JUBILEE HALL;

OR, "THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME."

BY HON. MRS. GREENE

THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
LONDON, EDINBURGH, DUBLIN
AND NEW YORK

CONTENTS.

JUBILEE HALL.

CHAPTER I.

JOYFUL NEWS.

"Joy! joy! joy!" cried Kathleen Malcomson, as she burst into the schoolroom where her two brothers were at work preparing their lessons for school; "oh, boys, I've just heard such a grand piece of news. I'll give each of you three guesses what it is, and only this one hint, that it's the most glorious thing you could possibly imagine."

"You must tell us first," cried Fred, "does it concern us boys as well as you? Otherwise it would not be worth the bother of guessing."

"Of course it does; that's one guess for you, Fred."

"Humbug! you said we were each to have three guesses, and mine was only a simple remark; besides, I know what it is already, so you need not make such a row about it."

"Why, who told you?" asked Kathleen, her face falling several degrees from its original brightness. "I am almost certain you cannot have guessed it."

"Father is going to have the bagatelle board newly covered, and buy fresh balls; I heard him saying so this morning,—eh? Miss Katy."

"Eh? Miss Katy," repeated Harry in a still more decisive tone; "how wise you are with your three guesses."

"It's as much about the bagatelle board as it's about—about your head," cried Kathleen, glancing around the room for some withering simile; "do you think I'd make such a fuss about an old bagatelle board? No; it's something a thousand times better than that."

"Well, then, tell us it out at once," cried both the boys, roused to real interest by Kathleen's words and manner; "what's the use of bottling up your news, instead of giving us the benefit of it? Pour it all out quick, that's a good old Kat."

"Well, I'll only ask you to give one guess each," said Kathleen, recovering the bright expectant glance of pleasure as she drew nearer. "Now, Fred, you go ahead first, and Harry shall have his afterwards."

"Well, I guess—I guess, humph; you said it was awfully grand, did you not?"

"I did."

"Well, then, I guess, that my new suit has come home from the tailor's."

"Nonsense, Fred; that's no real guess. Who cares about your suit? You did not really try to think."

"I did, 'pon my word; but my head is nothing but a brick-bat over this horrid Euclid. Let Harry have his shot now."

"I have known what it was all along," said Harry calmly; "the midsummer holidays are to begin a week earlier than we thought, for I heard mother saying so this morning; at least she told Leonard that the pony might begin to cart gravel after the end of this week, as we should not want it any more for the croydon, and I twigged at once that there would be no school after that week."

"You are just a shade right in your guess, and nothing more," cried Kathleen triumphantly; "you will not want the croydon for going to school after the end of this week, but only because you are going somewhere else."

"Where?" cried both the boys, springing up from their chairs in great excitement; "not—not to Jubilee Hall, surely."

"Yes, to Jubilee Hall for the whole midsummer holidays. There was a letter from Aunt Marian last night, asking us to spend the whole midsummer holidays there."

The wild whoop of joy and chorus of shouting, dancing, flinging about of lesson-books, and pounding recklessly on the piano, showed that Kathleen had not exaggerated the rapturous quality of her news, nor over-rated the warmth of its reception. The boys proceeded to hug their sister enthusiastically, and to kick each other ignominiously, till at length, lessons having been hopelessly abandoned, they all leaped out through the open window, and rushed off with their news to pour it into the sympathetic bosom of Mrs. Duffy, the dairywoman; or failing her, into the somewhat obtuse ear of Quin, the gardener. But they were both kindly souls, and always received the children's intelligence with the full amount of surprise or joy expected from them.

The dairy came first, being situated at the foot of the lawn, and shaded from the house by a plantation of young firs and laurustinus bushes; and besides, they were always sure of finding "old Mother Duffy" at home, for she never left the precincts of her own place except at milking-time, and it was now only four o'clock in the afternoon.

"Well, bless my heart," cried the good old soul, coming to the door of her dairy as she heard the loud hurrahs and yells of the children, and saw them come flying over the sunk fence and down the meadow towards her, "there must be some rare piece of news up now;—I'd better turn the key on the dairy-room, or Master Harry will be playing some of his wild tricks with the cream, or putting salt in the milk, as he did the other day." And Mrs. Duffy, moving aside to carry out her precautionary measure, had only just turned the key in the lock when the trio burst headlong into the room with a clatter and a row that brought several of the panikins and wooden butter moulds tumbling off the dresser upon the flagged floor of the dairy.

"Now, Master Harry, and you, Master Fred, couldn't you come a trifle easier into the house, without knocking all my little goods and chattels about the place! What bee have you got in your bonnet this morning, Miss Kathleen, that makes you so flighty and wild?"

"She has got the biggest bee that ever was born," cried Fred, quite breathless from his quick race; "and we've all come down to see what you'll think of it. Only fancy, Mother Duffy, there has been a letter from Aunt Marian, and we are all going to spend the midsummer holidays at Jubilee Hall."

"The jolliest place you ever were in," broke in Harry, who, having seen at a glance that the dairy door was locked, was searching behind every cup and platter for the key; "no end of good things to eat and drink, and no stint of milk and butter as there is in some places; nor locks on the doors either."

"Then she must be a rare simple lady to ask such folks as you down to her place, and keep nought under lock and key. Wait till the first day she finds a frog swimming in the milk-pail or a hedgehog at the bottom of the churn, and see whether she'll turn the key in her dairy door or not. She'll be a sillier lady than I take her for, or she'll soon send you packing home again to your own place."

"Oh, will she? that's your view of the question, Mother Duffy, but not mine," retorted Harry, who with his back turned, was busily employed pouring some ink out of a small stone jar into Mother Duffy's empty tea-pot; "Aunt Marian is the jolliest cove in all England."

"I don't understand anything about 'coves,'" replied Mrs. Duffy, shaking her head ominously; "but if you get on with the same tricks at Jubilee Hall as you do here, it's the short holidays you'll have there, I promise you. Not but I'm glad you have such a treat before you; though how folks with such a fine place to live in as this should set so much store by another house, is a matter I don't quite come to see the sense of."

"Oh, but don't you see," cried Kathleen, "there is every kind of fun going on there from morning till night,—archery, and croquet, and lawn tennis, and ponies to ride. Arthur Jackson spent one day there last year, and he says it's the most splendid place he ever was in."

