CHAPTER I. A STRANGE REQUEST.

 
 
"JOY, I wish you'd put down that stupid book, and talk! You can't think how curious I feel! And how you can sit there reading so quietly when mother's in the next room with that strange gentleman, I can't imagine! I wonder what he's saying to her! I don't believe you're in the least curious to know!"
 
Joy, whose real name was Joyce, shut her book, and looked at the speaker—her sister Celia—with thoughtful, grey eyes. Her mind was still occupied with the entrancing story she had been reading; and it took her several minutes to realise that her companion was in a state of feverish impatience to ascertain the business of the visitor who had requested a private interview with their mother, and still kept her in earnest conversation in the drawing-room. Joy had admitted the stranger into the house nearly half an hour before.
 
Mrs. Wallis, whose husband had been a doctor, in the town of A—, had been left a widow some years previously; and she was rearing her family on a small income which had to be portioned out most carefully to make both ends meet. The family consisted of three children—Eric, a handsome lad of fifteen, who was at boarding-school; Celia, aged fourteen; and Joyce, two years younger.
 
When her husband had died, Mrs. Wallis had at once vacated the large, roomy house in the main street of the town for the small villa where she was living at present. She was a brave woman, and a capital manager, but she found her income very inadequate for the requirements of her family. The two girls attended a day-school where the fees were not large; but Eric's school bills were heavy, and to meet them his mother was obliged to exercise the strictest economy at home.
 
"That's right!" Celia exclaimed, when she saw she had gained her sister's attention. "Tell me again what the gentleman was like."
 
"He was tall, and thin, and he stooped rather," was the reply. "I didn't take particular notice of him."
 
"Oh, how silly you were! I wish I'd gone to the door instead of you. But I do hate answering the door bell," Celia acknowledged, frankly.
 
"Oh, I don't mind. Jane was upstairs changing her dress, so that was why I went to the door this evening; and you know she often looks so untidy that mother doesn't like her to answer the bell. Of course she has all kinds of dirty work to do," Joyce proceeded excusingly, for Jane, the maid-of-all-work of the establishment, was a favourite of hers; "we shouldn't be spick and span ourselves if we had to clean boots, and black-lead stoves, and scrub and clean like poor Jane."
 
Celia made no reply, but a look of decided discontent crept over her face. She was a very pretty little girl, with fair hair, blue eyes, and a delicate pink and white complexion. Her sister was a pale, sallow child whose one beauty was a pair of large grey eyes, which rendered her otherwise plain countenance remarkably attractive. Both girls were neatly attired in serviceable blue serge dresses, somewhat the worse for wear; but whereas Joy wore no ornament whatever, the neck of Celia's frock was fastened by a cheap brooch, set with imitation brilliants, which she had saved her pocket-money to purchase, and her golden locks were tied back with a bright blue ribbon. Celia was the greater favourite of the sisters with people, as a rule, for she was invariably good-tempered before strangers, and eager to please; it was only at home that she ever allowed her discontent with the circumstances of her life to be apparent, and then, when her mother's face saddened at her grumblings, she would become repentant, and declare that she had not meant all she had said, that she was quite happy really, only it would be so nice to have a little more money to spend.
 
"How long the gentleman is staying!" Joy exclaimed, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's nearly seven."
 
"What did you say he was called?" Celia inquired.
 
"Tillotson. He said mother would not know his name."
 
"Did he seem nice, Joy?"
 
"I don't know. He was very polite; but I thought he stared rather, and when I showed him into the drawing-room, he looked around as though he was noticing everything."
 
"And the furniture is so shabby!" Celia sighed, regretfully. "The carpet is almost threadbare in places."
 
"Oh, what does that matter?" Joy asked; laughing at her sister's serious expression.
 
"It matters a great deal," Celia responded, impressively.
 
"I don't see that it does. When our friends call, they come to see us, not our furniture."
 
"That's what mother says. I'm sure when she's talking to visitors she never seems to remember how dowdy the house is compared to other people's; or, if she does, it never troubles her."
 
"Why should it? Mother couldn't be a greater lady if she lived in a mansion," Joy declared, with a ring of proud affection in her voice.
 
Celia agreed with her sister, but she did not say so. The two little girls had been sitting by the fireside, for the April evening was chilly; but now the daylight had nearly faded, and Joy, rising, went to the door and peeped into the passage to make certain that Jane had lit the gas there. Satisfied on that point, she returned to her former seat by the fire, and continued the conversation.
 
"I wonder if we ought to send Jane to the drawing-room to light the gas?" Celia suggested presently. "But, no, mother would be sure to ring if she wished it. Oh, the gentleman's going at last!"
 
There was a sound of footsteps in the passage. The front door opened and shut, and the next minute Mrs. Wallis joined her little daughters. She was a tall, stately woman with a pale, handsome face, and hair which was prematurely grey.
 
"My visitor kept me some time," she remarked, as she seated herself in an easy chair, and glanced from one to the other of the children. "I suppose you have been cogitating about him, and wondering who he could possibly be?"
 
"Yes," Celia nodded.
 
"His name is Tillotson, and he is a lawyer. He came to me from my uncle, Sir Jasper Amery, of whom you have often heard me speak."
 
"What! that funny old uncle you used to visit when you were a little girl?" Joy exclaimed.
 
"The same, my dear. He used to be very kind to me; but we have never met since my marriage. He had an only son—Edward—of whom he was exceedingly fond and proud; but now, Mr. Tillotson tells me, poor Edward is dead, and that Uncle Jasper is quite alone in the world. He sent Mr. Tillotson to me with a strange request, or so I consider it—a request which I do know if I shall be right in complying with or not."
 
Mrs. Wallis paused and gazed meditatively the fire. The two young girls waited anxiously for her to proceed, and at last Celia inquired:
 
"What is the request, mother?"
 
"That I will shut up my house here for a year, and spend that time beneath his roof, so that he may make the acquaintance of you children. He suggests that you should have a governess to undertake your education, and that Eric should remain at boarding-school, and spend his holidays at the Moat House."
 
"Oh, mother, how delightful!" Celia exclaimed, excitedly.
 
"Is the Moat House where Sir Jasper lives?" Joy asked.
 
"Yes, my dear. It is situated in one of the most beautiful parts of Devonshire, about two miles from the market town of T—."
 
"Oh, mother, you will go, will you not?" Celia cried, imploringly.
 
"I cannot say yet, Celia. I must think the matter over. I cannot make up my mind hurriedly, for more may depend upon my decision than we can foresee. I must ask God to guide me, and show me how to act."
 
Mrs. Wallis's tone was so solemn that the little girls were silenced. They knew Sir Jasper Amery was a rich man, and thought how nice it would be to live in affluence, if only for a year. Celia, especially, was elated at the idea; and as she looked around the shabby sitting-room which, nevertheless, was very homely and comfortable, her lip curled scornfully, and a bright, expectant light flashed into her eyes. Surely her mother would not refuse Sir Jasper's request!
 
Meanwhile Mrs. Wallis was wrapt in somewhat uneasy thought. Had her uncle offered her and her family a permanent home beneath his roof, she would have at once gladly fallen in with the idea; but, she asked herself if she had any right to allow her children to live in luxury for a year, and then, perhaps, be thrown back upon her own resources once more. It was a strange proposal Sir Jasper had made; but his lawyer had desired her to consider it well before making her decision, hinting that it was her uncle's intention to provide for her children's future if the young people met with his approval.
 
"Tell us what the Moat House is like, mother," Joy said, coaxingly, at length.
 
"It's a house after your own heart, Joy," Mrs. Wallis replied, smiling, "an old building with thick stone walls covered in ivy, and low ceilinged rooms with mullioned windows. The moat which once surrounded the house had been drained and filled in, and is now cultivated. The neighbourhood all around is beautifully wooded, and as the house stands on a slight eminence, the views from it are remarkably fine. Uncle Jasper was always very proud of his home, and nothing used to delight him more than to hear it admired."
 
"He is very rich, mother, isn't he?" Celia inquired, her blue eyes shining with excitement.
 
"Rich as far as money is concerned," Mrs. answered gravely, "but poor in other ways. He never made many friends, and as I told you just now, God has taken from him his only son—the being he loved above all the world. He is in indifferent health, too, Mr. Tillotson tells me. Poor Uncle Jasper!"
 
"Perhaps he wants to give us some of his money," Celia suggested, shrewdly. "Oh, mother dear, do say you'll go to the Moat House!"
 
"Are you so eager to leave your own home, Celia?" Mrs. Wallis asked, a little sadly.
 
"This is such a pokey little place, that I should not mind if we never came back again," Celia confessed; "and we've been so poor here!" she added, sighing.
 
"We have had all the necessaries of life," Mrs. Wallis reminded her, "and that is a great deal to be thankful for."
 
"Oh, yes, mother, I know! But, oh, I do dislike having to live in a shabby house, and wear dowdy clothes! Why, when Eric was home at Christmas he said Joy and I were such old-fashioned looking girls!" And Celia's face flushed with annoyance. "Joy doesn't mind," she continued; "as long as she has story books to read, she doesn't care for anything else."
 
"Oh, yes, indeed I do!" Joy interposed, quickly. "But what's the good of wishing for what one can't get?"
 
"I am sorry you are so discontented with your lot, Celia," Mrs. Wallis said, gravely, "but I question if you possessed all the luxuries wealth can provide, whether you would be satisfied even then."
 
"Oh, mother!" Celia cried, unbelievingly.
 
"I doubt it, my dear, for I am afraid you are very far from knowing the secret of contentment, which is trust in God, and the belief that He knows what is best for you. Riches would not make you happy."
 
Celia looked incredulous. She thought if she was rich she would be perfectly happy. She longed to wear fine clothes, and have plenty of pocket-money; and she could not understand why her mother hesitated to accept Sir Jasper Amery's invitation.
 
That night the two young girls, who occupied the same bedroom, remained awake talking for a long while. Joy was nearly as excited as Celia at the prospect of visiting the unknown uncle at the Moat House, and acknowledged she would be not a little disappointed if their mother did not accede to Sir Jasper's request; but at the same time she felt regretful at the thought of leaving her present home, and her school friends. In the next room Mrs. Wallis lay awake till dawn, thinking how best to act for the ultimate welfare of her family, and praying for guidance from above.
CHAPTER II. GOOD-BYE TO THE OLD HOME.

 
MRS. Wallis had told Mr. Tillotson she must have a week in which to consider her uncle's invitation, and during that time she wrote to several of her husband's relations asking their advice, and expressing her doubts as to the wisdom of leaving her own home for the Moat House. Knowing Sir Jasper Amery to be a wealthy man, they urged her to grant his request, and pointed out to her that by not doing so, she would probably be standing in her children's light.
 
"You have an income barely sufficient to meet your needs," wrote her brother-in-law, a solicitor in London, "and your children must be getting expensive. Eric, you tell me, is costing you more than you are really justified in spending on him, and you have to scrape and save at home to meet his school bills. Accept Sir Jasper's offer, by all means. He is rich and childless, and unworldly though I know you are, you must see that it is not right to neglect such an opportunity of providing for your children's future as this may prove to be. Your uncle would not invite you to pay him such a long visit without he had some ulterior motive; and if, at the end of the year, you are not asked to prolong your visit, why, it will be no worse off than you were before. Anyway, the change will do you and your little girls good, and you can get a capable governess, as Sir Jasper suggests."
 
Mrs. Wallis sighed as she put down her brother-in-law's letter, but it had decided for her the course to take. She wrote immediately to her uncle, thanking him for his invitation, and informing him that she and her little daughters would be at the Moat House as soon as Eric had returned to school after the Easter holidays. Easter fell about the middle of April that year; and Eric was at home for three weeks, during which time he and his sisters discussed little else but the projected visit to the Moat House.
 
"I wish I was going there with you now;" he said on one occasion, "but the summer term will soon pass, and won't we have a jolly time next holiday! I say, girls, I wonder if mother will be able to allow me a little extra pocket-money soon?"
 
"I'm sure I don't know," Celia replied. "You have more than your fair share as it is," she added, a trifle begrudgingly.
 
"I don't have so much as most of the boys," he told her with truth, "and, how, money slips away one hardly knows how. I hope if Uncle Jasper proves himself a generous old chap, you'll remind him that you've a brother at school who is generally hard up."
 
The two girls laughed, and Celia said, ingenuously:
 
"I do hope Uncle Jasper will like us. He used to be very good to mother when she was young, but he was always rather eccentric."
 
"What do you mean by eccentric?" Eric inquired.
 
"Not like other people," Celia replied, promptly. "Mother says he used to spend most of his time shut up in his library, reading and studying, and often he would fall into such deep trains of thought that he wouldn't notice what was going on around him."
 
"What a queer old fellow!" Eric exclaimed. "I shouldn't fancy he is inclined to be at all sociable."
 
"Poor old man!" sighed Joy, sympathetically. "Mother told me that he has had great troubles to bear. He lost his wife when she was quite young, and that was a dreadful trial for him because he loved her very dearly; and lately, you know, his son has died."
 
"How old was the son?" Eric asked.
 
"Oh, quite grown up," Celia responded; "as old as mother. He was a barrister, a very clever man, and Uncle Jasper was exceedingly proud of him. If his son had lived I don't suppose Uncle Jasper would have asked us to stay at the Moat House," she added, musingly.
 
"How sad and lonely he must be!" Joy cried, in pitying tones. "It's not much use having a lot of money if all your relations are dead, is it?"
 
"Rather not!" Eric agreed, heartily. "You girls must try to cheer him up a bit. I can't imagine anything more depressing than living in a big house with only servants. By the way, what's going to become of Jane?"
 
"She has found another situation where she will get higher wages than mother gives her," Celia replied.
 
"But in spite of that she's very sorry to leave us," Joy put in, "and I've promised to write to her sometimes. If we ever come back here again perhaps she will return to us."
 
"I hope that will never be!" Celia exclaimed, involuntarily. "I mean, I hope we shall never come back. I am sure we shall all be happier at the Moat House."
 
"I don't know about that, I'm sure," Joy responded, reflectively, "I've been very happy here."
 
"I am glad to hear you say that, my dear," Mrs. Wallis said, as she entered the room; "it's a great blessing to possess a contented spirit," she continued, with a loving glance at her younger daughter, "and you are happy in days of poverty, you will probably be able to stand the test of wealth if it ever comes your way. You know we pray every Sunday in church: 'In all time of our wealth—Good Lord, deliver us.' Greater temptations beset the paths of rich people in many respects than poor ones."
 
"Oh, mother!" Celia cried, in accents of profound astonishment; "do you really mean that? I think it's so difficult to be good if one's poor. I am sure if I was rich I should have nothing to grumble about, and you know you are always telling me how discontented I am."
 
"My dear Celia, you imagine riches must needs bring happiness, but you are greatly mistaken. Happiness comes to those only who trust in God, and do their plain duty in life."
 
Celia hung her head, and flushed hotly, for there was reproof in her mother's voice, and the kind eyes which searched her face were gravely reproachful.
 
"I have just received a letter from Uncle Jasper," Mrs. Wallis proceeded, after a slight pause; "he says he is looking forward with much pleasure to make the acquaintance of my little daughters, and he hopes they will feel quite at home at the Moat House. He remarks that if I have not already engaged a governess, he would recommend the niece of a neighbour of his for that post—a Miss Pring, who has had several years experience as a teacher in a school, but is now out of a situation. I must write and tell him that I should like to see Miss Pring before anything is decided. I shall be really glad now when we have left here, and are settled at the Moat House."
 
"You must let me know all about the place, and how you get on with Uncle Jasper," Eric said to Joy, who nodded assentingly.
 
The boy was very fond of both his sisters, but Joy was his favourite, for she took teasing better than did Celia, who was inclined to stand on her dignity, and resented his good-humoured banter, especially when he ridiculed her for her vanity and love of finery. Then, too, Celia was so entirely wrapped up in herself that she took very little interest in what concerned her brother, and was much too dignified a young person to join in his pursuits. She always declined to accompany him in the long walks he loved to take during his holidays, and it was Joy who tramped patiently for miles by his side, simply to spend a few hours fishing in a stagnant pool, and returned home quite satisfied if he was, even though their catch of fish was only a few small roach or perch; and it was Joy who diffidently asked her mother if she could spare Eric a trifle more pocket-money next term, and was delighted to receive an answer in the affirmative.
 
"I shall have no household expenses now, so I can well make Eric a larger allowance," Mrs. Wallis said, cordially, for she was glad to be in the position to grant her little daughter's request. "I know the poor boy has not had so much money to spend as his companions. I have often regretted the fact, but I have been unable to give him more. He never complained, however."
 
"Oh, no, mother, he would not do that, for he knows you have always done all you could for him. He says a great many of his school-fellows have rich fathers, but some are no better off than himself. His great chum—Lawrence Puttenham—is the son of a poor curate in London, and he has a very small allowance of pocket-money, indeed. Celia wonders Eric does not make one of the richer boys his chum, but Eric says he likes Putty—that's short for Puttenham, you know—best."
 
Mrs. Wallis smiled, then sighed. She sometimes wondered where Celia got her worldly-wise notions, for she had certainly never learnt them at home. Joy had made several friends at school, but Celia had not, and her mother suspected, what was actually the truth, that the reason was she did not consider the friendship of her fellow pupils worth cultivating, as they were all children from comparatively poor homes.
 
Dearly though Mrs. Wallis loved her children, she was not blind to their faults. She knew that Eric was easy-going, and inclined to be idle, and that he did not make the most of his opportunities at school; but, she knew also that he was truthful and honourable, and hoped that as he grew older he would overcome his indolence and recognise that it was his duty to work hard and not waste his time. Joy had her failings, too, but they were not of a kind to cause her mother much anxiety, the chief being a temper quick to anger and to resent a wrong. Celia's character was a complex one, difficult to understand. Often Mrs. Wallis would be painfully astonished to hear her elder daughter pass a remark which would sound cynical from a woman grown; but which was certainly strangely incongruous from the lips of a girl of fourteen who looked childish for her years. Celia would appear so penitent when reproved, the tears would rise to her blue eyes, and the burning blushes to her fair cheeks, that Mrs. Wallis would tell herself she had not meant what she had said, and that she had spoken without thought.
 
Between the sisters was a very real and deep affection, though they were totally unlike in every way. Joy admired Celia openly, and never experienced the least sensation of jealousy when, as was often the case, new acquaintances were attracted by Celia's pretty face and winning manners, and she herself was overlooked altogether; whilst Celia found Joy generally ready to follow her lead, and to defer to her opinions.
 
The last few days of the Easter holidays were spent in leave takings. Mrs. Wallis, having lived in A— ever since her marriage, had many friends; but she told them all that at the end of a year's time it was very probable she would be in their midst again, so there were no sorrowful partings.
 
And yet, when Eric had returned to school, and the day came for the departure of Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters from their home, they were all very grave. Jane had packed her box and gone to her new situation; the family's luggage had been sent to the railway station; and in a very short while the cab would be at the door to fetch the waiting trio. Joy wandered restlessly about the house, and at last joined her mother and sister, who were waiting more patiently in the sitting-room.
 
"How disconsolate you look, my dear!" Mrs. Wallis exclaimed. "But I don't know that that is to be wondered at. It is always a grave matter to take a new step in life, because we don't know where it's to lead us. God knows," she added, reverently, "and we must trust our future to Him. He will guide us aright."
 
"Yes, mother," Joy replied, seriously. "I can't think why I feel sad, but I do, and yet I am longing to see the Moat House and Uncle Jasper. I believe Celia is right—she said just now I was like a cat, attached to the house and furniture. Now I come to leave here I find I am really very fond of our shabby little home."
 
Celia raised her eyebrows incredulously; but, at that instant, the expected cab arrived at the door, and a few minutes later they were being driven in the direction of the railway station.
 
CHAPTER III. THE ARRIVAL AT THE MOAT HOUSE.
 
THE bright May sunshine shone upon the Moat House with its ivy-clad walls, and peeped into the library where Sir Jasper Amery was seated, pen in hand, before his writing-table. A short thin old man was Sir Jasper, with a pale, wrinkled countenance, and snow-white hair, which was brushed smoothly back from a somewhat massive forehead. Presently, as a ray of sunshine flickered across his face, he glanced up quickly, revealing a pair of sharp grey eyes, deep-set beneath overhanging brows.
 
"Dear me, I had nearly forgotten all about them!" he muttered, as he laid down his pen. "It's almost five o'clock. Time for them to be here."
 
Rising, he hobbled rather than walked to the door, for he was crippled with rheumatism, and went into the hall, where he encountered Mrs. Mallock, his housekeeper, who had been in his service many years.
 
"Has the carriage gone to meet my niece and her children?" he inquired.
 
"Yes, Sir Jasper," was the prompt reply; "your instructions have been carried out to the letter. The rooms in the east wing have been put in order, and very home-like and comfortable they look, I do assure you! Mrs. Wallis will be hard to please if she is not satisfied."
 
Sir Jasper nodded approvingly. Taking his hat he went out-of-doors to wait for his visitors.
 
The Moat House was indeed beautifully situated, and from the terrace which fronted the dining-room and drawing-room windows, the surrounding country was plainly visible for miles, pleasant meadow lands, and woods now decked in their freshest spring garb, stretching as far as the eye could see. The moat, which had originally been full of water, had been filled in, and had been prettily laid out as a rock garden, where shrubs of various kinds flourished, and flowers peeped between the rough boulders which looked as though nature and not man had placed them there in such picturesque confusion. Sir Jasper's eyes wandered from the tresses of golden laburnum flowers, and purple and white lilac now in full bloom, to the distant high road along which he expected to see the carriage pass which had been sent to the railway station, two miles distant, to meet his guests. He had not long to wait before it appeared in sight, and five minutes later it had passed up the wide carriage drive which cut through the rock garden in place of the bridge which had originally spanned the moat, and had drawn up before the front door.
 
Sir Jasper hastened to greet his visitors, doing so very cordially. He had not seen his niece since her girlhood, and he noticed she had greatly changed. Trouble, and many small carking worries, had left their traces upon her countenance; and a look of patient resignation had taken the place of the bright, hopeful expression which had once been her chief charm in his eyes.
 
"Welcome, dear Margaret!" he said. "I am rejoiced that you have come. You will have patience with an old man who has lost all his happiness in life."
 
"Do not say that, Uncle Jasper," she replied, gently, as she kissed his withered cheek. "I too have seen much sorrow, but it has been God's will."
 
"Still the old faith!" he exclaimed, with a look of surprise.
 
"Yes," she answered steadily, "still the old faith, that what God does is best." Her face brightened as she spoke, and he recognized the expression he had missed at first, as she quoted with a smile:
 
"God's in His heaven— All's right with the world!"
 
He made no reply, but turned to the girls, who were regarding him with slightly veiled curiosity.
 
"This is my elder daughter," Mrs. Wallis told him, indicating Celia, who smiled and blushed as Sir Jasper's eyes rested searchingly on her countenance.
 
"What is your name, my dear?" Sir Jasper asked, shaking hands with her cordially.
 
"Celia," she answered.
 
"Well, Celia, you must call me Uncle Jasper. I am your great-uncle, you know. What a pretty child!" he added in an undertone to Mrs. Wallis, but Celia heard the words and her blush deepened with pleasure.
 
"And this is Joyce," Mrs. Wallis proceeded, hastily, "but we always call her Joy."
 
"Joy," he echoed. "Joy. That means gladness—happiness! Poor child, I hope the name will never appear in the light of a mockery to her."
 
"I hope not. I do not think it will," Mrs. Wallis responded, but she glanced uneasily at Joy, who was regarding Sir Jasper with astonished grey eyes, wondering why he should speak of her in such a decidedly pitying tone.
 
"No doubt you are all tired after your long journey," he remarked, "so come into the house, and let Mrs. Mallock show you your rooms. You remember my housekeeper, Margaret? Yes, I still have the same. I have had her put the east wing in order for you, and I hope you will find everything to your taste. I am somewhat of a recluse myself, nowadays, and never go outside the grounds; my doctor enjoins quietude, yet he thinks I spend too much time over my books. I have been looking forward to your society with much pleasurable anticipation, but I fear you will find me not a very cheerful companion."
 
Mrs. Wallis cast a look of quick sympathy at the bent form of the little old man, as he preceded her into the hall, and her answer showed her compassion for his loneliness, and at the same time evinced her desire to be perfectly straightforward.
 
"When I accepted your invitation; it was with the hope that I might be a comfort to you, Uncle Jasper," she said, "though I thought of myself as well, and of my children, whom I believe will benefit by the change. You know," she added, candidly, "that I have had as much as I could do to make both ends meet."
 
He nodded comprehendingly; and then Mrs. Mallock came forward to escort the visitors to their rooms. She had known Mrs. Wallis in the old days, and, like Sir Jasper, was struck by the change in her appearance.
 
"Ah, ma'am," she exclaimed, "I am glad to see you, indeed! I'm sure you'll benefit by a breath of Devonshire air."
 
She led the way upstairs, talking volubly the while, and assuring Celia that she was exactly in appearance like her mother had been at her age, a remark which Celia received in dead silence, wondering if it could possibly be true; afterwards, when she heard the same from Sir Jasper's lips, she concluded that it was.
 
Mrs. Wallis expressed herself very pleased with all the arrangements the housekeeper had made for her comfort, whilst the little girls were delighted with the bedroom which was allotted to them.
 
"How big it is!" Joy exclaimed. "And, oh, what a great, high bed! Look at the curtains around it! I declare it's almost as large as our room at home!" Then she ran to the window, and uttered a cry of admiration. "Oh, Celia, what a lovely view! Isn't it simply magnificent?"
 
"It is very pretty," Celia replied, composedly.
 
"Pretty!" Joy echoed. "Why, it is grand!"
 
"Yes, it's very nice, and so is the house. The furniture is rather old, but it's very handsome. I should think Uncle Jasper must be exceedingly rich. He's a funny old man, isn't he? Did you ever see sharper eyes? They seemed to look me through and through."
 
"I don't think he is very happy," Joy remarked, reflectively. "I wonder what he meant by saying he hoped my name would never appear in the light of a mockery to me. Wasn't it an odd thing to say?"
 
"Very," Celia replied, carelessly.
 
Joy saw her sister was not attending to her, so she sat down on the broad, cushioned window-seat, and allowed her gaze to wander over the fair landscape, whilst Celia, after closely scrutinising each article of furniture the room contained, turned her attention to the dressing-table, and thoughtfully regarded her countenance in the looking-glass. Then she untied the ribbon which fastened back her golden locks, and commenced to brush her hair.
 
"You had better put yourself tidy, Joy," she advised her sister, presently; "didn't you hear Mrs. Mallock tell mother that tea would be served in the dining-room almost directly? I should have thought Uncle Jasper would have dined late, but it appears he does not."
 
"I'm glad he doesn't," Joy replied. "I like a regular sit-down tea, because we're accustomed to it, and so does Eric. Oh, here's mother!" she cried, as Mrs. Wallis entered the room. "Oh, mother, you're ready to go downstairs, I see! Don't go before us."
 
"Are you afraid you will lose your way?" Mrs. Wallis inquired, with a smile, as Joy dashed to the wash-hand stand, and began hastily to bathe the traces of travel from her face. "It is a large house, certainly, but not so large as all that. Uncle Jasper was very thoughtful in giving us the east wing to ourselves, and I believe we shall be very comfortable here. You will soon see if he desires your society, children; if he does, I hope you will endeavour to make him more cheerful; and if he does not, you will have no difficulty in keeping out of his way. Poor old man! He has had so many sorrows and disappointments in his life."
 
"What did he mean when he spoke of my name, mother?" Joy questioned, eagerly. "How could it ever be a mockery to me?"
 
"It could only be a mockery if you lost your faith in God, my dear. Joy means gladness and happiness, as Uncle Jasper said; but, I fear, he does not realise that its foundation is trust in Jesus Christ."
 
"Isn't Uncle Jasper a Christian?" Celia asked quickly.
 
For a moment Mrs. Wallis hesitated as though she hardly knew what answer to make, then she replied: "I believe he is professedly a Christian, but I fear he does not possess the child-like, unquestioning faith which alone brings peace. You know, my dears, it is very difficult at all times to say 'Thy will be done.'"
 
Joy ran to her mother, and throwing her arms around her neck, gave her an impulsive kiss. She rightly guessed that Mrs. Wallis thinking of the grave in the cemetery at A— where her husband lay. Joy had been very fond of her father, and though she had been too young at the time of his death to be told more than that he had gone on a long journey, she had always remembered him vividly, and could recall the sound of his voice, and his hearty laugh. What his loss had meant to her mother she could dimly understand. Celia had been deeply attached to her father too, and there were regretful tears in her bright eyes as she thought of him now.
 
Ten minutes later Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters entered the dining-room, where Sir Jasper was awaiting them. They took their seats at the large, square table, upon which a substantial meal was laid, to which the travellers did full justice, for they were hungry after their long journey. Sir Jasper exerted himself to be agreeable, and he and Mrs. Wallis discussed bygone days, which appeared to interest him more than the present time; whilst the little girls sat quietly listening, each experiencing a dream-like sensation of unreality, and almost feeling as though the large room with its handsome furniture and shining silver on the side-board, with its oak-panelled walls and pictures of short-waisted ladies, and gentle-men with frilled shirts and high stocks, would give place to the shabby little sitting-room at home. Joy touched Celia with her foot under the table to assure herself that she was really not dreaming; and Celia awoke from her reverie with a start and a smile as she met her sister's eyes.
 
By-and-by, Sir Jasper turned his attention to his younger guests, and inquired what they thought of the Moat House, and if they considered they would be able to make themselves happy beneath his roof.
 
Joy answered him rather shyly; but Celia was perfectly composed, and expressed admiration of his home so enthusiastically that he was evidently very gratified, and looked at her with most decided approval. After the meal was over, he drew her to the window, and pointed out a distant orchard, white as snow with apple blossoms; and, afterwards, at her suggestion, accompanied his guests out-of-doors, and sat down on a garden seat with Mrs. Wallis for a companion, whilst the young people explored the grounds.
 
"You are a rich woman, Margaret," he said impressively, his eyes following the children's forms as they continually disappeared and reappeared between the boulders in the rock garden. "That elder girl of yours is a beauty. Is your boy good-looking, too?"
 
"People tell me he is a handsome lad," she replied, smiling. "Celia is very pretty, I know. I hope you will not spoil her, Uncle Jasper."
 
