himself to the ignominy of being shut out of his rightful property by a housekeeper? I can't understand it. Well, it is none of my business. I must occupy myself with books and not men."

She worked with extra vigour for the next few days, and though sunshine streamed in upon her, and birds trilled out their love-songs outside the library window and Pippa more than once danced in upon her with coaxing requests to come out to play, Orris shook her head and fingered her old leather books in a determined way.

"I'm here to work, and work I must. The history of this old house, and the different members of the family have nothing to do with me, except that I am in Mrs. Calthrop's pay, and am bound to work for her."

And then one morning, when she entered the room, prepared to begin her work, she was startled to see a tall figure sitting lazily on the low broad window-sill close to her desk. The window was open, and Jock Muir was coolly smoking his pipe, one leg inside the window, the other out.

When he saw her come in, he took out his pipe, slipped one leg over, and stood outside on the grass, giving her a little courteous bow, and a flush of amused recognition in his grey eyes.

"Good morning. I've been waiting for you. How are you getting on?"

"Slowly. I long for more knowledge—especially about Persian and Indian books. I wish I knew some scholar who could help me."

"Dunscombe could. He's been ransacking Persia for copy quite lately."

He had resumed his seat on the window-sill, and Orris sank into her chair with a helpless feeling that she could not prevent this interruption.

"Is he the friend you are staying with? The author?"

"Yes. I'll bring him over—or—we won't offend Snuffy's extreme conscientiousness—suppose you come to tea with us to-morrow afternoon? Four o'clock, and bring the elf."

"You are startlingly unconventional. Can I walk into a stranger's house an uninvited guest?"

"I thought I had given you an invitation. Hang it all, Miss Bright Eyes, Dunscombe and I have knocked about in the world too much to stand on ceremony. If you want help, he's the man to help you."

"My name, Mr. Muir, is Orris Coventry."

He smiled at her.

"Thank you. I'm a very independent person, eh? What do you think of the house? Rather mouldy, isn't it?"

"I really have not been over it. My small niece has been into all the rooms that she dares. Mrs. Snow has a good many locked up, and she does not consider that we should take liberties, or explore farther than our own wing, and the rooms apportioned to us there."

"Oh, she's a Tartar. Don't let her bully you. I must come and show the elf the powder-room. She will love it. Do you approve of these huge old houses being kept up for the sole benefit of one or two people?"

"They are many of them historic," said Orris. "I personally love old places. The atmosphere is perfectly different to a newly built house."

"One of the Georges stayed here once. I think that's the only bit of history Pinestones has. When I was a boy, I had many wild dreams of what I would do here when I grew up. You see they always told me I should inherit it. I was going to turn the east wing into an almshouse for all the old servants and workpeople, and the west wing into a cottage hospital for the sick children—that's the nursery wing where you are, and then I was going to live in the middle part of it myself, and rule them all, old and young, with a rod of iron."

"What a nice boy you must have been!"

"I was imbued with the idea that I had been put into the world to do my fellow-creatures a good turn. I had a tutor who talked to me in that style. And what a boy learns when he is seven or eight, he never forgets! But," he added with his flashing smile, "I did not grow up a prig, strange to say! It was the other way about. And for a long time now I've just lived for myself. I have nobody else to live for, or consider."

Orris looked at him thoughtfully, but did not speak.

He went on:

"But I must be doing. Stagnation is too boring for words. I've had a pretty strenuous life on the other side of the ocean. I'd rather break stones on the road than sit in an armchair with a pipe and book all day!"

"I suppose you will return to your work, then?" Orris asked.

"Not a bit of it. Have sold my land and cattle. No. I'm in the mother-country for good or ill."

"I'm afraid you must have sold thinking yourself the heir to this?"

He nodded.

"I meant to come back and have a busy time farming my own land. Out-of-door work is the life for me. I love the earth and all that it contains! You know the Home Farm here is going to pot! My old aunt ought to have replaced Nat Thane when he died, instead of letting his lazy son step into his shoes. If I were master here, I would buy up the adjoining farm, which is getting too much for old Preston—he's between eighty and ninety—and work the two together.

"Have you been over to Preston's farm? The house is my idea of a home. You talk of atmosphere. For a cheery happy one, give me Lilac Farm. As a small boy, I was always made welcome to any meal, and I've never had such teas since. I was there yesterday in the jolly old kitchen, and Preston and I had a confab together. This is my last free day. I am going to work for him for a bit. He wants help badly."

"You're an enigma to me," said Orris, smiling; "if I were in your circumstances, I would keep as far-away as I could from the ones who had disinherited me."

He smiled back at her.

"Ah!" he said. "That's not my idea. Not at all."

Silence fell on them for a few moments. Then Orris broke it.

"The world of books," she said, "rather absorbs me. It is a strange life living amongst clever brains still speaking, though long extinct. I find I must dip into one and another as I take them in my hand, and it always is a marvel to me how sound the advice of the old philosophers is and how applicable to the present day. Human nature never alters. Of course, the one Book above all is the Bible. We can in these most modern days still go to it for all we need. It never fails one. I have been reading bits from Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, and Fénelon. Of course, Fénelon is the most enlightened, but nothing that they say touches one's soul as the Bible does."

"I knew you had a soul, directly I caught sight of you," said Jock lightly; "and a pretty big one for your size. Now mine is an infinitesimal atom. It was bigger when I was a boy, but has gone on shrinking so rapidly that at times I wonder if I possess any at all. By soul I mean the spirit—that's what you mean, isn't it? Let's discuss it? I love an argument."