"Splendid is no word for it," cried Fred enthusiastically; "from what he said, it must be a—a—gollumptious place. The gooseberry bushes there are so large and full of fruit, you could stay a whole day under one of them, and leave it none the worse for the picking."

"I'm thinking you'll be a trifle the worse for such a picking," said Mrs. Duffy, laughing good-humouredly, "Do you remember the day you ate all the cherries, and the doctor had to be sent for in the evening."

"Pooh! that was ages ago, when I was quite young," replied Fred, who had only just passed out of his fourteenth year. "You would not catch me making such a fool of myself again."

"I hope not," said Mrs. Duffy; "but I'd be sorry to be the cherry-tree that should come in your way, old as you are and wise. But what's Master Harry at that he's so quiet yonder in the corner?"

"Oh, nothing," cried Harry, gliding away from the dresser, where he had just poured some vinegar into a jug of new milk. "I was looking at that grand picture that you've stuck up on the wall since I was here last."

Harry's face looked so innocent, and his remark was so plausible a one, that Mrs. Duffy, who was only too easily imposed upon, allowed the excuse to pass muster, and continued,—"On what day are you going to leave us, Master Fred? I'll be lonesome enough without you, bad as you are with your tricks and treacherous ways."

"We are going on this day week," replied Kathleen. "I was the first to hear it all, and the boys knew nothing about it until I told them."

"Phew! how grand you are!" cried both the boys contemptuously. "Why should you have been told before either of us, I should like to know? You happened to go into the drawing-room first, and that was all."

"No, it was not all; I was sent for," replied Kathleen proudly. "Mamma had to get me some new clothes made before I went on a visit, and so she told me all about it then. And what was more, she said that although I was the youngest, she hoped I would try to prevent you boys from being too wild or playing practical jokes while you were away; for there are to be lots of other visitors at the Hall, and mamma was afraid you might get into some scrape, and perhaps have to be sent home."

"Oh, dear! so we are to be under your thumb, Miss Wiseacre, are we?" cried Fred, pointing contemptuously with his finger at his sister, whose heightened colour betrayed her vexation. "We must do nothing, and say nothing, and think nothing even, without coming to ask your leave or advice; ain't it likely just? that's all I say," and Fred whistling, turned on his heel and stepped over the threshold of the dairy door.

"You might do worse than follow Miss Kathleen's advice," cried Mrs. Duffy, seeing the ready tears in the little girl's eyes, and always prepared to take the part of the weak; "for she's a good girl, and always tries to do what her mamma tells her, and that's more than I can say for either of you. For if a bit of a spree turns up in your paths, it's little you think of who likes it or dislikes it either; and as I said before, I just think it more than likely we'll be having you home here before you've been half a week away."

"Bosh," cried Fred, leaping over the gravel walk and turning off towards the garden.

"Gammon," cried Harry, as he also left the dairy and followed in his brother's wake.

"That last idea is a trifle too rich, ain't it, now?" said Fred, as he linked his arm in that of his younger brother, in the shady shrubbery path leading to the front garden; "that a couple of big fellows like us are to be under the guidance of a little scrap-o'-my-thumb of a child like Katy. Why, I look on the very fact that we shall have no one over us to say, 'do this, or do that,' is the very cream of the whole joke; don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Father always looks so grave if a fellow does anything the least out of the common run, and mother is so—"

"Mother is awfully jolly, I think, and father too," replied faithful Harry, who, under all his madcap ways, had a loyal, loving heart.

"Well, I should rather think they were. I ain't the one to run down mother, I should think, or father either, for that matter; but I mean it will be an awfully jolly sensation to be entirely one's own master, and no one to pull a long face if one happens to do or say anything not exactly laid down by rule. You see what I mean, don't you, Harry?"

"Oh yes; of course, it will be grand sport and no mistake."

"I hope Kathleen won't really be poking her nose into all our doings," said Fred meditatively; "there are heaps of larks which are perfectly harmless in themselves which might throw her into fits of terror. I'm sorry mother ever put such a silly notion into her head."

"O Fred!"

"My dear fellow, don't 'oh' and 'ah' at every word I say. One would think I was running mother down, by the way you bounce up whenever I mention her name. But ain't it a silly notion, now, for a little meawy kitten like Kathleen to be set to watch over our actions?"

"I expect she will be so nervous when she gets there, she will have enough to do to look after herself," replied Harry evasively; and having reached the garden gate, their talk and walk ended in the ever entrancing operation of gooseberry-picking.

CHAPTER II.

THE JOURNEY TO THE HALL.

At length the day arrived for the journey of the children to Jubilee Hall. It had seemed as if it would never come, so ardently did they look forward to the visit; and now it was a picked day, so gloriously sunshiny and fine, and with just enough breeze to prevent the heat from being too oppressive.

The carriage, or rather the pony phaeton, stood already at the door, and the children, impatient of delay, listened to the last words and injunctions of their mother with somewhat less attention than was their wont; for though they were often disobedient and wild, and extraordinarily foolish, still they loved their mother with all their heart; and when she pointed out their faults to them, they made ardent resolutions of amendment, and determined to make their future conduct so good and faultless, that all past errors or mischief should be forgotten. But this morning their thoughts were busy with the pleasures of Jubilee Hall and its thousand and one enjoyments, so that their mother's words fell like hailstones on a glass roof, which touch the surface for a moment only to rebound and fall at a greater distance.

"Harry, love, you will be sure not to play any practical jokes while you are away."

"Oh, mother!"

"Well, you know what I mean; not jokes which are either unkind or mischievous: some jokes are quite innocent, while others do untold harm."

"Oh, of course, mother; but the carriage has been at the door such ages, and the horse is awfully fidgety."

"The horse is not half so fidgety as I am," replied their mother smiling, "sending such a set of wild creatures into a strange house full of company. But, Fred darling, you are the eldest of all, and therefore I am sure you will try to behave well;—and don't burst through any of Aunt Marian's rules so as to follow up your own fancy; promise me that."

"I'll burst through nothing, I promise you, mother, unless it's my clothes, and that I can't answer for, as Tracy has made all my garments an inch smaller than usual."