"Pooh!" he cried, "she does not take after her mother in disposition if she can be spoilt! How well and sensibly she talks! She appears very observant."
 
"In some ways she is older than her years, and I regret it," Mrs. Wallis remarked, a shade of uneasiness crossing her face. "Joy is much more childish; but, of course, she is two years younger than her sister."
 
"I suppose you considered my invitation a strange one," Sir Jasper said, abruptly; "I know you did from what Tillotson told me, and from your hesitation in agreeing to comply with my request. I am glad you decided to humour an old man's whim, my dear," he added, meaningly; "believe me, neither you nor yours will be the worse off eventually from the fact of your having done so."
 
CHAPTER IV. AUNT AND NIECE.

 
NOT more than five minutes' walk from the entrance to the grounds of the Moat House was a six-roomed, thatched cottage, called Home Vale, standing back from the high road, from which it was divided by a long strip of garden and a thick privet hedge. It was a picturesque little home, looking at it from the outside, with its windows hung with spotless white lace curtains, its porch covered with clematis, and its front door posted invitingly open to admit the May sunshine, and the fresh breeze scented with lilies-of-the-valley and jonquils. Inside, everything was in apple-pie order. The brass face of the tall, eight-day clock in the little entrance hall shone brightly; the furniture in the parlour, which looked out on the flower-garden and the strip of high road beyond, was arranged with evident care; whilst upstairs, the three small bedrooms with their latticed windows were pictures of neatness and freshness, their beds hung with white dimity curtains, and their dressing-tables draped in white, starched muslin petticoats looped up with coloured ribbons to match the shades of the wall papers.
 
But, perhaps, the prettiest room in the cottage was the front kitchen, with its red-tiled floor and white-washed walls, against which the copper warming-pan and brass and tin cooking utensils showed off so well. A canary sung gaily in a cage hanging in the window, from which was an uninterrupted view of the kitchen garden, where the mistress of Home Vale was at work on this sunny May morning, industriously turning up a piece of ground with a spade, handling the tool with almost the strength and dexterity of a man.
 
A tall, muscular, middle-aged woman was the mistress of Home Vale, clad at present in short, drab, serge skirt; thick laced-up boots; a washed-out cotton blouse; a broad-rimmed straw hat; and a pair of gardening gloves. A small knot of iron-grey hair was visible beneath the brim of the hat behind; and when she paused for a minute or so to rest, and glanced up at a lark carolling high overhead, she revealed a dark, sunburnt countenance, with large, irregular features, and a pair of bright, brown eyes.
 
Such to outward appearances was Miss Pring, who had lived at Home Vale, as Sir Jasper Amery's tenant, for the past ten years. Formerly, she had been a rich woman; but, owing to the failure of a bank, she had lost most of her money, and finding herself in really poor circumstances, she had sought about for a country cottage, with a large garden which she could turn to some account. Once Miss Pring had gardened for pleasure; now she laboured for profit as well, and grew quantities of vegetable and flowers for sale in the neighbouring market town of T—.
 
At first when she had settled at Home Vale, people had looked at her rather askance; but, slowly it had dawned on her neighbours—none of whom lived very near, by-the-by, with the exception of Sir Jasper Amery—that careless of appearances though she was, and living without a servant, of which fact she was not a whit ashamed, there was no truer lady at heart than Miss Pring. A year previously she had locked up her cottage for a couple of days, and started on a journey. On her return she had brought with her a pale, weary-looking girl, evidently in very bad health, whom she had introduced to her acquaintances as her niece, Mary Pring. The girl had been a governess in a large town in the midlands, where she been underpaid, and, at the same time, so greatly overworked that she had broken down altogether, and being homeless, had been in dire distress of mind as to how to act when her aunt had appeared upon the scene, and insisted on carrying her home with her to Devon.
 
Now, Mary's health was completely restored, and she had been on the look-out for another situation for some weeks, when, only yesterday she had received a note from Sir Jasper Amery, asking her to call the following morning at the Moat House, as his niece, Mrs. Wallis, who had come to pay him a long visit, required a governess for her two little girls, and he thought she might prove suitable for the post.
 
Mary had accordingly started for the Moat House that morning in high spirits, whilst her aunt had betaken herself to the kitchen garden to pass the time of her niece's absence in hard work, to keep her from thinking, as she told herself. Miss Pring was very anxious for Mary to remain with her, for she realised how lonely she would feel if the girl was forced to leave her, and she could not afford to keep her at Home Vale in idleness. She watched the lark till, its song finished, it sank to the ground in an adjacent field, then resumed her work, turning up the rich, red mould with a will.
 
"I hope the child will get the situation," she thought; "she appeared very sanguine about it herself. How I should miss companionship if we had to part! We suit each other, for all we're so unlike. I'm glad I spoke of her to Sir Jasper when I saw him last. Poor old man! It will be a great change for him to have young people at the Moat House. Oh, here's Mary at last!"
 
Mary came swiftly down the garden path towards her aunt. She was a tall, slight young woman, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with a face which, possessing not one perfect feature, was nevertheless wonderfully pleasing and attractive, and now wore an expression so bright and joyous that Miss Pring knew at once that her heart's desire was to granted, and that Mary had obtained the much coveted situation.
 
"Well?" the elder woman said, interrogatively, in a deep, somewhat gruff voice.
 
"It is well, Aunt Esther," Mary replied, putting her arm around her aunt's waist, and imprinting a hearty kiss on her sunburnt cheek. "Everything is settled, and I am to commence my duties to-morrow. And what salary do you think I am to have?"
 
Miss Pring shook her head, and her niece continued:
 
"Forty pounds a year! I never dreamt it would be so much. Yes, indeed it is true. Now I shall be able to pay you for my living here. We shall be quite rich, shan't we? I am to be at the Moat House from ten to four."
 
"Then you will dine there?"
 
"Oh, yes. I saw my pupils; they appeared nice little girls, and one—the elder, who is fourteen—is so pretty. I was quite taken with her. And her manners are charming! Her name is Celia. The other child is younger by a couple of years."
 
"What like is the mother?" Miss Pring questioned.
 
"She is a handsome woman, but worn-looking. She was very genial, and said she would like to make your acquaintance, Aunt Esther. I told her all about you and how kind you have been to me."
 
"Pooh! you shouldn't have mentioned that. I've done nothing more than my duty towards you, child. I couldn't leave you to be sent to a hospital to be nursed back to health, could I, when I'd a home in the country all ready for your reception?"
 
"A great many aunts would have done so but not you, though."
 
"I should hope not."
 
Miss Pring never saw but one path in life open to her, the straight, narrow path, which is often so difficult to tread. She was an undemonstrative woman, with a very warm heart hidden beneath a somewhat masculine exterior. She hated shams or make-believe of any kind, and it was her niece's open straightforward disposition which had met with her approval and won her affection, when, after hearing of her illness, she had gone to her assistance. Miss Pring had rich relations whom she seldom mentioned, for their ways were not her ways. Mary was the only child of a ne'er-do-well brother who had died some years previously, leaving his wife and daughter unprovided for. His wife had not survived him long, so Mary had found herself alone in the world, for the rich relations had not come forward with any offer of assistance, and it had devolved upon Miss Pring to help the girl in her hour of need.
 
"I feel so very glad that I have obtained this situation, for I am sure it will suit me, and that I shall give satisfaction," Mary said, confidently. "I was getting quite low-spirited at the thought of leaving you, Aunt Esther, and I prayed earnestly that God would give me work to do here, so that we might not be parted, and you see He has. It is just as though these great-nieces of Sir Jasper's had been brought to the Moat House especially for me to teach."
 
"Things work wheel within wheel," Miss Pring replied, gravely. "Did you see Sir Jasper?" she inquired.
 
"Yes. He came into the room when Wallis was telling me what my duties would be, but he did not remain many minutes. He spoke to me very kindly, though, and asked for you. What a feeble old man he looks! I wonder if he means to leave Mrs. Wallis his property?"
 
Miss Pring shook her head, and said she had not the least idea what his intentions were. She was actually very curious to meet Sir Jasper's niece, whom he had mentioned to her in very affectionate terms. Sir Jasper never visited his tenant at Home Vale; but she went to see her landlord on every quarter day to pay her rent, and since his son's death she had waived ceremony at his request, and had called upon him on several occasions in a friendly fashion. The master of the Moat House had a sincere liking and respect for his plain-spoken neighbour, who went her own way, irrespective of public opinion.
 
"It will be such happiness to be at work again," Mary proceeded, as Miss Pring turned her attention once more to her labours, and having finished spading up the earth, raked it until it was quite smooth and fine. "Let me see, Aunt Esther, you are going to put kidney beans here, are you not?"
 
"Yes," was the response, "I shall soon till the beans now the earth is prepared for them; and in the meantime you may get dinner ready—cold beef, and there's a baked custard in the oven."
 
Mary nodded comprehendingly, and ran back to the house to do her aunt's bidding, whilst Miss Pring tilled her beans, humming a song the while, for she felt particularly light of heart. She had not a musical voice—it sounded rather like a bee in a pitcher—but there was a jubilant note discernible in it, nevertheless, very pleasant to hear. Not even Mary guessed the depth of her aunt's joy that she had obtained the situation as governess at the Moat House, for Miss Pring had never confessed to living soul the sense of loneliness she had often experienced before she had brought her niece to Home Vale. Her work satisfactorily completed at length, the gardener carefully cleaned and put away her tools, and then went indoors, and upstairs to her own room, where she changed her gardening attire for a neat black gown with white linen cuffs and collar, subsequently joining her niece at dinner. They spent the afternoon sewing in the little parlour, Mary talking light-heartedly of her coming duties; and after an early cup of tea they started for a walk.
 
It was in a shady lane where the branches of the hazel bushes almost met overhead that they encountered Celia and Joy Wallis, who had been finding treasures—wild hyacinths and anemones—in the mossy hedge-rows. The two girls were pleased to meet their new governess, who introduced them to her aunt.
 
"You must come and see me at Home Vale," said Miss Pring, hospitably.
 
"Mary," she added, turning to her niece, "you must bring your pupils to have tea with me one day."
 
"Oh, thank you!" Celia exclaimed. "We should like that, shouldn't we, Joy?"
 
"Yes," her sister nodded.
 
"You have an unusual name," Miss Pring remarked, transferring her attention to Joy. "Is it an abbreviation!"
 
"Yes, I am really called Joyce. Everyone seems struck with my name," Joy said, gravely; "Uncle Jasper was—I am not sure he liked it."
 
"I like it," Miss Pring declared, decidedly, whereupon Joy smiled up into the dark plain face of her new governess's aunt, and met an answering smile in return. "We shall be friends, I foresee," Miss Pring continued; "you and I will soon learn to understand each other."
 
"Are you coming to the Moat House to call on mother?" Joy asked, eagerly. "Oh, I hope you are!"
 
"I will come very soon," Miss Pring replied, suddenly making up her mind. "How do you like the Moat House?"
 
"Very much. We have been there a week, you know, and Uncle Jasper is very kind, but we don't see much of him. He likes to talk to mother best. We are going to begin lessons to-morrow, and I think I am glad."
 
"Joy," interposed Celia, "I have been telling Miss Pring— I mean this Miss Pring," she said, indicating Mary with a smiling glance, "that as her surname is the same as her aunt's, we might call her Miss Mary, and she says she has no objection to our doing so."
 
"Very well," Joy agreed readily.
 
After that, good-byes were exchanged, the children turned homewards, and aunt and niece proceeded in the opposite direction.
 
"Well, what do you think of our governess's relation?" Celia asked, as soon as she and her sister were safely out of earshot of the others. "Did you ever see such an ugly old frump before?"
 
"Oh, Celia!" Joy cried, reproachfully, "I thought she seemed so very nice, and I didn't think her ugly at all."
 
"Well, all I can say is that if Miss Mary was like her aunt in appearance, I should be sorry she was going to be our governess," Celia remarked, meditatively. "I do like people to be pretty and well-dressed," she admitted; adding, "I don't call Miss Mary pretty exactly, but she's nice-looking, and as mother says, anyone can see she's a lady."
 
"I heard Uncle Jasper tell mother he has a very high opinion of Miss Pring," Joy said, eagerly; "he said she was a good woman, as straight as a line, and as true as steel."
 
"I daresay," Celia replied, carelessly, "but she isn't any the better looking on that account."
 
"Perhaps she is rather plain," Joy admitted truthfully; "but," she summed up with some warmth, "I'd rather be good than pretty any day." To which sentiment Celia vouchsafed no answer, and when she spoke again, changed the conversation into an entirely different channel.
CHAPTER V. TRYING TO PLEASE SIR JASPER.

 
 
"WELL, children, and how do you get on with your governess?"
 
The speaker was Sir Jasper Amery, who encountered Celia and Joy in the garden a few evenings after Miss Pring had commenced her duties at the Moat House. He leaned heavily upon his stick, and surveyed the countenances of his little great-nieces with his usual keen, though not unkindly glance.
 
"We like her so much, Uncle Jasper," Celia answered, promptly; "she's very strict in lesson hours, and makes us work hard; but she's always ready to help us, and explain everything we don't understand."
 
"I shall ask her to give me her opinion of your abilities," Sir Jasper said. "I heard someone practising on the piano this afternoon. Which of you was that?"
 
"Oh, it was I!" Joy cried, a flush rising to her sallow cheeks. "I'm afraid I don't play very well; but I love music dearly."
 
"You play remarkably well for your age," Sir Jasper told her. "I wonder if you know any of my favourite tunes—'The Last Rose of Summer,' for instance?"
 
"No; but I am sure I could learn it if I had the music," Joy replied.
 
"Come with me to the library," the old man said, abruptly.
 
He hobbled on in front, whilst the child: followed in silence. Neither Celia nor Joy had ventured to enter the library as yet, though they had been curious to see the room where Sir Jasper spent most of his days. It proved to be a long, low apartment, dim in the evening light, the walls lined with books, and the writing-table strewn with papers. In one corner stood an old-fashioned, high-backed piano which Jasper opened.
 
"Come, which of you is going to give me some music?" he asked. "Are you musical, Celia?"
 
"Not very, I'm afraid," Celia acknowledged, regretfully, for she was most desirous of making a favourable impression upon Sir Jasper. "Of course I do play, but not so well as Joy."
 
Sir Jasper turned to Joy, who, after moment's hesitation, took her seat at the piano and struck the opening notes of a piece of music she knew by heart. She was very nervous at first, but she gained confidence as she played, and delighted Sir Jasper, who thanked her very cordially when at length she stopped and turned around on the piano stool to see if he was satisfied.
 
"Thank you, my dear," he said, earnestly, "you have given me a great treat. Until now no one has touched that piano since my son died. His were the last fingers to play upon it. You have a talent for music which should be cultivated."
 
"I wish I could play the piece you spoke of just now," Joy said; "is it very difficult?"
 
"Not at all! It is a fine old English ballad, but I have it somewhere arranged as a piece for the piano." He rummaged over a pile of music on a stand close by, and at last selected the piece he was looking for. "Here it is," he cried. "'The Last Rose of Summer' is not in fashion now, I believe, but I love the old tune. Take the music, my dear, and see if you can learn to play it."
 
"I will," Joy replied, earnestly.
 
Sir Jasper was in a sociable mood, and he detained the girls in conversation. Joy was getting over her first shyness of him, and talked in her usual frank fashion.
 
"I should like to be a great musician some day," she informed him, "and then I should earn a lot of money, shouldn't I?"
 
"Do you want to earn a lot of money?" he inquired, regarding her attentively.
 
"Oh, yes," she answered, "indeed I do. I should so like to be rich!"
 
He appeared a little disappointed at her answer, Joy thought, and a somewhat grim smile crossed his face. Celia looked put out and frowned at her sister, who came to the conclusion she had said something she had better left unsaid.
 
 
 
"How could you have been so foolish as to tell Uncle Jasper you wanted to be rich!" Celia exclaimed, in tones of intense vexation, the very first moment she and Joy were alone together. "It was such a stupid thing to say!"
 
"Why?" Joy demanded, wonderingly. "I meant it."
 
"I know, and of course Uncle Jasper saw you meant it. You needn't always say exactly what you mean, though. I want to be rich, too, a great deal more than you do, I daresay, but I shouldn't think of telling people so—especially Uncle Jasper!"
 
"I only meant that I would like to have a lot of money so that mother shouldn't be worried any more, and—"
 
"Mother isn't worried now she's living here," was the impatient interruption.
 
"No, but when we go home again—"
 
Celia turned sharply away from her sister, and would not hear the conclusion of the sentence. She was delighted with the Moat House and her surroundings. It was a pleasant change to have the best of everything provided for her; to live in a large house, handsomely and comfortably furnished; to have servants to wait on her, and dainty food in the place of the plain fare she had been accustomed to all her previous life. Mrs. Wallis and Joy found it a pleasant change, too, but they sometimes talked of their home at A—, whilst Celia never mentioned it, and hoped fervently that Uncle Jasper would want them to remain with him altogether.
 
Sir Jasper appeared perfectly contented with the present arrangement. He spent a good deal of time in his niece's company, and made it a habit to walk up and down the terrace in front of his house every evening leaning upon her arm. One evening, Mrs. Wallis being engaged in letter-writing Celia took her place. Joy, seated on a garden seat, watched her sister as she chatted to Sir Jasper, her bright face aglow with smiles, her blue eyes shining brilliantly, and thought how well Celia was getting on with her companion. She appeared to know exactly what to say to amuse and please him; she never made a remark it would have been better to have left unsaid.
 
By-and-by Joy opened the English history book she had brought out-of-doors with her, and commenced to learn the lesson Miss Mary Pring had given her to prepare for the next day. She had nearly finished her task when suddenly Sir Jasper's voice broke upon her ears.
 
"So you don't care for money, then?" he was saying.
 
Joy glanced up quickly, and saw her sister and the old man had paused at a little distance from her. She listened curiously for Celia's answer. It filled her with a sense of intense astonishment.
 
"Not in the very least," was the apparently careless reply.
 
"Nonsense, my dear!" In spite of his words, Joy noted that Sir Jasper's voice sounded very pleased. "Money is a very good thing sometimes."
 
"Is it?" Celia questioned, innocently.
 
"A very good thing sometimes," he repeated; "but there are occasions when it is useless, quite useless. What good is it to me—a poor old man who has lost his all?"
 
"But you do good with it," Celia reminded him, gently. "Miss Mary was telling us only yesterday how kind you have been to the poor widow of that farm labourer who died suddenly last week. And see what you have done for us!"
 
"You are a grateful little soul, Celia," he told her, with a tender inflection in his voice. "You are like your dear mother."
 
Joy heard no more, for she hastily rose and retreated into the house. She was full of indignation against her sister. What could have induced Celia to utter such a falsehood as to say she did not in the least care for money, when all her life she had bemoaned her poverty, and longed for wealth?
 
Later in the evening, when the sisters were preparing for bed, Joy taxed Celia with having told Sir Jasper an untruth. For a moment the elder girl was confused, then broke into a laugh as she exclaimed: "Oh, Joy, you surely don't imagine I would be as silly as you, and tell Uncle Jasper I cared for money, do you?"
 
"But you do care for money, Celia!"
 
"Of course I do, but it wouldn't be wise to let Uncle Jasper know it."
 
"Why not? He said himself that money is a very good thing sometimes."
 
"Yes, I know, but—well—I can hardly explain what I mean, but I want him to think we like him for himself, and not his money. We ought to try to please him."
 
"Why, so we do; but it's never right to tell a lie. It's a sin, you know it is as well as I do," Joy declared, bluntly. "Mother wouldn't have liked you to be deceitful, and say what wasn't true, even to please Uncle Jasper."
 
"Well, you needn't make such a fuss about a trifle. There's no reason why you should work yourself into a passion. And why should you dictate to me when I am so much older than you? I don't like it. Do you mean to get me into trouble with mother?"
 
"Of course not!" Joy flashed out, angrily, resentful at the suggestion.
 
Celia looked relieved. She proceeded undress in silence, casting side glances at Joy meanwhile.
 
By-and-by Joy's indignation commenced to cool; she began to wonder whether she might not have misjudged her sister, and to doubt if she had intended to tell a deliberate falsehood. Celia was so kind-hearted, so desirous of pleasing! Joy looked at her as she stood brushing her hair in front of dressing-table, and hoped she had misjudged her, for it pained her deeply to think her dearly loved sister, whom she admired more than any one else in the world, was not truthful.
 
"Don't let us quarrel!" she said at length.
 
"Oh, I don't want to quarrel," Celia replied, smiling; "but I thought you wanted to fall out with me. Don't be cross any longer, Joy. Here have I been giving up my spare time this evening to amusing Uncle Jasper, because mother has been busy letter-writing, and for my pains you accuse me of story-telling! I declare it's too bad of when I've only been doing my best to please him. You know mother wants us to make him happier, if we can."
 
There was a ring of reproach in Celia's voice. Joy went up to her, and putting her arms around her neck gave her an affectionate hug, and a kiss which was warmly returned. Thus did the sisters make their peace.
 
Mrs. Wallis and her daughters had now been at the Moat House several weeks, and already the absence of small worries was having a beneficial effect on the former's health, whilst the Devonshire air was bringing faint roses to Joy's pale cheeks, and Celia's fair face was more blooming than ever.
 
Mrs. Wallis was perfectly satisfied with her children's governess; and Miss Mary Pring considered herself a most fortune young woman to have obtained such a comfortable situation. She had been told that her engagement at the Moat House might be only for a year's duration; but she was of a naturally hopeful disposition, and trusted it would prove otherwise.
 
"Sir Jasper is growing so attached to the children," she remarked to her aunt one evening when, the work of the day over, they sat dawdling over the tea-table at Home Vale. "Of Celia he is especially fond; nor is it any wonder, for she is always ready to drop whatever she is doing to wait upon him, and her manner to him is particularly nice. She is a wonderfully thoughtful child for her age, and so kind-hearted!"
 
"Is she?" Miss Pring asked, a trifle dubiously, or so her niece thought.
 
"Indeed she is! I don't believe she would willingly hurt anyone's feelings for the world. She always tries to please."
 
"That is not a sure proof of a kind heart, my dear Mary. It may mean only a desire to stand well in other people's sight. However, you have good opportunities for forming a correct estimate of her character, no doubt you have judged her rightly."
 
"She works most conscientiously and attends to all my instructions. She is evidently desirous of learning all she can. I never had a better pupil."
 
"And what about the other sister?" Pring inquired.
 
"She is not so attentive as Celia in the general way, but she has a real talent for music. Sir Jasper gets her to play to him occasionally, and she has learnt a favorite piece of his—'The Last Rose of Summer.' I often wonder, Aunt Esther, what he means to do for those children in the future."
 
"So do I," Miss Pring answered, soberly. "I think he ought to make his intentions known. I've a great mind to tell him so the next time we meet."
 
"Oh, you won't do that, surely, Aunt Esther!" Mary cried, looking quite shocked, for she stood rather in awe of Sir Jasper.
 
"I shall be guided by circumstances," Miss Pring replied, meditatively; "but don't be alarmed, Mary, you may trust me not to give offence."
CHAPTER VI. THE LAWYER'S DAUGHTER.

 
"I AM expecting visitors this afternoon," Sir Jasper announced at the breakfast-table one Saturday morning. "Tillotson is coming to see me on business, and I have asked him to stay till Monday, and bring his daughter with him. She is an only child," he explained, putting down the letter he had been reading from his lawyer, and addressing Mrs. Wallis; "she will be a rich woman, some day, for her father's a prosperous man, and more business is transacted in his offices at T— in one day than in the other lawyers' offices in the town in a week."
 
"Is Miss Tillotson grown up?" Mrs. Wallis inquired.
 
"No, she's about the age of Celia, I fancy. Tillotson has brought her here by my invitation on several occasions. He's devoted to her, and spoils her, I've little doubt. She's not a pretty girl, but I suppose she's what people call stylish." Sir Jasper gave a little chuckle of amusement as he spoke. "I daresay she'll prove a congenial companion for Celia and Joy," he concluded.
 
"What is she called, Uncle Jasper?" Celia asked, much interested.
 
"Her name is Lucinda, but her father calls her Lulu. She will be your guest, remember children, so try to make her short visit a happy one."
 
"Oh, yes!" the little girls replied, readily.
 
"Is there no Mrs. Tillotson?" Mrs. Wallis questioned.
 
"Tillotson is a widower. His wife died soon after the birth of her child. He is a silent, reserved sort of man, but he was as deeply attached to his wife as he is now attached to his daughter, for whom he thinks nothing too good. He simply grants her every wish."
 
"But that cannot be well for her," Mrs. Wallis said, beginning to wonder if this spoilt child would prove a very desirable companion for her own daughters.
 
"No, of course it is not," Sir Jasper agreed. "I've no doubt she thinks that all the world was made for her; but she'll find out her mistake some day. I've a great respect for Tillotson, but he doesn't know how to rear up a girl. Miss Lulu is practically the mistress of her father's house, although he keeps a housekeeper who is supposed to manage everything."
 
Saturday was a whole holiday for the young people at the Moat House. In the afternoon Sir Jasper generally ordered the carriage, and Mrs. Wallis and the children went for a long drive; but to-day they remained at home to welcome Sir Jasper's guests. It was nearly four o'clock when the visitors arrived, and were shown into the drawing-room, where their host was awaiting them with his niece and her two daughters.
 
"I am very glad to meet you again, Mr. Tillotson," said Mrs. Wallis, as she shook hands with the lawyer. "And this is your daughter? I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear. These are my little girls—Celia and Joy."
 
Having shaken hands with Sir Jasper, who greeted her very cordially, Lulu turned her attention to the others. She glanced at Mrs. Wallis carelessly, but meeting a very kindly smile, gave her a second and more interested look. Then her eyes wandered to Joy, from Joy to Celia, upon whom they rested in rather an ill-bred stare, though their owner had evidently no intention of being rude.
 
Lulu Tillotson was a tall, slight girl of about fourteen, with a freckled complexion, light, somewhat sandy hair, and pale blue eyes. She was most fashionably dressed in a pink frock much befrilled, and trimmed with expensive lace; her fingers—she had removed her gloves—were laden with rings; and she wore an exceedingly handsome long gold chain, twined around her neck, and fastened to the watch in her waist-band. Her manner was self-satisfied and assured; the expression of her face complacent and rather good-humoured. After shaking hands with Celia and Joy, she seated herself in a chair by Mrs. Wallis's side, whilst Sir Jasper immediately bore Mr. Tillotson off to the library to talk on business matters.
 
"Did you have a pleasant drive from T—?" Mrs. Wallis asked.
 
"Oh, yes, pleasant enough," Lulu answered carelessly; "but father drives so slowly and carefully—he always does, you know—that he allowed several carriages to pass us on the road, the consequence being that we were almost smothered with dust, and that made me cross. I told father I wished I had refused to come, and that the dust was simply ruining my new hat, but he wouldn't drive faster."
 
Mrs. Wallis glanced at the hat in question—pink, to match Lulu's frock, with a bunch of white ostrich feathers as trimming—and wondered who had purchased it for her, or if it was her own taste.
 
"Would you like to go up to your room my dear," she enquired, "or will you stay where you are and talk to me? Tea is at half-past five."
 
"Oh, I'll stay where I am, please."
 
"Then you had better remove your hat. Joy will take it upstairs for you, won't you, Joy?"
 
"Oh, yes," Joy answered, coming forward and receiving the wonderful article of millinery, which Lulu handed to her without a word of thanks. She carried it gingerly out of the room, whilst Celia drew nearer to the visitor and joined in the conversation.
 
By the time Joy came back her sister and Lulu were doing most of the talking, whilst Mrs. Wallis was listening, a faint smile of amusement upon her lips. Lulu had been giving them a graphic description of her music-master at school, and though she had ridiculed his peculiarities, it had not been unkindly done.
 
"You have Miss Pring's niece for a governess, don't you?" she said. Receiving an affirmative answer she rattled on: "I know old Miss Pring—father knew her years ago, when she was a rich woman—and I can't bear her. Such an interfering old creature she is! Father will take me to see her sometimes—I never wish to go!—and to-day he insisted on calling at Home Vale on his way here, and the very first words Miss Pring said, when she saw me, were: 'Bless the child, she looks like a cockatoo!' I never felt angrier in my life."
 
There was a general laugh at this, for Lulu looked so aggrieved; her listeners guessed, with truth, that Miss Pring's observation had been directed at the feathers in her hat. Celia was the only one who had an answer ready.
 
"It was very rude of her," she said.
 
"Yes, indeed!" Lulu agreed. "She certainly apologised afterwards, and said the remark had been surprised out of her, whatever she may have meant by that. I call her a spiteful old woman! If she can't afford nice clothing herself she shouldn't be envious of others."
 
"Oh, you misjudge her there!" Mrs. Wallis exclaimed, in accents of gentle reproof. "I am sure Miss Pring is much too good and kind to be envious, though perhaps she is a little too outspoken, sometimes."
 
"A great deal too outspoken, I think!" Lulu cried, tossing her head, for she still felt very angry.
 
"Yes, indeed," Celia assented, earnestly.
 
Lulu regarded Celia with growing favour; but she took no notice of Joy, and when later she rose to go to her room to prepare for tea, it was the elder sister she asked to accompany her.
 
"Mother, what do you think of her?" Joy asked, the minute she and her mother were alone together.
 
"Poor child, she is much to be pitied," was the answer she received in tones of deep compassion.
 
"Oh, mother! Why?"
 
"Because she has no one to correct her faults, my dear; no one to tell her what a self-centered little girl she is, so wrapped up in her own affairs and so vain of her dress. I do not like the way she speaks of her father, it is not a respectful way. I am glad she is only going to stay till Monday, for I should not care for you to be very friendly with her."
 
"I am not likely to be that," Joy said, soberly, for she could not help feeling a little hurt that Lulu had taken no notice of her, though she was not in the least jealous of her sister. "She has scarcely spoken to me yet."
 
"Never mind, my dear."
 
"Oh, mother, I don't mind, or at least, not much," she amended, truthfully; "but she never even said 'thank you' when I carried her hat upstairs for her."
 
"I noticed that, but I do not think her rudeness was intentional. You must try to judge people by their intentions, my dear, and not by their acts. Don't take a dislike to this motherless little girl. I have no doubt she has her good qualities, which we shall discover by-and-by."
 
