CHAPTER XVI

SYBIL RETURNS

She turned to make her way in the direction her cousin had taken, but Josy was beside her in a minute. “Gretta, you can’t; besides, didn’t Margot tell you to give a message to her mother, or something, when she comes? If she’s got to go, let her; but it won’t help anyone for you to break rules too.”

“But suppose they really do see that old man?” objected Gretta, still undecided as to which way duty was really calling. “They’ll be all alone.”

“Well, you couldn’t help,” insisted Josy unflatteringly. “Depend upon it, Margot’s all right, and it’s awfully likely that she’ll meet her mother on the way, I should think; you said she was coming in her car, didn’t you?”

“Yes, she is,” answered Gretta, greatly comforted by this suggestion. “And I should think they’re bound to meet. Well,” she half turned back as she spoke, “if I can’t be any good it’s no use going; she’s got Stella’s boy, of course, and he’ll be much more use than I could. Oh, I do hope they’ll meet auntie.”

“They’re sure to,” declared Josy confidently. “And then she’ll take Margot on in her car, I expect, and Jim’ll come back to wait for Stella. I don’t think we need tell Miss Read, do you?”

“Oh, that’s all very well,” announced Stella in a grumbling tone. “And suppose Jim doesn’t come back? What about me? For all I know dad’ll be furious with me for letting the pony have the extra journey, and I don’t see why I should be blamed. It’s not the first time I’ve got into trouble over Margot, and I’m going to ask Miss Read what to do; it’s only sensible.”

“Well, you may be ‘sensible’ about it,” remarked Josy witheringly, “but you’re being jolly selfish as well! If you don’t, perhaps Margot and Sybil will get back in about half an hour, and no one will ever know anything about it. But, if you do——”

But Stella had already departed on her errand, which was to prove a lengthy and fruitless one, for, when she returned, the match was nearly over, and the house-mistress had not been found.

“She may have been in the mistress’s room, of course,” she concluded, after an account of her adventures; “but we’re not allowed in there, so I didn’t——”

“And that Jim of yours has been searching for you all round the field like a lost puppy, while you’ve been gone,” replied Josy, still feeling rather stand-offish, as she would have expressed it, on account of Stella’s “tell-tale ways!” “He’s gone back now; he wanted to ask you——”

At that instant two figures were seen approaching the little group from the two different school entrances. One was Jim, returning breathless and excited—a very different youth in appearance from the sulky, sheepish yokel who had, after scouring the playground, returned to where the rector’s trap had originally stood. Stella started towards him at a run, just as Gretta turned to fly joyfully in the direction of the second new-comer, Mrs. Fleming herself, who had evidently singled out her niece in spite of the crowd, and was bearing down upon her.

“Why, here you are, Gretta!” she exclaimed. “And where are the other two?”

“Then you haven’t——?” Gretta began feverishly, then stopped, for Stella and Josy, followed by Jim, with eyes full of despair, joined the pair breathlessly, excitement lending wings to any feelings of shyness that might otherwise have attacked them in the presence of a stranger. “She’s gone!” cried the two. “Margot’s gone! She’s taken the trap, and——!”

“Margot gone! But where?” inquired that damsel’s mother anxiously.

The tale was not a long one, but so involved did it become through the efforts of the three girls to tell it at one and the same moment, while near by shouted and clapped a crowd of hockey enthusiasts, that Mrs. Fleming was little wiser at the end of the recital than at the beginning.

“Let me hear one thing!” she begged anxiously. “Whatever Margot and Sybil may be doing, are they safe? Gretta, tell me the story again, and all alone, please. Then I shall understand better.”

So to Gretta’s share fell the retelling of the story. She repeated it as carefully as she could. “And the trap’s gone, and Margot’s gone; and we are sure that Sybil went to the ‘Little House,’” she concluded. “Most likely because of the bravery prize, you know; and as the old man is mad, Stella says, and Sybil doesn’t know he is, she’s sure to be terrified. That’s why Margot went. We hoped you’d meet her, auntie, as you came.”

“Margot’s far too quick in making up her mind,” said Margot’s mother. “Gretta, come with me; we’ll go straight to Miss Slater’s room. I have been with her for nearly an hour, as we had something very important to talk over, and I must have arrived some little while before Margot started. Before deciding what is the best thing to be done, we must, of course, tell Miss Slater what has happened.”

Josy and Stella were left, therefore, to watch the finish of the eagerly anticipated match and to join in the shouts of victory that rose when, five seconds before the last whistle blew, Helen, the captain, made an unexpected and brilliant stroke, thus winning the match by a single goal for her side.

“Three—two! Ripping, isn’t it?” exclaimed Josy, but not so whole-heartedly as was her wont. “Oh, I do wish we knew where Margot was, and how she’s getting on!”

“And the pony, too!” amended Stella dolefully. “I never thought that anything like this could happen. I do hope dad won’t be too awfully cross!”

A summons from Miss Slater at this moment struck fear into her heart, but the interview was not to be a long one; things must be done, and done quickly, and the head mistress, with Mrs. Fleming’s aid, had arranged a plan of proceedings.

“Stella, Margot’s mother is going straight to that house on the cliff to find and bring back

both children; she has kindly offered to give you a lift, and will drop you at the rectory. I have sent Jim off on a bicycle, with a note to your father which will explain matters; he has probably reached the rectory by this time.”

“May I go, too?” inquired Gretta, her eyes turned appealingly towards Mrs. Fleming.

“No, Gretta, I think not,” answered the head mistress. “Stella’s father, when he reads my note, will probably want to join Mrs. Fleming and go with her; it will be more sensible and useful for you to stay where you are!”

It was no time to grumble, the child knew. She watched until the car turned the corner, and then made her way to the dining-hall, at Miss Slater’s suggestion, to find Josy. The latter, roaming round, was as restless as Gretta herself, and equally in need of some employment that would keep her thoughts busily engaged until the return of the wanderers.

“I couldn’t have believed that to-day would have turned out like this,” said Josy despondently. “We’ve not half watched the match, and now who knows what mayn’t be happening in that ‘Little House’?”