"And above all, Fred," said Mrs. Malcomson, lowering her voice so as only to be heard by her eldest son, "above all, Fred, you'll not touch anything or go any place where you are forbidden, nor take anything which is not strictly your own."

"Oh, mother, I never do so now."

"I know you have been much better lately, Fred, but still we have had trouble more than once on that point; and though in this house things may readily be forgiven and forgotten, in a strange house you might lose your character and all your promised pleasure by one act of this kind. Aunt Marian is ever so good-natured and generous, but she is very particular about truth and honesty and uprightness; so you'll remember all I have said, will you not, Fred?"

"I'll remember every word as right as a trivet, see if I won't. Good-bye, old mother;" and with these words human endurance came to an end, and Fred, throwing his arms around his mother's neck, rushed out into the hall, and from thence with one bound was seated in the phaeton outside.

Mrs. Malcomson hurried after her children to see that they were safely stowed away, and that the coachman had the reins; for Fred was not a particularly good whip, and Harry was too good a whip, for he generally whipped the horse up into a furious gallop: and as Mrs. Malcomson lifted Kathleen up into the hind seat of the phaeton beside Harry, she whispered, "You'll remember, darling, all I said, and remind the boys each night about their prayers."

"I will," nodded Kathleen, with rather tearful eyes; for now that the moment for parting had come, she did not like leaving her mother's side, to whom, when at home, she always clung like a shadow.

"You'll take great care of your sister, boys," cried she as the pony, raising himself high in the air on his hind legs, made a plunge forward, "and you'll not let her do anything foolish."

"Oh yes; we'll wallop her well if she does anything wrong, I'll promise you. Good-bye once again, and write us awful long budgets of home news," cried Fred.

"And tell old Mother Duffy to send us a stave to say particularly how she liked her last cup of tea," shouted Harry as the phaeton turned round the curve of the avenue and disappeared from sight.

Mrs. Malcomson also turned away with the good-bye smile still lingering about her lips, and re-entered the porch. But ere she had crossed the hall the smile had quite faded away from her face; for dim misgivings began already to fill her heart, lest, after all, instead of the pleasures so much anticipated by the boys, some trouble might arise, either from their thoughtlessness or impatience of restraint, which would make the visit end in disappointment and distress; and, above all, her heart misgave her about Fred, whose conscience was the most pliable of the three, and who sometimes, to gain a desired end, would turn aside from the obstacle of truth, and gain by crooked ways what he could never attain by straight.

But no misgivings of coming evil dimmed the brightness of the boys' pleasure. On the contrary, their spirits rose at every fresh turn of the road, which brought them nearer to their destination; and Brien, the coachman, had by no means an easy time of it trying to keep their hilarity within bounds.

Harry amused himself for some time in making the most appalling grimaces at the passers-by, until a very irate old gentleman on horseback rode up to the side of the phaeton and threatened to horsewhip him if he went on with such tricks. Kathleen was so frightened she burst out crying, which seemed to appease the old gentleman's wrath, for he rode on without making any further remark; and for some time Harry only confined his attentions to Brien, pushing his hat suddenly down on his eyes, or snatching it off and rattling his stick inside of it, which set the pony off at a furious pace, and terrified all the passers-by.

"I shall have a nice story to tell your mamma when I get home," said Brien grimly, as he re-adjusted his hat, and gave it one solemn sideways shake. "It's likely she'll be sending me back again to fetch you to-morrow when she hears the tricks you are up to."

"Pooh," replied Harry, "I'd like to see you tell her anything about it. Had you never a bit of a spree when you were young yourself, eh? But you're such an old land-crab, I don't suppose you ever were young: at the same time, I'm awfully fond of you, in fact I love you like my own child;" and Harry, stretching forward, threw his arms round the old man's neck and leaned his head in an attitude of mock affection on his shoulder.

"Now, Master Harry, keep off with you, and let me drive straight. You nearly made me run the pony against that wall; do be easy, that's a good lad."

"Then you won't tell mother about that old cross-cat on horseback?"

"Not a word of it, if you'll leave me in peace."

So with this and other equally judicious management, Brien managed to convoy his noisy troop along the road until they reached the little village of Drummond, where they were to rest the pony, and get some refreshment at the inn.

Here Fred and Harry were in their element; for, having no one to overlook them (Brien being busy with the pony), they both adjourned to the farmyard followed by Kathleen, who did not like remaining in the inn by herself, and who vainly tried to induce them to remain indoors; but the loud and furious gobble of a turkey-cock had caught the boys' ears, and they rushed in, eager for the fray, waving their canes, and gobbling aloud in imitation of the angry bird.

Kathleen, who, unfortunately, had on a little scarlet cloak, no sooner became aware of the turkey's presence than she dashed into a cowshed and cried loudly for help; but the boys were too excited to think of her, and they prodded the bird with their canes, and worried him so successfully, that at last they actually drove him straight into the shed where their sister had rushed for shelter. The turkey-cock, with every feather on end and his crimson neck inflated to the full, charged in his anger and fright at the red cloak and its owner. Poor Kathleen shrieked with terror, and having nothing but her parasol to defend herself with, beat with all her force at the bird, much oftener missing it and striking the hard paving-stones of the cowshed, until at last the stick of her new parasol snapped suddenly in two, and the pretty silk cover, with its glossy fringe, flew aside into a pool of dirty water on the ground. This was a real misfortune, and the boys, somewhat appalled by the consequences of their "lark," hunted the animal back into the yard, and tried to console Kathleen for the sad fate which had happened to her new and most precious belonging. But Kathleen's tears flowed fast; for not only was her mother's parting gift destroyed, but the front of her pretty new print dress was all spotted and streaked with the mud which, in lifting her parasol out of the dirt, had fallen upon it; and the anguish of having to make her appearance in such a plight was almost more than she, with all her sweet temper, could endure.

The landlady at the hotel was, however, exceedingly kind and forgiving; and although she scolded the boys heartily, and threatened to write to their father, still she brought Kathleen into the kitchen, and sponged her dress and took out the stains, and then she devoted herself to the unhappy parasol, which she cleaned wonderfully, and got her husband to splice and mend, so that Kathleen's tears were soon dried up, and by the time luncheon was over, she was as cheerful and pleasant as ever, and had quite forgiven the boys for their share in her trouble.