Joy impulsively threw her arms around mother's neck, and kissed her many times. She was wondering what she herself would have been like if she had had no mother to correct her faults, and guide her all her life. Her earliest recollections were of her mother, who had taught her to be courteous to everyone, to study other people's feelings, and who had always set her an example of unselfishness and thoughtfulness, which she earnestly desired to follow, so that her heart softened towards Lulu when she remembered that God had denied her a mother's tender care.
 
Meanwhile, Lulu and Celia had gone upstairs to the large front bedroom which had been prepared for the former. Though Lulu was only to remain till Monday morning, she had brought a second frock, which she drew from her portmanteau with great pride, for it was even finer than the one she wore. She held it up for Celia's inspection, and Celia went into raptures of admiration as she examined it, and exclaimed on the beauty of its colour—it was palest blue—and its quality.
 
"Yes, it is very nice," Lulu allowed complacently, as she laid the garment carefully on the bed. She glanced from it to her companion, clad in her blue serge skirt and cotton blouse, as she asked, "What is your best frock like?"
 
"It's a grey cashmere," Celia answered, flushing under the other's scrutiny. "It's rather pretty, I think, but not to be compared to this!" —and she sighed enviously as she touched Lulu's blue gown.
 
"Why doesn't your mother see that you have prettier frocks?" Lulu questioned, abruptly.
 
"We are not rich people," Celia responded, with a shade of dignity in her tone, which was quite lost upon Lulu, however, who exclaimed,
 
"Not rich people? No, perhaps not, now, but you will be."
 
"I don't know what you mean," Celia cried, alternately paling and flushing with excitement.
 
"You will be rich people when you get Sir Jasper Amery's money."
 
"But I don't know that we are going to it."
 
"Well, of course, I don't know it, either; but I expect you will. I heard father say that Mrs. Wallis is Sir Jasper's nearest relative."
 
"Does your father think—" Celia hesitated, not liking to finish her sentence, but Lulu did so for her.
 
"Does father think Sir Jasper is going to leave you his money? I'm sure I can't tell, and I am sure I should not like to ask him, for he'd be really angry with me if I did. He never talks about the affairs of anyone he's connected with in business. But, you may depend upon it, Sir Jasper would not have invited you all here if he had not meant to leave you his property. I've heard people at T— talking about it, and they all say that."
 
Celia shook her head doubtfully; and Lulu continued,
 
"I should ask him to give me some new clothes, if I were you. He isn't a bad-natured old fellow."
 
Celia looked slightly aghast at hearing the master of the house spoken of in such a flippant manner. She stood gazing thoughtfully at the blue frock, whilst Lulu concluded:
 
"I shall wear it to church to-morrow; that's why I brought it."
 
At that moment the tea-bell rang, and they hurried downstairs. Lulu linked her arm within Celia's, and thus they entered the dining-room together, much to the astonishment of Joy, who failed to understand how they could have got on such friendly terms in so short a time.
 
"Lulu has the loveliest dress you can possibly imagine to wear to church to-morrow," Celia confided to her sister, when they were going to bed that night.
 
"Has she?" said Joy, indifferently.
 
"Joy, don't you wish you and I had handsomer dresses to wear on Sundays?" Celia inquired, rather aggrievedly.
 
"No," was the response, somewhat bluntly spoken. "I don't want to be like Lulu Tillotson. We go to church to worship God, and it doesn't matter to Him about our clothes, so why should it matter to us?"
 
 
CHAPTER VII. A SUNDAY AT THE MOAT HOUSE.

 
 
THE Moat House was situated about half-a-mile from Crumleigh, a little village which consisted of one straggling street and one old church surrounded by a small bury-ground. The inhabitants of Crumleigh were nearly all of the labouring class, the heads of the families being employed on the neighbouring farms, so that the worshippers who assembled at the church on Sundays were, with a very few exceptions, working people who earned their livelihoods on the land.
 
Sir Jasper Amery never went to church nowadays. Since his son's death he had shrunk from appearing in public, and generally spent Sunday mornings shut up alone in the library, whither he, as a rule, repaired as soon as he had breakfasted. On this particular Sunday, though, which Mr. Tillotson and his daughter were spending at the Moat House, Sir Jasper inquired into the intentions of his guests, and desired to know who was going to church.
 
"Are you?" he asked Mr. Tillotson, after learning that his niece meant to take the little girls.
 
"Not if you would like me to keep you company, Sir Jasper," the lawyer answered, kindly and considerately.
 
"I wish you to please yourself, Tillotson," Sir Jasper said; but he looked as though he would like his guest to remain with him, so Mr. Tillotson elected to stay at home.
 
At half-past ten o'clock Mrs. Wallis and the three little girls started to walk to Crumleigh. The service at the church did not commence till eleven, so they had plenty of time. Celia and Lulu walked ahead of Joy and her mother. The way led from the high road through exceedingly muddy lanes. There had been heavy rain during the night, which had cleared, however, and given place to a perfect summer's day, though Sir Jasper had foretold at the breakfast-table that there was more rain to come. Fresh sweet scents arose from the moist earth, and the air was fragrant with the perfume of dog-roses, meadow-sweet, honeysuckle and other summer flowers.
 
Celia and Lulu chatted merrily; but Joy looked unusually grave as she walked quietly along by her mother's side, her eyes fixed on the couple in front; and she was so occupied with her own thoughts that she awoke from her reverie with a start when Mrs. Wallis addressed her.
 
"What was it you said, mother?" she asked. "I did not hear."
 
"I remarked that Celia and this new acquaintance of ours appear to get on well together."
 
"Yes," Joy agreed, "they are quite friends already, are they not? What do you think of Lulu's best dress, mother?"
 
"It is very handsome, but quite unsuitable for a young girl."
 
"Celia says she wishes she had one like it to wear on Sundays."
 
"If she had I fear she would be thinking more of her finery than of her devotions. Why are they stopping? Oh, I see. Lulu has splashed into a puddle of muddy water."
 
"I never knew such rugged lanes as these!" Lulu cried, irascibly. "Do look at the wheel ruts! And do look at the splashes of mud on my frock! I shall not be fit to be seen by the time we reach the church."
 
Mrs. Wallis could not help smiling at the sight of the girl's rueful face; however, she very kindly produced her own handkerchief and tried to rectify the damage done, but without much success, for the mud splashes left great, dark stains on the pale blue material. This fact made Lulu very cross; but she recovered her temper, when, church reached at last, she followed Mrs. Wallis up the aisle, conscious of the many pairs of eyes watching her gaily-clad figure. She reflected that it was not often the simple villagers saw anyone so fashionably dressed as herself. This knowledge made her very self-conscious, and she fidgeted with her bracelets, and was so fussy that even Celia, who was inclined to think all their visitor did must be right, wished she would get settled; but it was not until she caught Miss Pring's gaze fixed upon her, whilst the clergyman was reading the second lesson, that a sudden stillness fell upon her, and she was quiet during the rest of the service.
 
"It was a nice sermon, wasn't it?" said Celia, as she and Lulu started for the homeward walk together as they had come. "It was the Vicar—Mr. Cole—who preached; he often comes to the Moat House to see Uncle Jasper."
 
"I didn't hear a word of the sermon," Lulu acknowledged, frankly, "not even the text. I never listen to sermons; they're always so stupid."
 
"Oh, do you think so?" Celia was not quite ready to agree with such a sweeping assertion. "Oh, here's Joy!" she cried, as her sister ran up to them.
 
"Mother's coming behind with Miss Pring and Miss Mary, so I thought I'd walk home with you, Celia," Joy explained.
 
"Oh, let us get on! Don't let us wait for Miss Pring!" exclaimed Lulu. "You should have seen how severely she looked at me in church."
 
"That was because you didn't sit still, I expect," Joy replied; "once I thought mother was going to speak to you about it."
 
Lulu was silent for a few minutes, slightly abashed; at length she remarked;
 
"I think your mother's rather particular."
 
"Oh, no, she isn't," Joy answered, quickly; "but she always says people should be reverent in their manner in church, and remember they are in God's house."
 
"And wasn't I reverent?" Lulu demanded, in astonishment.
 
"Well, no, I don't think you were," Joy admitted, after a moment's hesitation.
 
"Oh, Joy!" Celia whispered, fearing their visitor would take offence.
 
"Let her say what she thinks!" Lulu cried, sharply. "I wish you'd tell me what you mean," she said to Joy; "come, you may as well."
 
"You—you seemed to be thinking of yourself all the time," was the frank response— "of yourself and your clothes, you know."
 
"Well, what ought I to have been thinking of, then?" Lulu questioned, flippantly.
 
"Of God," Joy answered, in a low voice.
 
There was a brief silence, broken by Celia, who addressed Lulu in conciliatory tones.
 
"You mustn't be offended with Joy," she said; "she means no harm—she's always so outspoken."
 
"Oh, I don't mind that! I like people to say what they mean. It's only when people make a point of snubbing me, like Miss Pring, that I get annoyed." She looked at Joy with more interest in her glance. "You're a queer little thing!" she told her, but she smiled as she said it, and was evidently not offended.
 
Lulu's manner was slightly subdued during the remainder of the walk.
 
They had to pass Home Vale on their way, and waited at the gate to speak to Miss Pring and her niece, who were following with Mrs. Wallis.
 
"Well, young people, what did you think of the sermon?" asked Miss Pring, as they stood in a group talking for a few minutes. "A sound, plain sermon, I considered it, full of home truths. I expect it conveyed lessons to us all."
 
"I expect so," Mrs. Wallis agreed; "the text is one that will bear many constructions."
 
"What was the text?" Lulu whispered to Celia, but not in a sufficiently low tone to be unheard by all the others, for Miss Pring repeated the question sharply.
 
"What was the text? And do you mean to say you have forgotten it already! Oh, you did not hear it? I should be ashamed to confess it. The text was: 'Little children, keep yourselves from idols.'"
 
"But we don't worship idols nowadays!" Lulu exclaimed, with pretended innocence.
 
"Oh, do we not!" Miss Pring cried, "You should have listened to the sermon, child, and perhaps you would be a little wiser for having done so. We don't worship idols nowadays, you say? Remember, there are other idols but those made of wood and stone! People worship money, and position, and fame, and fine dress, and all these things and many more may come between the soul and the living God."
 
"Oh!" cried Lulu, suddenly abashed. "I see what you mean."
 
"I am glad you do, my dear," said Miss Pring, significantly. "It's a pity you missed that sermon, though."
 
The afternoon, which was fine, the three girls spent in the rock garden, but in the evening it rained again—such an incessant downpour that the half mile walk to Crumleigh Church was quite out of the question. Mrs. Wallis sat down at the piano in the drawing-room after tea, and commenced the accompaniment of a hymn which she sang with the children. The sounds of music brought Sir Jasper and Mr. Tillotson from the dining-room to listen, and Lulu forgot her dress and her affectations, as she joined her voice with Celia and Joy's, and afterwards declared she had never before in her life spent such a happy Sunday evening.
 
"I think I shall try to learn to play some hymn tunes," she confided to Celia, later on; "it's so dull at home on Sunday evenings if we don't go to church; and sometimes in the winter I get such bad colds that I'm obliged to stay at home. How beautifully your mother plays! You can't think how I envy you and your sister."
 
"Oh, why?" Celia cried, intensely surprised, for she considered she had more cause to envy Lulu, the rich man's daughter, than Lulu had cause to envy her. "I thought you had everything you could wish for. Doesn't your father give you all you want?"
 
"Oh, yes, of course he does!"
 
"Then, why should you envy Joy and me?"
 
"Because you have a mother to love you—mine died when I was baby, you know. I like your mother very much, but I'm afraid she doesn't altogether approve of me!"
 
"What makes you think that?" Celia asked uneasily, for she knew it was so.
 
"The way I have caught her looking at me several times to-day—half sorry, half vexed." There was a slight pause, after which Lulu proceeded in a lighter tone: "I've really enjoyed this Sunday, and I do hope Sir Jasper will invite me here again. I wonder if your mother would let you come and stay with me at T—? Our house is in the main street, but there's plenty of room in it, and it's very comfortable. Would you like to come?"
 
"Oh, indeed I should!" Celia replied, delighted at the idea.
 
"I will speak to father about it," Lulu said, "and get him to ask Mrs. Wallis to let you come. I suppose you will have holidays later on?"
 
"Yes, they will begin at the end of July, when Eric comes home."
 
"Oh, I had forgotten your brother! Perhaps you will not like to leave the Moat House whilst he is here?"
 
"Oh, I shall not mind." Celia blushed as she caught her companion's glance of surprise. "Of course I am looking forward to seeing him," she explained, hastily, "but he and Joy spend most of their time together during the holidays."
 
"Sir Jasper has not seen him yet, has he?" Lulu questioned. "Perhaps he will make him his heir," she added, after Celia had replied in the negative.
 
"His heir?" Celia repeated. "Did you know Uncle Jasper's son?" she inquired, presently.
 
"I never spoke to him, but I used to see him a T— sometimes, driving in the town, when he was visiting his father. His was a dreadful death, wasn't it?"
 
"I never heard how he died. I suppose mother knows, but she has not told us, and I never thought of asking her."
 
"He was drowned."
 
"Drowned? How dreadful!"
 
"Yes, and especially as his body was never found."
 
"How did it happen?"
 
"He went for a walking tour with a friend, a gentleman from London, a barrister like himself, and whilst they were going along a cliff path somewhere in Cornwall, Mr. Amery tripped, and fell right over the cliff into the sea. The tide was going out at the time, and his body was never found."
 
"Oh, poor fellow!" Celia cried. "And poor Uncle Jasper!" she added sympathetically; "no wonder he looks so sad sometimes."
 
"He is much brighter than he was before you all came here," Lulu said. "He seems very fond of your mother, doesn't he? I don't wonder, for she has such pleasant manners. Oh, don't you know what I mean? She doesn't rub me the wrong way like Miss Pring does. I believe Miss Pring thinks me a dreadful girl. And when she begins to moralise with me, she aggravates me to such an extent, that I just say the first thing I can think of that I know will shock her."
 
"Oh, what a shame!" Celia cried, but she could not help laughing. "I don't care for Miss Pring myself, but Joy likes her, and Miss Mary thinks there is no one so good as her aunt. I believe she is very kind; but, did you ever see anyone dress with less taste?"
 
"Never," Lulu admitted. The conversation having once more turned upon dress, she told Celia of the various costumes she had at home.
 
"Does your father let you wear what you like?" Celia asked.
 
"Yes. I always choose my own frocks. Don't you?"
 
"No."
 
"It's a shame you can't have nicer clothes!" Lulu said; adding with frank admiration, "And you are so very pretty, you know!"
 
"Oh," cried Celia, her fair face aflame with blushes, "you mustn't flatter me like that!" But she was very pleased, in spite of her words of reproof, for she was a vain little girl at heart.
 
 
 
CHAPTER VIII. LEFT OUT IN THE COLD.

 
MRS. WALLIS was far from being desirous that Lulu Tillotson should become very friendly with her young daughters; but, when the lawyer, before bidding her farewell on Monday morning, besought her very earnestly to allow Celia and Joy to spend the following Saturday at his house at T—, she hardly knew how to decline his invitation; and whilst she was hesitating, Sir Jasper interposed, and said it would be a pleasant change for the children.
 
"You know, my dear Margaret, the carriage is always at your disposal, so there will be no difficulty about sending or fetching the young people," he remarked; "let them go, by all means."
 
After that Mrs. Wallis saw no course open for her but to accept the invitation, though she did so with some misgivings. She did not dislike Lulu, and was sincerely sorry for the motherless girl; but she much feared she was not a good friend for Celia, for whom she evinced great partiality.
 
"I would as soon stay at home as go," remarked to her sister as she was getting ready to start for the drive to T— on Saturday morning. "I don't believe Lulu Tillotson wants me, she only asked her father to invite me on your account."
 
"Don't be silly!" Celia retorted. "You had a lot of friends at school, and I had none, but now Lulu and I are friends you don't like it. You must be jealous."
 
"Oh, Celia, how can you think that!" Joy cried, reproachfully. There was sufficient truth in her sister's speech, however, to make her pause and reflect. "I only meant that two's company and three's none," she proceeded, after a short silence. "I don't think I am jealous of Lulu; I hope not, but I know you and she will be so wrapped up in each other that I shall be out in the cold."
 
This actually proved to be the case, for the moment Sir Jasper Amery's carriage drew up before the lawyer's house and the two girls stepped out, Lulu, who had been anxiously awaiting their arrival, appeared on the doorstep and took possession of Celia at once.
 
"Come up to my bedroom and take off your hat," she said; then turning to Joy she added, apparently as an after-thought: "And you too, Joy."
 
The lawyer's house was comfortably furnished, regardless of expense, and Lulu's room was as fresh and dainty an apartment as any little girl could wish to call her own, with its suite of white enamelled furniture, and its brass-mounted, white-curtained bed. The window looked out into the main street of the busy town, and Saturday being market day at T— there were many people about, mostly farmers and their wives and daughters. Joy watched the pedestrians passing to and fro, whilst Lulu disclosed the contents of her set of drawers and wardrobe, which she evidently considered a mode of entertainment, for Celia's benefit.
 
Many were Celia's exclamations of gratification as she turned over Lulu's numerous possessions; but she shook her head when Lulu would have made her a present of a turquoise brooch which she had particularly admired. "No, no, I can't take it, but thank you so much for wishing to give it to me," Celia cried, gratefully. "It is a lovely brooch; but I am certain mother would not like me to accept such a valuable present."
 
"Oh, you must have it, Celia! These blue stones are the very colour to suit you. Surely Mrs. Wallis would not mind your taking it when I so much wish you to have it? Let me pin it in your frock, and then you will see how it looks."
 
This was done, and Celia surveyed herself in a looking-glass. Lulu was right; she thought the brooch with its blue stones certainly suited her fair complexion. She longed to keep it, but she knew her mother would not approve of her doing so; therefore, she shook her head more decidedly than she had done before, and unfastening the brooch, handed it back to Lulu. "It is very kind and generous of you to wish to give it to me," she said with a sigh, "but I must not take it, really. Mother would not like me to do so, would she, Joy?"
 
"No, she would not," Joy agreed, decidedly. "I think if you took it she'd most probably make you return it," she added, bluntly.
 
Lulu looked really disappointed, for she had set her heart on making a present of the brooch to her new friend; but she now put it away without another word. She was not so disappointed as Celia, though.
 
When Lulu had exhibited all her treasures, she took her visitors into the drawing-room, which was upstairs, as most of the lower rooms of the house were given up to offices; she explained that she was always trying to induce her father to take a private house in the suburbs of the town, but he would not.
 
"He says perhaps he will when I leave school," she told her companions, "but that won't be for ages. That's my mother's likeness over the mantelpiece."
 
It was an enlarged photograph of quite a young girl with a happy-looking countenance, which bore some slight resemblance to Lulu's.
 
"How very young she looks!" Celia exclaimed in surprise.
 
"Yes; she was only nineteen when she died," Lulu replied. "Do you think I am at all like her? Father says I am, sometimes." Then, without waiting for a reply to her question, she continued: "Do you know, father declared the other day that occasionally I appear older to him than my mother when he married her."
 
"How strange!" cried Joy, her eyes still examining the photograph of the late Mrs. Tillotson.
 
"He was cross with me when he said it," Lulu confessed, "and he isn't often that. He had caught me reading a book he didn't approve of, and he said he didn't know what the children of this generation were coming to. I am sure it was a very nice book."
 
"What was it?" Celia asked, curiously.
 
"It was called 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' a most exciting story about a nobleman's wife who stole some jewels, and put the blame off on someone else. One of the servants lent it to me, and father made me give it back to her; but I borrowed it again, and finished reading it after all. You would enjoy it, Celia. It is so interesting. Father said himself there was no real harm in it," she proceeded, hurriedly, as she noticed both her hearers looked surprised, and more than a little shocked; "he said it was mere trash, but it was most exciting, and a I'd rather read a story like that than the books he would like to see me with—Sir Walter Scott's novels, for instance."
 
"Joy thinks Sir Walter Scott's novels are splendid," Celia said with a smile, "but I find them rather dull myself."
 
Being market day, Mr. Tillotson was very busy, and had no time to devote to his daughter's visitors; but at dinner he suggested that Lulu should take them for a walk, and show them the town; so a little later in the afternoon they put on their hats and sallied forth into the street.
 
Celia and Lulu had so much to say to each other that Joy was quite left to herself, and began to feel aggrieved. She followed her companions from shop to shop, and waited patiently whilst they remarked on the goods in the windows, and discussed the fashions; but the time dragged for her, and the afternoon seemed interminable. They visited the market, where Joy found some amusement in watching the farmer's wives and daughters gossiping behind their stalls; but they did not remain there long, and returned to the shop windows.
 
Joy was rejoiced when their walk was over, for she had never been so utterly ignored in her life before, and was really very indignant. Mr. Tillotson was not present at tea-time; but he came from his office when Sir Jasper's carriage arrived to take the little girls back to the Moat House, and shook hands with them very cordially in the hall.
 
"I hope you have spent a pleasant day," he said, in his quiet, serious way, his eyes resting first on Celia's smiling face then on Joy's, which was graver than usual.
 
"Oh, yes! We have had such a happy time!" Celia answered. "I don't know when I have enjoyed a day so much."
 
He escorted them to the carriage, telling them they must come again soon, whilst Lulu stood on the doorstep, and waved her hand in farewell.
 
Joy nodded and smiled at Mr. Tillotson as the carriage was driven away, but she never glanced at Lulu.
 
For a while there was silence between the sisters; but Joy, her heart swelling with indignation, was too angry to keep silence long, and presently she burst forth:
 
"How I dislike that Lulu Tillotson! I will never spend a day with her again—not if she asks me a hundred times. If Mr. Tillotson invites us, you may go, but I will not—and so I shall tell mother."
 
"What's the matter, Joy?" Celia asked, apparently very surprised.
 
"As though you do not know! But you are as bad as Lulu. You took no notice of me all the afternoon. You never spoke to me once, or thought of asking if it was fun for me to be looking at the fashions in the drapers' windows. You were so wrapped up in that silly, frivolous girl, who is just like a dressed up doll, that you thought of no one else."
 
Joy's quick temper was now at its height. Celia knew from experience that it would soon begin to cool, so she remained silent, her conscience not quite easy.
 
"I don't think Lulu is a nice girl at all," Joy proceeded; "you heard what she said about reading that book her father didn't wish her to read? She didn't mind disobeying him. I am sure mother would think that was very wrong."
 
"Oh, surely you are not going to tell tales about poor Lulu!" Celia cried, reproachfully. "That would be a mean thing to do. Whatever you may think of her, you ought to remember we have been her guests, and that should keep you from running out against her. And you must not blame her for not talking as much to you as to me. You don't care for the same things as she does. Why, when she was showing us her clothes you were not a bit interested, but sat looking out of the window all the while! I am sure she has not the least idea she has displeased you. Don't be foolish and resentful, Joy, for it is not worth while. We may not see Lulu again for ages."
 
"I hope not," Joy answered; "the less I see of her the better I shall be pleased."
 
"I don't think she's a bad-hearted girl," Celia said, reflectively. "See how she wanted me to take that turquoise brooch. She must be very lonely sometimes, I expect, with only the housekeeper and the servants to speak to. She says that often her father remains in his office till late at night. Don't be too hard on her."
 
"Well, I won't," Joy said, her face clearing, "for, after all, if she was rude to me, I daresay it was because she knew no better. Perhaps if her mother had lived she would have been different," and her heart softened, as she spoke, towards the motherless girl.
 
"You won't complain about Lulu to mother, will you?" Celia asked, presently, in coaxing tone.
 
"No, I won't."
 
Celia heaved a sigh of relief. She realized that Joy had just cause to be indignant at the indifferent manner in which Lulu had treated her; but, at the same time, she was conscious that she herself had been at fault for not including her sister in the conversation, as she might have done. Flattered by Lulu's preference for her society, she had no desire to share her friendship with Joy. She was not blind to Lulu's faults; but she was glamoured by her fine clothes and personal possessions, and longed to be as well off with this world's goods as the lawyer's daughter, who had only, so it seemed to her, to wish, to have. Although she had said they might not see Lulu again for ages, yet she had been making plans with her as to how and when they should meet again. The Moat House, being only two miles from T—, was within walking distance of that town, and Lulu had declared her intention of accompanying her father when he paid Sir Jasper the calls he frequently made during the summer evenings, after office hours.
 
Celia gave her mother a glowing account of everything she had seen at T—, but Joy proved herself unusually reticent, so that Mrs. Wallis imagined she had not been very pleased with her day's visit, and shrewdly guessed that Lulu had made more of the elder sister than the younger. She was sorry for Joy, who hitherto had been Celia's sole confidante, but deemed it wiser to ask no questions.
 
There was a decided feeling of constraint between the sisters for a few days after their visit to T—, but it gradually wore off, and they were soon as good friends as ever.
 
"I must have been a little jealous of Lulu or I should not have minded so much being left out in the cold," Joy came to the conclusion; "and it is absurd to be jealous. As though Celia would ever be fonder of Lulu than of me!"
 
CHAPTER IX. CELIA'S ACCIDENT.

 
IN a corner of the rock garden at the Moat House was a rustic seat beneath an arbour, where Celia sat one warm, July evening, her fair head bent over a limp, paper-covered volume, whilst several books of a more substantial make lay by her side.
 
Presumably she had retired to this sheltered nook to learn her lessons for the following day, but actually to read by stealth the entrancing story, "Lady Isabella's Treachery," which Lulu Tillotson had surreptitiously brought to the Moat House for her perusal. The lesson books lay unheeded as Celia followed the fortunes of Lady Isabella, who was represented as a woman of wonderful fascination; and she was deep in the account of her jealousy of a beautiful but penniless girl, a dependent in Lady Isabella's household, and was reaching a most exciting part in the story, when she heard Joy's voice calling her by name. Hastily closing the novel, she thrust it into a cranny between two rocks at the back of the arbour; and, seizing one of the lesson books, opened it at random, and pretended to be deeply engrossed in its contents.
 
"Celia! Celia! Where are you?"
 
"Here. What do you want, Joy? I'm busy learning my lessons for to-morrow."
 
The lie rose glibly to Celia's lips. Time was when she would have scorned to speak anything save the truth. But two months had elapsed since Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters had taken up their abode at the Moat House, and those two months had not improved Celia's character. She had longed to live in a beautiful house like her present home, to have every comfort and luxury; and yet, now, when all these good things were hers to enjoy, she could not fully appreciate them for thinking of the time when she might have to give them up. If she was certain she would remain at the Moat House, she thought she would be perfectly happy; and she tried her utmost to ingratiate herself with Sir Jasper, and succeeded so well that he always looked forward to the evenings when, her lessons finished, she would be at leisure to devote an hour or so to him.
 
"Where's my pretty Celia?" he would ask, and Celia would smile, and give him her arm to lean upon as he hobbled up and down the terrace, or would take him for a little walk in the rock garden. She had to sacrifice her own inclination often to wait upon him; but it was not an unselfish motive that urged her to do so; she desired to make her presence indispensable to him. At first she had been gratified by his preference for her society to Joy's; but she was beginning to find the old man a great tie; especially when, as on the present occasion, she wanted her leisure time for herself, so she looked up with a slight frown on her face as Joy came running towards her, followed by a liver-and-white spaniel puppy named Wag.
 
"Well?" she said, impatiently. "What is it?"
 
"Haven't you finished your lessons yet?" Joy exclaimed. "I learnt mine directly after tea, and Wag and I have been having such a game! I came to tell you that Miss Pring is here. Will you come in to see her?"
 
"No; not unless mother sent you to fetch me. Is Uncle Jasper in the drawing-room?"
 
"Yes. He asked for you, so I thought I'd better find you."
 
"What a nuisance!" Celia's tone was decidedly cross. "I never get any time to myself. Need I go in, do you think?"
 
"Shall I tell Uncle Jasper you have not quite finished learning your lessons?" Joy suggested.
 
Celia assented, and away went Joy. The minute her sister was out of sight, Celia turned round in search of the novel she had hidden; but, to her great amazement, it had disappeared. Whilst she was wondering what could possibly have become of it, the sound of a delighted bark broke upon her ears, and the puppy gambolled past her, shaking and worrying what looked like a bundle of loose papers, but was, as the little girl rightly guessed, the book she was in search of.
 
She darted after the dog, calling to him softly and insinuatingly:
 
"Wag! Wag! Good dog! Come here! Come here!"
 
But Wag took no heed. He was having a splendid time, for the novel, in its limp paper cover with its fluttering leaves, proved a capital plaything. First the puppy hid behind one rock, then another, as Celia chased him till she was breathless, allowing her to get nearly within reach of him, and then darting away again.
 
"Wag, you little wretch, come here, sir!" Celia cried, her voice changing its tone, and becoming stern. "Come here, this minute, you bad dog!"
 
But the bad dog merely circled around with the novel in his mouth; and then, as she made a grab at him he doubled suddenly, and was off in the opposite direction. Celia did not follow him, however; she retired behind a big bush, and waited to see if he would return. Presently peeping out from behind her place of shelter, she saw the puppy coming back, evidently in search of her, and suddenly darting out in the hope of catching him unawares, her foot slipped on a loose stone, and she fell with some force to the ground.
 
 
 
It was with difficulty that she repressed a cry of pain as she endeavoured to rise, for she had twisted her ankle in her fall, and now found she could scarcely move. Looking around, she espied the puppy at a little distance, watching her with roguish brown eyes, whilst he contentedly chewed the loose leaves of "Lady Isabella's Treachery." Celia burst into tears at the sight, realizing how incapable she was of getting possession of the book, and knowing that her mother would be extremely angry with her for having borrowed it from Lulu; not that she had ever been forbidden to read anything of the kind, but her conscience told her that such literature would not meet with her mother's approval. She covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly, overcome with mingled emotions.
 
Meanwhile, Joy had returned to the drawing-room, and reported, in all good faith, that Celia had not quite finished learning her lessons, but would be in presently. Sir Jasper, looking brighter than usual, was talking to Miss Pring and Mrs. Wallis; by-and-by he suggested a stroll in the rock garden, and thither they accordingly repaired, Sir Jasper leaning on his niece's arm, whilst Miss Pring followed with Joy. So it was they came upon Celia, seated forlornly upon the ground, indulging in floods of tears.
 