“Look here!” said Gretta, feeling certainly as miserable with anxiety as anyone could feel, and not daring to think the horrid thoughts that would come crowding into her mind. “Let’s go back to the field and watch for auntie’s car; it won’t come for ages yet, of course, but it’ll be something to do.”

Accordingly, while the fun of the hockey-tea waxed fast and furious, the two children paced the playground exchanging comforting remarks concerning the subject most near to their hearts, and listening anxiously for any sound that might herald the return of Mrs. Fleming.

“There!” said Josy suddenly, for about the tenth time. “What’s that?”

“Why!” answered Gretta, half-amused. “That! Why, it’s only the click of the school gate! It’s an errand boy with parcels, I think. I can see him, but it’s getting so dark that I can hardly tell. We’d better be going in, I think, Josy; we could watch from one of the windows.”

The figure by the gate crouched down as the girls drew near on their way to the cloak-room; it seemed to try to hide itself in the shadows.

“Hallo!” said Josy, “rather a weird errand boy, isn’t it? I believe he’s ill or something!”

The pair stood at the bottom of the steps and looked inquiringly at the crouching figure; then—“Sybil!” exclaimed Gretta and Josy in the same breath. “Why, however did you get back!”

CHAPTER XVII

THE “LITTLE HOUSE”

“Well, perhaps so,” replied Stella sagely. “But nothing on earth would have sent me there, and I don’t think Margot would have wanted to go so much if she’d stopped to think for a minute.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Margot’s mother quietly; “though I certainly think that she should have tried to speak to one of the mistresses first. But that would have brought Sybil into trouble, I expect she thought—so it was rather a difficult position.”

“Well, if she thinks she’s going to win the Hope-Scott prize for going, I guess she’s mistaken. I just got a scolding from dad for going into the gipsy’s tent for the baby,” declared Stella, “and I don’t believe Miss Slater would let the prize go to a person who’s broken rules like this, however brave they were!”

Mrs. Fleming smiled, beginning to see some reason for Stella’s rather resentful speeches. “I’m quite sure she did not start off for that reason,” she remarked. “Also, I believe, as you do, that the prize is not at all likely to be gained for this particular piece of daring. Margot would be the first to agree with me, I think; don’t you?”

“Well, perhaps so,” admitted Stella, a little grudgingly. “You see, we all want to win it, and as we never seem to have any chances to be brave unless we break the rules, I don’t know what we can do. We talk about it in the dormitory for hours, but no one yet has thought of anything—except the gipsy baby; and that only ended in quarantine for me. I suppose Margot’s told you about that? I have less chance than the others to do anything, because I go home for the week-ends!”

“But mightn’t there be an opportunity at home, perhaps?” suggested Mrs. Fleming.

“Ah!” and Stella shook her flaxen head in a superior way. “But then who’d know about it at school, you see? Unless I told, of course, and that would be rather sneakish, and so it wouldn’t count.”

Mrs. Fleming’s breath was quite taken away by this peculiar view, and she deemed it wise to change the subject. “Tell me about this ‘Little House,’” she said. “The children have mentioned it in their letters, but I expect you know more about it than they do, as you live nearby.”

“Well, it’s like this,” began Stella, delighted to have an audience. “That house was empty till five years ago; it was a biggish kind of cottage, and had been built on the cliff ages ago by an artist, father says. And then suddenly this old man came—I don’t remember it, but mother does. He boarded up all the windows that look this way, though I believe he has one or two left that look over the sea; and he shut himself in!”

“Well, you’d think anyone might do that,” said Mrs. Fleming, “if they wanted to be alone.”

“Yes; but he’s quite different; he’s very old, and he wears a coat like a manservant—with tails, you know; and he only comes out at night, and he never opens his door to anyone; he writes down on a scrap of paper just how much bread and milk and things he wants, and he hardly eats anything; and once——”

“Well?” inquired Mrs. Fleming.

“Well, once he wrote down his orders, they say, on a piece of paper that had a ‘coronet’ on it; did you ever hear of such a thing? And the boy that brought his milk showed it to someone and asked what it meant; and then after that—I don’t know when it was—all the village children used to stand and shout outside his house, and call him ‘My Lord!’ And one day he came out with a stick and chased them away, and called out that he would throw them over the cliff.”

“Serve them right, rude little things!” said Mrs. Fleming decidedly.

“Yes. Father stopped them when he heard of it; but the boys still will call after him, and he turns and waves his stick at them, and they do it all the more. Father says he thinks he’s queer in the head, and, of course, all the villagers say that he’s mad; but I think he’s a miser!”

“Why?” asked her companion with some amazement.

“Oh, because he keeps himself shut up like that; he must have something hidden, I’m sure. Why, he doesn’t answer father when he knocks! But, of course, after that time I met him last week, perhaps he will now.”

“What was that?” inquired her listener.

“Oh, didn’t Margot tell you? She was quite upset about it. Almost as bad as she was over the gipsy baby—she wanted to go and do something for him!” And Stella poured forth her tale of the encounter with the old man, ending with the remark, “and he said something about a ‘confession’ that he had to make!”

“Margot is very tender-hearted,” said Mrs. Fleming, “and has never been able to stand seeing anyone suffer. But yours is a very strange story, Stella.” She sat back, plainly interested, till her meditations were broken in upon once more by her companion.

“Oh, how quickly we’ve come! The rectory’s only round the next corner, and here’s Jim with his bicycle.”

The car drew up to enable Stella to alight, and that Mrs. Fleming might receive a note which the rector’s boy was waiting to deliver. It proved to be from Stella’s mother, who had read Miss Slater’s communication, and who wrote to say that the rector was out in the parish, where, she did not know, and that under the circumstances she had thought it the speediest plan to write to Mrs. Fleming to this effect. “If he comes in shortly I will dispatch him after you with all haste,” she wrote; “and I much hope that your anxieties will soon be set at rest.”

There was nothing to do, therefore, but to turn the car in the direction of the “Little House,” following the parting advice of Stella as to its whereabouts.

“Only about half a mile; straight along the road; and then you’ll see it quite plainly. It’s quite easy to find, even in the dusk, and thank you awfully for driving me down!” Stella waved her hand, and disappeared through the rectory gate as the motor took to the road again. Mrs. Fleming could hardly restrain her anxious feelings, and was really thankful when the car drew up and the chauffeur pointed out the outline of a small house standing on the moor by the cliff, and not far away.