When they remounted and were all settled in the carriage, Fred made a desperate attempt to get possession of the reins; but Brien knew that he would be held responsible for the safe conduct of his charge and the safety of the phaeton, and he refused positively to give them out of his own hands. And though Fred first sulked and afterwards abused him roundly, it was all no use; and Brien, as well as Kathleen, who was growing almost sick with nervousness and apprehension, felt no small relief when they entered by a handsome turreted gate the long avenue of Jubilee Hall, and, a few minutes later, found themselves opposite the large iron-clamped door which guarded the entrance of the Hall.

CHAPTER III.

JUBILEE HALL.

Jubilee Hall stood on the summit of a not very high hill, which, however, commanded a splendid view of both sea and mountain. It was a large and handsome building, with a turret at each end; and as all the windows of the principal rooms faced the south, it was a peculiarly warm and sunny residence. It was not an old castle or hall, so it had not the small many-paned windows which generally deprive the inhabitants of light and warmth; on the contrary, the windows, which were remarkably large and handsome, opened down to the very ground, and, protected in the inside by light and unobtrusive bars, allowed those within to get the most uninterrupted view of the landscape outside, and admitted the most delicious scent from the flowers in the ornamental garden beneath.

Harry and Fred stood entranced at the view from their bedroom window, when, their luggage having been carried upstairs, and their first meeting with their aunt being over, they had had time to look about them a little. Their bedroom and their sister's opened off each other, which was a great comfort to Kathleen, who had felt very nervous at the thought of having to sleep alone at a distance from her brothers; but the rooms, with their pretty chintz curtains and bright wall-paper, looked so cozy and cheerful, it would have been difficult to feel either lonely or timorous, and the boys agreed that, splendid as they had thought the place would be, it was ten times more splendiferous and jolly than they had expected.

And as the day wore on, and they grew acquainted with all the other young guests at the Hall, and they had been introduced to the unlimited beds of strawberries and raspberries, and the actual acres of gooseberry-bushes in the garden, they could find no words even in their school vocabulary (which was extraordinarily large and ample enough) to express the fulness of their happiness. Aunt Marian was a stunner, the jolliest cove in England; she was Al; she was no end of a brick; while Kathleen gave her, perhaps, the greatest praise of all when she said she was nearly as nice as her own mamma. And when at last the first happy day came to an end, the boys rejoiced to think that the long mid-summer holidays lay stretched out before them, and that for seven long weeks this wonderful fairy-tale life of enjoyment was to last.

Aunt Marian, or Lady Brinsley, as she was known to the world in general, was the widow of a very wealthy officer and baronet, who had died many years ago when engaged on active service in India, and who had left four young children for his wife to look after and educate. This trust Lady Brinsley had carried out with the most zealous love and watchfulness, and her children well repaid all her care, for they were quite devoted to their mother, and made her wishes their law. It was only within the last two years they had come to live at Jubilee Hall, the family place, as Lady Brinsley, by her husband's dying wish, had taken the children abroad to receive a good foreign education, and also to give time for the Hall to be put into the most thorough state of repair and finish, for under its former owner it had fallen into a partial state of rum. So the whole place was now in the most perfect order and beauty; and it was Lady Brinsley's delight and pride to keep it in this state, and to make the house thoroughly sociable and comfortable.

"I say," cried Fred, after they had come into their own room at night, and were preparing for bed, "this is a regular palace of a house. Did you see all the wonderful places there are downstairs—cellars, and china-closets, and dairies, and store-rooms by the dozen?"

"No," replied Harry; "I don't even know whereabouts they are. How did you manage to come across them?"

"Simply by using my eyes and my legs and a trifle of brains into the bargain. I was cutting down one of the passages this afternoon when we were playing hide-and-seek, when I came across a funny little round staircase going down from outside Aunt Marian's boudoir right into the lower part of the house; so I just crept quietly down it, to see where it led to, and it was just like the Tower of London, with all sorts of dark rooms, and some extraordinary great iron doors, with huge bars across them, and three or four locks on each. And right under the last flight of steps, just where it stops going round and round in a circumbendibus sort of way, and finishes off like any other flight of steps, there is one of the jolliest store-rooms you ever saw. It runs right away under the stairs, and has a window looking out into the passage; and, my eyes! if you only saw the rows of shelves, and all the jolly things on them—boxes and boxes of preserved fruit, and actual pyramids of lump-sugar, and figs, and raisins, and crackers, and plum-cake, and a thousand other rare and delicious things. I'd give a good deal to have the run of the premises for an hour, and have leave to grub whatever I liked."

"So should I," joined in Harry. "You must show me to-morrow where it is. I'd like awfully to have a squint at it."

"All square; I'll show you the way. But it will make your mouth water, I can tell you; and all to no good, as the door is shut as tight as wax, and there is a wire fence inside of the window that a gnat couldn't squeeze through, so I would not have you try it on, old boy."

"My dear fellow, what humbug you are talking; as if I should want to squeeze into any such place. A nice cowardly trick it would be, when Aunt Marian's so awfully good to us, and gives us every jolly thing to eat or drink which we could possibly want to have."

"Well, and who said they wanted to get into it?"

"You did."

"No, I didn't."

"You said something very like it then."

"I said nothing within a hundred miles of it."

"Well, have it your own way."

"I'll have my own way, and no thanks to you, you may be sure of that." said Fred, his voice waxing louder as his anger grew. "A fellow can't say it's a fine day without your finding—"

Here the door between the two rooms opened, and Kathleen put in her little grave face, which looked very white and frightened. "Boys, what is the matter?"

"Nothing; go to bed."

"You are not quarrelling, are you?"

"Quarrelling, humbug; shut the door, and cut."

"Mamma told me to be sure and remind you both to say your prayers before you got into bed."

"Shut the door this instant, or I'll shy a book at your head!" shouted Fred, losing all command over his temper. So Kathleen shut the door, and after a little time, as all remained silent in her brothers' room, she closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER IV.

A BAD BEGINNING.