"My dear child!" cried Mrs. Wallis, whilst Sir Jasper uttered an exclamation of dismay, and Joy ran to her sister's side, beseeching her to say what was amiss, and Miss Pring surveyed the scene in silence. "What has happened? Are you hurt?"
 
"My foot!" gasped Celia. "I think I have twisted it! I was running after Wag and I fell!"
 
All looked at the puppy. Wearied out its gambols, he now lay quietly, with the novel between his paws. Whilst Mrs. Wallis was examining Celia's injured foot, and assuring herself not much damage had been done, Miss Pring stepped up to the little dog and took possession of the cause of all the trouble.
 
"What has he been destroying?" Sir Jasper asked. "I trust he has not done much mischief."
 
"He has torn up a cheap, sensational novel, that's all," Miss Pring replied.
 
"Where did he get it, I wonder? It is not yours, I suppose, my dear?" Sir Jasper inquired of Celia.
 
"Oh, no, it is not mine!" Celia answered quickly, glancing up with tearful blue eyes.
 
"Probably it belongs to one of the servants," Miss Pring remarked. "'Lady Isabella's Treachery!'" she read out. "Humph! Flashy, low-class literature!" As she spoke she happened to glance at Joy, who had suddenly turned crimson. She knew Joy was exceedingly fond of reading, and a suspicion crossed her mind that the book might be hers. Sir Jasper also noticed the younger sister's evident confusion, and he addressed her so sharply that she started, and trembled.
 
"Is the book yours, Joy?"
 
"Oh, no, Uncle Jasper!"
 
"You never saw it before?" he questioned, suspiciously.
 
"Never!" she answered, promptly.
 
"Then, why, pray, are you looking so guilty?" Sir Jasper persisted, whilst Mrs. Wallis turned her attention from Celia to Joy in surprise. "If you know nothing about the book, what is the meaning of your confused manner?"
 
His keen eyes were searching her face, noting her painful blushes, her uneasiness. She did not like to say that she had recognised the title of the book from having heard Lulu Tillotson mention it, for she guessed that Lulu had lent it to Celia, and that Celia meant to keep the fact a secret. It was very wrong of Celia; but Joy felt she could not get her sister into trouble, especially when Celia's tearful eyes appealed to her to keep silence.
 
"I hope you are not trying to deceive us, Joy," Sir Jasper said, severely. "If you have been tempted to read this silly, sensational story—I can judge the class tale it is, and I daresay it fascinated you—why not confess it?"
 
"I have not been reading it, Uncle Jasper," Joy replied, steadily, in a low, pained tone. "I never saw it in my life before."
 
Sir Jasper turned from her impatiently, and bent over Celia, who still sat on the ground. Miss Pring now came forward and assisted Mrs. Wallis in lifting the girl to her feet, and between them they bore her into the house, and laid her on the drawing-room sofa. Joy timidly offered Sir Jasper her arm, but he declined it curtly, and retraced his footsteps alone, whilst Joy lingered in the garden, a prey to feelings of mingled indignation and grief. Why could not Celia have spoken out, and spared her Sir Jasper's suspicion? It was indeed hard to be so misjudged.
 
She took up a position from which she had a view of the front door, and presently saw Miss Pring come out, and look about her as though in search of someone. Joy immediately hastened to join her.
 
"Ah, Joy, there you are!" Miss Pring exclaimed, in her deep voice. "Will you walk as far as the gate with me, my dear? Your mother is bathing Celia's foot, I don't think she requires your help. Celia has sprained her ankle, and will be a prisoner in the house for some days. What's become of that mischievous puppy?"
 
"I don't know," Joy replied. She glanced timidly up at her companion's dark, plain face wistfully, as she asked: "You don't believe I'd been reading that book, I hope?"
 
"No, I do not."
 
"Oh, thank you for saying that!" Joy cried gratefully. "Indeed I am not a storyteller."
 
"But you appeared guilty enough when Sir Jasper spoke to you about it to make anyone think you were the real owner of the book," Miss Pring continued. "I am not going to ask you why that was, because you evidently do not mean to tell, but, do you think it is right to shield someone at your own expense?"
 
Joy was silent, looking, as she indeed was, very unhappy. She was deeply indignant and hurt that Celia should have allowed her to be misjudged. If Celia had only spoken out, and confessed that she had been reading "Lady Isabella's Treachery," her mother would have reproved her, and she would have been made to return the book to Lulu, but there the matter would have ended; by keeping a cowardly silence, she had thrown suspicion on Joy, and Joy rightly felt she had been injured. It was balm to her wounded spirit to find that Miss Pring accepted her word; she knew her mother would believe her too; but not so Sir Jasper.
 
After she had parted from Miss Pring at the gate, she went straight back to the house. On entering the hall she encountered her mother coming from the drawing-room.
 
"Oh, my dear," Mrs. Wallis cried, "I have been wondering where you were!" She laid a firm hand on her little daughter's shoulder, as she asked: "Tell me truly, had you been reading that flashy novel?"
 
"No, mother, I had not," Joy answered steadily. "You know I never told you a lie in my life. Oh, do believe me!"
 
"Most certainly I believe you, my dear. I never caught you in a falsehood, or even knew you to prevaricate; but Uncle Jasper seemed to think—no matter, he will find out your word is to be trusted."
 
"I know he believed I was telling stories," Joy said, blushing painfully, "but I was not. I never heard him speak so sternly before, and—and—it was so unjust!"
 
"And therefore very hard to bear."
 
Mrs. Wallis kissed Joy tenderly, and bade her not to trouble. Then she told her to go into the drawing-room to Celia. Joy obeyed, and found her sister alone, lying on the sofa, her face pale, and her eyes slightly red.
 
"Does your foot hurt you much?" Joy asked.
 
"No, not much," Celia answered; "it is a great deal more comfortable since mother bathed it. Joy, you've been crying!" she cried, accusingly. As her sister made no response, she continued: "What made you blush and look so confused when Uncle Jasper spoke to you about 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' in the rock garden? Why couldn't you have simply said you knew nothing about it?"
 
"Because I thought—I fancied—didn't you get the book from Lulu Tillotson?"
 
"You don't know that I did, and if so, that was no reason why you should have behaved in that stupid way. Really, Joy, you have only yourself to blame that Uncle Jasper spoke to you so sharply."
 
"I don't mind how he spoke to me, if only I could make him believe I told the truth. You ought to have told him the truth!" and Joy flashed an indignant look at her sister. "It's very hard that I should suffer on your account," she added, somewhat bitterly; "Miss Pring believes in me, and so does mother, but Uncle Jasper thinks I told him a falsehood."
 
"He will soon forget all about it," Celia said, soothingly. "You have not told mother—"
 
"Don't fear! I've not been getting you into trouble," Joy interrupted. The tears gathered in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "If anyone had told me you would treat me so shabbily I would not have believed it!" she declared tragically, and without waiting to hear Celia's response, she hurriedly left the room.
CHAPTER X. "A FOOLISH, FORWARD CHIT."

 
 
SIR JASPER had never taken as much notice of Joy as of Celia, though he had been pleased when the former had learnt his favourite piece of music, and had on several occasions called her into the library and requested her to sit down at the old piano and play to him, which she had done very readily; but after the evening when the puppy had caused such mischief, the old man almost ignored her.
 
Celia was confined to the house much longer than had been anticipated. For several days, as her foot was very painful, she was excused from doing lessons, and lay on a sofa in the sitting-room in the east wing, whilst Joy was at work with Miss Mary. The time hung somewhat heavily on her hands, for she liked none of the books Sir Jasper recommended for her perusal, so that when Saturday came, and her mother brought her the news that Lulu Tillotson and her father were coming to spend the week-end at the Moat House, her spirits, which had been decidedly downcast, rose immediately, and her eyes sparkled with anticipated pleasure.
 
"Joy will have to do her best to entertain Lulu now you are unable to get about," Mrs. Wallis remarked.
 
"Oh, Lulu will spend most of her time with me, I expect," Celia replied.
 
But she was mistaken in her surmise. Lulu was sincerely sorry to hear of her friend's accident, and was very kind and sympathetic in her manner to the invalid, but she was a selfish young person, and had no idea of passing the pleasant summer hours indoors. She sat down by Celia's side for a little while, however, and talked to her whilst Joy hovered near.
 
"How did you manage to fall?" Lulu asked.
 
Dropping her voice to a confidential whisper, Celia explained exactly how the accident had happened, keeping an anxious watch on her sister as she spoke. She told how the puppy had stolen the novel, and how she had sought in vain to recover it. Lulu seemed to find amusement in the story, for she laughed heartily, and declared she could picture the scene.
 
"What would have happened if your mother or Sir Jasper had found out you had been reading the book?" she inquired, curiously; "there would have been a great to-do, I suppose?"
 
"Yes," Celia assented uneasily. She did not think it necessary to speak of Sir Jasper's suspicion of her sister, and Joy kept silence. "I should have been blamed, and you would have been blamed, and things would have been very disagreeable altogether."
 
"Well, then, I am glad you held your tongue," Lulu said, frankly, "for perhaps if it had become known that I had lent 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' Sir Jasper might have spoken to father about it, and I should have got into trouble, too. I suppose the book was quite ruined?"
 
"Quite. I'm so sorry."
 
"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least!—it only cost sixpence in the first place, I believe."
 
"I was vexed I could not finish reading it," Celia acknowledged, regretfully. "I never was so interested in a story before. But you'll not tell anyone you lent it to me, will you?"
 
"Not without I'm asked outright, of course. I couldn't tell a story about it."
 
Joy looked at their visitor in silent amazement. Lulu rather prided herself on speaking the truth, although she had no scruples about acting a lie. She would prevaricate and deceive, but she would not tell a deliberate falsehood.
 
"Oh, no one is likely to ask you," Celia said, with a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad you've come, Lulu. I've been so dreadfully dull these last few days."
 
"I dare say. It's such lovely weather, to be kept indoors. How long has Sir Jasper had this puppy—Wag, didn't you call it?"
 
"Yes, Wag," Joy responded, joining in the conversation for the first time, her face brightening; "such a jolly little dog he is! An old sporting friend of Uncle Jasper's sent the puppy as a present about a fortnight ago. Uncle Jasper didn't want the dog, but he didn't like to send him back, so Wag lives in the stable with the horses; he isn't allowed in the house."
 
"I should like to see him—the pup, I mean," said Lulu. "Can't we take him for a run in the garden, before tea?"
 
"Oh, yes!" Joy cried. She glanced hesitatingly at her sister, and added: "I don't suppose we shall be away long."
 
"Oh, don't mind me," Celia replied trying to speak carelessly, but rather hurt at Lulu's hurry to leave her. "You'll find me in the dining-room when you come back, for mother is going to help me downstairs to tea."
 
So Lulu and Joy went off together. They fetched the puppy from the stable, and bore him away to the rock garden. Lulu was fond of animals, and she forgot her fine dress as she played with Wag, laughing merrily at his funny ways. At length when both children and dog were tired, they rested on the seat beneath the arbour, where Celia had sat reading "Lady Isabella's Treachery," and began to talk.
 
"What a dear little fellow he is!" Lulu exclaimed, referring to the puppy, who lay comfortably on her lap. "Aren't you glad Sir Jasper kept him?"
 
"Oh, yes! Celia doesn't like dogs, and Wag has found that out somehow, for he generally keeps out of her way."
 
"I should have liked to have seen her chasing him the other evening," Lulu cried with a laugh. "I'll be bound to say she was in a fine rage with him. Cannot you picture the scene? It ended unfortunately for her, however. Poor Celia!"
 
"She ought never to have borrowed that book from you," Joy said, seriously.
 
"I offered to lend it to her. I enjoyed reading it so much myself that I wanted her to read it too. What are you looking at me so solemnly for?"
 
"I was wondering how you could enjoy reading it after what you told us your father had said about it."
 
For a moment Lulu seemed taken aback, then she laughed, and replied good-humouredly: "What a wise little owl you look with your big, grave eyes. No one would think you and Celia were sisters. Do you dictate to her what she ought, and what she ought not to do?"
 
"No, of course not," Joy returned quickly. "Celia doesn't often do anything wrong," she continued loyally, "but it was wrong of her to borrow 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' from you, because she had to read it on the sly. It was very deceptive of her."
 
"And I suppose you think I'm very deceptive too?"
 
"Well—aren't you?"
 
"I expect you are sometimes," Lulu replied, ignoring the other's question.
 
"Oh, I hope not, I try not to be. Mother says to act deceptively is as bad as telling deliberate lies, and that's why I feel Celia ought not to have borrowed that book from you, for she knew exactly what mother would say about it. With you it is different, you have no mother, and—and—"
 
Joy paused in some confusion, realizing that it was not her place to take her companion to task. Lulu regarded her with a steady scrutiny which was rather discomposing as she asked:
 
"Are you very religious, Joy? You seem to think so much about whether things are right or wrong. I never trouble my head whether they are or not."
 
"Oh, but you should, Lulu! Mother says—"
 
"Well, tell me what Mrs. Wallis says. I want to hear."
 
"That we ought to live as in God's sight—remembering He sees us, you know!"
 
Lulu made no response for a few minutes. She thoughtfully smoothed the little animal upon her lap, but she was not thinking of the puppy. At last she said:
 
"No one would imagine to see you sometimes that you could be so serious. Why, there's much more real fun in you than in Celia!"
 
Joy laughed, for her companion's face was full of perplexity. They remained in the arbour some time longer talking upon various subjects, and when they returned to the house, after having conveyed the puppy to the stable, found tea was ready in the dining-room.
 
Celia hoped Lulu meant to spend the evening by her side; but, greatly to her disappointment, as soon as tea was over and all repaired to the drawing-room, Joy soon wandered out into the garden, and Lulu was not long in following her.
 
"I am afraid you find it very tedious being kept indoors," Mr. Tillotson said kindly to Celia, noticing her wistful look.
 
"Oh, yes," she assented, "but I hope I shall soon be able to get about again now; my foot is really nearly well, but I must not try it too much."
 
"Celia is not fond of reading, I am sorry to say," Mrs. Wallis remarked, "so time hangs heavily on her hands."
 
At that moment a servant knocked at the door, and requested to speak to Mrs. Wallis, who, accordingly, left the room for a few minutes, and thus lost the conversation which followed.
 
"Better not be fond of reading than have such an insatiable appetite for light literature as some people possess!" Sir Jasper exclaimed.
 
"Ah, yes!" Mr. Tillotson agreed. "My little girl, now, used to borrow novels from one of my servants, and I had to interfere, and put a stop to her doing so. Incalculable harm, in my opinion, is being done to the rising generation by the trash in the shape of light literature that is being circulated broadcast everywhere."
 
"I believe that is so," Sir Jasper responded.
 
"I found Lulu with a novel called—let me see, what was it?" Mr. Tillotson reflected a moment ere he proceeded: "I remember! 'Lady Isabella's Treachery.' That was it. A novel of the most sensational character! And my little girl was thoroughly enjoying the reading of it. I don't know that I was ever so angry with her before. She had waded half through it, too, and begged me to let her finish it, but I would not. I made her return it at once."
 
Celia's cheeks were perfectly white, and her heart palpitated with alarm, for she fully expected Sir Jasper would remember the title of the book which Wag had torn to pieces; but if he did so, he did not choose to remark upon it, and when Mrs. Wallis re-entered the room, he changed the conversation into another channel.
 
Celia breathed freely again, and the colour returned to her cheeks. How thankful she was that her mother had not been present to hear all Mr. Tillotson had said! Lulu attached herself to Joy for the remainder of the evening, and as there had been a feeling of constraint between the sisters since the night of the elder's accident, Joy preferred to keep her distance from the sofa where Celia lay. It was the same the next day. After the way of spoilt children, Lulu considered her own pleasure, and never thought of studying the wishes of her friend, or even troubled herself to inquire what those wishes might be, so she walked to Crumleigh Church with Mrs. Wallis and Joy in the morning and evening, whilst Celia remained at home disconsolately, and Mr. Tillotson kept Sir Jasper company in the library.
 
In the afternoon Celia spent half an hour with Lulu, and limped as far as a garden seat on the terrace, but Lulu was of far too restless a temperament to be satisfied to remain quiet long, and she soon wandered off, presumably to ascertain what had become of Joy, who was somewhere in the rock garden. Tears of mortification and disappointment filled Celia's blue eyes as she watched Lulu's fashionably attired figure disappear from sight; and great was her astonishment when not more than a quarter of an hour later Lulu reappeared, and hurried back to her side.
 
"Celia," she cried, her cheeks aflame with excitement, "I've seen Sir Jasper, and what do you think he has discovered? That it was I who lent you that wretched book there's been so much fuss about! I came upon him in the rock garden. He was quite alone. 'Well, young lady,' he said, frowning at me, and looking—oh, you know how sharp his eyes do look!—'so, not content with poisoning your own mind with reading trash, you must recommend it to that silly little niece of mine!' I didn't know what to say, so I held my tongue. I longed to run away, but that would never have done, so I stood staring at him. 'You are a foolish, forward chit,' he said.—Yes, Celia, that was what he called me!—'But understand, I will have none of your mawkish novels brought into my house. Was "Lady Isabella's Treachery" your book?' I didn't answer for a moment, but he asked me again, and then,—what could I say?—I told him the truth. I said it was mine, or rather I had borrowed it from one of the servants at home. He nodded at that, and said he was glad I spoke the truth, that he did not wish to get me into trouble, so he should never mention the subject to me, or to anyone again. I was so relieved to hear that, that I thanked him most gratefully, and left him, as soon as I could, you may depend."
 
"Did he mention my name?" Celia asked, in a voice that sounded positively hoarse with anxiety.
 
"No, but of course he meant you when he spoke of 'that silly, little niece of mine.' He couldn't have meant anyone else."
 
Celia was silent, her busy mind going over the conversation Lulu had repeated to her, and she came to the conclusion that Sir Jasper had referred, not to her, but to Joy. She drew a breath of intense relief, never for a moment reflecting upon the injustice of allowing her sister to remain beneath the weight of Sir Jasper's displeasure, a weight which should rightly have been hers to bear.
 
"I hope I shall never hear anything of 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' again!" Lulu cried. "I am beginning to hate the book as much as I once liked it. I wish heartily I had never lent it to you, Celia. I ought not to have done so. I see that now. I felt so mean and small when Sir Jasper was talking to me."
 
Celia glanced at her friend in surprise, for she had never known her anything but self-complacent before. There was a flush, born of shame, on Lulu's face as she recalled Sir Jasper's looks and words, and for the moment, at any rate, she was really out of conceit with herself. She had been told she was 'a foolish, forward chit,' and almost she was inclined to believe that Sir Jasper had named her truly, though it filled her with a sense of the keenest humiliation to own it even to herself.
 
When Lulu left the Moat House with her father on the following morning, there was no cordiality lacking in her host's words of farewell, but, she was conscious of the opinion he had formed of her, and her manner was wonderfully meek and subdued; so much so, indeed, that her father noticed it, and inquired if anything was wrong. She reassured him upon that point; but she did not tell him of her interview with Sir Jasper on the preceding afternoon, for that would have entailed the confession that she had set his wishes at defiance, and had not only finished reading "Lady Isabella's Treachery" herself, but had lent it to her friend, and the latter fact she knew it would not be easy for him to forgive.
 
 
CHAPTER XI. AN AFTERNOON OF STORM.

 
IT was with deep concern that Mrs. Wallis I noted that Sir Jasper appeared to have taken a dislike to her younger daughter; and as she had not the faintest idea that he believed his suspicion that Joy had persistently lied to him had been confirmed, she considered his conduct both unjust and ungenerous. He seldom took any notice of Joy nowadays, and when he did, it was generally to cast some sarcastic remark at her; consequently she kept out of his sight as much as possible, whilst Celia, as soon as she was able to get about again, saw more of him than ever. This state of affairs was not likely to heal the breach between the sisters, and it daily widened, so that when Eric arrived at the Moat House for the summer holidays he was not long in discovering that his favourite sister was in disgrace with Sir Jasper, and that she was far from being at her ease with Celia.
 
"Why is it, mother?" he questioned Mrs. Wallis. "What has poor Joy done?"
 
Mrs. Wallis briefly explained that her uncle had suspected Joy of reading a sensational novel, and had not accepted her denial; but she knew of no reason why the girls should not be on their old confidential terms, she declared, and had not noticed there was anything wrong between them.
 
Eric considered the matter in silence for a few minutes, then he said:
 
"Of course Joy is very fond of reading—she's a regular little bookworm; but I'm quite sure she wouldn't tell a story. Uncle Jasper doesn't know her as we do, mother."
 
Later, the boy spoke to Joy upon the subject, but she firmly refused to discuss it with him; and appeared so distressed when he would have persisted in "trying to get the root of the matter," as he expressed it, that his heart was quite touched.
 
"Never you mind, Joy," he told her sympathetically. "Uncle Jasper will find out the truth sooner or later."
 
"It's dreadful he should think so badly of me," sighed Joy; "he used to be so nice me when we first came—though I don't think he ever liked me so well as Celia—and now he's quite different."
 
"Celia seems to be prime favourite with him," Eric remarked reflectively; "she knows which side her bread is buttered, does Celia."
 
This was not an elegant speech, but rightly expressed the opinion Eric had formed of his elder sister. For the first few days after his arrival at the Moat House he had watched her in rather a puzzled fashion, surprised at her attentions to Sir Jasper; then a light had seemed to dawn across his mind, and her conduct had apparently caused him much amusement.
 
Sir Jasper had welcomed Eric very warmly; but the blunt, outspoken school boy had not made the immediate favourable impression upon him that Celia with her pretty, smiling face and winning ways had done; and Eric, on his part, had not much taken to the little old man with his wrinkled face and sharp inquisitive eyes.
 
It was August now, and the weather was so intensely hot that the geraniums drooped in the flower beds around the terrace at the Moat House, and the earth cracked for lack of moisture. One sultry afternoon found Eric and his sisters in the sitting-room in the east wing, "enjoying a lazy time, doing nothing," as Joy said, for the air was so oppressive that it made everyone feel languid, and disinclined for exertion of any kind.
 
"I believe we shall have a thunderstorm," Celia remarked, uneasily.
 
She was sitting on the window-seat, and as she spoke her eyes wandered anxiously across the wide expanse of woods and meadow lands to the sweep of hills beyond, noting the heavy banks of gathering clouds.
 
"How still it is! A sort of hush is over everything. Oh, surely we must be going to have a storm!"
 
"I rather hope we may," Joy replied, "for perhaps it will be a little cooler afterwards. Eric and I spoke of walking to Crumleigh this afternoon; but I don't think it would be wise to venture even such a short distance from home as that, now the weather looks so threatening."
 
"Where's mother?" asked Eric.
 
"Gone to Home Vale," Celia answered. "I expect she'll have tea with Miss Pring and Miss Mary."
 
"And we shall have Uncle Jasper to ourselves at tea-time!" Eric exclaimed, making a grimace. "I never know what to say to him. He takes no interest in cricket or any game. Celia, what do you talk to him about?"
 
"Oh, I don't know," Celia returned with a smile; "I generally let him choose the subjects."
 
"Does he ever mention his son?"
 
"Very seldom."
 
"Why doesn't he go for a drive, sometimes? Isn't it strange he has no friend?"
 
"He is very friendly with Mr. Tillotson," Joy interposed, "and he likes Miss Pring; but I heard him tell mother that he had no inclination to make new friends, and that he had outlived all his old ones."
 
"Tillotson? Oh, he's the lawyer who has the dressy daughter you were speaking about—Celia's great friend!" Eric's eyes sparkled mischievously as they rested on his elder sister's pretty face. "Let me see, what is it she is called?"
 
"Lulu," Joy answered. "I don't think she's a bad sort of girl, but she's certainly very fond of dress and jewellery; she has a lot of nice things, and she wanted to give Celia a turquoise brooch, so you see she is really good-natured. Of course Celia wouldn't accept it."
 
"Of course not," said Celia. "It was a nice enough brooch in its way, but I daresay I may have a better one some day," she continued, "for Uncle Jasper says when I am grown up, he will give me—"
 
She paused abruptly as she met her brother's eager, inquiring glance, and looked a trifle confused.
 
"Go on. What is Uncle Jasper going to give you when you are grown up?" Eric questioned. "A silver new nothing, perhaps."
 
Celia could never stand teasing, and her colour rose, whilst her eyes gleamed angrily. "Uncle Jasper has most lovely jewels locked away in the safe in the library," she declared with a ring of triumph in her tone. "He showed them to me one day. They belonged to his wife. There is a pearl necklace, and diamonds—"
 
"Diamonds!" Eric interrupted. "Joy, no wonder Celia is inclined to disparage her friend's humble turquoise brooch if she is looking forward to wearing diamonds. Did Uncle Jasper say he was going to give them to you, Celia? Joy, you and I will have to take back seats when our sister is decked out in her diamonds!"
 
Joy could not help laughing, but Celia exclaimed wrathfully:
 
"How silly you are! I wish I had not mentioned the jewels to you!"
 
"Do you think Uncle Jasper would let me have a peep at his treasures?" Eric questioned.
 
"You had better ask him," Celia replied. She leaned her flushed face out of the window. "Oh, how hot it is!" she exclaimed; "and see how dark the sky is growing! What inky clouds! Oh, I fear the storm is coming! Hark, surely that is thunder?"
 
It was, in the distance, but it was drawing nearer and nearer every minute. At length the rain began to fall in slow, heavy drops.
 
"Mother will be sure to remain at Home Vale," Joy said. "What is the time, Eric?" The boy drew out his watch—a treasured possession, for it had been his father's—and looked at it.
 
"Nearly five o'clock," he replied. "Why, I declare it's getting dark! There, wasn't that a brilliant flash of lightning! Now for the thunder."
 
It came, a tremendous clap, just as the door opened and Sir Jasper entered. The children were surprised to see him, for he had never visited them in the east wing before. Eric sprang up from the arm chair in which he had been reclining much at his ease, and offered it to the old man, who sank into it rather breathlessly.
 
"We are going to have a terrible storm," Sir Jasper said; "indeed, it has come," he continued as another flash of lightning almost blinded them for a moment, and the thunder rolled overhead. "Your mother is at Home Vale, and will doubtless remain till the weather clears. You are not afraid of a storm?" he questioned.
 
They all assured him they were not; but Celia, whose colour had paled, left the window for a seat further back in the room. The rain was descending in torrents now from the leaden sky; the lightning was almost incessant; and the thunder sounded like the roar of artillery. It was indeed a fearful storm, the like of which the children had never witnessed before. Joy sat quietly on the sofa, her eyes fixed on Sir Jasper's withered visage; and presently Celia crept to her side and grasped her hand tightly.
 
"Joy, isn't it awful?" she whispered, hoarsely.
 
"Are you very frightened?" Joy asked. "Don't cry, Celia. Why, you're shaking like a leaf!"
 
"Oh, Joy, we shall be killed! I believe the walls of the house will fall in, and crush us to death! Oh," her voice rising almost to a shriek as the thunder crashed overhead, "this is terrible!"
 
"Nonsense, child," said Sir Jasper, soothingly; "no harm will come to you."
 
But for once Celia took no heed of his words. She clung closely to Joy, sobbing and shivering with fright, whilst Joy whispered to her that there was nothing to fear.
 
"Don't be such a coward, Celia!" Eric said, sharply. "I'm ashamed of you. Why should the storm affect you more than any one else? Stop that whimpering, do."
 
"Oh, don't be hard on her, Eric," Joy remonstrated; "she can't help being frightened."
 
Sir Jasper watched the two girls in silence. He noticed how the elder clung to the younger as though for protection, and wondered, for Celia had always appeared to him so self-reliant till now. By-and-by the fury of the storm abated, the thunder became more and more distant, and the lightning flashes less forked and vivid. Then Celia raised her face from her sister shoulder, where she had hidden it, and looked around rather nervously, meeting an encouraging smile from Sir Jasper.
 
"Cheer up, my dear," he said, "the worst of the storm is over, so I suggest we all adjourn to the dining-room to tea."
 
Celia, much subdued in spirits, went to her bedroom, followed by Joy, to smooth her ruffled hair and bathe her tear-stained face, whilst Sir Jasper requested Eric to give him his arm to lean upon as he went downstairs.
 
"We do not often get such a storm as the one we have had this afternoon in Devonshire," Sir Jasper remarked a few minutes later, when they were all seated at the tea-table; "it came on so suddenly too, though the air has been heavy with thunder all day. I think I never saw more vivid lightning. I do not wonder poor Celia was alarmed."
 
"It was silly of her to make such a fuss, though!" Eric exclaimed, scornfully.
 
"I couldn't help it," Celia murmured, hanging her head.
 
"You didn't try not to help it," Eric retorted. "You always were a little coward."
 
"Eric, that is not the way to speak to your sister," Sir Jasper told the boy, reprovingly. "Were not you frightened?" he inquired, turning to Joy.
 
She started in surprise, and blushed crimson, for he had not addressed her for days previously, and for a minute she was too confused to reply.
 
"I think I was a little frightened," she confessed at length. "The lightning was so blinding, I felt I must scream once, then I remembered—"
 
She paused abruptly, overawed by the keen scrutiny with which Sir Jasper was observing her, and trembled far more than she had done when the storm was at its height.
 
"What did you remember?" he asked, puzzled by her manner.
 
"That God was with us," she answered in a low tone.
 
Sir Jasper sat in silence for a few seconds, then a sarcastic smile crossed his face, and he said meaningly:
 
"It is a pity you do not always remember that. If you did, perhaps you would learn to be less deceptive, and more truthful."
 
A dead silence followed this speech. Celia looked at Joy quickly, her blue eyes full of alarm; but Joy uttered no word, only sat perfectly still with her cheeks, which had been so flushed a minute before, as white as the table cloth. It was Eric who at length burst into an indignant protest.
 
"What a shame of you to speak to her like that, Uncle Jasper!" he cried. "If you think Joy is not truthful you are very much mistaken."
 
"Eric, that is not the way to address me," Sir Jasper told the boy, severely. "And you do not know what you are talking about. Joy is perfectly well aware to what I refer."
 
"And I know to what you refer!" Eric declared. "Mother told me all about it. Joy knew nothing about that nasty novel, I'm certain she didn't. She never told you a story, Uncle Jasper. She's as true as steel. Speak up, Joy, and tell Uncle Jasper he's mistaken."
 