“That will be the little place, ma’am; shall I be needed to come with you?”

“No, thank you, Pratt; stay with the car. If I want you I will use this whistle of mine,” and Mrs. Fleming touched a small silver dog-whistle that she wore. “Don’t move from here, and if the rector should come this way tell him I have gone in. I can’t say how long I may be.”

“Very good, ma’am.” Pratt, who knew enough of the affair to realize that there was a possibility of excitement ahead, watched his mistress eagerly as through the dusky twilight she made her way to the little house. He could discern her figure still as she stood outside and knocked; then he saw the door burst suddenly open; there were exclamations, and she disappeared within!

It was Margot herself who had responded to her mother’s knock; Margot, with a face of frightened excitement, who burst out crying as she flung herself into Mrs. Fleming’s arms.

“Oh, mother! I did so hope you’d come!”

This from the self-reliant Margot! Mrs. Fleming could hardly believe her ears. “My darling,” she exclaimed; “there’s nothing to be afraid of now. Where’s Sybil? I’ve come to take you home.”

For answer, Margot, her eyes still full of tears, turned half indignantly to her mother. “I’m not frightened,” she said; “and Sybil’s not here; I expect she’s all right. Only, mother—that poor old man!”

“Well?” asked her mother, much more concerned for the moment, it must be admitted, at the excited state in which she had found the usually self-contained little daughter than at the possibility of some disaster to Stella’s “miser”; “where is he, Margot?”

“He’s in there,” Margot managed to ejaculate, as she pointed to a door leading towards what was evidently an adjoining room. “And they’ve sent me out because he’s so ill; and I can’t do anything, they say; but I know I could!”

“But who’s ‘they’?” asked her bewildered parent.

“Long Jake’s there!—oh, mother, did you know he was coming?—and the rector’s there, too; he was here when we came; and I believe the old man’s going to die!”

Here was a very different kettle of fish from that which Mrs. Fleming had expected to find! Meanwhile, also, she thought, where was Sybil? But she decided that the first thing to do under the circumstances was to help to restore Margot’s self-control.

“Well, Long Jake has turned up in the nick of time, has he?” she said. “I knew he wanted to surprise you by coming down for your match this afternoon; but I thought his business had prevented. He’s been in London a week, you know. Now, Margot, this isn’t like you. Be sensible; you and I both know that we can leave Long Jake to do the very best thing in any kind of difficulty. Is there a chair where I can sit down? This place is so dark. Now tell me all about it, from the beginning, and presently I’ll go in.”

CHAPTER XVIII

MARGOT’S STORY

“We went to the ‘Little House’ and knocked, and I could plainly hear voices inside. Of course, I thought it was Sybil. Yes, we’d left the rector’s pony tethered up. Wasn’t it awful about his knees—I told you, didn’t I? Then, after Long Jake had knocked again most awfully loud, the door was opened, and there stood the rector!”

“But how?” interrupted Gretta. “I thought Stella said he was away.”

“For a week he was; but he’d come back that afternoon; and when the curate told him about the old man, and how he’d spoken to Stella on the moor that day, you know, and how he’d said something about a ‘confession,’ he just came off straight to see him on his way to the parish-room, where he had some business or other.”

“Well?” inquired her hearers, each taking advantage of the moment in which Margot paused for breath to pop a dainty into her receptive mouth.

“Well, he looked surprised enough to see us, and seemed to think we were lost tourists or something, and had come to ask our way, and he tried to hustle us off; but Long Jake soon told him, and when he heard my name and knew I’d come from the school, he seemed to understand all right, because Stella had been talking about us all at home, you see.”

“And what did he say?” inquired Josy. “Here, Margot, you’ll be hoarse with talking; eat a Brazil nut—they’re nearly gone!”

“I couldn’t—really!” said Margot, taking one nevertheless. “I feel as though I should never eat again after to-day; it’s been so exciting. Well, he just said that Sybil wasn’t there, but that there was someone very ill in the house, and that he supposed Long Jake didn’t happen to be a doctor.”

“And was he one?” inquired Josy; for in the minds of all those in Dormitory 3 the hero had become an Admirable Crichton at least.

“Well, he isn’t one, of course,” said Margot; “but he said he’d had a good deal of experience—so he had, in the Bush, you know; oh, you should have seen him when——! Oh, but I can’t tell you that now; it’s too long. So the rector and he went into a little room, and I sat and waited, and it was growing dark; and then I heard sounds like someone very ill. Oh——!”

Margot’s eyes filled with tears at the remembrance; she bit violently into a sausage-roll to hide the state of her feelings, and waited a moment before resuming her story.

“Oh, do go on,” begged Josy. “I mean, if you possibly can. Leave out that part, and have some ginger-beer first; it’s most awfully reviving.”

“I’m all right,” said Margot. “Then—well, then——! After what seemed like ages, and ages—then mother came!”

“Oh, weren’t you glad to see her?” inquired Gretta, to whom Auntie Tib was the beau-ideal of every virtue. “Didn’t it make all the difference?”

“I should just think so; she always puts things right; and when I’d told her, we just built up a fire, and then she went into the room.”

“Did she leave you alone for long?” burst in the listeners.

“No, she didn’t—not that time. She was dreadfully anxious about Sybil still; and I—it just shows how stupid I am!—I got such a fright about the poor old man being so ill, and all that, that I’d forgotten all about her.”

“Well?” asked the others.

“Well, the next time mother came to me the rector was with her, and they arranged that he was to bring me back to school in the car and see Miss Slater, and ask if Sybil had returned; and then fetch the doctor on his way back again. Then mother and Long Jake were left with the old man, you see.”

“But why leave Long Jake?” inquired Josy. “You’d think he’d have brought you, and then we might have seen him!”

“Well, I wondered about that,” replied Margot, “and I asked the rector. I hadn’t time to ask mother; she was busy cooking something for the old man when we came away. But the rector said the most queer thing. He said, when I asked him: ‘Under the circumstances Long Jake, as you call him, is the right one to hear the old man’s confession!’”