The next morning was just as bright and pleasant a one as its predecessor had been, and the boys, forgetful of last night's row, got up in very good humour both with themselves and everybody else. They chatted, and planned, and whistled, and threw bolsters at each other, and played off several innocent tricks on Kathleen, until it was nearly time for breakfast, when Fred, seeing a squirrel dart up a tree just beside the house, declared he would "go out and nabble the crittur" as sure as his name was Frederick; and as his toilet was just completed, he bolted out of the room in hot chase, forgetting to read his morning verses or to say his prayers, and leaving Harry to follow or not as he chose.

What Harry would have done—whether he would have followed his brother as soon as his boots were drawn on and his collar and tie neatly fastened in front, who can say; but, opening the door of Kathleen's room with exceeding gentleness and care, so as to be able to send a large hassock at her head, he saw her kneeling reverently beside her bed, her hands clasped and her head bent forward on the counterpane. Harry did not shy the hassock as he had intended, but instead, when he had closed the door softly, he knelt down and said his morning prayers; and when Kathleen entered the room all ready for breakfast, he asked her to read him out a chapter while he was finishing his dressing.

Just as the gong for breakfast was sounding, Fred burst into the bedroom, his coat all covered with the green powder off the bark of the trees, and a large rent across the knee of his trousers.

"I say," he cried breathlessly, "the little brute was nimbler than I thought, and gave me such a chivy as I haven't had this year—up one tree and down another, skipping and jumping like a good un. One time I crept up so dogeously, I had my hand almost on his bushy tail before he caught sight of me. I was certain of nabbing him, for the tree was broken off at the top, and there were no branches long enough for him to get beyond my reach, when all at once the little beggar saw me, and, instead of rushing out on the branch, as I thought he would, he made one bound on my shoulder, rushed down my back, and away out of sight before I could say Jack Robinson. But I say, Kathleen, out with your needle and thread, and sew up this tear I have got right across my knee. It's such a straight one, it won't be seen if you do it properly."

"But the gong has rung, Fred, and I shall be quite late for breakfast."

"Never mind; I shall be late too. You would not have one go downstairs like this, would you?"

"No; but could you not put on another pair?"

"Fiddlesticks! that would be too much bother. If I change one thing, I must change all, for they would not match; so be quick, and you'll set it right in no time."

Kathleen got out her needle and thread, and made the best speed she could; but before the rent was drawn together many minutes had elapsed, and when Kathleen, all covered with blushes, followed her brother into the large dining-hall, morning prayers were over, and all the guests were assembled around the breakfast-table, and Aunt Marian, though she said nothing, looked somewhat grave and put out.

Aunt Marian was a very punctual person herself, and she wished others to be the same, and above all she disliked people being late for prayers; besides which, she thought young persons ought from the very first to learn habits of order and regularity, and her own children were brought up in strict accordance with these ideas. But, nevertheless, she was exceedingly kind-hearted, and had a large measure of human pity; and as she noticed the distress only too visible on Kathleen's face when she entered the room—a distress which seemed to increase when she took her place at the table in the only vacant space immediately opposite the large bay-window—Aunt Marian called out to her in a very pleasant voice,—

"Kathleen, my dear, you will get sick if you sit with your back so close to that fire. Bring up your chair beside mine, and I will make room for you at the head of the table."

Oh, how Kathleen thanked her aunt in her heart; for now, in the process of changing her place at the table, the cruel blushes (which, in the full light of the large window, and in view of her friends opposite, were fast bringing hot tears into her eyes) would have time to go down, or, at least, to begin to go down; and now that her aunt had spoken kindly to her, the sense of disgrace was dispelled, and she could look her companions in the face.

When she took her place beside her aunt, she found already a nice hot cake and a roll of fresh butter deposited upon her plate added; to which, her aunt kissed her very affectionately as she said "Good morning," and bade her eat a good breakfast, as they had a busy day before them; but Kathleen, full of gratitude, did not know until long afterwards that Harry had been her champion on this trying occasion, and had taken the opportunity of the changing of places to come to her rescue and whisper across his next neighbour to his aunt,—"It is not Kathleen's fault that she is late. She was quite ready when the gong sounded, but she waited to mend Fred's clothes." And now that all the company were present, and every one seemed thoroughly happy and enjoying themselves, Aunt Marian only waited for the first pause in the clatter of plates and tongues to make a proposal as to how she thought the day might be spent so as to combine a great amount of amusement with a certain amount of usefulness.

"I am going to make a proposal to the company at large," she said pleasantly; "and let those who approve of my plan hold up their right hand."

"Hear, hear," cried several voices amongst the party, headed by Aunt Marian's own sons.

"I am going to have a grand brewing of jam this week, and I shall want strawberries and raspberries, and currants, black, white, and red, and gooseberries and cherries, gathered in large quantities for this purpose; and so I propose to make you all useful as well as ornamental, and ask you to work in my service, the payment to be deducted on the spot in the form of the fruit most liked, to be eaten on the premises—that is to say, during the process of gathering; but I also propose to give the one who shall have gathered the largest measure of fruit in proportion to the time a prize, which prize shall not be declared until the time of presentation, and that the winner of the said prize shall for the rest of the day be looked on as the head of the company, and select the games or pleasures on which the remainder of the day is to be spent. Now let all who approve of this plan hold up their right hands."

It is scarcely necessary to say that every right hand in the room was extended to its full length, and that cheers and hurrahs loud and long greeted this suggestion of Aunt Marian's; and after this, until the end of breakfast, the hilarity seemed involuntarily on the increase, until at length Aunt Marian deemed it wise to give the signal for rising, and all the company, starting to their feet, made a rush towards the nearest door like a flock of thirsty sheep thronging through a gate to the water.