Joy raised her eyes, and turned them slowly from her brother to Sir Jasper. "What use is it my telling Uncle Jasper that?" she asked, her voice full of pain; "he would only consider I was saying what was untrue. I told him I had never seen that novel before, but he did not believe me—he would not believe me now." She stood up, and pushed her chair back from the table, and without another word walked out of the room. Celia uttered a gasping cry, and bursting into tears, covered her face with her hands. Sir Jasper essayed to comfort her; but she only wept the more, whilst Eric looked at her in utter bewilderment.
 
"The storm has upset her," Sir Jasper said, as he glanced from Celia to her brother; "she is a very sensitive child—and, I think she troubles about her sister too."
 
"Why did you speak to her so harshly?" wailed Celia.
 
"There, there," said the old man, soothingly, "I promise I will not do so again but it aggravated me to hear her talk so—so piously. I dislike anything approaching hypocrisy."
 
"Joy is not a hypocrite," Eric declared, bluntly. "You are mistaken in her character altogether. She's heaps better and truer in every respect than either Celia or me, isn't she Celia? Why can't you speak up for Joy? Why don't you go and see what become of her, instead of whimpering like that?" he added, in exasperated tones.
 
Celia rose from her chair as her brother spoke, and walked slowly out of the room her eyes brimming over with tears, her bosom heaving with sobs. Eric regarded Sir Jasper gloomily. The old man looked perturbed and was regretting the words which had been the cause of the late stormy scene. He trembled with agitation as, leaning heavily on his stick, he crossed the room to the window, where he stood gazing out upon the newly-washed face of the landscape, conscious that Eric's eyes were watching his movements. He could not but admire the boy for taking his sister's part; but was annoyed at the defiant tone in which he had addressed him. Had not Eric said it was a shame that he should have spoken to Joy as he had done? He thought the boy owed him an apology; but apparently no idea of offering him one crossed Eric's mind, for he lingered in the room but a short while longer; then went into the hall, and putting on his cap, started to meet his mother, who by that time, he considered, would most likely be on her way home.
CHAPTER XII. AFTER THE STORM.

 
 
ERIC had not gone far beyond the grounds of the Moat House when he encountered Mr. Cole, the Vicar of Crumleigh, who drew up, and addressed him with a smiling: "Good evening."
 
"Good evening," Eric responded. He recognised the Vicar, having seen him at church on the preceding Sunday, when he had been favourably impressed by his kindly, open countenance, and general appearance of manliness. "Isn't it jolly after the storm? You were in shelter?"
 
"Yes, fortunately. I found refuge in a labourers' cottage. I was bound for the Moat House when the storm overtook me. We are well met, for it was you I wanted to see."
 
"Really?" Eric cried in surprise, a pleased and flattered expression crossing his face. "Then, you know who I am?"
 
"You are Eric Wallis, if I mistake not?"
 
"Yes. And you are Mr. Cole, the Vicar of Crumleigh."
 
"Having made ourselves known to each other, suppose we shake hands," the Vicar suggested with a smile.
 
They accordingly did so. Their eyes were about on a level, for Eric was tall for his age, and the Vicar, though broad-shouldered and athletic, barely reached the middle-height.
 
"I wonder what you want of me," Eric remarked, not a little curiously. "How did you find out my name? Who told you about me?"
 
The Vicar laughed at the perplexity in the boy's tone, and replied: "Miss Pring told me about you, and it was from her I learnt your name. I have met your mother on several occasions, but though she mentioned her son, she did not say much concerning him. I hear you are a great cricketer, and a first-rate hand at wicket-keeping. Well, we have a cricket club at Crumleigh, and I want you to join it, and give the members—farm lads they are mostly—a few lessons in the noble game. Will you?"
 
"Of course I will!" Eric answered, flushing with pleasure.
 
"Thank you. I am sure Sir Jasper will raise no objection to your giving me your help; he is a subscriber to the Crumleigh Cricket Club, but, perhaps I had better go on and speak to him about it. Are you going far?"
 
"No, only to meet my mother, who has been spending the afternoon at Home Vale."
 
"Then I will proceed alone, and hear what Sir Jasper has to say."
 
The Vicar nodded, and went on, whilst Eric hurried forward, meeting his mother at the next turn in the road. He had started from the Moat House vastly indignant with Sir Jasper, but he had had time to cool down, so instead of pouring into Mrs. Wallis' ears the tale of Joy's wrongs to begin with, he first of all informed her that he had seen Mr. Cole, who wanted him to join the Crumleigh Cricket Club.
 
"That would be rather nice for you, would it not?" she asked, herself pleased with the idea. "You were saying only last night how much you would enjoy a good game of cricket. This club is composed of village lads, I suppose?"
 
"Yes. Mr. Cole had heard about my wicket-keeping, mother."
 
"Had he? I wonder who told him. I don't think I did."
 
"It was Miss Pring, I believe."
 
"Oh, very likely. How fresh and beautiful the country looks after the storm! And what a storm it was!"
 
"Celia made herself ridiculous as usual. And, oh, mother, Uncle Jasper was so disagreeable at tea-time!"
 
"Was he? How?" Mrs. Wallis inquired, anxiously.
 
Eric explained all that had taken place; his mother looking grave and concerned as she listened.
 
"I wish I had remained at home this afternoon," she said, uneasily. "Poor Joy! My dear little girl! It was too bad—" She checked herself suddenly, and continued: "I cannot imagine why Uncle Jasper should be so unjust to her. She took his unkind remark very quietly, you say?"
 
"Yes, but Celia began to howl at once, and that seemed quite to upset him! I cannot think why he's so fond of Celia, unless it's because she always agrees with what he says, and dances attendance upon him."
 
"Celia is very sweet-tempered, and desirous of pleasing, and she is wonderfully patient with Uncle Jasper."
 
"That's what I can't understand, mother. She never used to put herself out of the way for anyone. Oh, I'm not running out against her; but she was never half so obliging, really, as Joy—at least, not to me. Poor Joy! It must be dreadfully hard to be treated so unjustly."
 
Mrs. Wallis agreed with her son, though she did not say so. Arrived at the Moat House they ascertained that Sir Jasper was perfectly willing for Eric to join the Crumleigh Cricket Club, and it was there and then arranged that the boy was to take tea at the Vicarage on the following afternoon, and in the evening was to make the acquaintance of the village cricketers.
 
Mrs. Wallis, as soon as Mr. Cole had taken his departure, and she had answered the questions Sir Jasper had put to her concerning the inmates of Home Vale, hurried upstairs to the east wing in search of her daughters. She found them in the sitting-room. Joy, with her elbows on the table and her head between her hands, was apparently deeply engrossed with a book whilst Celia was engaged in rearranging the trimming on a hat. To look at the two quiet figures no one would have imagined that there had been a stormy scene between them. Such had been the case, however for Joy had spoken hard, bitter words to her sister, which Celia had listened to silently though with many tears.
 
Joy did not raise her head as her mother entered the room, but Celia looked up from her work, and smiled a welcome, saying in her usual level tones, for she had quite recovered her equanimity: "We were so glad to know you were safe indoors during that dreadful storm, mother. How are Miss Pring and Miss Mary?"
 
"Very well," Mrs. Wallis answered "Joy, come with me to my room. I want you for a few minutes."
 
"Yes, mother," was the response in a subdued voice, as Joy closed her book, and rising, followed Mrs. Wallis into the adjoining apartment.
 
"Shut the door, my dear."
 
Joy did so, and waited for what was to follow. Mrs. Wallis took off her bonnet and cloak, and put them away; then she turned to her little daughter, and, laying her hands lightly upon her shoulders, examined her downcast countenance with anxious, loving eyes. Joy had not been crying, but she looked very sad, though her mouth was set in hard, defiant lines.
 
"Eric has been telling me all that took place at tea-time," Mrs. Wallis said, gravely. "I am so sorry for you, my dear. It must have been very hard to have been unable to right yourself."
 
Joy's big, grey eyes flashed, and for a moment she was undecided whether or not she should tell her mother of Celia's cowardly silence; but even now she felt she could not justify herself at her sister's expense.
 
"Uncle Jasper is a cruel, wicked, old man!" she cried, passionately. "I wish we had never come to the Moat House, that I do! We were happier at home!" —and bursting into tears, she flung her arms around her mother's neck, and sobbed out all her grief. "Why should Uncle Jasper treat me like this?" she demanded, when she was more composed; "why should he not believe my word?"
 
"I cannot understand it, Joy," Mrs. Wallis replied, greatly distressed herself; "it is as much a mystery to me as to you; but do have patience, my dear, and depend upon it Uncle Jasper will find out he has formed a very false estimate of your character. You have a clear conscience, and you know 'a good conscience is able to bear very much, and is very cheerful in adversities.' If you are accused wrongfully, remember there is One who knows the truth, therefore do not grieve. You have a cross to carry, it has come to you through no fault of your own, and it is a particularly heavy one for you to bear because it is an accusation of insincerity, and that is an evil trait which you do not possess. But take up this cross like a Christian, little daughter, don't let it sour your temper, or fill your mind with resentful thoughts."
 
"Oh, mother, how can I help being resentful against Uncle Jasper, who is so cruelly unjust? I did try to keep my temper at tea-time; but if you had seen the way he looked at me, you would have felt angry, too. Eric stood up for me, though, but I am afraid Uncle Jasper did not like his doing so."
 
"I hardly think Uncle Jasper would blame your brother for that. By the way, Eric is going to join the Crumleigh Cricket Club; he met Mr. Cole this evening, and it has all been arranged. I believe the members of the club play in one of Uncle Jasper's fields near the village; we shall be able to go and watch them. Eric is to coach them."
 
"Oh, is he?" Joy cried, her face brightening. "He will like that. I know the cricket field, it's close to the Vicarage, and I've often noticed Mr. Cole there playing with a lot of boys. Oh, it will be great fun to go and watch them!" Joy was delighted on her brother's account. She forgot her troubles in thinking of his pleasure, and went off in search of him, whilst Mrs. Wallis returned to the sitting-room to Celia, to whom she imparted the news concerning Eric.
 
"Eric is going to join the village cricket club!" Celia exclaimed. "Why, I thought the members were all common boys. I saw them playing in a field near the Vicarage the other day, and they were such a queer looking lot, with hobnail boots, and corduroy trousers, and—"
 
The girl paused suddenly, as she caught the look of displeasure on her mother's face. She flushed, and did not finish her sentence.
 
"The club is comprised of village lads, I believe," Mrs. Wallis said, quietly, "common boys as you term them, who work in the fields, wear coarse clothing, and speak a broad dialect. Are you afraid that your brother will copy them?"
 
"Oh, no, but—"
 
"You would ignore all those who are not well-to-do, or educated, I suppose? Oh, Celia, if you had your own way what a narrow life you would lead! I do not like to hear you talk of people as common; to my mind to do so is a sign of vulgarity. Don't do it again."
 
"I will not," Celia answered, in a subdued tone, "I spoke without thinking. I daresay it will be very nice for Eric to have a game of cricket now and then. Does Uncle Jasper know about it, mother? Does he wish Eric to join the club?"
 
"Yes. By the way, Celia, I am so distressed to hear how Uncle Jasper spoke to Joy at tea."
 
"It was very unkind of him," Celia replied, the ready tears filling her eyes; "but he promised he wouldn't speak to her like it again."
 
"I am glad of that. Don't cry, my dear. Uncle Jasper will find out he has misjudged your sister one of these days."
 
This speech had anything but a comforting effect on Celia. Her mother was touched by her very real distress, and continued kindly:
 
"I know how fond my little daughters are of each other, but you mustn't take this matter so much to heart. I have been talking to Joy, and I believe she will try to be patient with Uncle Jasper, and not resent the fact of his injustice. Come, dry your eyes. You have cried enough to-day."
 
"I have such a bad headache!" Celia sighed.
 
"Come, then, we will go out on the terrace, and the fresh air will do your head good. I hear Joy and Eric's voices, I think. Yes, and that's Joy's laugh. Dear child, she is recovering her spirits."
 
The remainder of the evening till supper-time, Mrs. Wallis and her children spent out-of-doors. Sir Jasper did not join them, for he was afraid to venture out after the rain; but he sat close inside the dining-room window, and watched Joy and Eric, who were playing with the spaniel puppy, whilst Celia and her mother strolled up and down the terrace. He noticed the traces of tears still on Celia's cheeks, and thought she had been grieving on her sister's account; then when he turned his eyes upon that sister, and saw how much she was enjoying her romp with her brother and the dog, he told himself that she was a shallow little thing, and that his sarcastic remark had made no lasting impression upon her; wherein he was greatly mistaken, for his words had cut like a knife, and had sunk deeply into Joy's tender heart.
 
 
CHAPTER XIII. PUTTY'S GODFATHER.

 
THE Vicarage at Crumleigh was situated at one end of the straggling village street. It was a modern, red-brick building with bay windows in front; and had been built on the site of the former Vicarage, which had been destroyed by fire some years previously. A large garden, well cultivated, surrounded the house, which stood back some distance from the street, on the opposite side to the church; and next to the Vicarage grounds was the field where the members of the Crumleigh Cricket Club assembled during the summer evenings, after their day's work was done, to practice the famous old English game.
 
Mr. Cole had been only two years the Vicar of Crumleigh. Before that time, his work had lain in a large London parish, where he had laboured as a curate for more than twenty years; then, broken down by severe illness, he had accepted the living of Crumleigh, which had been offered to him most opportunely.
 
As he entertained Eric Wallis to tea in his comfortable dining-room, he told him some of his experiences in the great metropolis; and Eric confided in him that his chief friend at school was the son of a London clergyman, living in a very poor parish.
 
"What is his name?" Mr. Cole inquired.
 
"Lawrence Puttenham; but he's always called Putty. Why, you don't mean to say you know him!" the boy cried, as he noticed the Vicar's start of surprise.
 
"Know him? Why, of course I do! Then you are being educated at W— College? Lawrence Puttenham is the son of my oldest friend. I wonder if you mentioned Crumleigh to him that he did not tell you I was the Vicar here."
 
"I don't think I did mention Crumleigh to him," Eric said, reflectively. "I certainly told him all about Uncle Jasper, and the Moat House, and gave him to understand it was two miles from the town of T—, but, no, I'm sure I never spoke of the village."
 
"And not knowing the district, he would have no idea that Crumleigh was so near to T—."
 
"How very strange that you should know Putty!" Eric exclaimed.
 
"Not strange at all seeing that his father and I were at the same college together at Oxford, and have kept in touch with each other ever since. I know your friend very well; in fact, he's my godson."
 
"Oh!" cried Eric, gazing at the Vicar with additional interest.
 
"Now, I wonder what that exclamation means?" Mr. Cole said, inquiringly.
 
"It means that I've heard a great deal about you," Eric replied, frankly. "I've often heard Putty speak of his godfather. Fancy your being the man!"
 
"Yes, I'm the man!" and the Vicar gave an involuntary, amused laugh.
 
"Well, I'm glad," Eric said, with candour. He knew that Lawrence Puttenham's godfather was paying for his education, and had promised to start him in life; but he had received that information in confidence, and so he had never mentioned it even to his mother. "Won't Putty be astonished next term when tell him I know you!" he exclaimed.
 
"And won't he be astonished when he comes to pay me a visit next week, and finds you located near at hand!"
 
"Is he coming?" Eric asked, eagerly, his voice full of intense pleasure, his eyes bright with expectancy. "Have you invited him, really?"
 
"Yes, and if all's well he will arrive on Monday evening."
 
"And it's Thursday to-day. This is grand news! I say, Mr. Cole, please don't write and tell him anything about me. We'll give him a surprise."
 
"So we will," the Vicar agreed. "Are you sure you won't have any more tea? No? Well, then, suppose we adjourn to the cricket field, I expect most of the boys have arrived by this time."
 
"I thought you were married?" Eric remarked, as he strolled by Mr. Cole's side down the garden path towards the gate; "that is to say, I supposed you were," he amended, "because you have a nice big house, and—" He paused, looking slightly confused, but the Vicar smiled as he replied:
 
"And you thought me old enough to possess a wife and family? No, I'm not married," he continued, more seriously, "my sister always lived with me till her death, nearly three years ago now. She used to be my right hand, and assisted me both by helping me in my parochial duties and by her unfailing sympathy. You, who have sisters of your own, can imagine my feelings when I lost mine, the only one I had, who had ever been my most faithful friend. She would have been delighted with this pleasant home if God had spared her to share it with me, but that was not to be—still, His will be done." He sighed as he glanced back at the Vicarage, bathed in the mellow sunshine of the August evening. "There are voices in the cricket field. Let us see who has come."
 
More than half a dozen boys had arrived already; and therefore several pairs of curious eyes rested on Eric as he and the Vicar appeared upon the scene. Mr. Cole introduced his companion as a new member of the club, briefly explaining that he was considered rather a good cricketer. Eric spoke a few words to those who looked friendliest. Some of the boys stared at him in stolid silence whilst others whispered together as they stood apart, casting occasional glances him. The new member began to feel slightly uncomfortable.
 
"Us doan' want un!" one hulking lad of sixteen—Sam Dart by name—remarked audibly to a friend, gazing disapprovingly at Eric's tall, upright figure, clad in a white flannel suit.
 
"Hush!" whispered his companion; "'e's Sir Jasper Amery's nephew, an' Sir Jasper subscribes to the club."
 
Play now commenced, and Eric was placed as wicket-keeper, which post he filled so well that the boys began to view him with greater approval. Several of the lads showed that they had practised the game to some purpose; and Sam Dart, as he sent the ball flying across the field, and made run after run, glanced triumphantly at the newcomer, and demanded what he thought of that. Eric complimented him on his prowess as a batsman; but was not a little amused when a few minutes later the redoubtable Sam was caught out. After a while, Eric, at the Vicar's suggestion, gave a few lessons in bowling; and, on the whole, made a rather favourable impression on his new acquaintances. Sam Dart alone stood aloof, and declined to be at all friendly. He was a plain, red-headed boy, with a snub nose and a wide mouth, and he wore a "dicky," as he called the mock white shirt front, which had slipped all awry and dangled from his neck. More than once during the game the Vicar had been obliged sternly to call him to order for the language he had used; and though he had mended his speech at once, no very long time had elapsed before he had offended again. Afterwards, Eric learnt that Sam Dart was regarded as the roughest lad in the village; that the Vicar had hesitated whether or not to permit him to join the cricket club, but had finally deemed it advisable to allow him to become a member; and that Sam Dart had improved in every way since the Vicar had taken him in hand. Eric could not help wondering what he had been like before.
 
"I shall come again to-morrow evening, Mr. Cole," Eric told the Vicar, as he shook hands with him at parting. "And mind you don't write and tell Putty he'll meet me here."
 
The Vicar promised he would not; and Eric started homewards in high spirits, his mind full of pleasant thoughts. He had taken a great fancy to Mr. Cole, and was really delighted at the discovery he had made anent his connection with his favourite school-friend.
 
At the entrance to the grounds of the Moat House he encountered Joy, who had come to meet him, eager to know how he had got on during the evening. To her he immediately confided the news that Lawrence Puttenham was expected at the Vicarage on a visit, and Joy, as was her custom, thoroughly entered into his happiness and rejoiced with him.
 
"How nice it will be for you, Eric!" she cried, after he had explained everything. "I am so glad. Fancy Mr. Cole being Putty's godfather! I am surprised!"
 
"Mr. Cole's a splendid fellow," Eric said. "We had such a jolly talk together at tea; he told me about his work in London, and how he caught typhoid fever, and nearly died. That was why he came into the country. The doctors told him if he didn't he'd never pick up. He says he thinks he's pretty well as strong as he ever was now, and I asked him if he meant to go back to London, but he said no, that God had sent him here, and there was plenty of work for him to do here. Do you know, when he first came to Crumleigh the boys of the village used to spend their spare time in loitering about the street, playing pitch and toss, and using bad language? It was a long time before they would have anything to do with him, always shirked out of his way when they saw him coming, and so on; but by-and-by they found out he meant them well, and now they're quite friendly with him."
 
"And what about the cricket club?" Joy asked, much interested.
 
"Oh, the Vicar started that, of course! The members are a queer set," Eric said, with a hearty laugh; "they talk the broadest dialect; but I think I shall get on with them—all except a great fellow called Sam Dart, who scowled at me every time he caught my eye; I'm not sure about him. He's the roughest of the lot, and the Vicar had several times to stop his swearing—I imagine he used bad language more from habit than any other reason. He appeared to look on me as an interloper."
 
"We have had visitors during your absence," Joy told her brother, presently, "Mr. Tillotson and Lulu. They came to invite Celia and me to spend a week or so with them."
 
"But you're not going?" Eric cried, reproachfully; "you wouldn't go while I'm at the Moat House?"
 
"No, I told mother I didn't want to go—Lulu talked of asking us some time ago, at least she spoke of asking Celia, and I guessed Mr. Tillotson would invite me too—so she made an excuse for me, said you and I generally spent most of the time together in the holidays. But Celia's going."
 
"Is she, though?" Eric exclaimed. "That's not very flattering to me, is it? But I don't mind," he acknowledged, candidly.
 
"She is to go the week after next," Joy explained "and she's to have several new frocks. Uncle Jasper said mother was to take her to T— to-morrow, and get her some pretty clothes. Celia is delighted."
 
"I dare say. She's as vain as a peacock!"
 
"I don't think mother wants her to go and stay with the Tillotsons, but Uncle Jasper wishes it. Do you know, I fancy Celia must have told him beforehand that we were going to have the invitation, for he said at once that if I did not care to go that was no reason why Celia should be done out of a pleasure, and he had no doubt Lulu would be satisfied with one visitor."
 
"Well, I'm glad you are not going, anyway."
 
"I'm afraid you will not want me when Lawrence Puttenham is at the Vicarage," and though Joy smiled, there was a very wistful expression on her countenance, which her brother was quick to notice.
 
"That's all you know about it!" he cried, catching her by the shoulder and giving her a playful shake. "Don't pull such a long face, Joy. But, I say, tell me one thing, what's come between you and Celia? You used to be such great friends."
 
"Yes, but she's altered lately," Joy acknowledged with a deep, regretful sigh. "I can't explain what I mean, but she's different."
 
"I see she is. I wonder if mother notices it. I believe it's Uncle Jasper's fault. He makes too much of her."
 
Joy made no response to this. Lately her eyes had been opened to many little flaws in her sister's character, to which she had been blind before; and she endured the rankling knowledge that Celia had allowed her to be put in a false position. There was no longer the old confidence between the two, who in their home at A— had been such close friends, so that they contemplated the coming separation for a few weeks with feelings of actual relief. Celia looked forward to a visit which she anticipated would be pleasantly spent in congenial society, whilst Joy regarded the prospect of her sister's absence with perfect equanimity.
 
Sir Jasper asked Eric many questions in reference to the Crumleigh Cricket Club when they met at supper-time, all of which the boy answered fully. The old man nodded his approval of what he heard. He was both interested and amused by Eric's description of the boys, and remarked that the Vicar deserved praise for the good order in which he had managed to set the parish, adding that Crumleigh had been notorious in the past for the ill-behaviour of the youths of the place.
 
"I believe there is to be a real match on Saturday," said Eric; "you ought to watch it, Uncle Jasper."
 
"I!" cried Sir Jasper, regarding the boy with amazement. "I!" he repeated.
 
"Yes, you," Eric nodded; "and mother and the girls might like to see it, too. You subscribe to the club, Uncle Jasper, so don't you think you might drive over and see us play—by way of encouragement, you know?"
 
"I have not been outside my own grounds for eighteen months," announced Sir Jasper. "Besides, a cricket match has no attractions me," he added, an expression of gloom crossing his withered face.
 
It was at this point that Joy ventured to turn the conversation by a remark about Lawrence Puttenham's expected arrival at the Vicarage, whereupon Eric informed Sir Jasper of his friend's relationship to Mr. Cole.
 
"I have heard so much about Putty's godfather," he said, "that as soon as I discovered he and the Vicar were one, I felt though I'd known him for ever so long. Won't old Putty be astounded when he finds I'm here! What jolly times we shall have together! I may ask Putty to the Moat House sometimes, mayn't I, Uncle Jasper?"
 
"As often as you please. As Mr. Cole's son he would be welcome, and he will be doubly so as your friend."
 
Sir Jasper's tone was so gracious that Eric thanked him very earnestly, adding: "I know you'll like Putty, he's such a good sort of fellow. No nonsense about him—nothing put on—and as straight as a line!"
 
"I like people to be straight," Sir Jasper replied gravely, and as he spoke his eyes rested for a moment on Joy, who, meeting his glance, suddenly grew crimson and hung her head, imagining he was thinking that she was not straight.
 
All at the table noticed the little girl's painful confusion with comprehension and sympathy, except Sir Jasper, who regarded it as an additional proof of a guilty conscience, and turned his gaze away from her with a decided frown.
 
After that, the meal was concluded in comparative silence, and it was a relief to every one when it came to an end.
CHAPTER XIV. AS GOOD AS PRETTY.
 
MRS. Wallis and her children always breakfasted by themselves in the sitting-room in the east wing, for Sir Jasper did not, as a rule, rise till after ten o'clock. The meal was generally enlivened by the young folks' chatter; and on the morning subsequent to Eric's introduction to the members of the Crumleigh Cricket Club, there was so much discuss, and everyone was in such excellent spirits—Joy included—that the conversation never flagged.
 
"Celia and I are going to drive to T— this morning to do some shopping," Mrs. Wallis remarked, after Eric had informed them of few of the many plans he intended to carry out subsequent to Lawrence Puttenham's arrival. "Uncle Jasper gave orders last night for the carriage to be ready at ten o'clock. You would like to come with us, Joy?"
 
"I would rather stay at home with Eric, if you don't mind, mother," Joy responded "I don't much care for shopping, and I shall see all Celia's new clothes afterwards."
 
"What are you going to have, Celia?" Eric inquired.
 
"Uncle Jasper said mother was to buy me whatever I wanted," Celia answered, sedately. "Lulu told me there is to be a grand flower-show at T—, whilst I am staying with her, so I suppose I shall want a new frock for that," and she cast an anxious glance at her mother as she spoke.
 
"Yes," Mrs. Wallis agreed; "since you are going visiting, I should like you to look as nice as possible, though I do not want you to be so gaily dressed as Lulu Tillotson, who, poor girl, has no one to guide her taste. Joy need not accompany us if she would rather remain at home with Eric."
 
So Mrs. Wallis and Celia started on their shopping expedition alone. It was a very dusty drive to T— on that hot August morning, but Celia enjoyed it, for she always felt particularly important when she was being driven out in Sir Jasper's handsome carriage, drawn by the sleek, bay horses, which were so well known in the district. She sat perfectly upright by her mother's side, and no one looking at the pretty, neatly attired girl, would have guessed that her mind was so full of vanity as it actually was. She glanced neither to the right nor to the left, yet as the carriage passed through the main street of the town, she was conscious that many pedestrians turned their heads to stare at the fine equipage, and remark upon its occupants, and her heart beat with exultation. Then, when she followed her mother into the draper's shop, where their purchases were to be made, she was deeply gratified by the attention they commanded, and by the anxiety of the proprietor that their wants should be supplied to their satisfaction.
 
"I expect he thinks we're very rich," Celia reflected, proudly.
 
She was a little disappointed that her mother turned aside the coloured silks and muslins, and selected a soft, white material to be made into a frock to be worn at the flower show, but she was more satisfied when Mrs. Wallis bought her a couple of bright blouses, and was delighted when a white hat was purchased to go with the white frock. On the whole she did not disapprove of her mother's selections.
 
After they came out of the drapery establishment, they walked along the street for a short distance, and looked into some of the shop windows, presently pausing before a jeweller's.
 
"Oh, how I should like a new brooch," Celia said, earnestly. "Oh, mother, look at some of these! Are they not lovely? Don't you think you might buy me one?" she asked, coaxingly.
 
"You do not want a new brooch, my dear. You have the little gold one, like Joy's, which I gave you last Christmas."
 
"The pin is out, mother."
 
"It can easily be put in again. That is a matter that will only cost a few coppers to rectify."
 
"But I should so like to have a brooch with stones in it," Celia sighed. "The one I saved my money to buy is quite unfit to wear because several of the brilliants have come out."
 
"I never liked it," Mrs. Wallis said, decidedly, "but as you bought it with your own money I did not say anything against it; I confess, though, I am not sorry to hear it is unwearable. Showy jewellery, in my opinion, ought never to be worn by young girls."
 
Celia did not pursue the subject, but she could not help thinking her mother might have gratified her desire, and she was very discontented.
 
"It is not as though it was her money," the little girl mused, "it is Uncle Jasper's, and he gave it to her to spend for me. I am sure he would not mind if she bought me a new brooch. The one she gave me at Christmas is all very well in its way, but it's so plain, no one notices it, I am sure."
 
"Are you not pleased with our purchases?" Mrs. Wallis asked, in a slightly reproachful tone, as they were being driven home, observing Celia's overcast countenance, and guessing the cause. "Uncle Jasper has been most generous, and you ought to be very grateful to him. What is the meaning of your discontented face?"
 
"I did not know I was looking discontented," Celia answered, rather ashamed of herself, "and indeed I am very pleased all the pretty things we have bought, but—but—"
 
"There is always something to mar your contentment, my dear," Mrs. Wallis said, seriously, as her daughter left her sentence unfinished. "Do you remember my saying to you once just before we left our home, that I questioned if you possessed all the luxuries wealth can provide, whether you would be satisfied even then? I think the same now. You were never so well off in your life as you are at the present time, but you appear no happier than you were in our little home at A—. Dear Celia, you will never be happy until you find peace in Christ, and are content to give your life to Him."
 
Celia made no answer, and her mother proceeded:
 
"Most people would deem you a very fortunate girl. Your desire to visit your friend is to be gratified, and Uncle Jasper is providing you with pretty new clothes, and you are dissatisfied because I refused to buy you a gaudy brooch. I really am ashamed of you!"
 
"Lulu has such a lot of jewellery," Celia murmured.
 
"Yes, I know she has. She wears so much that it quite spoils her appearance. I have no desire to see a daughter of mine decked out so showily as Lulu."
 