“What on earth did he mean?” burst in Josy; here was another rôle for the dormitory hero. “He’s not a clergyman as well, is he?”

“No, of course not; and I said, ‘Why?’ to the rector; and he said, ‘I can plainly see the hand of Providence in the fact of the arrival of Mr. Courtney at that moment!’”

“Mr. Courtney?” inquired Josy. “Oh, yes, that’s his right name, isn’t it? But I don’t understand.”

“Nor did I, and then the rector said the old man had recognized Long Jake as soon as he went into the room, and had said that he had been praying to live long enough to make his confession before he died. Then the car reached the school, and the rector was in such a hurry to get news of Sybil for mother, and to fly back for the doctor, and all that, that I didn’t hear another word. Oh, Josy, after all I will have something if there’s anything left! I’d like a meringue best!”

“Here, I’ve kept you a beautiful unsquashed one,” announced Gretta. “Margot, what a frightfully interesting time you’ve had! But isn’t it awfully mysterious about Long Jake? His knowing the old man, I mean. And do you think he’ll really die?”

“I’m simply wondering with all my might,” declared Margot, “about how Long Jake knows him. I can’t understand it; but I feel somehow better about our old man, because he’s got mother.” Then, with her mouth very full indeed, “Now, I do wish you’d both tell me all about how Sybil came back.”

“Little beggar!” Josy shook her fist in the direction of the opposite dormitory, from which no sounds came. “She arrived in at the school gate with her arms full of parcels; and Gretta and I saw her. She’d gone to that awful tiny cottage-shop place about two miles away—you know the place; we passed it last Saturday, and I suppose Sybil saw it then. I shouldn’t have thought it sold anything, but, anyhow, she managed to spend I don’t know how much on the most awful coloured sweets and things; just because she’d made up her mind, with the help of Adela, that they’d have a feast, too—nurse or no nurse! I can tell you she reckoned wrongly, though; she’d seen Stella, but she’d gone on all the same, and bought her things, and turned up as cheeky as a sparrow!”

“But she was most frightfully tired when she got back,” broke in Gretta; “and we didn’t know what to do, because we didn’t want her to get into a row, and we knew we’d simply have to tell.”

“What happened then?” asked Margot in great interest.

“Oh, Miss Read came out of the school-door to see if the brake had come for the Redford girls, just as we were standing staring at Sybil as though she was a kind of ghost.”

“She took in the whole thing in a minute, and we didn’t have to say a word. She didn’t say much either; she just marched her off, parcels and all, straight to Miss Slater’s room!” Thus Josy, with, it is feared, a certain amount of relish for the story she was telling.

“Oh, I do hope she wasn’t punished,” broke in Margot. “I can’t help feeling, you know——”

“Well, we haven’t seen her since, anyway,” continued Josy; “but there’s no sign of a feast in that dormer! Gretta’s sorry for her, but I can’t say that I am; I think she deserves it!”

“I went to Miss Read,” said Gretta, interrupting at this point, “and I told her that I didn’t think Sybil understood rules yet, properly; and that I thought, perhaps, I hadn’t looked after her enough; for I do think that, you know, Margot. I’ve thought so much of music and things——”

“Well, and what did she say?” inquired Margot, feeling very compassionate towards her younger cousin.

“Well, she said perhaps I hadn’t; but that all the same she had caused a great deal of trouble, and that Miss Slater had spoken to her, and that she had been sent to bed in the infirmary for punishment.”

“Poor Sybil!” said Margot. “For, you know, I can’t help feeling that if she hadn’t gone off like that I should never have gone to the ‘Little House,’ and then Long Jake would never have seen our old man.”

“But what I want to know is how they knew each other!” remarked Josy. “The whole thing’s so mysterious!”

“I’m going to try and think it all out before I go to sleep,” said Margot with a very large yawn.

There was silence for a long time after that; even on dormitory feast-nights sleep must come sooner or later, and the day had been an exciting one, and consequently very tiring.

“Good night,” said Josy, shaking crumbs from her counterpane; “I don’t feel somehow as though I’d eat much breakfast to-morrow, but one never knows! I say, Margot, what happened to that pony?”

“Oh, the rector was awfully nice about him, and he said he’d send Jim round after him as soon as he got home,” answered Margot; “he’d had an accident like that before, he said.”

There was silence again, and Gretta was almost asleep, following the example of Josy, whose snores could be distinctly heard, when Margot’s voice roused her from her last waking thoughts. “I say, Gretta!”

“Yes,” replied her cousin sleepily.

“Mother told me to tell you, only I forgot because there’s been so much to think about, that she has something important to say to you. She meant to tell you to-day.”

“Oh, yes,” said Gretta sleepily; “it was in that letter——”

“Yes, but she said, too, that she might come over to-morrow; and, if so, she’d have a talk with you. I don’t know what it is, but I believe Miss Slater knows; and mother, if she comes, will be able to tell us about our old man and Long Jake.”

The silence that fell again upon Dormitory 3 was not broken until seven o’clock the next morning. It is likely that Gretta would not have slept so soundly had she known what her aunt’s news was to be.

CHAPTER XIX

NEWS FOR GRETTA

“Forget it! Who could forget it?” grumbled Josy. “It’s on the tips of my fingers to do something brave every day of my life, and I’ve never done anything yet.” She scrambled out of bed as she spoke, and, in the intervals of dressing, continued her remarks: “I’ve a jolly good mind to get Stella to pretend to drown next time we’re in the baths. Her pigtail’s long enough to rescue her by, and then——!”

“Josy, you’re simply frightful!” laughed Gretta. “You’d never get it for that! Margot might, now, for yesterday; do you think she could?” She gazed admiringly at her cousin, who stood in her petticoats, transfixed with amazement at the suggestion.

“Me! I like that! It’s plain you never heard what Miss Slater said to me last night when I got back. She made me feel jolly small, I can tell you—about going off like that.” Margot brushed her hair vigorously, looking rather shamefaced.

“Then there’s only Gretta left of our dormer to get it,” said Josy sadly; “and, somehow, you know, Gretta, you’re not the sort. You’re so frightfully quiet, and ‘Ne evill thing she feard’; no, that isn’t like you. Not that you’re not awfully clever at music, and all that; but—as far as bravery goes——! Well, you don’t mind, do you?” and the tactless speaker turned an inquiring face. “I was only thinking it out.”