In about half an hour from this time the whole party were standing ready dressed and watching in front of the house for Aunt Marian, who had promised to meet them at that place and furnish them each with the necessary receptacles for holding the gathered fruit; nor did she keep them long waiting, as she appeared a moment or two later followed by the housekeeper and a couple of footmen, all laden with tin cans of a uniform size and shape, and lined with fresh green cabbage leaves. These she proceeded to dispose of, giving one to each member of the picking force, and which measure was to be filled by them with the fruits named on a label attached to the handle of the can; only those to whom gooseberries were apportioned, and cherries, received cans of a larger size, as they would of course take far less time to pick; and so the whole matter was arranged with a strict view to justice and equity. Nor were those who gathered the fruit named on their labels bound to eat only of that kind. Both gardens, with all their contents, were free to their ingress and egress, and no one was bound to continue his or her labour longer than they liked: but then, whoever was the most steady and industrious was to reap a reward, the nature of which was not yet declared; but Aunt Marian was very generous, and her presents and prizes were always worth having, so the whole party started for the gardens in tip-top spirits, their tin cans glittering in the brilliant sunshine, and the ring of their joyous voices resounding through the morning air.

CHAPTER V.

BERRY-PICKING.

It would be tedious to recount who ate the most fruit on the occasion of Aunt Marian's grand garden-party, while it is our duty and pleasure to give the name of the one who gathered the most, and of the one who became also the happy possessor of Aunt Marian's prize.

All the morning it seemed doubtful who would be the winner, as all hands seemed to work with an almost equal zeal, and only those whose fingers were smaller, and whose skins were more susceptible to thorns, had less in their cans than the others; but as luncheon time drew near, and hunger began to assert itself, there was a visible diminution of work, and some of the cans even grew less full, as their owners found it more convenient and satisfactory to help themselves from the gathered fruit. It was about this time that Harry found himself close to Kathleen, having deserted his own class of fruit for a very promising bush of gooseberries, which bade fair to satisfy his hunger at a greater rate than any of the others.

"How have you got on, Katy?" he asked, with his mouth full of large amber gooseberries, while he knelt down under the tree the better to enjoy his meal. "Pooh, is that all?" craning his neck across the bush and looking into his sister's can; "I expect you have been devouring largely."

"You expect wrong, then," she answered rather hotly; "I have not tasted a single one. I made a promise to myself that I would not taste one until I had filled my can up to that mark, and I want ages of reaching it still;" and, as Kathleen spoke, she pointed to a line scratched round the middle of the can, so as to divide the inside into two equal portions.

"My eyes, do you mean to say you have not tasted any fruit at all, all this time?"

"Not one pick."

"And you have only gathered that little dab at the bottom of the can?"

"It is not a little dab; it's a whole lot."

"Well, all I can say is the others have gathered twice as much: you must have been star-gazing, or perhaps you went to sleep."

"I did nothing of the kind, but it's so awfully hard to gather raspberries: they all go squash the moment you take hold of them, and they look so awfully flat when you put them into the can; and besides, there are so few really ripe. I have gone round and round the bushes, and could scarcely find any."

"Because, you little donkey, you have chosen nearly the worst spot in the whole garden: if you will come with me I'll give you a share of my bushes, and they are the most golliferous ones in the place; not a soul has found them out but myself, and it's such a rare good plant my can is half full already."

"Where is your can?"

"It is hidden under a lot of cauliflowers; I only came here for a graze, and I'm going back at once."

"Are you sure there are enough for us both?"

"Millions and billions."

"Oh, delightful!" sighed poor Kathleen, whose little flushed face and scratched hands showed how hard she had worked. "It's awfully kind of you, Harry."

"Humbug; but sit down, I say, and have a grub with me at these ambers. They are the grandest chaps in all creation; not a bone in their bodies, and bursting with delicious juice. They are rare fellows, I can tell you, if you only tried them."

"No," said Kathleen, shaking her head; "I promised not to take any."

"Promised your fiddlesticks," cried Harry contemptuously, while he filled his mouth with five or six yellow monsters; "whom did you promise?"

"I promised myself."

"Ha, ha, ha! promised yourself," roared Harry; "why, you ought to know by this time, I should think, that you are nobody, and therefore if you promised nobody you are not bound to keep your word. Here, taste this one—it's a real beauty, a savoury morsel, I can tell you;" and Harry held up an amber through which the sun shone temptingly.

"No, thank you; I'd rather not."

"Well, have it your own way," cried Harry. "I made no promise to myself or any one else, so here goes;" and he transferred the gooseberry to his own mouth. "Do you know these are filling animals at the price; I've nearly had as much as I care for, and the wasps are all buzzing about me like mad."

"Then come on, that's a good boy, and show me where I am to go on gathering."

"All serene;" and Harry rose from his position underneath the bush, leaving a mound of empty skins to mark out to future comers the halting-place of a hungry spirit; and then, taking Kathleen's can in one hand, and thrusting the other through his sister's arm, he walked leisurely on towards the "rare good plant" he had told her of.

"We had better dodge a bit as we go past the walks," he whispered; "for if the other chaps scented our trail they would be down on us like winkin. Here, duck down beyond these bushes, and we shall be past the whole lot of them in a minute."

Kathleen ducked down as she was told, and following in her brother's footsteps, soon found herself in quite a grove of raspberry bushes, every one of which was covered with ripe red fruit, and on which even Harry's ravages had not as yet made themselves visible.

"Here we are now," he cried, "in a perfect paradise of rasps. Ain't I a knowing dog to have found out such a choice spot for work?"

"Indeed you are," said Kathleen gratefully. "I'm awfully obliged to you for showing it to me."

"Nonsense; you just go ahead now and pick away like fun, and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll just put a few of my rasps into your can, so as to give you a good start."

"Oh no, please don't;" but Harry was too excited to hear her refusal, and was already busy searching among the tall cauliflowers for his hidden can.

"Well, that's the rummest thing I ever saw!" he cried presently in great surprise. "I left my can under this very white-headed chap here, and it's gone now. I counted him down from the wall, and he was number six on the first left-hand row; and now it's nowhere to be found."

"Let me help you. I am sure it is somewhere," cried Kathleen, instantly deserting her can to come to her brother's help. "Are you certain it was under the cauliflowers you hid it?"

"Just as certain as that you are standing there. I marked this particular 'cauli' because I thought it looked the image of a white nigger's pate; and what's more, there is the mark of the can in the soft clay; look for yourself."

Kathleen, who was at the distance of some rows, came jumping over them quickly to see the confirmation of Harry's assertion; but as she leaped over the last row her foot struck against something hard, which gave a sharp metallic ring.

"That's it," cried Kathleen. "I'm certain that was your can I knocked against there. It was very well I did not upset it and all the fruit into the bargain."