Mrs. Wallis looked a little uneasy. She had not wished Celia to visit the Tillotsons; but Sir Jasper had overruled her objections, and she could give no adequate reason for refusing the lawyer's invitation, for she had, in fact, grown to like Lulu, having discovered that her frivolities were mostly on the surface, and that at heart she was really good-natured, in spite of the selfishness which was the result of her bringing up rather than her natural disposition.
 
"In a way I wish Joy was going with you," Mrs. Wallis continued, "but she pleaded so hard to be allowed to remain at the Moat House now Eric is at home. Those two are devoted to each other."
 
Celia assented absently, her mind evidently far away. Her mother watching her, wondered what she was thinking about. The discontented expression had gone from the girl's face, and she looked as placid and sweet-tempered as she usually did. Presently she said:
 
"You mustn't think me ungrateful, mother, for I'm not really; only I was a wee bit disappointed that you wouldn't buy me a new brooch. I daresay you were right, and it was wrong of me to mind. I won't think any more about it."
 
"That's right, my dear," Mrs. Wallis responded. "I think you ought to trust to me to know what is suitable for you to wear, and what is not."
 
"Oh, yes!" Celia assented, raising her blue eyes to her mother's face with a confiding smile.
 
At that moment she was ready to acknowledge herself in the wrong; but later, when she reconsidered the matter, she still thought it had been very unkind of her mother not to gratify her wish for a new brooch.
 
"I have no ornaments worth mentioning," she mused, "and Lulu has so many. Lulu's father does not object to her wearing as much jewellery as she pleases. Mother is very strict with me. I wonder what Uncle Jasper would say if I told him mother would not buy me a new brooch? He would say she was right, I expect; he would not go against her."
 
Celia was standing in front of the dressing-table in her bedroom brushing her hair, preparatory to going downstairs to dinner, as she mused thus. She had reached this point in her reflections when Joy entered the room. The younger sister was looking remarkably well. She had spent the morning much to her liking, and her face, which was not a little sunburnt, glowed with health and exercise; whilst her expression was bright and happy. Celia wondered how she could look so contented when she knew herself to be in Sir Jasper's black books. It had troubled her that Joy should suffer on her account, though she had not the courage to speak openly, and right the wrong her silence had wrought.
 
"What did you buy?" Joy asked; "a lot of pretty clothes, I suppose?"
 
"Yes," Celia assented, and she forthwith gave an account of the purchases, the other listening with polite interest. "And where have you been all the morning?" she inquired.
 
"As soon as you and mother had gone, Eric and I started to take Wag for a walk, and as we were passing Home Vale we saw Miss Pring at work in her garden, so we thought we'd go in and talk to her for a bit. By the way, Celia, she's going to exhibit onions at the T— flower show. Vegetables and fruit are to be shown as well as flowers. She says she shall certainly go to the show, so probably you'll see her there."
 
"Probably," Celia replied, determining to keep out of Miss Pring's way if possible. "Going to exhibit onions, is she?"
 
"Yes, I saw them—such monsters! I should think they will be sure to get the first prize. Well, we stayed longer than we intended at Home Vale because Miss Mary came out when she saw us in the garden with her aunt, and then Mr. Cole happened to be passing, and he came in, and somehow the time simply flew. When Eric looked at his watch it was nearly one o'clock, so we had to hurry home at a great rate."
 
"So you have actually spent the whole morning at Home Vale!" Celia exclaimed in astonishment. "What did you talk about?"
 
"Oh, heaps of things," Joy returned, vaguely. "I told Miss Pring you were going to stay with Lulu Tillotson, and she said she hoped you'd enjoy your visit. Do you know, I don't think she dislikes Lulu."
 
"Why should she?"
 
"Oh, there's no reason why she should; but Lulu is always complaining that Miss Pring tries to snub her—that's because she laughs at her for being so fond of dress, I suppose. You haven't been to Home Vale once during the holidays, Celia; Miss Mary remarked it, and I thought she seemed rather hurt."
 
"Hurt?" echoed Celia, raising her eyebrows inquiringly.
 
"Yes. I think she expected you would call to see her. I said I had no doubt but that you would before you went to T—. I thought you liked Miss Mary?"
 
"So I do; but one doesn't want to see one's governess in the holidays. There's the dinner bell! You'd better hurry, Joy, or Uncle Jasper will be cross."
 
"I'll be down in a minute," Joy answered, and she was as good as her word.
 
After dinner it was Sir Jasper's custom to shut himself up in the library and indulge a nap in his favourite arm chair. To-day Celia followed him there, and thanked him very prettily for his kindness and generosity to herself in giving her mother the wherewithal to supply her wants for her forthcoming visit to T—. The girl had the happy knack of saying the right thing in the right place, and her words on this occasion were well chosen. Sir Jasper laid his hand very kindly on her golden head; and there was real affection in his sharp eyes as he answered, with an indulgent smile:
 
"You deserve some new clothes to set off your pretty looks, my dear, for you have proved yourself as good as you are pretty by your gentleness and kindness to a grumpy old man. I shall miss my little companion, and shall look forward with pleasure to her return. No more thanks, if you please! I don't like them."
 
After she had closed the library door behind her Celia ran swiftly upstairs, and shut herself into her bedroom. Her cheeks were suffused with burning blushes, born of the sudden sense of shame with which Sir Jasper's words— "You have proved yourself as good as you are pretty" —had filled her soul. She felt that she was not good, though she tried to appear so; she realized her conduct towards her sister had been wrong and cowardly in the extreme; she knew she had deceived Sir Jasper by pretending to like his society, and that even the sweet temper and desire to please which people admired in her disposition took their roots in selfishness.
 
For a few minutes Celia's self-complacency was in the background, and she saw the defects in herself; but the wish to be different was not very strong with her; slowly the sense of shame passed away, and a feeling of exultation that Sir Jasper had formed such a favourable opinion of her took its place. She glanced at her reflection in the looking-glass on the dressing-table, and a pleased smile curved her lips. To be told that she was as good as she was pretty was pleasant flattery indeed!
 
 
 
CHAPTER XV. THE BUTTERFLY BROOCH.

 
A WEEK had elapsed since Mrs. Wallis and Celia had driven into T— to make their purchases, and the latter had everything in readiness for her visit. To-morrow she was to say good-bye to the Moat House for "at least a fortnight," Lulu had said; and already she had commenced to pack her dress trunk, although she was not to leave till the latter part of the following day.
 
"You look in a flutter of excitement, Celia," her brother remarked, as he passed her in the hall; "you will not mind my leaving you on this, your last evening in our midst?" he asked, glancing back at her laughingly, over his shoulder.
 
"Certainly not," Celia answered with a smile; "where are you going, though?"
 
"To Crumleigh, to play cricket. The Vicar's away—gone to some meeting or other at T—, so I promised Putty to be at the cricket field early to keep him in countenance. He's so shy!"
 
Eric went off, whistling. Lawrence Puttenham had arrived at the Vicarage on the previous Monday; and great had been his astonishment when, the Vicar having offered to show him the cricket field, he had found Eric there in the midst of a group of village lads. The meeting between the friends had been of the warmest nature; and during the very short while which had elapsed since, they had seen a great deal of each other. Lawrence Puttenham had been introduced to the household at the Moat House, and Sir Jasper had assured him he would always be pleased to see him.
 
A quiet, rather reserved boy was Putty; shy, Eric called him, but he was not actually that, though his manner was somewhat diffident. No two boys could be more unlike than Eric and Putty, and yet they were the closest friends.
 
Celia stood hesitating in the hall after her brother had left her. She was feeling restless and unsettled; and, as she could do no more packing till the morning, she thought she might as well join her mother and sister, who were in the garden. She found them on one of the seats on the terrace; Joy was reading, whilst Mrs. Wallis was busy with some fancy work. The latter looked up as Celia approached, and said:
 
"Come and sit down with us, dear." Then, as Celia complied, she continued: "We shall be missing you by this time to-morrow evening; and Joy will feel lonely when bed-time comes, and she has that great room to herself. As soon as you are gone, Celia, we shall be looking forward to your return."
 
Celia smiled, and glanced at Joy, who had not looked up from her book. It struck Mrs. Wallis as strange that the sisters should show no regret at the coming parting, seeing they had never been separated in their lives before.
 
"Is that a very entrancing book, Joy?" she asked, with a note of reproach in her tone.
 
"Very, mother," was the concise reply.
 
"Where is Uncle Jasper?" Celia inquired, abruptly.
 
"In the library, I believe. He told me he had some letters he must write to-night. I daresay he has finished them by this time. Suppose you go and see."
 
Celia rose with alacrity, and went into the house. She was hurt that Joy had not put down her book and entered into conversation, as she would have no opportunity of speaking to her sister to-morrow night. Surely Joy had altered lately! With a pang of remorse she remembered why that probably was.
 
Celia found the library door ajar, and knocked softly. Receiving no answer she entered the room: and glanced around only to find it empty. To all appearances Sir Jasper had been called away whilst in the midst of his writing, for several addressed envelopes and an unfinished letter lay on the writing-table. The girl was turning to leave the room when her eyes chanced to rest on the big, fire-proof safe in the recess on the right side of the fire-place, and she noticed that the key was in the lock. On one occasion Sir Jasper had shown her the contents of the safe; and, amongst many papers and valuables had been his late wife's jewel case. The old man had been amused at Celia's very evident delight at the sight of the glittering jewels he had allowed her to examine; and when she had admired a brooch studded with diamonds, shaped like a butterfly, he had made her a promise which she had allowed her mind to dwell upon many times since.
 
"If you are a good girl," he had said, "I will give you that butterfly some day."
 
She had thanked him warmly, and the diamonds in her hand had not flashed more brightly than had her eyes at that moment.
 
"When do you mean by 'some day,' Uncle Jasper?" she had ventured to inquire.
 
"When you are a woman, my dear," he had answered promptly; and then he had taken the jewel from her and had locked it away with the rest.
 
Celia recalled all this as she stood with her eyes fixed on the safe.
 
How lovely that diamond butterfly would look in her new, white frock! It was indeed hard, if Uncle Jasper really meant to give it to her later on, that she might not have it now. How greatly Lulu would admire it! Her friend had nothing worthy of comparison with it for value or beauty.
 
"I wonder if I asked Uncle Jasper to lend it to me if he would?" she mused; then she recollected the decided way in which he had taken it from her, upon her questioning him when some day meant, and felt certain he would not. She crossed the room to the safe and tried the fastening. It opened very easily, being unlocked. Celia's breath came short and fast with excitement as she held the door half open and looked inside. There was the jewel case exactly where she had seen Sir Jasper place it. She fingered it cautiously, and found that it, too, was unlocked.
 
"How very careless of Uncle Jasper!" she thought as she lifted the cover of the case and glanced at its contents. A sigh of mingled admiration and regret escaped her lips as her eyes fell on the butterfly brooch. How beautiful it was! How the diamonds sparkled! The hot blood flooded Celia's face from brow to chin as a sudden temptation assailed her. Why should she not borrow the brooch? She would easily find an opportunity of replacing it after her return from T— and Sir Jasper would not discover that it was missing, for he had told her that he hardly ever looked at the jewels.
 
Her fingers strayed towards the coveted ornament. She touched it gently, then took it up, and shut down the lid of the case. She was going to leave the room when her ears caught the sound of Sir Jasper's footsteps, and she hastily retreated to the window, where she stood with her back to the light, facing the room, the butterfly brooch now safely concealed in her pocket.
 
"Ah, golden locks!" the old man exclaimed, "is that you? So you've come to look me up? I have not quite finished my writing yet, for I was called away to see one of my tenants." He hobbled up to the safe, into which he placed a paper, then fastened and securely locked it, removing the key. "Don't wait for me," he proceeded, "for I shall not be at leisure for nearly an hour."
 
"Very well, Uncle Jasper," Celia replied, and was leaving the room when he called her back.
 
"One minute, my dear, you'll want a little extra money in your pocket, now you're going visiting, eh? Here, take this!" —and he slipped a coin into her hand.
 
Celia glanced at it quickly, and saw it was a sovereign. She was quite overpowered by his kindness, and for a moment her self-control forsook her.
 
"Oh, Uncle Jasper, I don't deserve it! Indeed I don't deserve it!" she cried, and there was the sound of tears in her voice.
 
"There, there, get along with you," he replied, pushing her gently out of the room, "I am the best judge of whether you deserve it or not."
 
She found herself standing in the hall, the library door closed against her, the butterfly brooch in her pocket, and the sovereign in her hand. Slowly she walked upstairs, and went to her own bedroom, where she took the brooch from her pocket and examined it closely, her heart filled with most conflicting emotions.
 
"I suppose I ought not to have taken it," she thought, "but, oh, it is very, very beautiful! Uncle Jasper will never find out it is not in the jewel case, and when I come home, no doubt I shall soon get an opportunity of putting it back. After all, it can be no great harm to take it, for it will be my own some day. Let me see, where can I keep it in safety?"
 
She wrapped the glittering jewel in a soft pocket-handkerchief, and thrust it right down in a corner at the bottom of the box which contained her clothes; then she put the sovereign in her purse, and went once more to join her mother and sister.
 
"Uncle Jasper is still writing," she informed them. "Look, mother! Look, Joy!" and she opened her purse and showed them his present.
 
"Half a sovereign!" Joy cried. "No, a sovereign! Did Uncle Jasper give it to you? Oh, how very kind of him!"
 
Mrs. Wallis noticed that Celia's hands were trembling, and supposed the magnitude of the gift had startled her, for she knew neither of her little daughters had ever owned a whole sovereign before. "It is indeed most kind and most generous of Uncle Jasper," she said, greatly pleased herself. "You are rich, Celia—quite a young person of property!"
 
"Yes," Celia, agreed with a smile. "It is a lot of money, isn't it? I shall buy—" She paused whilst she reflected on the many things that a sovereign would purchase. A vision of laces, ribbons and such-like trifles of feminine adornment passed before her mind's eye. Perhaps her mother guessed this, for after a moment's hesitation she advised:
 
"Don't fritter the money away, Celia. Uncle Jasper has given it to you to spend as you please, but do use your judgment in laying it out to advantage, and don't be tempted to get rid of it too quickly, for it will be nice for you to have money in your pocket whilst you are at the Tillotsons; you do not know what calls you may have on your purse."
 
"Oh, I'll be very careful," Celia returned, thinking this counsel unnecessary.
 
"That's right, my dear."
 
"Fancy having a whole sovereign of your own!" Joy exclaimed. "If any one had told you six months ago how rich you would be to-day, you would not have believed it. Why, Celia, do you remember what a long time we had to save our money before we could buy Eric a birthday present last year?"
 
"I don't want to remember it," Celia replied. "It was horrid being so poor, and having to scrape and save for everything we wanted. Oh, here comes Uncle Jasper!" He had finished his letters much before he thought he would.
 
As the conversation was taking a turn contrary to her liking, she went to meet the old man, who, after walking up and down the terrace a few times, sat down between Mrs. Wallace and Joy on the garden seat.
 
"I've given Celia a sovereign," he said, "and here's one for you, Joy. Well, aren't you going to have it?"
 
Joy was so surprised that she had made no movement to accept his gift; now, however, she held out her hand, and took the coin from him, stammering her thanks.
 
"I—I—thank you—oh, thank you!" she murmured, confusedly.
 
"I will let Eric have a sovereign, too, by-and-by," Sir Jasper said, turning his attention from Joy to her mother; "we must 'whip all dogs alike,' you know," he added with a chuckle.
 
Mrs. Wallis, deeply touched by his generosity to her children, began to thank him, but he held up his hand to stop her.
 
"Oh, Joy, I'm so glad!" Celia whispered to her sister. She was indeed quite delighted. It was upon her conscience that she had allowed Sir Jasper to think ill of Joy, and she now thought the past was forgotten, or at any rate that Sir Jasper had determined not to revert to it again. "Aren't you pleased?" she asked, as her sister still remained silent.
 
Joy nodded. There were tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat which prevented her speaking. She felt her few, stammering words of thanks to Sir Jasper had but ill-expressed the deep sense of gratitude which filled her heart; but she had been utterly incapable of saying more when she had accepted his gift. What must he think of her? She feared he would imagine she did not appreciate his kindness. Oh, she hoped he would not think her ungrateful.
 
The following day Celia took her departure, Sir Jasper's carriage conveying her and her luggage to the lawyer's house, where she was received by her friend with open arms and many demonstrations of affection.
 
"I'm so glad you're come," Lulu said, as she led the way upstairs to the room next to her own, which had been prepared for her visitor. "It's so dreadfully dull for me during the holidays, for father's in his office all day, and I've no one to speak to! I'll unpack your box for you, shall I?"
 
"Oh, thank you," Celia answered, and then it was that she wondered how she was going to account to Lulu for having a handsome diamond brooch in her possession. "I think I won't trouble you," she added, hastily, and though the other protested it would be no trouble at all, but quite the contrary, Celia insisted on unpacking her box herself, whilst her companion looked on, and she was successful in hiding the trinket from Lulu's curious eyes.
 
"I must think what I can tell Lulu about it before she sees it," Celia reflected; "it would never do to let her know I had taken it without Uncle Jasper's permission. Perhaps I had better say he gave it to me, for he did give it to me in a way—it would not be an actual story."
 
Thus did Celia take one step further in the slough of deception in which she had set her feet. She was now deep in the mire, but had no intention whatever of turning back; she knew she was doing wrong, though she tried to still her conscience; but her vanity, and a great desire to appear of importance, stood between her and the straight, narrow path which from her earliest years her mother had urged her to tread.
CHAPTER XVI. SIR JASPER'S GENEROSITY.

 
 
ALTHOUGH Eric now had his great chum within only half-a-mile of the Moat House, he did not, on that account, neglect his favourite sister, and managed so that she should be included in many of his pleasures. He persuaded Mrs. Wallis and Joy to visit the cricket field and watch the boys at play of an evening, and on more than one occasion Miss Pring and her niece accompanied them.
 
Sir Jasper took a great deal of interest in the Crumleigh Cricket Club, and when the Vicar called at the Moat House one afternoon, about a week after Celia had gone to T—, he considerably surprised him by suggesting that the members of the club should be presented with caps.
 
"They would be very proud of them, I have no doubt," Mr. Cole replied, "but I don't know—"
 
He paused, for he had been about to say he did not know who was going to provide the caps. The conversation was taking place in the drawing-room, where several visitors were assembled, including Miss Pring, her niece, and Lawrence Puttenham.
 
"But you don't know who is going to give the caps, I suppose you were going to remark?" proceeded Sir Jasper. "Well, I will. You must decide upon the colours. What do you think of dark blue caps embroidered with C.C.C., for Crumleigh Cricket Club, in gold letters, in front?"
 
"The very thing!" Eric cried, excitedly, breaking in upon the conversation. He and Lawrence Puttenham had been listening with great interest. "Uncle Jasper, I never knew anyone like you! You're a regular brick! A downright good sort! Isn't he, Putty?"
 
"Sir Jasper is very kind," Putty answered in his usual sober fashion.
 
"Kind! I should think so!" the Vicar exclaimed. He was deeply gratified by this sign that the old man took an interest in his work in the parish, and the success of the Crumleigh Cricket Club was what he greatly desired.
 
"Yes, dark blue caps with gold letters would be most suitable," he agreed.
 
"I will order the caps by to-night's post," Sir Jasper said decisively, "that is quite settled. And I'll tell you what I think you had better do, Mr. Cole—bring the boys here to tea one evening, and my niece shall present the caps to them. What do you say to that plan, Margaret?" he questioned, turning to Mrs. Wallis.
 
"I think it's a capital idea of yours, having them here to tea," she answered, "and I am sure they would all enjoy it; but I consider you ought to give them the caps yourself, Uncle Jasper."
 
"Yes, yes!" everyone insisted.
 
"Well, well, I'll think about it," Sir Jasper said, good-humouredly. "I'll let you know as soon as the caps arrive," he told the Vicar, "and then you can settle when will be the most suitable day for the tea. I expect it will have to be a Saturday, eh?"
 
"Yes, Saturday for preference," Mr. Cole replied, "for most of the boys leave work early on that day."
 
"Very well. They shall have a substantial meat tea, and—"
 
"And you'll preside, won't you, Uncle Jasper?" Eric broke in eagerly.
 
"No, my boy. The Vicar shall take the top of the table, for the boys will feel at home with him and they would not with me. I want them to have a thoroughly enjoyable time. The meal shall be prepared for them in the dining-room, and after they have partaken of it, they shall have their caps. Yes, perhaps I may present them myself."
 
"Isn't it jolly of him?" Eric exclaimed, as he and Lawrence Puttenham wandered out into the garden a short while later. "He's really very good-hearted. Did I tell you he gave me a sovereign the other day? He was equally generous to the girls. What a lark it will be having the boys here to tea! Uncle Jasper's sure to provide a splendid feed for them. He's a kind old chap really, isn't he? I wish he wasn't so down on poor Joy, though."
 
"Why is he?" inquired Putty. He liked the sister who was so devoted to her brother; and had remarked with surprise that she always seemed shy and embarrassed in Sir Jasper's presence. "What has she done? Has she offended him in some way?"
 
Eric explained the situation, and waxed hot and indignant as he told how Sir Jasper believed Joy to have deliberately deceived him.
 
"She wouldn't have told him an untruth, I'm certain of that," he said, decidedly. "If she had done wrong she'd have said so. She wouldn't have dreamt of telling a story."
 
"I expect there's been a misunderstanding," Putty said soothingly, for Eric's face was flushed with anger as he reflected on Sir Jasper's suspicion of his dearly loved sister. "It'll all work out straight, you'll find—things always do. Right is right, you know. You don't think, do you, that the novel the puppy destroyed belonged to your other sister?"
 
"To Celia?" Eric cried, in astonishment.
 
"Yes," Putty answered, quietly.
 
"I never thought of that. But no, I don't think it's likely. Celia's not fond of reading. Besides, she'd never stand by—"
 
He paused abruptly, an expression of doubt crossing his face. Putty proceeded:
 
"Many people read light literature who never read anything else. I'll tell you what made me suggest your sister Celia might have been the culprit in this case. I was it a stationer's shop at T— the other day with Mr. Cole, and I saw her there with another girl, and they were looking over a heap of cheap, sensational novels. They didn't see either Mr. Cole or me, because there were a good many people in the shop, and we were behind them."
 
"Did Mr. Cole notice Celia?" Eric inquired.
 
"Oh, yes! But he didn't speak to her. He told me afterwards who her companion was."
 
"Lulu Tillotson, of course?"
 
"Yes. I say, Wallis, what a dressed up doll she is!"
 
"Is she? Yes, so Joy told me. I've never seen Celia's great friend myself, but I heard Uncle Jasper say her father is one of the richest men in T—, and he thinks nothing is too good for his daughter. I expect Celia finds herself in clover there. By the way, did they purchase any of the novels?"
 
"I don't know, for they were still looking over them when we left the shop. They were whispering and giggling a good deal, and—"
 
Putty broke off, looking confused, as it occurred to him that he ought not to be telling this to Celia's brother. Eric's expression was grave; he was thinking deeply, and wondering if it was possible that, owing to some mistake, Joy was suffering for her sister's fault. If so, Celia must be aware of the fact.
 
Perhaps no one at the Moat House missed Celia quite so much as Sir Jasper. He had grown accustomed to her companionship of an evening, and declared the house was not like the same place without her.
 
"She is so winning and bright," he said to his niece on one occasion, "and so invariably sweet-tempered. Ah, I shall be glad when she returns! Celia is my favourite of your children, Margaret; which is yours?"
 
"I love them all alike," Mrs. Wallis replied. She was not surprised to hear her uncle's open acknowledgment of his preference for Celia. "I don't think a mother should feel any difference in her affection for her children—I am sure I do not. They are all very dear to me, and all very fond of each other, I do believe."
 
"Eric is an outspoken lad," Sir Jasper remarked, with approval in his tone; "but did you not tell me the other day that he is inclined to be idle at school?"
 
"I fear so, judging from the reports I receive of him. This last term he has done better, however. A steady, studious lad like Lawrence Puttenham is the very friend for Eric."
 
"Your boy is all right, Margaret," Sir Jasper said, smiling; "he's good at heart."
 
The mother's face brightened at this praise of her son. At that moment the sound of music fell upon their ears, and Sir Jasper sat quietly listening.
 
"How well Joy plays!" he exclaimed at length. "She improves rapidly. She practices a long time every day, does she not?"
 
"Yes, she shows real talent for music, so every one says; and Miss Mary Pring is delighted with the progress She is making."
 
"She ought to have a first-rate music-master, by-and-by," Sir Jasper asserted; "but I suppose Miss Mary Pring is competent to teach her for the present?"
 
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Wallis agreed. "I should so like to be able to give Joy a really good musical education; I believe if she had that she would make her mark as a pianist, for I am sure she would work hard and conscientiously."
 
"She is very desirous of earning money by her music, she tells me."
 
"Yes, poor child. You must not think her mercenary, Uncle Jasper. Remember, she has known what poverty is. I don't mean want, but the poverty which denies everything but the merest necessaries. My little girls went to school at A—, but I could not afford to have them taught accomplishments, so that I had to teach them music myself. Is it any wonder that Joy should wish to turn her one talent to some account?"
 
"Certainly not. What about Celia? She is not musical, I know; but I suppose she shows a talent for something?"
 
"No, I do not think she does."
 
"She is not ambitious, like Joy?"
 
"Not in the same way," Mrs. Wallis answered, hesitatingly. "Celia is very fond of the good things of this life. I fear she is a little selfish."
 
"Oh, I should hardly think that! I have proved that she is a kind-hearted little soul. I hope she is enjoying her visit to the Tillotsons. Let me see, you heard from her this morning, I think you told me?"
 
Happening to have Celia's letter in her pocket, Mrs. Wallis produced it, and handed it to her uncle, desiring him to read it. It ran as follows:
 
"My dear mother,—Can you fancy that I have been here ten days? I cannot, for the time has simply flown. I am enjoying my visit very much, and Mr. Tillotson, who is most kind to me, hopes you will not hurry me home. Next Tuesday is the flower-show; it is to be a very grand affair, and Lulu is having a new frock made for the occasion; she has decided to have it white, like mine, so that we may look like sisters.
 
"I hope dear Uncle Jasper is very well; please give him my best love, and tell him I am finding the money he gave me very useful. I suppose Eric is spending most of his time with Lawrence Puttenham, and I expect Joy is wishing
she had come with me. I have been with Lulu several times to tea at different people's houses, and have played tennis or croquet nearly every day, for Lulu belongs to a club, and she is allowed to take a friend with her.
 
"I will write again after the flower-show and tell you all about it.
 
"With much love, dear mother,
 
"I am," "Your affectionate daughter," "CELIA."
 
"A very nicely-written, well-expressed letter," said Sir Jasper, as he returned the epistle to Mrs. Wallis. "She is evidently having a good time. Tillotson told me how pleased he was to see the friendship between his little girl and yours. I was confident he would do all he could to make Celia enjoy her visit. It is a pity Joy did not go with her sister."
 
"Joy did not wish to leave whilst her brother was at home; besides, Lulu and Celia are so wrapped up in each other, that I think Joy is best where she is. Hark! She is playing your favourite piece, now, Uncle Jasper."
 
He listened with pleasure as the strains of "The Last Rose of Summer" came through the open drawing-room window. Joy's rendering of the old tune was exquisitely tender and sympathetic, and Sir Jasper's face softened into a gentle, retrospective smile. Afterwards Mrs. Wallis told the little girl how pleased her uncle had been with her playing.
 
The cricket caps arrived in due course; and one Saturday afternoon the members of the Crumleigh Cricket Club all visited the Moat House, by Sir Jasper Amery's invitation, and were entertained to a substantial tea, at which, as had been arranged, the Vicar presided. The boys, who were somewhat shy at first, were soon put at their ease; and Eric and Lawrence Puttenham, seated one on either side of the long dining-table, kept up the conversation, and would not allow it to flag.
 
Sam Dart was the least talkative of the visitors, but he appeared to approve of the proceedings; and Eric rightly guessed that his unusual quietude was caused by a laudable desire that his unruly tongue should give no offence, and respected him for his silence.
 
The boys did full justice to the good things provided for them, and after the meal was over, they all repaired to the terrace outside the house, where Sir Jasper and Mrs. Wallis and Joy were awaiting them. Then the caps were duly presented by Sir Jasper, who made a gracious little speech to each recipient, and subsequently the Vicar thanked the master of the Moat House, in the name of the Crumleigh Cricket Club, for his kindly interest and generosity.
 
"It has given me much pleasure to entertain the members of the club," Sir Jasper replied, in return, as he looked around on the eager faces of the group surrounding him, "and I shall hope to see you all again another year."
 
"Three cheers for Sir Jasper Amery!" cried a voice at this instant; whereupon, the cheers were promptly given with great heartiness, and Sir Jasper's wrinkled countenance expressed his gratification.
 
"Did you notice which of the boys it was who called for three cheers for Uncle Jasper?" Eric asked Joy later on, when the visitors had left.
 
"No, I did not," was the reply; "did you?"
 
"Yes. It was Sam Dart. I believe that was the only occasion on which he opened his lips during all the time he was here. He spoke to some purpose then, didn't he?"
 
"Did the boys enjoy their tea?" Joy inquired.
 
"Rather! Uncle Jasper has treated the club very handsomely, hasn't he?"
 
"Yes, indeed! He is very good and kind. And, do you know," she proceeded happily, "he has been quite nice to me to-day, and once he called me 'my dear,' just as he used to do before—"
 
"Oh, by the way," Eric broke in, "I want to ask you something. Did that novel there's been so much fuss about belong to Celia, by any chance? You needn't look so startled, Joy. Say yes or no."
 
But this Joy stoutly declined to do, and though her brother pressed her for an answer to his question, she persistently refused to give it. He grew quite cross with her at length, and declared he would ascertain the truth of the matter. "I believe you're shielding Celia," he said, suspiciously; "and since you're so obstinate, I won't tell you why I think so. I know more than you imagine, and I'll find out the rest."
CHAPTER XVII. THE FLOWER SHOW.

 
 
THE morning of the T— flower show dawned clear and bright, with the promise of a cloudless day. It would have been oppressively hot but for the breeze which sprang up about noon, bringing with it a taste of fresh, moorland air. The show was to be held in a large field on the outskirts of the town, and was to be formally opened at two o'clock by the member who represented the division in which T— was situated in Parliament; so that after an early luncheon Lulu Tillotson and her visitor hurried to their respective rooms to be dressed in time to accompany Mr. Tillotson to the opening ceremony.
 