“You’d better shut up with your ‘thinking out!’” burst in Margot angrily. “If Gretta’s not frightfully good at games and things like that, you should just hear what mother thinks about her fiddle! And it’s not only mother.’”

“Do be quiet, Margot,” begged Gretta. “I know what Josy means; I’m not the sort to be brave about things. The shield’ll go to Helen, or someone like that. And, as far as this dormer goes, there’s Stella, you know.” The clanging of the first breakfast-bell terrified them all into silence, and it was not until the dining-hall was reached that the three friends had time to speak to each other again.

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Margot, then, pouncing upon a fat letter that lay on her plate. “Look here, Gretta!”

“Is it from auntie?” inquired her cousin. “Oh, if so, do keep it till afterwards and read it in the playground.”

As it was Sunday, and free time, therefore, being less limited than usual, Margot agreed, and half an hour later the couple were to be seen, arm-in-arm, pacing the hockey field, the letter held aloft in Margot’s disengaged hand.

“Oh, if only she tells me about what happened in the ‘Little House’ yesterday!” she began.

“Read it yourself first,” suggested Gretta, “in case there’s anything private.”

“Pooh!” laughed Margot, acting on her cousin’s suggestion nevertheless, until, after reading for a page or two, she gave a great gasp. “Oh, I—say!”

“Whatever is it?” begged her companion.

“Well, read it; that’s all I can say!”

Together the pigtailed heads bent over the open page; stock-still as statues stood the pair as they took in the exciting contents of Mrs. Fleming’s missive.

“Darling Margot,” wrote her mother, “I have just got back to York, and want to send a line so that you may get it to-morrow, for I know you will be anxious to hear of the poor old man in your ‘Little House.’ I was with him until the doctor came, and then left Long Jake there; he will stay as long as he is needed, but the old man is very ill, and will not want him long.

“I could not explain to you yesterday all that there was to know, but now I have asked Long Jake, and he is willing for you to understand. You remember that, when he came out to us in the Bush years ago, he was in trouble? That, I think, was all you knew at the time. The fact was that he had been charged during his college days with forging the name of his uncle—who was the Earl of Carflick—on a cheque, and he had been convicted of this and consequently punished. I need not tell you that the conviction was a mistake; all the while—though he told no one—he knew that the forgery had been committed by an old servant in his uncle’s house—a butler who had been in the family for many years, and of whom, since boyhood, our Long Jake had been very fond. We both knew him well enough to be sure that he would suffer punishment of any kind rather than throw light on the wrong-doing of another, and he went to prison for that reason. When he was free again his uncle was dead, the old servant had disappeared, and Long Jake came out to Australia to ‘make a man of himself’ again, as he used to say. He stayed out there until he had put together a sum of money; then, with this in his possession, he came back to England last week to look for the old butler, whom he had always felt sure would never have committed this crime had he not been in great difficulties. He meant to help him look life in the face again.

“Then, darling Margot, comes the strange and wonderful part of the story; it was in the ‘Little House’ that he found the old servant; he was ill and dying, but he was longing to make a confession before he died, and to declare that it was he who had been guilty of the forgery. It seems almost impossible to believe, but it is true, that, just as he was beginning to tell the rector all this—just at that moment you and Long Jake knocked at the door.

“Since then Jake has not left the old man. You need not be unhappy, Margot, for he is quite peaceful and at rest now, and he will not be left alone again until the end. I think you may tell this to Gretta and Josy, as you have all been so much interested in the ‘Little House.’ Stella will, no doubt, hear something of it from her father, and as Long Jake will be returning to Australia again almost at once—for he has nothing now to keep him here—there is no reason for his sake why the story should be kept secret. This is a long letter; I must arrange very soon to see Gretta, and will write to Miss Slater about this. We have given up the car, so I may come over by train.”

It was at this point that both heads were raised simultaneously. Both the girls’ eyes looked remarkably moist. “Oh, Margot!” burst in Gretta almost impetuously. “What an awfully brave man that Long Jake is! Fancy bearing all that!”

“And our poor old man!” said her cousin. “Oh, I’m so glad he’s happy now. It’s the most wonderful story I ever heard. But I’m not surprised at anything brave Long Jake would do!”

The letter, being re-read to Josy in the dormitory before church, provoked louder if not more heart-felt adulation. “Whether that Long Jake of yours is at school or whether he isn’t, he ought to have the shield,” announced that damsel. “Why, the motto simply fits him exactly; he’s the most utterly downright ripping man I ever heard of in my life!”

“It’s funny to think that if it hadn’t been for Sybil——” began Gretta.

“Talking about Sybil,” interrupted Margot vehemently, “there’s one thing I’ve made up my mind to. I’m going to see that she has a decenter time. She can’t like chattering to Adela all day. Josy, let’s take her in hand; we’ll make her keen on hockey. We could easily do it; she’s as good and better at it than any of her dormer, and she’s only six months younger than me. I believe she’d be as keen as mustard in no time.”

“It’s the very thing!” Gretta was beginning, her eyes sparkling, just as nurse appeared at the dormitory door, looking remarkably brisk and business-like. “Gretta,” she announced, “you’re to go to Miss Slater’s study. No, don’t wait a moment. Go down at once!”

But it was Mrs. Fleming’s voice that called “Come in,” in answer to the girl’s timid knock, and Auntie Tib herself rose from a comfortable chair to greet her.

“Oh, auntie! How lovely! And on Sunday, too. Margot, though—shan’t I go and tell her that you’re here?”

“No, dear; it’s you I’ve come to see this time, and for two reasons. Miss Slater has kindly given me the use of her room. You got my message, didn’t you, in Margot’s letter?”

“Oh, yes.” Something in her aunt’s manner caused Gretta to feel uneasy. “What is it, auntie?” she ventured. “It’s nothing that I’ve done, is it?”

“Darling, no. But it’s rather difficult to tell.” Mrs. Fleming cleared her throat, while Gretta waited in suspense; then came the deluge!

“Gretta, I’ve something to tell you. You know how delighted I was when your father allowed us the great pleasure of sending you and Sybil to school with Margot?”