It was Harry's can, and no mistake; he knew it by its label, on the back of which, to avoid mistakes, he had scratched his own name.

"Well, how on earth did the beggar get there?" said he meditatively. "I am as certain as ever I was of anything in my life that I did not put it there. Let's see," he added with a curious whistle, which expressed better than words the dawning of some new idea—"let's see if any one has been poaching on my preserves;" and he raised the two green leaves which covered the gathered fruit. "Ay, just so—just what I suspected; somebody has been prigging out of my can. It was up to this mark here when I left it"—and he pointed to a little cross which he had scratched with a stone—"and now it's down below zero. I do say it's a howling shame."

"Who could have done it?" asked Kathleen, with widely-opened eyes of horror.

"That's more than I can tell. There was not a soul saw me go up this path except Fred, who had found a splendid 'plant' for himself. Well, come along—life's too short for getting into passions; and, besides, I am too like the fat boy in Punch to be up for much fighting, for I do feel uncommonly as if my jacket were buttoned. Here"—he added, taking up the can and carrying it over to the raspberry bushes—"let me shy all I've got into your can, and I'll give up the chivy altogether."

"Indeed you must not; you've a splendid lot there. Go on, and it will soon be quite full."

"Not I; it's too much bother. Of course, whoever helped themselves out of my can will win the day; unless, indeed, you let me fill yours up with what remains of mine, and we'll outwit the dishonest old fellows with their own weapons. I'd like to see him, or her, whoever it was, well thrashed. Here, hold your can."

"No; I would much rather go on gathering for myself."

"Why?" asked Harry, holding his can already poised over his sister's.

"Oh! because it would be awfully unfair. We were each to fill our own,—Aunt Marian said so; and, besides, you'll lose the prize if you do."

"But suppose I want you to win it. I don't care a straw whether I get it or not, and I'd like you awfully to have it."

"I know you would, and it's tremendously good-natured of you, Harry; but, indeed, indeed, it would not be fair. I would much rather gather them all myself."

"Well, if you ain't the greatest stickler about trifles I ever met! However, I think myself you're pretty near right for all that. So do you pick away as hard you can, and I'll gather a few more; for I should not quite like Aunt Marian to think I was too greedy to care about her jam."

CHAPTER VI.

THE WINNER OF THE PRIZE.

Aunt Marian found it very difficult to decide who was to have the prize; for though many had brought home very sorry portions of fruit, others had clearly gathered with a right good-will, and two of the company had so well filled their cans, that not only was the fruit quite up to the rim but it was piled up in the centre as well, so as to make the vessel carry as much as possible.

Aunt Marian was reduced at last to weighing the cans, and thus testing to an ounce who had gathered the most; and in this manner the question was at once and definitely set at rest, for one can weighed a whole pound more than the others. And this can, having been held up for general inspection, was claimed by Fred, who was consequently proclaimed the winner of the prize, and the king of the afternoon revels.

All the company shouted and cheered, and loud huzzas sounded through the housekeeper's room, as Fred, blushing over head and ears, came forward at Aunt Marian's request.

"I had two prizes prepared," she said, in a pleasant voice, "in case any two cans had proved of the same exact weight, and my little friend Kathleen bade fair, I thought, until I weighed the two vessels, to have claimed the second one; but the difference of a whole pound in weight must, of course, be a decisive proof of victory. So, Master Frederick Malcomson, allow me to present to you, in the name of the illustrious jam-picking and preserving company, this bow, arrow, and quiver, made of the best wood, well seasoned, and with these padded guards for your arms and fingers. They have only just arrived from London; and the case in which you are to keep them is over there on the side-table in the window."

Again the shout rose loud and long, and again Fred blushed until the hot tears actually stood in his eyes; but so confused was he that he uttered no word of thanks, but simply took the gift out of his aunt's hand, and walked away towards the door.

"Before you go, Fred," said Aunt Marian, "I have a few more words to say." Fred turned back, and the blush having died out of his face, it now looked almost deadly white. "To-morrow I am going to give you all another chance of winning the second prize."

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" shouted a chorus of voices.

"The cook is going to make all the preserves this afternoon, or at least a great part of them, and to-morrow morning she will finish the remainder, so that after luncheon all will be ready for the various pots to be covered. In this I am again going to claim all your assistance; and whoever should have neatly covered the largest number of pots by the time the first gong sounds for dinner, shall have a prize fully as handsome as the one given to-day; and if there should be more than one winner, a prize of the same value shall be given to each."

Once more the vaulted roof of the housekeeper's room rang with acclamations; and Aunt Marian having added that of course no one need enter into the competition who did not like the occupation, left the room with her fingers tightly pressed over her ears, that she might not hear the deafening shouts of her grateful and admiring guests.

Having once taken possession of the housekeeper's room, the children proceeded to have all kinds of fun and jollification. They induced the good-natured old dame to give them raisins and figs, and nuts and almonds; they ducked for apples, and played blind-man's-buff, prisoners' base, family coach, &c., until the housekeeper's patience began to flag, when one of the party espying a bottle of spirits of wine in one of the multitudinous presses around the room, he proceeded to take it down, and having fetched some salt from the kitchen, he proposed to make a ghost. This suggestion was hailed with acclamation; so, pouring the spirits of wine over a large dish full of salt, he set fire to it, and having got possession of a long white table-cloth, and a carpet-twig, he enveloped himself in the cloth, and raising it to an immense height by the stick and the head of the twig, which was also secured within the cloth, he seized on the burning dish, the lurid fumes of which gave him the most supernatural appearance, and, followed by all the rest of the party on tip-toe, he suddenly burst open the door of the still-room, and with a loud yell displayed himself to the maid who was at work inside.

The trick was perhaps a trifle too successful, as the unfortunate girl went off into a violent fit of hysterics, and Aunt Marian had finally to be summoned; at which suggestion the whole party instantly dispersed, and, dropping the twig and cloth in their flight, hurried away to the garrets of the Hall, where a sort of gloomy and unfurnished room offered them a good space for expanding and exercising their hilarious spirits.