Lulu was ready first. Her white frock suited her far better than the gay coloured garments she usually affected; and she would have been very suitably attired for the occasion if she had not seen fit to add her favourite long gold chain, and her jingling bangles. After a last glance in the looking-glass she joined her friend, whom she found putting the finishing touches to her toilet.
 
"How nice you look, Celia!" Lulu exclaimed with honest admiration in her tones. "Your eyes are shining like stars, and there's such a lovely pink colour in your cheeks. How I wish I was as pretty as you!"
 
Celia laughed—a flattered laugh it was—and said: "Oh, nonsense!" but she was really very pleased.
 
"Your dress is simply sweet," Lulu continued critically, "and, oh, Celia, what a beautiful brooch!"
 
"Yes, isn't it?" Celia returned, her colour deepening. She had fastened her frock at the throat with the butterfly brooch, and the jewel with its sparkling diamonds was handsome and striking enough to attract attention at once. "I'm glad you like it," she added.
 
"Like it! Why, I think it's one of the prettiest I ever saw," Lulu cried, enthusiastically. "How is it I never saw it before? Is it new? Have you had it long?"
 
"No—that is—yes. I have had it since the night before I came here," Celia answered, rather confusedly.
 
"Oh, I suppose Sir Jasper Amery gave it to you?"
 
"Yes."
 
Celia turned her back upon her friend, and pretended to be searching in a drawer for her gloves, for she was conscious that her face was crimson. Lulu, however, was thinking of the brooch, and not of its wearer; she seemed quite excited.
 
"Why, Celia, the stones must be real diamonds!" she exclaimed. "I thought, at first, they were only paste; but if Sir Jasper gave you the brooch, you may depend upon it the stones are real."
 
"Yes, I know they are," Celia admitted, reflecting that she might as well tell the truth when she could safely do so. "The brooch belonged to his wife."
 
"And he gave it to you? How wonderfully kind of him! You must indeed be a great favourite of his, Celia. Oh, you lucky girl to have diamonds like that! They must be worth a heap of money."
 
"I expect so."
 
"I remember hearing my father say that the late Lady Amery had very valuable jewels. Mind you don't lose your brooch! Is the pin quite firm? Yes, that's right. Now, if you're ready we'll go downstairs, for it's quite time to start."
 
In the hall they found Mr. Tillotson awaiting them. He scanned the two girls approvingly, but did not particularly notice Celia's brooch, and, much to Celia's relief, Lulu did not call his attention to it.
 
The flower show proved a very great success, and the number of people who attended it far exceeded everyone's expectations. The flowers, fruit, and vegetables were exhibited under the shelter of tents, whilst a military band was in attendance. After the opening ceremony, Mr. Tillotson kindly devoted himself to his young companions, and drew their attention to the rarest exhibits; but he soon found they were far more interested in the people than in the flowers, and when after exchanging a few words of conversation with a friend he looked around and found they had disappeared, he did not seek for them, telling himself he would be sure to come across them again before very long.
 
Meanwhile, Lulu and Celia wandered from one tent to another, watching the crowd, admiring the light summer gowns of the ladies, and criticising everyone they saw. Now and then they met people Lulu knew, and Celia was introduced to a great many strangers who were favourably impressed by her winning manners and pretty face. One old lady Celia overheard called her a "sweet child," which made her heart swell with happiness; but she was considerably taken aback when she heard some one else say:
 
"Where did she get that brooch, I wonder? It's spurious, of course. Most unsuitable for a girl of that age!"
 
"Celia, we have not seen Miss Pring's onions," Lulu whispered at length. "I confess I am curious to know if they have taken a prize. Let us pay a visit to the vegetable tent, shall we?"
 
"Yes, if you like. Oh, look, there's Miss Mary Pring talking to Mr. Cole! Miss Pring is sure to be here somewhere. I knew she was coming."
 
The Vicar and his companion did not notice the two girls, for they were closely examining some cut dahlia blooms.
 
"We won't speak to them now," Celia continued; "let us go and look at the vegetables."
 
They accordingly did so. It was not nearly so crowded in the vegetable tent, so they had little difficulty in finding the stall where the onions were laid out for inspection.
 
"'First prize: Miss Pring, Home Vale, Crumleigh,'" Lulu read out, examining one of the tickets. "Well, I'm glad. They are beauties, aren't they, Celia? Such monsters! They deserve the first prize. There can be no doubt about that. Oh, look, Celia, there's Miss Pring herself standing near the entrance with father."
 
"Need we speak to her?" Celia inquired.
 
"I suppose we must; and I should rather like to congratulate her on having won the first prize. Yes, father's beckoning to us. Come along. You'll see how she'll try to take the conceit out of me."
 
But Miss Pring made no such attempt to-day. She was in high good-humour, and the little girls' white frocks met with her approval.
 
"How cool and nice you both look," she said, after she had shaken hands with them. "Your father has been wondering where you were, Lulu. One can easily miss another in a crowd like this."
 
"We have been looking at your onions," Lulu replied. "I am so glad they have taken the first prize."
 
"So am I," said Celia.
 
"So am I," echoed Miss Pring, a pleased smile lighting up her plain countenance. "I feel my labour is rewarded. By the way, Celia, I saw your sister yesterday; she took tea with us at Home Vale, and desired me to keep my eyes open for you at the flower show, and report to her how you are looking, so you must not think me rude if I regard you scrutinously, for Joy will be certain to ask me scores of questions about you when I see her next."
 
Miss Pring paused, and much to Celia's alarm, fixed her eyes on the butterfly brooch, which, for the moment, the little girl had quite forgotten. She made no remark, however, though she certainly wondered where Celia had procured the ornament; she herself was not a judge of jewels, and she concluded the diamonds were merely Parisian—never for an instant did she dream they were real.
 
"Have you seen your brother?" Miss Pring inquired, removing her eyes from the brooch to Celia's countenance, which evinced astonishment at her question.
 
"No! Eric? Is he here?"
 
"Yes. He came with Mr. Cole and Lawrence Puttenham. You will be sure to run across him directly."
 
Celia was delighted at the prospect of meeting her brother, and her fair face beamed with happiness until she suddenly bethought herself again of the butterfly brooch. She knew Eric's sharp eyes would immediately notice it, and that he would question her about it. What should she do? She began to wish the brooch was securely locked away in Sir Jasper's safe, instead of being in her possession.
 
Mr. Tillotson insisted on Miss Pring and the two girls now accompanying him to the refreshment tent, where they all had tea. There they encountered Miss Mary Pring and Mr. Cole, and Celia was uncomfortably conscious that the former took note of her brooch with considerable surprise, though she made no comment upon it. Then Celia caught sight of Eric and his friend, at the far end of the tent, eating ices, and the pleasure she experienced at the sight of her brother was spoilt by the fear that the moment they met he would commence to ply her with embarrassing questions about her borrowed ornament.
 
"I see Eric and Lawrence Puttenham," she said to Lulu, "I should like to speak to them. Won't you come with me and be introduced to them?"
 
Lulu agreed readily, for she was curious to see her friend's brother, of whom she had heard so much. So the girls began to make their way slowly through the crowd.
 
Seizing a favourable opportunity when her companion's eyes were turned away from her, Celia unfastened the butterfly brooch and slipped it into her pocket. She was vexed to be obliged to hide it, but reflected that it was better to do that than to have to account for it to Eric.
 
Eric met his sister warmly, and Celia introduced Lulu to him and to Lawrence Puttenham.
 
"Will you have some ices?" Eric inquired, politely, looking from one girl to the other.
 
They both thanked him, but declined, saying they had been having tea; and as the boys had finished their ices, they all strolled out into the open air, where they were soon joined by the Misses Pring, Mr. Tillotson, and Mr. Cole.
 
Eric found an opportunity for a short conversation with his sister alone, and gave her an account of the doings of the inmates of the Moat House during her absence, including the story of Sir Jasper's generosity to the Crumleigh Cricket Club, to all of which Celia listened with the greatest interest.
 
"How is Joy getting on with Uncle Jasper?" she asked at length.
 
"Rather better," was the reply. "He asks her to play the piano to him every evening now."
 
Celia appeared very pleased, and her pretty face lit up with a bright smile as she exclaimed:
 
"Oh, that's right! I'm glad of that. Does Joy miss me much?"
 
"Don't know, I'm sure. She doesn't say. I say, Celia, your friend Lulu looks rather jolly."
 
"She is rather jolly," Celia agreed, with a laugh.
 
"I shall tell mother how well that white frock suits you," he said with decided approval in his tone, as he looked her over critically. "She" —nodding his head at Lulu, who at a little distance was talking animatedly with her other friends— "would look better if she didn't wear so many ornaments and fal-lals. She reminds me of the little girl in the nursery rhyme, made of 'ribbons and rings, and all fine things.'"
 
Celia smiled at this, but she looked a little uneasy. Suddenly she asked:
 
"Eric, do you think you could lend me a few shillings?"
 
"What! You don't mean to say you've spent the whole of that sovereign Uncle Jasper gave you?" he exclaimed, in accents of intense surprise.
 
"Yes, I do. You needn't look so astonished. How often have I heard you say that money slips away in the most remarkable manner!"
 
"So it does," he agreed.
 
"There were so many things I wanted, and Lulu spends so much, and—and I've only a few coppers left."
 
"Well, you're welcome to these," Eric said, counting three shillings into her hand. "I'm afraid I can't let you have more. Shall I ask mother to send you—"
 
"No, no! And, please don't tell her I've spent all my money. This will be plenty for what I want. Thank you so much. I daresay you think I've been extravagant, but a sovereign is not a lot of money, after all."
 
Eric was silent whilst he reflected that not so very long ago Celia would have considered a sovereign almost a small fortune. Times were changed indeed.
 
"I say, Celia," he said presently, "there's something I want to speak to you about. Was it you, by any chance, who had been reading that novel which Wag tore up?"
 
"What makes you ask that?" Celia questioned, the colour flooding her face.
 
"Never mind. Tell me—was it you?"
 
"No."
 
Celia spoke the lie direct, with a boldness which almost astonished herself. Eric looked relieved, for the bare suspicion that Celia had allowed Joy to suffer for her fault had been repugnant to him.
 
"Then I suppose the book really must have belonged to one of the servants after all!" he exclaimed. "But I know you do read literature of that sort. Putty saw you in a shop the other day with Lulu Tillotson looking over a lot of trashy novels."
 
"Putty saw me!" Celia cried, wrathfully. "What right had he to spy on me?"
 
"He was not spying on you. He was in the shop with Mr. Cole, and he couldn't help seeing you. I don't think mother would like you to read silly books like—"
 
"Oh, Eric, you won't tell her!"
 
"Am I a sneak, Celia? But, you oughtn't to read what you know she would disapprove of. It isn't straight of you. I don't believe you'd have done it a year ago."
 
This was true, and Celia knew it. She hung her head, and when she looked up again, her blue eyes were swimming in tears. She was wondering what her brother would think of her if he knew of the brooch in her pocket, and how she had procured it. She was very sensitive on the point of what people thought of her, and set great store on the good opinion of all with whom she was in any way connected; but she rarely paused to consider nowadays what He thought of her, whose approval should have been her first consideration; and yet, like Joy and Eric, when a tiny child her mother had taught her to say: "Thou God seest me," and almost her first lesson in life had been to learn the meaning of those solemn words.
 
Eric said no more, and they rejoined their friends; but Celia was unusually subdued in spirits for the rest of the day. She had not relished being taken to task by her brother, though it was not until after they had said good-bye that she commenced to feel actual resentment against him. She came to the conclusion that he had had no right to question her as he had done, and that it was no business of his how she chose to amuse herself.
 
The August evening was closing in when Mr. Tillotson took the two girls home. They assured him they had spent a pleasant, happy time, and ran upstairs to divest themselves of their best frocks. Then it was that Celia, as she took the butterfly brooch from her pocket, and carefully placed it, as before, at the bottom of her box, was forced to acknowledge to herself that the glittering jewel had spoilt her perfect enjoyment of the flower show, and that she had paid for her vanity with an uneasy mind.
 
CHAPTER XVIII. CELIA'S LOSS.

 
 
"THE weather is hopeless, there's no doubt about that," said Lulu Tillotson, as she lolled on a sofa in her bedroom, on the afternoon subsequent to the flower show. "What a good thing it was it did not rain like this yesterday; if it had the show would have been an utter failure. Oh, dear me, I'm tired of everything—the day, the weather, and myself!"
 
Celia, who was seated in a comfortable wicker chair, with her feet on an ottoman, and a novel on her knee, made no response. She had come to a most entertaining point in her story, and had no desire to be interrupted. Her taste for light literature was increasing, fed as it had been by a series of sensational stories during the past fortnight. Lulu regarded her with a decidedly discontented expression on her face. She was in the humour for conversation, and seeing her friend was not, she proceeded crossly:
 
"Do you hear what I say, Celia? Talk, and make yourself agreeable, do! You're not a very cheerful companion for a wet day. Do you always consider your own pleasure before other people's?"
 
Celia closed the book, and looked up with a flash of resentment in her eyes. Lulu was not very polite to her, considering she was a visitor, she thought; but she refrained from uttering the retort which rose to her lips, and replied pacifically:
 
"I don't know what you mean, Lulu. I'm quite ready to talk. But what's wrong?"
 
"Everything! I feel so ill-tempered and dissatisfied."
 
"I don't know that you have anything to be dissatisfied about, though. No one can help the weather; we must put up with the rain, and hope it will clear soon."
 
"Oh, it's not the rain that I mind so much," Lulu cried, impatiently, "but of course a wet day like this is very depressing. I'm tired of things in general."
 
Celia stared at her companion in amazement. What could Lulu mean? Had she not everything that heart could wish? And she had only herself to please in all the world, for her father seldom interfered with her pursuits, and was satisfied to let her go her own way.
 
"Don't you ever feel discontented, Celia?" Lulu inquired.
 
"Yes, sometimes," was the frank response, "when I can't have things I want. Before we came to the Moat House, that was pretty often."
 
"Father told me your mother was poorly off. You lived in a little house at A—, did you not? I wish you'd tell me about it."
 
"There's really not much to tell." Celia was rather ashamed of the small way in which she and her family had lived, but since Lulu evidently knew something of their circumstances, she saw no reason why she should not gratify her curiosity. "It was a poky little place," she admitted, "the dining-room about a quarter of the size of yours, and the drawing-room smaller still. We had no garden worth mentioning, and the house was semi-detached."
 
"And you only kept one servant?"
 
"Yes—Jane. Joy writes to her occasionally still, I believe."
 
"Does she? Fancy writing to a servant!"
 
"Oh, that's Joy all over! She makes friends with all sorts of people; she's so odd. And she doesn't mind in the least what she does. She used to help Jane in the kitchen—washing dishes, and so on. And she was always ready to answer the front door bell. Joy is very obliging."
 
"Yes, I've noticed that. Tell me about the school at A—, where you used to go."
 
"Oh, it was not much of a school! Joy had several friends amongst the girls, though, I believe she was sorry to say good-bye to them. For my part, I hope we shall never go back to A—"
 
"I don't suppose you will," Lulu said meaningly. "Sir Jasper will want to keep you at the Moat House, you will see. I shouldn't be surprised if he makes you his heiress. I shouldn't indeed! More unlikely things have happened than that, before now. You remember the story we were reading the other day, about a poor gutter child who was adopted by a rich, old man? I thought of you when I read it. Depend upon it, Sir Jasper would not have given you that beautiful, diamond brooch if he had not some intention of that kind. Diamonds are not meant for poor people to wear."
 
Celia had listened silently, her eyes downcast, her face flushing and paling by turns. She had not altogether relished being put on a level with a gutter child.
 
"Sir Jasper does not give Joy diamonds," Lulu proceeded; "he makes a great difference between you and her. I wonder if she minds. Do you know, I believe she is happier than either you or I, Celia. I've often thought so."
 
"Why? What makes you think that?" Celia asked, curiously.
 
"Oh, many things! You know, I saw a good deal of her that time I was at the Moat House, when your ankle was sprained; and she and I had several talks together. She was very good to me, considering I'd never taken much notice of her before; I saw she was trying to make my visit pass pleasantly. But oh, how upset she seemed because I had lent you 'Lady Isabella's Treachery!' She gave me quite a lecture about the sin of deception, and I've had a feeling ever since that she has formed a very poor opinion of me. I've no doubt she was right in all she said; but, in spite of that, here am I as devoted to light literature as ever, you see!"
 
"Joy is very particular about—about trifles," Celia returned, scarcely knowing whether to take her companion seriously or not.
 
"I remember I told her I never troubled my head whether things were right or wrong," Lulu remarked reflectively, "and she said I should care, and that we ought to live as in God's sight—remembering He sees us. It's an awful thought that, isn't it? And yet, of course it's true. God does see us."
 
"Yes," Celia agreed, uneasily.
 
"I don't know that I ever committed any great sin," Lulu proceeded, "but I've done scores of little mean tricks that I shouldn't like to confess to anyone, and I know you have too."
 
"What do you mean?" Celia cried, half in indignation, half in alarm.
 
"Just what I say! I've seen a good bit of you now, and I've found out that you're pretty much like myself. You please yourself whenever you can, and are not above using a little deception to get your own way. What I can't understand is, why you're like that. I think if I'd had a mother, like you, I should be altogether different. I like you very much, Celia; we suit each other capitally; but I'm not blind, and I know we're neither of us a patch on Joy for goodness, and why Sir Jasper hasn't found that out I can't imagine."
 
There was a frankness in this speech which considerably surprised Celia. She had thought her friend perfectly satisfied with herself, but the picture Lulu had seen fit to draw of them both had shown that not to be the case. What was the cause of her obvious dissatisfaction?
 
"Oh, dear," exclaimed Lulu, yawning and stretching lazily, "how idle I feel, to be sure! I wish I had something to do. I wish Joy was here with that puppy she's so fond of, then we'd have some fun. I expect she and your brother have good times together, Celia?"
 
Celia assented. To amuse her companion, she gave her an account of the doings of the Crumleigh Cricket Club, and the tea which the members had had at the Moat House followed by the presentation of the caps.
 
"And you missed all that fun!" cried Lulu. "I expect you are vexed."
 
"No, I'm not particularly interested in the cricket club," Celia rejoined. "I'd far rather be here with you. Hark! Isn't that your father's voice?"
 
"Yes, he's calling me. I wonder what he wants?" Lulu rose from the sofa in a leisurely fashion; but her father calling her again, she ran downstairs and joined him in the hall. In a very short while she returned with all the dissatisfaction gone from her face.
 
"Oh, Celia," she cried, "father's going to take us to a concert to-night! A grand affair! He has just told me that he has bought tickets."
 
"Oh, how nice!" Celia exclaimed. "How very kind of Mr. Tillotson!"
 
"And he wishes us to put on the same frocks we wore at the flower show. He says several people remarked to him how well we looked. You'll wear your butterfly brooch, won't you? Think how the diamonds will flash by gaslight."
 
Celia hesitated. She had almost made up her mind not to wear the brooch again; but, when Lulu expressed surprise at her indecision, she reconsidered the matter, and finally said she would put it on to please her friend.
 
"And to please yourself too," Lulu retorted, laughingly. "Don't pretend you're not vain."
 
When Celia came downstairs dressed for the concert, Lulu drew her father's attention to the butterfly brooch, and told him it was a present from Sir Jasper.
 
"It is very pretty," he said, looking surprised. "I don't think I've seen you wear it before, have I?" he asked, doubtfully.
 
"I wore it at the flower show," Celia answered, avoiding his glance.
 
"I did not notice it."
 
"Everyone will notice it to-night, though," remarked Lulu, "for see how the stones sparkle by gaslight! I said they would."
 
"It is a very handsome brooch for a little girl," Mr. Tillotson said. "I believe Sir Jasper showed it to me some years ago. Did it not belong to his late wife? Yes, I thought so. It is a most valuable ornament, let me tell you. I am no judge of diamonds, myself, but I distinctly remember Sir Jasper telling me these were of the first water, and worth—I really forget the amount he named, but I know it was a lot of money."
 
Celia was shrewd enough to see that Mr. Tillotson was amazed to find the butterfly brooch in her possession. During the evening she constantly caught his gaze fixed upon the sparkling jewel at her neck, until she longed to take it out, and put it in her pocket as she had done on the previous afternoon at the flower show. Would he speak of it to Sir Jasper? she wondered. The possibility of his ever doing so struck terror to her heart.
 
It is almost needless to say that Celia's guilty conscience would not allow her to enjoy the entertainment; and she found herself wishing that her sister was there in her place. Joy was so fond of music that the concert would have been a greatly appreciated treat to her.
 
Many eyes were turned from time to time upon the fair, golden-haired girl who sat between Lulu and Mr. Tillotson, her blue eyes fixed upon the performers. She certainly did not look in the least unhappy, for she smiled when either of her companions addressed her, so that they were utterly unconscious of the misgivings and fears by which she was tortured.
 
It was all over at last, and Celia found herself following Mr. Tillotson from the crowded concert hall with Lulu close behind. She drew a breath of relief when they passed through the doorway into the street, and her spirits began to revive. She was quite determined never on any account to be tempted to wear the butterfly brooch again. It had completely ruined her happiness that evening. How foolish she had been ever to touch it! She had had no right to do so, she had known that at the time she had taken possession of it, though she had tried to stifle her conscience by telling herself that as the ornament would be hers some day, she was therefore doing no harm. When Lulu slipped her arm through hers, and discussed the different performers at the concert, Celia scarcely heard a word she was saying. Her great terror was that Mr. Tillotson might betray her to Sir Jasper when next they met by some mention of the butterfly brooch. She recalled Mr. Tillotson's look of blank amazement when Lulu had informed him the trinket had been Sir Jasper's gift, and felt that there was danger ahead for her.
 
"Oh, why did I ever touch it!" thought the girl despairingly. "I wish I had left it alone. I ought not to have taken it. It was like stealing it, really. Oh, I never meant to be a thief!"
 
"It was a splendid concert, wasn't it?" Lulu said, as she and her friend went upstairs together on their return. "Joy would have enjoyed it, would she not? I wish she had been there."
 
"I was wishing that all the time," Celia answered; "when I hear good music I always think of Joy."
 
The two girls went into their respective rooms, Lulu humming one of the airs she had heard at the concert, whilst Celia, her face wearing an unusually sober expression, the moment she was alone raised her hands to her throat for the purpose of unfastening the butterfly brooch, and placing it in safety. What was her horror to feel nothing but the lace which trimmed the neck of her gown! For a moment she stood perfectly still, too terror-stricken to stir; then, pulling herself together, she turned up the gas, rushed to the dressing-table and gazed at her reflection in the mirror with eyes distended with fright and despair. There were no diamonds sparkling at her throat. The butterfly brooch was gone!
 
 
 
CHAPTER XIX. AFTER THE CONCERT.

 
 
WHEN Celia first discovered her loss, she was too shocked to utter a sound. She dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands whilst she tried to collect her thoughts and make up her mind how to act. Then the full horror of her position fell upon her. The butterfly brooch was lost, there could be no doubt about that; and, as she would not be able to replace it, Sir Jasper would think it had been stolen, and even if she told the truth, he would never accept her explanation that she had only intended to borrow it for the time.
 
Had her mother been there, very likely Celia would have made a full confession to her of all her misdoings; but she shrank from telling either Lulu or Mr. Tillotson the true facts of the case. How could she say she had taken the brooch unknown to Sir Jasper when she had led them to believe he had made her a present of the jewel? She uttered a wail of distress as she reflected thus, which sound brought Lulu into the room, looking dismayed and startled, to ascertain what was amiss.
 
"For goodness sake, speak, Celia!" cried Lulu after several vain attempts to make her friend tell her trouble. "Are you ill? What is it?"
 
"My brooch!" gasped Celia, sobbing as if her heart would break, and raising a pail of miserable blue eyes bedewed with tears to Lulu's concerned face.
 
"Your brooch? The diamond brooch, do you mean?"
 
"Yes. I've lost it! Oh, what shall I do?" —and Celia wrung her hands despairingly.
 
"Lost it!" For a moment Lulu looked as shocked as her friend. "Oh, Celia, impossible!" she cried. "Perhaps you've dropped it in the room somewhere, or on the stairs."
 
A gleam of hope illuminated Celia's face, but it died away when, after an exhaustive search, no brooch could be found. The servants, summoned by Lulu, had joined in the search; and Mr. Tillotson, hearing a commotion, had come from the dining-room to learn what was wrong. Very grave had he looked on hearing that the butterfly brooch was lost, and late though it was, had put on his hat and overcoat, and had gone out. On his return, he explained that he had been to the concert hall, and to the police station, and added that nothing more could be done that night.
 
"Do you think there is a chance of the brooch being found?" Celia asked. She had ceased crying now, but her face looked very shocked and white. "Oh, how I wish I had not worn it!" she cried in great distress.
 
"I wish so, too," Mr. Tillotson replied gravely. "In fact, I cannot imagine what induced Sir Jasper to make you such a valuable present. I cannot possibly tell whether it is likely we shall ever see it again or not; it all depends who finds it; should it fall into honest hands of course it will be returned, if not—"
 
He paused, shaking his head, and presently bade the girls have their suppers and go to bed. They followed him into the dining-room, but neither Celia nor Lulu could eat, though they made a pretence of doing so.
 
"I will have some bills printed in the morning, giving a description of the brooch, and offering a suitable reward for its return," Mr. Tillotson said, kindly. "Cheer up, my dear, perhaps you may get it again. Anyway, do not grieve about it, for you are not to blame."
 
The tears rushed to Celia's eyes afresh as she listened, and she wondered what he would think of her if he knew how greatly she was to blame.
 
"Uncle Jasper will be so angry," she faltered.
 
"No, I do not think he will be. He will be sorry, I have no doubt, but he is a just man, and not one to be angry without a cause. He gave you the brooch, and I am sure you set great store by it; you could not help losing it."
 
Lulu lingered in her friend's bedroom until she was in bed, and tried to console her all she could, but Celia was not to be comforted.
 
"I'm very, very sorry," Lulu said at length, "but I don't see why you should give way like this. Father will do all he possibly can to find the brooch for you, and—anyway, it's no good crying and making yourself ill, is it?"
 
"No," Celia agreed, "but—but, I'm so miserable, and you don't understand."
 
"What don't I understand?" Lulu inquired, considerably mystified.
 
But Celia declined to explain, and Lulu retired to her own room, telling herself it was useless trying to get any sense from her visitor.
 
Long did Celia lay awake that night. She wept until she made herself feel positively ill and then, when she was quite exhausted, she could not rest for wondering what everyone would think of her when it became known that she had stolen the butterfly brooch and had lost it.
 
"Yes, that's the real truth," she reflected. "Oh, what a wicked, wicked girl I've been! I wish mother was here—or Joy! Oh, I would tell Joy all about it! How I regret I ever came to visit the Tillotsons! And yet they've been so kind. Oh, what shall I do? I shall be going back to the Moat House in a few days, and if I don't get the butterfly brooch before then, I don't know what will happen."
 
The next morning Celia took her place at the breakfast-table in a very subdued frame of mind. Lulu and Mr. Tillotson looked at her pale cheeks and heavy eyes pityingly; and the latter, with the best intentions in the world, did not tend to raise her spirits by telling her that he himself would inform Sir Jasper of her loss.
 
"Oh, please, not to-day! Do not tell him to-day!" Celia implored. "Perhaps the brooch may be found, and then he need never know it was lost. Oh, I am afraid he will think me so—so careless!"
 
As soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Tillotson began writing out a description of the lost article, with the intention of having bills printed and posted about the town, whilst Celia watched him, actually quivering with nervousness. Before he had completed his task to his satisfaction, however, there was a ring at the front door bell, and a few moments later a servant came to inform him that he was wanted. When he returned, which was in a very short while, his face wore a look of relief, and going straight up to Celia, he placed the butterfly brooch in her hand. The little girl uttered a cry of intense joy, and gazed at the sparkling jewel with eyes shining through a mist of glad tears.
 
"Where did you get it, father?" Lulu asked, eagerly.
 
"The caretaker of the hall found it late last night. I had seen him and told him of Celia's loss, so he made a careful search and discovered the brooch on the floor under a chair near the door through which we left the hall, and being an honest man, he brought it to me the first thing this morning; It was he I was called out to see just now." Mr. Tillotson did not say he had rewarded the caretaker handsomely for the return of the jewel; he had been only too delighted to do so. "You are indeed fortunate, Celia," he told her. "I confess I never thought you would get your brooch again."
 
"Oh, how glad I am! How glad I am!" Celia cried, ecstatically. "Oh, Mr. Tillotson, Uncle Jasper need not be told now that I lost it, need he? You won't say anything about it, will you?" she pleaded, coaxingly.
 
"Why should you mind?" he asked in surprise. "I suppose you are afraid he will think you were to blame, eh? Well, no, I won't tell him—on one consideration."
 
"And that?" Celia questioned anxiously.
 
"That you refrain from wearing the brooch till you are older."
 
"Oh, I promise you that! I never wish to wear it again—never! I—I will let uncle Jasper keep it for me."
 
"Not at all a bad plan. I know little girls are fond of jewellery," he said, with a smiling glance at his daughter, "but you are too young to wear such a valuable ornament as that diamond brooch. I advise you to do as you say, and when you return to the Moat House give it to Sir Jasper, or to your mother, to keep for you."
 
"I will give it to Uncle Jasper," Celia rejoined decidedly, reflecting how wonderfully things were being put straight for her. "I —I'm afraid I've made a lot of trouble for you," she continued, hesitatingly, "but, indeed I couldn't help it."
 
He answered her reassuringly, and bade her put the butterfly brooch away at once. She ran upstairs and hid it, as before, at the bottom of her box, her heart fluttering with joy; her drooping spirits quite revived.
 
During the day she tried to extract a promise from Lulu to the effect that she would not mention the loss of the brooch to anyone; but Lulu stubbornly declined to pass her word.
 
"Why should you mind, now, Celia?" she inquired, curiously. "I suppose all your people know Sir Jasper gave you the brooch, don't they?"
 
"No," Celia was obliged to admit, "I never told them."
 
"The idea! Why not?"
 
"I—I—I thought Joy might be jealous."
 