“Yes?” Gretta’s tone sounded as bewildered as she felt.

“Well, dear, to cut a long story short, things have happened that we in no way expected. Uncle Bob is not the rich man that he was. I needn’t trouble you with details, child, but we are just now in rather a difficult position.”

Gretta gazed up without speaking, only half understanding the importance of her aunt’s words.

“It’s like this, darling. Uncle Bob and I are going back to Australia by the next boat; we start early in the week. We mean to leave Margot here, for we can afford that; also, Uncle Bob says that he wants either you or Sybil to stay, but to keep you both here after the end of this term is not possible. I went to see your father on Friday, and yesterday—before there was the sudden excitement of Sybil’s absence—I spoke to Miss Slater.”

“Then——?” It seemed to Gretta as though in one moment all her castles of happiness were tottering; school-life in future was to be either for her or for Sybil; school-life to which she had so much looked forward, and which had surpassed her wildest dreams; which had brought her the longed-for music lessons, and the friends that had meant so much to her. She gazed at her aunt in a bewildered, terrified way. “Oh, auntie!” she said in a whisper. “Which of us is it to be?”

“Gretta,” said Mrs. Fleming. “Look at me. Does it mean so very much to you?”

A flood of ideas seemed literally to rush into Gretta’s mind; she thought of home as it had been, dull and lonely; she thought of school as it was; could she bear to leave it after such a short, short taste of all the joys it held? She turned her eyes appealingly towards her aunt, and tried to speak.

“Gretta,” said Mrs. Fleming again. “If I could have managed it, both of you should have stayed; but it must be only one.”

And then, quite suddenly, Gretta realized that, as a Cliff School girl, she must play the game. Sybil must stay, of course; there was no other way; her choice was made. She held her head as straight as she could, and gave a crooked, but courageous, little smile. “It just has to be me,” she said. “And perhaps I’ll get music lessons again some day, and, anyhow, I know enough to practise better. Auntie, you’ve been most awfully kind, and you must have had a frightful time yourself!”

“Well, the worst’s over now,” said Mrs. Fleming bravely. “I dreaded telling you, dear, more than anything. We’ve given up the car. I hoped by telling Margot that in my letter, that the way might be paved to letting her know the rest.”

“Poor Margot!” said Gretta.

“Not ‘poor Margot’ at all,” said that girl’s mother cheerfully. “Her schooling’s assured, and it will do us all good to put our shoulders to the wheel again. It’s you, dear.”

“But I’ve the rest of the term, you know.” Gretta, until she had voiced the words, hardly realized herself how she was clinging to the comfort of those last few weeks.

“But”—her aunt’s voice was stranger than ever, and the girl looked up apprehensively—“I said, didn’t I, that I had two things to tell you, dear? I did not know the second until this morning, and then, at breakfast-time, I had a letter from your father’s partner. He is ill—your father, I mean—and Ann is not proving very competent. A nurse would be a greater luxury than we can afford just now, as things have turned out. Besides, there is not real need for one, and Miss Slater has agreed with me that, as he must have someone just now, and as Uncle Bob and I can be of no use—for we sail on Tuesday—it will be well for you to go home for a time.”

Very deep in Gretta’s nature was rooted her love for her father; she forgot her woes entirely now in this new complication. “Auntie, how ill is he?” she broke out passionately. “He’s not dying?”

“Darling, no. A very deeply seated chill; he must be kept in bed and looked after. Dr. Moore says you have more than once nursed him well through a similar attack, and he misses you. Nurse is packing your box; of course, you may be back again for a week or two but——”

“Oh, auntie, when can we start?”

“I’m going to take you now, dear. Not because there’s the least danger, but because it’s the last chance I have, before sailing, to see him again; and Miss Slater suggested that you should come, too. We don’t want to leave him an hour longer than we need to the care of Ann; and there is a train in less than an hour’s time.”

It was not in this way that Gretta had expected to leave the Cliff. No good-byes could be said, as by this time all the girls were at church, and, after a hurried rush and scramble, she found herself seated in the fly, opposite to Mrs. Fleming, with her little box by her side, waving her hand bravely to Miss Slater, who herself stood at the school entrance to see the travellers off.

“I wonder if I’ll ever be back,” she thought to herself, but she did not say it aloud. Auntie must not know how much she minded; and, in the rush at the station, the quick journey, with its hurried change at York, and the jolting drive at the other end, she lost sight for a time of the dreadful change that was coming, and thought only of her father. If the doctor’s house looked dingy as the travellers drew up outside, Gretta didn’t notice it, for Ann stood at the door with her cap all awry, but with welcome in her eyes.

“Oh, Mrs. Fleming, ma’am! And you, Miss Gretta! Oh, won’t the master be pleased! ’E was just saying ’e didn’t know ’ow ’e’d get on without you.”

CHAPTER XX

GRETTA AT HOME

“Sybil’s getting on with her strokes awfully well. Helen is frightfully pleased. Josy and I get her to practise with us, and yesterday Helen came and watched, and Sybil made some fearfully neat shots. Helen said she shouldn’t wonder if she—Sybil, I mean—made a good centre-forward some day. That’s frightfully bucking, isn’t it? Tell uncle; he’ll be pleased. Sybil talks of nothing but hockey, and she’s as keen as keen can be; Josy and I’ll be awfully bucked if she’s ever captain.

“We’re all talking more than ever about the Hope-Scott Shield—specially in the dormer, and we wish you were there. We haven’t done much yet, though. Stella dashed out into the road to save a dog from being run over when we were out in the crocodile yesterday, but it didn’t come off—the bravery, I mean—because the dog had never meant to be run over, and Stella nearly was, herself; and the horse shied, and Miss Read was quite angry, and we don’t think she even thought it was brave. In fact, she said it was silly. We’re so near the end of the term, only two weeks to-morrow, that someone’ll have to do something soon, so perhaps a chance will come. I wish you were here to try for it. We’re always talking about you in the dormer, and we’re taking jolly good care of Sybil....”