It was not till the gong sounded the half hour before dinner that the riots upstairs ended, and the noisy troop came clattering down, each turning off aside to their own rooms on the various corridors to dress and to make themselves tidy and neat for dinner; while Harry and Fred, quite out of breath, hurried to their room also, for they were nearly tired out with all the racing and chasing of the day, and they wanted to have ten minutes' rest before they began the arduous work of dressing. But Kathleen, whose toilet was more a work of art, and who found it difficult enough to put on all her clothes without the assistance she usually received at home, went straight to her own room, and began the tedious task of rearranging her hair, which had become sadly tossed in the romping and fun upstairs.

The door, however, between the two rooms stood slightly ajar; and presently Kathleen heard, to her dismay, the following colloquy taking place between the two brothers:—

"I say, Fred," cried Harry, who had evidently just approached the dressing-table to smooth his hair,—"I say, Fred, here's a note addressed to you pinned on the pin-cushion. What a rum idea! I wonder who it can be from?"

"A note for me!" cried Fred, springing up from the bed on which he had been lounging. "Why, who on earth could have written to me? It's some trick some of the fellows have been playing off on me. Here, chuck it across to me, Harry."

"I doubt its being a trick, for it's uncommonly like Aunt Marian's handwriting; ain't it? In fact, I'm sure it is; for I know her F's and M's as well as I know my own. What can she want to write to you for, Fred, when you are in the house and nothing to do but speak to you?"

"I am sure I don't know," replied Fred, who had now evidently got possession of the letter, for Kathleen could hear the crackling of the note-paper as he opened out its folds; and then there followed a prolonged silence, which was ultimately broken by Harry.

"Well, Fred, will you never have done reading that stuff? What is it about?"

"It's simply the greatest piece of humbug I ever heard of in my life," said Fred in a husky voice, which evidently betokened both vexation and dismay. "Because I put five or six stones at the bottom of my can, to keep the cabbage-leaves in their places, she says I have not fairly won the prize, and that Kathleen ought to have it instead of me."

At this Kathleen drew a sharp breath of surprise, and her lace flushed with the sudden distress of the moment, while she hesitated painfully whether to go in and disclaim any wish to rob Fred of his prize, or to risk the chance of Fred's anger at her appearance. Harry, however, broke in on her thoughts with another question.

"And why on earth did you not tell Aunt Marian the stones were in your can, Fred, when you knew she was going to weigh it? I think it was a trifle shabby, I must say."

"Who cares what you think? But it's just the image of you to come down on a fellow when he's in a fix."

"Why, what fix are you in?"

"Simply this, that Aunt Marian says if I put the stones in without thinking of the probability that the fruit might have to be weighed, she will allow me to keep the bow and arrow for myself; but that if I can't answer this question with a clear conscience—'clear conscience,'—rubbish! interpolated Fred angrily—"she would rather I put them back in the boudoir where she could find them, and that no more would be said to me on the subject; but that in any case she thinks Kathleen ought to get a prize, as, without the stones, her can weighed half a pound more than mine."

"Well, I must say that sounds as fair as fair can be," cried Harry, when his brother had ended his complaint. "Of course, if you didn't put the stones in on purpose, it's all right; and if you did, why, it was simply cheating, and you have no right whatever to the prize."

"I'd like to see how you make that out," cried Fred hotly.

"Why, just this way: When you put the stones in your can this morning, did it come into your head that the fruit might be weighed afterwards, or not?"

"That's a simply absurd question. How can I tell what came into my head? I might have thought a thousand things and never remembered them afterwards."

"But did you recollect, when you saw Aunt Marian taking the cans into the larder to be weighed, that you had put the stones into yours?"

"Well, suppose I did; what then?"

"Why, there is no more to be said about it If you did know the stones were in it, and yet made no remark, it was simply cheating and nothing else."

"Oh, what a wonderfully honest fellow you are, to be sure! You did not offer to put some of your own raspberries into Kathleen's can this morning, did you? because you did not care about the prize yourself, and you wanted her to have it. That would have been 'as fair as fair could be,' of course; but to help to fill mine with stones is cheating."

"I know I was wrong," cried Harry, speaking confusedly in his turn.

"Oh yes! of course you can say that now."

"I knew it then, and confessed it too, when Kathleen said she would not do it; and, what's more, unless you had been hiding somewhere you could never have heard what we said. I had a pretty sharp guess before now who it was helped himself out of my can of rasps, but now I know it."

"Oh, boys!" cried Kathleen, opening the door with tearful eyes, and flushed, anxious face. "The gong will sound in a moment, and you will not be dressed; and as to the prize—indeed—indeed, Fred, I don't want it, and I would much rather you had it."

"Don't say that to him; he ought to put it back," cried Harry hurriedly, dragging on his evening jacket; but before Fred could utter his indignant reply, the gong did sound, and there was no time for more words.

The three children all looked uncomfortable and nervous enough when they entered the dining-room; while heavy tears of wounded pride shone far back in Fred's eyes; but in the general clatter and bustle of the meal, their appearance attracted little attention.

Aunt Marian said nothing to Fred, but immediately after dinner she went out by the far door leading into her boudoir, and remained away some time. When she returned, she seemed, Kathleen thought, rather distressed and unhappy; but, with her usual good-nature, she immediately set about entertaining and amusing her guests, and, according to the morning's agreement, made Fred the director and promoter of all the fun.

Fred, however, was not in his customary spirits, and Harry was decidedly out of sorts, so the evening flagged a little, and the games had not their usual zest for the company. Thus all seemed equally glad when the revels were pronounced over for the night, and that the time for bed had come.

Kathleen, on whose eyelashes the tears had been hanging all the evening, slipped up nearly the first, and hid herself in the darkness of her own room, that she might cry out the trouble that was oppressing her. But when she did at length light her candle, and had set it down on the table, quite a sharp cry burst from her lips; for there, almost under her very fingers, lay a spacious parcel directed to herself, with "First Prize" printed on its cover in large letters.

Poor Kathleen! At another time her heart would have throbbed with ecstatic joy at the sight of the beautiful rosewood desk, completely and elaborately furnished with every sort of handsome writing materials; but as it was, she only closed the lid with a sob, and wished with all her heart that the day's trial had ended, as it had promised to do in the forenoon, in Fred's victory and triumph instead of his discomfiture and disgrace.