Gretta folded up the letter, which was becoming very frail with much reading, and looked up at the clock to see whether it was time for the doctor to take his next dose of medicine. A month had gone by since the day of Mrs. Fleming’s departure, and more than a month since Gretta’s return to take up the reins of her father’s house again. The month seemed like a year, the girl said to herself, but somehow or other not an unhappy year.

For Gretta, at home, had been quite as busy in another way as at the Cliff School, and in nursing and housekeeping time had been spent that might otherwise have passed in longing for all the joys of the term; also, she could not help knowing that her home-coming had been of the utmost service to her father. His illness had been much more severe, and had lasted much longer, than anyone had at first expected; even now, after a month of invalidism, the doctor, much against his will, was still unable to leave his bed, and the worries that the enforced rest brought in its train were difficult for the patient to bear.

Gretta understood a little of this, and, though she sighed as she replaced Margot’s letter in its envelope, she took care to put on a cheerful expression of countenance before mounting the stairs to the patient’s room, medicine-glass in hand.

But this afternoon the doctor was in a particularly gloomy mood, as Gretta found when she entered his room; he spoke in a fretful and weak voice from his bed—the nurse was evidently to blame in some way. “Gretta, you should learn to bring that medicine in time. Will you never be punctual?”

“The clock struck three, dad, as I came up the stairs,” replied the nurse.

“Then the clock is wrong; it can’t have been set properly since I’ve been upstairs.” The doctor relapsed once more into a state of gloom; any disturbing trifle would plunge him into depression, nowadays, and Gretta tried to devise a means of comfort.

“Shall I stay with you a little, dad? I could sew, or something, up here, and talk to you.” The girl had spent many afternoons by her father’s bedside, recounting tales of life as spent at the Cliff School; of hockey matches, of dormitory feasts, and daring escapades. He already knew about Long Jake; and the wonders of the “Little House” had been explained; the story of Margot’s adventure with the pony had been narrated, too; and so had the tale of the girls’ various efforts to win the Hope-Scott Shield. There was no little detail that Gretta had not recounted for the benefit of the invalid, and she now turned over in her mind whether there was any incident that might serve its turn again.

But the doctor was not to be interested so easily this afternoon. “I need change,” he declared irritably. “Unless I can get some definite change I don’t see when I shall be about again.” He puckered up his brow in a way that his nurse could not bear to see.

“Dr. Moore said he’d come in this evening,” she remarked comfortingly; “he’ll be sure to sit up here and smoke, and he’ll be company for you.”

“Moore!” exclaimed the pessimistic patient. “He’s got my work to do as well as his own. He’ll be the next to break down.”

Gretta was in despair, and, welcoming any diversion from the subject ever uppermost in the doctor’s mind, exclaimed with surprise as the tinkle of the front-door bell was heard from below.

“I wonder who that is?” she remarked when Ann’s steps were heard mounting the stairs.

“Probably a bill,” declared the doctor, in disconsolate tones. “I don’t know how——”

Tap, tap, came at the bedroom door, and the maid’s voice was heard outside. “Miss Gretta, you’re wanted.”

“I won’t be a second, dad,” said the nurse; she ran into the passage, in her eagerness nearly falling over Ann.

“Whatever is it?” she whispered.

“Such a nice gentleman! As tall as tall! And that broad! And he’s asking for you, miss!”

“But who is he?” inquired Gretta in dismay.

“He’s a Mr. Courtney—so he said. And he said, too, ‘Ask Miss Margaret Grey if I can speak to her for a minute; she’ll p’rhaps have heard my name from Mrs. Fleming!’”

“It’s Long Jake!” cried Gretta in amazement, her cheeks turned pink, and she rushed downstairs, shyness forgotten; while mystification as to why the visitor had come was swallowed up in a feeling of excitement and delight that at last she was to see her school hero face to face!

An hour later it was a very energetic Gretta who was putting finishing touches to a dainty tea-tray set for two, and destined for the sick-room. Upstairs, from the said room, came the sound of cheerful voices—the doctor was evidently enjoying the company of his visitor. Gretta’s face dimpled with smiles as his laugh rang out in appreciation of some story. “Margot said Long Jake always came in the nick of time,” she thought to herself; “and it’s true—he does!”

For Mr. Courtney, in explaining to the girl the reason of his unexpected appearance, had told her of Mrs. Fleming’s suggestion that he would probably be welcome at the doctor’s house if he could make time to drop in there. “Of course, I’ll go straight away,” he explained to Gretta, as she came into the drawing-room to greet him, “if you think that your father’s not well enough for visitors; but I’m going back to Australia in a few weeks’ time, you know, as I’ve nothing to keep me in England any longer; and, if I could be of any use meanwhile——”

“I believe you’re just the very person!” Gretta said, as emphatically as her shyness of the stranger—who was not really a stranger at all—would allow. “Dad does need cheering up so badly, and you see he knows all about you. The ‘Little House,’ and the——” She stopped, thinking that perhaps she had said too much.

The visitor looked rather embarrassed. “Well, that’s over now,” he said quietly, after a minute. “The poor old chap who lived there has nothing more to worry about any longer.” Then, with a sudden and boyish change of tone, “Look here, Miss Gretta, suppose you ask your father if he’d like to see me?”

In five minutes he had been in the doctor’s room, and that was an hour ago, now; the girl felt as though her nursing duties were halved, to say the least of it, as she carried the tea-tray up the stairs, and knocked at the door of the sick-room.

“Here’s Gretta,” said the patient, in the voice of a rapidly recovering convalescent. “Why, Courtney, you’re a doctor yourself, man. I’ve not felt so glad to see a meal for a month or more.”

CHAPTER XXI

THE HOPE-SCOTT SHIELD

That was Gretta’s waking thought, as she lay in her bed at home, on the morning of the Cliff School prize-giving. To this important function she had been specially invited by Miss Slater, who had written suggesting that, if the doctor’s health permitted of it, she should take the opportunity of seeing her old friends again. The letter had been received and answered more than a week ago, but the doctor had not been apprised of its contents. He was making such good progress, thought Gretta, that it would be a pity to worry him with a request for the money necessary for her ticket, and, besides, suppose he should have a relapse while she was away! Also, she knew that if once she were to be received back into the arms of her friends at the Cliff School, it would be terribly difficult to settle down once more to the duties of home; the battle would have to be fought and won all over again, and probably would prove harder than ever.

“So I’m glad I didn’t go,” she remarked to herself in the intervals of dressing. “And, besides, Margot’s coming for the holidays!”

This certainly was enough to be happy about, and there were other things, too. Gretta’s worries—all, of course, but the insuperable one—were smoothing themselves out in a wonderful way. To begin with, Mr. Courtney had proved a veritable friend in need to the doctor, and incidentally an immense comfort to the little nurse. His constant visits and the influence of his cheery personality had proved to be the very tonic needed by the invalid, who was now surely, if very slowly, regaining his health and spirits.

“So dad’s to be ‘down’ to-day, and Margot and Sybil are coming home, too,” thought Gretta in delight. “Oh, it’ll be the most lovely day!” She descended to the dining-room, noticed a letter lying beside her plate; refrained from casting more than a glance in its direction until her father’s tray was carried upstairs; then, on her return to the breakfast-table, tore open the envelope, and for several minutes was deep in its contents.

Five minutes later a madly excited girl, with eyes bright and shining, cheeks pink, and lips parted, burst breathless into the doctor’s room.

“Dad! Dad! Dad!”

“Why, what’s the matter?” Her father looked surprised, to say the least of it, at this unexpected appearance of his usually staid nurse.

“Dad! Oh, but I can’t tell you. It can’t be true!”

“But what is it?” The doctor began to feel vaguely anxious. “If it’s the letter that you’re waving, let me see!”

“Oh, dad!” Gretta held fast to the envelope, unable just yet to give it up even for a moment. “It’s from Miss Slater. How could I deserve it, really? But she says—she says——”

“Out with it,” said the doctor in a professional voice.

“It’s the Hope-Scott Shield, and it’s to be given to-day”—Gretta spoke in gasps—“and so Miss Slater wrote to me first, because——”

“Well?” inquired the doctor patiently, while his bacon grew colder every minute on his plate.

“Because they’re giving it to me!” choked Gretta, and rushed out of the doctor’s room like a whirlwind, just in time to prevent herself from committing the unpardonable offence of bursting into tears by her patient’s side.

“Well, well, well!” said the doctor. He picked up the letter that had dropped to the floor beside him, and was forced to polish his glasses several times very carefully before he could read its contents.

Mrs. Hope-Scott had heard, Miss Slater wrote, how Gretta had cheerfully agreed to give up her life at school in favour of her little sister, and go back to duties at home. She would like, therefore, to offer her the shield, in recognition of what she herself considered to be an act of bravery, shown in everyday surroundings, perhaps, but none the less courageous for that. “You will try to live up to the words on the shield, I know,” wrote the head mistress; “though written of Britomart, the maiden-knight, I should wish them to prove true of all the girls who have been at the Cliff School.”

“But I can’t believe it yet, dad,” said Gretta later on, when, seated beside the invalid in the drawing-room, she awaited with sparkling eyes the coming of the travellers. “What will they say? The girls at school can’t think I deserved it! Hark!” as the peal of the front-door bell sounded through the house. “I believe they’ve come.”

But the visitor proved to be Mr. Courtney, in a state of excitement so great about something or other that he scarcely seemed to take in Gretta’s wonderful piece of information. “I’ve news,” he announced, entering the room as he spoke, and addressing the doctor; “and news that you will be uncommonly glad to hear.”

“News! More news!” Gretta held her breath. Could it be from Auntie Tib?

“A cable came to me half an hour ago.” Mr. Courtney spoke eagerly. “They landed last week, and——”

“Well?” inquired the doctor excitedly.

“Their affairs are settled, and well settled, apparently. The bad news was a scare. Particulars, of course, I don’t know yet, but the main point is that they will suffer no financial difficulty whatever.”

“Oh!” breathed Gretta; this seemed almost too good to be true. “Does it mean——”

“It means a great deal, Gretta,” said the visitor, turning to her kindly. “Freedom from anxiety for Mrs. Fleming, and—a great deal more besides. Also, it means——”

“Yes?” said the girl wonderingly, surprised at his tone.

“The cable is in code, of course,” Mr. Courtney spoke to the doctor, “but one thing Mrs. Fleming has made very clear, in spite of that. She wishes Gretta, without fail, to return next term to the Cliff School.”

“Oh, dad!” Gretta was on her knees beside her father’s chair. “Oh, dad!”

“Your aunt is one of the kindest of women, Gretta,” said her father huskily.

“But, dad, I won’t go. I mean, I couldn’t leave you for anything with Ann again. I’d rather fifty times over stay and look after you till you’re properly well. I’ll write to auntie——”

“Listen here for a minute, Gretta,” said her father; the girl raised her eyes to his at the tone of his voice.

“This message from your aunt is just the best thing that could have happened for all of us,” continued the doctor; “and, if it will make your mind easier, I’ll tell you something I never expected to be able to tell you at all.” He paused for a minute before he continued. “Dr. Moore thinks that a voyage is advisable for my health, and Mr. Courtney offered to get me a berth as ship-doctor on the boat by which he sails to Australia. I should have had no hesitation in accepting his offer but for the fact that I had nowhere to send you, my dear, during my absence. Now it seems that the way is cleared, for the Tarrawonga leaves in five weeks’ time, so I shall just have time to see the three of you back to school before I start. There are scores of arrangements to be made, of course, but to put your mind at rest at once, I think it wise to mention the plan in outline.” The doctor sat up energetically in his chair as he spoke, and sniffed the air as though he were already drinking in the ocean breezes.

Gretta gave a cry of delight. “Oh, dad,” she said, “could anything ever have been thought of so lovely for all of us? And”—she gave a long sigh—“there’s the shield as well!”

“I don’t wonder you’re talking about it,” said a cheery voice; and Margot came in at the door with Sybil beside her. “Gretta, why we didn’t guess you’d get it I can’t imagine. You should have heard the girls clap! It’s the most ripping, ripping thing that could have happened.”

“And I’ve broken a front tooth at hockey,” said the shrill voice of Sybil. “Miss Read said I was brave. I didn’t cry a bit—not even when it bled. I just went on playing. Oh, well, if no one wants to look at it, I’ll just go down and show it to Ann!”

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