Lulu looked dubious. She did not believe this statement; in fact, she was beginning to have a very ugly suspicions of her friend, and frankly told her so.
 
"The very first time I see Mrs. Wallis I shall tell her about the fuss you made last night," she said, decidedly; "you upset the whole household. I thought then it couldn't be all fair and square about that brooch. Come, tell me why you are so anxious to make me promise to keep it a secret that you lost it."
 
Celia was at her wit's end what to say. She saw she was completely in Lulu's hands, and, at last, came to the conclusion that her only course was to take her fully into her confidence.
 
"If I tell you the reason why I don't want you to mention the brooch at all at the Moat House, will you faithfully promise not tell tales about me?" Celia questioned, uneasily.
 
Lulu demurred, but her curiosity overcame doubts as to the wisdom of making such promise, and she finally gave it. Then Celia explained the situation to her whilst listened in amazed silence.
 
"There, now you know all about it," said Celia, in conclusion. "I've told you what I wouldn't tell anyone else in the world, but you're my friend, and I've trusted you."
 
"Your friend, indeed!" Lulu cried. "Good gracious! What have you done? Don't you see that you've actually stolen the brooch? Why, you're nothing more nor less than a thief! Oh, you may get red and angry, but what I say is true! It's all very fine to talk of the brooch being yours some day. That some day isn't now. You've taken it without permission, and if Sir Jasper discovers that it's gone in your absence, he'll consider it has been stolen. I'm surprised at you, Celia, I am indeed. What a risky thing to do! If Sir Jasper finds you out, he'll never think anything of you again. And he's been so kind to you, too."
 
Celia had not anticipated Lulu would take the matter in this way, and she quailed beneath her indignant words.
 
"Really, I think you're more ungrateful than anyone I ever heard of in my life," Lulu continued, her pale blue eyes glowing with excitement. "Think of all that Sir Jasper has done for you and yours. And you were so poor before he had you at the Moat House! And he's so fond of you, too, and has made so much more of you than of Joy. Put the brooch back? I only hope you may have a chance of doing so! I knew you were selfish, Celia, but I never guessed you were so wicked as this."
 
"You've no right to speak to me so cruelly!" said Celia, hotly; "don't you see how unhappy I am?"
 
"So you ought to be!"
 
Thereupon began a quarrel which lasted nearly half an hour. Both girls lost their tempers, and said many hard, bitter things to each other which neither actually meant. It ended by Celia declaring she would write to her mother to send for her return to the Moat House, and by Lulu retorting that she should be glad when her visitor was gone. Accordingly Celia retired to her bedroom and commenced her letter; but before it was finished Lulu knocked at the door and demanded admittance.
 
"Come in, if you like," Celia replied, in an injured tone.
 
So Lulu entered, and crossing to her friend's side put her arms round her neck kissed her repentantly.
 
"Oh, Celia, forgive my wicked temper!" said with great earnestness. "I ought not to have spoken to you as I did; but I cannot imagine how you could have brought yourself to take the brooch. I know I'm very naughty myself, and do heaps of things father wouldn't approve of, but, oh, don't you see how wrong you've been?"
 
"Yes," Celia acknowledged, sighing, "of course I do."
 
"Don't you think you'd better tell your mother all about it? I would, if I were you. Oh, I'm sure your secret is going to make me very unhappy! I wish you had never told it to me."
 
"You made me."
 
"I know I did."
 
"It will be all right now the brooch is found, Lulu. I shall put it back."
 
"But supposing Sir Jasper finds it gone whilst you're still here?"
 
"He won't do that," Celia replied confidently; "but I'm writing to mother saying I've arranged to leave here on Saturday. I think it is time I went back to the Moat House."
 
Lulu agreed. She felt she would have no rest until she knew the butterfly brooch was once more in Sir Jasper Amery's keeping.
 
"You know, Celia, if Sir Jasper discovered you had taken the brooch he would never make you his heiress," she said, "and you know you would like to be rich; you told me you never wanted to return to A—"
 
"Indeed, no! That would be unbearable. We are friends again, are we not, Lulu?"
 
"Yes, I suppose so. But you've made me very unhappy. I can't help thinking how your mother would grieve if she knew what you've done. Oh, I think if my mother had lived I wouldn't have grieved her for anything!"
 
"I didn't think of mother when I took the brooch," Celia murmured.
 
"No; I expect you only thought of yourself, and how the diamonds would suit you. I can understand that. But didn't you remember afterwards that God had seen you? That is the thought that would have haunted me. I never thought much about Him till Joy spoke of Him so seriously to me; since then I can't help remembering He sees me, and sometimes I feel frightened and miserable, and wish I was a better girl. But I'm vain, and foolish, and fond of dress, and light literature, and I'm much afraid there's no good in me at all!"
 
Lulu was in a wonderfully humble frame of mind. Truth to tell, Celia's confession had frightened her, by showing her what vanity and deception might lead to. She was really shocked at her friend's conduct, and anxious beyond measure that the butterfly brooch should be replaced in Sir Jasper safe, to which end she, at the risk of appearing inhospitable, raised no protest against Celia's arrangement for leaving, but allowed her to post her letter, and was actually relieved in mind when it was gone.
 
"Celia has decided to go on Saturday," she informed her father, later in the day; "she thinks it is time she went home, as she has been here more than a fortnight, and she would like a little while with her brother before he returns to school. She says she has had a most enjoyable visit."
 
"She shall come again," Mr. Tillotson replied, smilingly, "but next time she had better leave the butterfly brooch at home."
CHAPTER XX. A RECONCILIATION.

 
 
"SO to-morrow your sister returns," remarked Miss Pring. She was nipping the dead roses from around the porch at Home Vale whilst she talked to Joy Wallis, who stood by watching her. "She has had a pleasant visit at T— I've no doubt; but you'll be glad to have her home again. What fast friends she and Lulu Tillotson have become! They looked like sisters on the flower show day both dressed in white. By the way, where did Celia get her grand brooch?"
 
"What grand brooch do you mean?" Joy inquired. "She has a small gold one like mine, but you can't mean that—"
 
"No, indeed! The one to which I refer is in the shape of a butterfly, studded with diamonds—imitation diamonds, of course, but very showy they looked, I assure you."
 
"Lulu must have either given or lent it to her; or, perhaps, she bought it for herself. Uncle Jasper gave her a sovereign before she went away. I know Celia wanted a new brooch very much."
 
"She has it, then."
 
"Is it pretty?" Joy asked, naturally feeling interested.
 
"Why, yes, pretty in its way," Miss Pring replied. "One could not help noticing that it glittered so. All this cheap jewellery one sees is very effective, but I do not care see it worn, somehow. I am old-fashioned in my ideas, and dislike shams."
 
"That's what mother says. She likes things to be real."
 
"There is so much pretence nowadays," Miss Pring went on; "people are so fond of show. It's a very great pity. Look at Lulu Tillotson, for instance."
 
"But you don't dislike her, Miss Pring, do you?"
 
"No, certainly not. Her father has knowingly done his best to spoil her; has brought her up to please herself, and that is enough to ruin anyone's character, but it hasn't ruined Lulu's, which goes to show how much good there is beneath the veneer of selfishness and vanity in her of which I so strongly disapprove. I often think if her mother had lived, she would have been a very different sort of girl."
 
"Did you know Mrs. Tillotson?" Joy inquired.
 
"Yes. She was a very sweet woman, and one of the happiest creatures I ever met; she always seemed to me to be in the sunshine of God's presence—in the warmth of His love. Ah, it was a terrible blow to her husband when she died! God's ways are inscrutable in our eyes." Miss Pring's busy hands were quiet for a few minutes, and a wonderfully gentle expression crossed her plain, dark face as she thought of Lulu's young mother. "I knew the Tillotsons before I came to Home Vale, when I was richer than I am now," she proceeded, "but when loss of fortune came my way, I found them the same. Mr. Tillotson was ever a true friend to me, and I've always taken an interest in Lulu for her mother's sake. Sometimes she reminds me of her mother, when she forgets her fine clothes, and allows herself to be girlish and natural. Poor Lulu! I've tried to laugh her out of her foolish ways; but I fear I've done little good. Oh, look at Wag, my dear! He's digging a hole in the middle of that flower bed."
 
Joy shouted at the puppy, and then rushed after him as he careered around the garden. Finally she caught him, and having ascertained he had done no real harm, returned to Miss Pring, who was laughing heartily. "I don't think he has done much mischief," Joy said, apologetically, "so please forgive him, and don't say I mayn't bring him here again, for he makes such a to-do if I leave him at home. He's a poor, lonely, little puppy with only me to play with when Eric's away. Eric's so fond of him."
 
"Where is your brother to-night?" Miss Pring inquired.
 
"Gone to the cricket field. He and Putty get on capitally with the other boys now. Eric wanted me to go with him this evening, but I thought I'd rather come here, and have a talk with you. I hope I don't come too often?"
 
"No," laughed Miss Pring; "when you come too often, I will give you a hint to stay away. Ah, here comes Mary, laden with spoil from the hedges!"
 
Miss Mary Pring, who had been for a stroll, joined them in the porch a minute later. Governess and pupil met with much friendliness. The former, whose hands were laden with ferns, explained where she had been, patted Wag, and then inquired for Celia.
 
"She is coming home to-morrow," Joy returned, "and mother and I are going to drive in to T— in the evening to fetch her."
 
"I've been telling Joy about her sister's grand brooch," Miss Pring remarked; "she has never seen it, so evidently it is a new possession of Celia's."
 
"It is very handsome," Miss Mary said; "indeed, rather too handsome for a young girl to wear. It is in the shape of a butterfly, set with diamonds. Lulu Tillotson is fond of jewellery, but I never saw her with such a beautiful ornament as that diamond brooch of Celia's!"
 
"Why, surely you don't imagine the stones were real diamonds, Mary?" Miss Pring exclaimed, glancing at her niece in surprise.
 
"They looked real," Miss Mary answered, dubiously; "if they were not, they were very good imitations. Are you really going, Joy? Then I will walk part way home with you."
 
This she accordingly did. After she had parted with her governess, Joy strolled along very slowly, her mind occupied by thoughts of Celia's new brooch. She supposed her sister must have purchased it for herself with the sovereign Sir Jasper had given her, and wondered what her mother would say when she saw it, for she knew Mrs. Wallis greatly disliked flashy jewellery for young people, and she had been anything but pleased when Celia had bought a gaudy brooch before; she determined to say nothing about it, however, for it might transpire that Lulu had lent the ornament for the occasion of the flower show. On reaching the Moat House, Joy went round to the stables with Wag, then returned to the front of the house and entered the hall, where she encountered the housekeeper.
 
"Sir Jasper has been inquiring for you, Miss Joy," Mrs. Mallock informed her; "he's in the library, my dear."
 
Accordingly, Joy went at once to the library, where, she found Sir Jasper alone. The old man's face wore a moody expression, and the little girl rightly guessed he had been thinking of his dead son.
 
"Did you want me, Uncle Jasper?" she asked, gently.
 
"You might play to me," he replied, not over graciously.
 
"Oh, yes, of course I will!"
 
Joy took her place at the piano immediately, and commenced to play "The Last Rose of Summer," whilst Sir Jasper leaned back in his easy chair with closed eyes, and listened. From "The Last Rose of Summer" Joy's fingers wandered presently into another tune; she was improvising as she went on, forgetful how the time was passing, as was her way when making music. Suddenly she stopped, awakened from the reverie into which she had fallen, by the sound of a loud snore. Glancing quickly around she saw Sir Jasper had fallen asleep. How old and worn he looked! Joy's heart warmed toward him with tenderest sympathy and affection. She forgot his injustice to her, and remembered only his great sorrow, his loneliness. Fearing he was in the draught, she stepped behind his chair, and essayed to shut the window noiselessly; but, softly though she moved, the sleeper stirred, and, opening his eyes, sat upright in the chair.
 
"What are you doing?" he demanded sharply. "Joy, is that you?"
 
"Yes, Uncle Jasper," she answered, a trifle nervously, taken aback by the asperity of his tone. "I'm afraid I have disturbed you. I'm so sorry!"
 
"What were you doing to my safe?" he asked, suspiciously.
 
"To your safe!" she cried in amazement; "why, I wasn't touching it! What do you mean, Uncle Jasper? I was only shutting the window because I was afraid you would catch cold."
 
"Oh, it was the window I heard, was it? You weren't meddling with my safe then?"
 
"No, most certainly not."
 
Joy flushed painfully, and glanced at the safe in the niche by the fire-place; she noticed the key was in the lock.
 
"I don't like people to meddle with anything belonging to me," Sir Jasper proceeded; "go and lock the safe, and bring me the key."
 
Joy obeyed in silence, her heart throbbing with indignation. How could Uncle Jasper imagine for a moment that she would interfere with his belongings!
 
He gazed at her searchingly as he took the key from her hand, and met the reproachful flash of her eyes.
 
"Don't look at me like that, child," he said, feeling rather ashamed of his suspicion of her. "There, sit down where I can see you, and let us talk. I am very gratified with the progress you are making with your music, my dear; you bid fair to become a clever pianist. Those little fingers of yours know how to draw music from that old instrument of mine. Your talent shall be cultivated, I promise you that."
 
Her face glowed with intense pleasure and gratitude now, as she faltered her thanks; but her eyes were more eloquent than her lips, and the old man was satisfied.
 
"I do think you are a grateful little girl," he said, approvingly, "I like that trait of your character. You will have your sister back to-morrow," he continued, abruptly leading the conversation into another channel; "we have all missed Celia, but you most of all, I expect. By-the-bye, where is Eric to-night?"
 
"Gone to the cricket field. I have been to see Miss Pring. I thought mother was at home with you, Uncle Jasper?"
 
"No, she is out, I believe. Mrs. Mallock said she had gone to visit a sick woman living in one of my cottages," Sir Jasper rejoined, indifferently.
 
"Oh, yes," Joy cried. "No doubt she has gone to see poor Mrs. Long."
 
"My gamekeeper's wife?"
 
"Yes, I have been to see her several times myself."
 
"You!" he exclaimed, in considerable astonishment.
 
"Yes," Joy nodded. "It happened like this. I was passing the cottage one day when I heard someone crying, and—I suppose it was an odd thing to do—I went up and knocked at the door. No one came, so I called out to know if anything was amiss, and then a voice told me to open the door and come in. So I did go in, Uncle Jasper and there, lying on a sofa in the kitchen, was poor Mrs. Long. She was so lonely, and unhappy, and quite unable to stir. It was she I had heard crying—not because there was anything wrong, only because it had come over her what a useless, poor thing she was. She told me her husband was very good to her, and waited on her hand and foot, but when he was away she couldn't help being miserable sometimes. Poor soul! I sat down and talked to her, and she was so glad of my company, and said—and said—"
 
"Yes? What did she say?" Sir Jasper inquired, really interested now.
 
"That I was like a ray of sunshine on a winter's day; and then she asked me my name, and I told her—Joy—and she said she had never heard of anyone called that before, but she thought the name suited me, for I looked so happy. I've been to see her several times since, and mother goes very often. Poor Mrs. Long! It must be dreadful to be paralyzed."
 
"Since when have you known the woman?" he questioned, curiously.
 
"Let me see—since about a fortnight after we came here."
 
"Does Celia visit her too?"
 
"Oh, no! Celia has never seen her. She says it makes her unhappy to see sick people."
 
"Ah, the child has a tender heart!" he exclaimed.
 
"Mrs. Long dearly likes me to read to her," Joy proceeded. She was talking naturally and unreservedly now. "Of course she can read herself, but her eyes are weak, and she can't lift up her hands to hold a book."
 
"And what do you read to her?" Sir Jasper asked; "novels, eh?"
 
"No," Joy replied, suddenly losing her ease again, as her thoughts reverted to "Lady Isabella's Treachery." "I generally read the Bible, she likes that best; she loves to hear about Christ's miracles, and especially how He made the lame to walk. She says after I'm gone she thinks of it all, and how she will be made well again when she meets Jesus face to face. Oh, poor thing, I feel so sorry for her! It must be terrible to be so helpless!"
 
"Her husband is good to her, you say?"
 
"Oh, yes, very good, Uncle Jasper!'
 
"Ah, so I should imagine. Long has ways proved himself a trustworthy servant; I knew his wife was an invalid, but he never volunteered any information concerning her."
 
"Perhaps he thought you would not be interested," Joy suggested.
 
Sir Jasper, upon reflection, thought that was very likely the case. All his life he had been so wrapped up in his own concerns that he had taken but little notice of those with whom he had been connected, with the exception of his son and Mr. Tillotson.
 
The former's tragic death had had the effect of softening his heart towards others, with the result that his thoughts had turned to the niece he had known to be in poor circumstances, and he had sent for her and her family with the idea of benefiting them ultimately. The young people were unconsciously widening his sympathies, and giving him interests outside himself. A year ago he would not have bestowed a second thought upon the Crumleigh Cricket Club, nor would he have evinced much sympathy for his gamekeeper's invalid wife.
 
His eyes rested thoughtfully on Joy's countenance, and he noticed, with real gratification, how she had improved in appearance lately. She looked well and bright, her cheeks, though not pink and white like Celia's, had become round, and wore a healthy hue, whilst her large grey eyes shone with happiness. He encouraged her to talk, and drew from her an account of her life at A—. Often he had tried to make her sister tell him of their old home, but in vain; it had been a distasteful subject to Celia. He found himself listening to an account of Joy's school friends, and to the doings of Jane the maid-of-all work, and hearing of many little economies and privations which Mrs. Wallis had been quite unable to prevent.
 
"What an interest you seem to take in everyone, Joy!" he exclaimed at length. "Do you really care about all these people you've mentioned?"
 
"Why, yes, of course I do, Uncle Jasper," Joy replied, looking surprised at his question. "I was very sorry to leave them all, though I wanted to come here. This is such a beautiful place, and we have everything we possibly want, and Miss Mary Pring's so nice, and I'm getting on well with my music; and I've nothing to wish for but one thing—" and the little girl's face suddenly grew overclouded.
 
"And that one thing?" he questioned, with a smile.
 
"I wish you did not think me untruthful, Uncle Jasper." Joy's face grew very grave as she spoke. "Indeed, I am not that, though I've heaps of other faults. Do try to believe I tell the truth."
 
The old man looked at her keenly, and as he met her earnest gaze, he forgot all his reasons for having mistrusted her, and answered:
 
"Very well, Joy, I will.
 
"Oh, Uncle Jasper, how glad I am to hear you say that!" she cried delightedly, and getting up from her chair she moved swiftly to his side, and putting her arms around his neck kissed his withered cheek.
 
He was deeply touched by this spontaneous act of affection; and as for Joy, she felt at that moment that she had not a worry or a trouble in the world.
 
CHAPTER XXI. A CARRIAGE ACCIDENT.

 
JOY rose on the following morning with the exhilarating sensation that something very pleasant had happened. Sir Jasper's disbelief in her integrity had been the one cloud on the horizon of her happiness during the past few weeks; and now that he had laid his suspicion of her aside, she felt that she could easily forgive Celia for having allowed her to remain in a false position so long, and could welcome her home with a light heart. It would have been unnatural if Joy had entertained no resentment against her sister, for she was fully conscious of the selfishness and cowardice of her conduct, but she tried to make allowances for her, and was very grieved because she and Celia had been drifting apart. Formerly she had been inclined to set Celia on a pedestal; but though her idol had fallen, she did not love her sister any the less on that account.
 
"I will meet her as though nothing had ever come between us," Joy thought. "Poor Celia! I am sure she was grieved when Uncle Jasper treated me so unjustly; but she did not like to speak out and tell the truth. There, I won't think anything more about it! I'll tell her we'll let bygones be bygones and we'll be better friends than ever."
 
Joy knelt down to pray with a very happy heart; and when she had poured out all her deep thankfulness to God, she joined her mother and brother at the breakfast-table.
 
"You look as bright as a May morning, Joy," Mrs. Wallis told her. "I suppose that is with the thought of Celia's return?"
 
"Yes, partly that," Joy responded, smilingly, "and partly something else. Mother! Eric! Do you know, I've made Uncle Jasper believe at last that I really am truthful, that I am not the storyteller he thought!"
 
"Bravo!" cried Eric, heartily. "So Uncle Jasper's come to his senses, has he?"
 
"My dear boy—" commenced Mrs. Wallis, remonstratingly; but Eric broke in:
 
"Oh, mother, you know he was very unjust to poor Joy! I should have liked him from the first but for that. I feel I really do like him now, for he's been wonderfully generous to us all. Has he discovered the real owner of the novel which Wag destroyed, then, Joy?"
 
Joy shook her head; and her brother suddenly became very thoughtful.
 
"I told you everything would come right, my dear," Mrs. Wallis said, affectionately; "I knew it was impossible for anyone to live long under the same roof with my Joy and not find out her true character. Celia will be very relieved at the turn matters have taken."
 
"Yes," agreed Joy, avoiding her mother's eyes, "I think—I am sure she will."
 
The girl was blissfully happy. She practised the piano nearly all the morning, stimulated by Sir Jasper's assurance that her talent should be cultivated. That meant that he intended to give her a musical education, she knew. Bright dreams of the future occupied her mind. She would work hard, and get on as well as ever she could, and Sir Jasper would see how deeply she appreciated his kindness, and how truly grateful she was.
 
In the afternoon Lawrence Puttenham appeared at the Moat House, and Joy and Eric accompanied him in a long ramble through the shady lanes where the nuts on the hazel bushes were beginning to harden, and turn brown, for August was nearly out, and autumn's ripening touch was plainly discernible everywhere. Then Lawrence Puttenham took his friend back to the Vicarage to tea with him; and Joy, on her return to the Moat House, sought her mother in the sitting-room in the east wing.
 
Mrs. Wallis, who was employed on some needlework, glanced up with a smile as Joy entered, and exclaimed, involuntarily:
 
"How well you look, my dear! Why, you're quite rosy! Not much like the pale little maiden of six months ago."
 
"And how well you look, mother!" Joy cried, in return, her eyes resting with admiring affection on Mrs. Wallis's countenance. "I declare you appear years younger than when we came here! Yes, indeed it's true! Mrs. Mallock said so to me only a few days ago."
 
"Did she?" Mrs. Wallis looked pleased. "Ah, it's the rest from care and worry that's making the difference in my appearance," she continued; "our lines have fallen in pleasant places, my dear. I've been talking Uncle Jasper, and he tells me it is his desire we should remain with him altogether; he says we are his nearest relations, and therefore he will undertake to provide for our futures. Oh, Joy, the relief to my mind know that!" Overcome with mingled emotions, Mrs. Wallis burst into tears. Joy was startled, for she had never seen her mother weep since her father had died, even when she had been sore pressed and troubled. She kissed her tenderly, whilst she thought of the full meaning of her words, and that Celia would in all probability have her wish, and return to A— again.
 
"Then we shan't be poor any more," Joy said at length, very soberly. "Oh, mother, I am glad! But I was very happy at A—, though Celia was not."
 
"Ah, Celia!" A grieved expression crossed the mother's face for a moment. "She has not found the secret of happiness—poor Celia! She cannot understand that one may have great wealth, and yet be very, very poor."
 
"I think I know what you mean, mother," Joy replied thoughtfully, "in fact, I'm sure I do." Then she quoted softly: "When thou hast Christ thou art rich, and hast enough."
 
"True, little daughter. That is what I have endeavoured to teach all three of my children; but I fear I have failed to impress it upon Celia. Now, you and I are going to have an early cup of tea together, for Uncle Jasper is in the library, and does not wish to be disturbed."
 
It was about half-past five o'clock when Joy came downstairs in readiness for their drive. She was waiting for her mother in the hall when the library door opened, and Sir Jasper's voice—strangely harsh it sounded—bade her come to him, for he wanted her. The old man stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on his stick, and as Joy approached him, she was struck with dismay at the sight of his face, which wore an expression of almost vindictive rage. Trembling, she knew not why, except that his appearance frightened her, she allowed him to pull her into the room, and shut the door behind her.
 
"Uncle Jasper, what is it? Oh!" she cried, for the grip of his fingers hurt her tender flesh. "Have I done anything to annoy you? Are you angry with me?"
 
"Am I angry with you?" he questioned, giving her a shake. "You dare ask me that, you deceitful, wicked, little girl! Were it not for the sake of the others, I would send you away this very night, and you should never darken my doors again!"
 
"But, Uncle Jasper, what have I done?" Joy asked, in utter amazement.
 
"What have you done?" Sir Jasper suddenly dropped his hold of her and sank into a chair. "Oh, Joy, how could you do it?" he proceeded, his voice softening from anger to reproach. "What tempted you to take t? Give it back at once, and I will hush the affair up—no one shall know but your mother—it would not be right to keep it from her!"
 
"Indeed, Uncle Jasper, I don't know in the least what you are talking about," Joy said stressfully; "indeed, indeed I don't!"
 
"How can you stand there and look me the face with such a falsehood on your lips!" he cried passionately. "And yet, how you wheedled me into believing in you last night! Oh, child, it shocks me to find you such a two-faced little girl! Come, I don't want to be harsh on you, but you must confess everything, and give the brooch back."
 
"Confess everything, and give the brooch back?" Joy echoed, wonderingly. "Oh, I don't understand! I don't indeed!"
 
"Do not utter any more falsehoods!" said the old man; "you know perfectly well what you have done. Go, and fetch the jewel at once!"
 
"What jewel?" Joy cried, almost wildly, trying hard to keep back the tears which filled her eyes, and threatened to overflow.
 
"The diamond brooch you stole from my safe whilst I was asleep last night, when you told me you had been closing the window for fear I should catch cold in the draught—pretending to take care of the poor old uncle, when all the time you had been robbing him! Fie upon you!"
 
"Uncle Jasper, you may believe me or not," said the little girl solemnly, "but I never went near your safe until you told me to lock it and give you the key. Oh, do believe me! Oh, I think you will break my heart!"
 
Sir Jasper regarded her searchingly; he wavered for a moment, for the ring of truth he thought he discerned in her voice puzzled him, and her eyes did not flinch beneath his gaze. Rising, he crossed the room to his safe, and examined its contents most carefully. Joy watched him turning over papers and documents; and then saw him scrutinising various jewels and ornaments, which he took from a velvet-lined case.
 
"I have made no mistake," he said at length, shutting the door of the safe, and locking it securely. His excitement was cooling down now, but he felt positive that his companion had taken the missing jewel. He recalled his conversation with her on the previous night, remembered all she had told him concerning his gamekeeper's wife, and her acquaintances at A—, and marvelled how she could have so talked to him. What a consummate hypocrite the child must be!
 
"It is useless your denying it," he proceeded decidedly. "I know you have stolen the brooch, but I am going to give you an opportunity of bringing it back to me. You need not get it now, for I hear the carriage coming around to the door, and it is time for you and your mother to start for T—. I do not wish any fuss made on the night of your sister's return, she must not come back to find you in disgrace—but, the first thing the morning I shall expect you to bring the brooch back."
 
"Do you mean to say you accuse me of stealing a brooch?" Joy said, pressing her hands distractedly to her head, and asking herself if this was all a horrible nightmare, if she was really awake.
 
"Certainly, I accuse you of stealing the butterfly brooch studded with diamonds. Ah!"
 
Sir Jasper uttered the ejaculation as Joy suddenly turned deathly white, and clutched the back of a chair for support. She gazed him with wide-open, horror-stricken eyes, as it was borne upon her mind that his description of the lost jewel tallied with that which Miss Pring had given her of the brooch which Celia had worn at the flower show. For a moment everything swam before her eyes, and Sir Jasper thought, with alarm, that she was about to faint; but with a mighty effort she regained her composure, and the colour returned to her cheeks and lips.
 
"Bring it back to-morrow, Joy," he said, much agitated himself; "bring it back, and no one shall know you took it but your mother. We'll have no fuss to-night. But oh, Joy, what made you take it? What tempted you? You could never wear the brooch. What will poor Margaret say when she knows the truth?"
 
Joy regarded him in dumb agony. She felt dazed, frightened, incapable of reasoning, only she was conscious of a dreadful fear, a terrible suspicion concerning Celia.
 
"I hear your mother coming downstairs," Sir Jasper continued, hurriedly; "she will be looking for you if you don't go. Remember, not a word to-night; but, to-morrow, bring it back—bring it back!"
 
Joy turned from him without a word, and joined her mother in the hall. She followed her into the carriage, and took the seat by her side.
 
Mrs. Wallis, her eyes enjoying the beautiful scenery on every side, scarcely glanced at her little daughter during the drive, so she did not remark her disturbed countenance, nor did she notice her unusual quietude.
 
Joy was actually in a ferment of excitement and indecision. What was she to do? One thing was certain, she would have to speak to her sister that night, and question her about the brooch she had worn at the flower show. Was it merely chance that the jewel Celia had worn, and the one Sir Jasper had lost, were of the same pattern? Even now she could not believe that Celia had been the thief who had robbed Sir Jasper. The thought was preposterous—incredible! There must be some mistake.
 
When T— was reached, and the carriage drew up before the Tillotsons' house, Mrs. Wallis and Joy both got out, and went inside for a few minutes. The former thanked Mr. Tillotson cordially for his kindness to Celia, and delivered a message from Sir Jasper to the effect that he hoped Lulu would visit them at the Moat House before very long, hearing which Lulu smiled, and declared that that would be delightful, but determined in her own mind that nothing should induce her to go until she knew for certain that the butterfly brooch was in the possession of its rightful owner.
 
Celia thought Joy's manner to her was strangely cool and undemonstrative; but reflected that her sister probably still resented the past, so when she found herself seated opposite to her in the carriage on their way home, she did her utmost with appealing looks, and assurances of the delight she experienced at being with her once more, to overcome her constraint and reserve. Celia was actually hungering for her sister's love, and desired greatly to be on the old friendly footing with her again; but Joy listened to the other's chatter in comparative silence, and would not be drawn into conversation.
 
At last, Mrs. Wallis noticed that something was amiss with her younger daughter, and was on the point of inquiring what was wrong, when the sound of a shrill whistle fell upon their ears, and a traction engine appeared around the turn of the road. Sir Jasper's spirited horses snorted, flung up their heads, and plunged wildly ere they broke into a gallop. There was a crash as the carriage came into contact with the traction engine, followed by screams and shouts, and the next moment the occupants of the carriage were flung into the roadway, whilst the horses tore on with the wrecked vehicle at their heels.
CHAPTER XXII. HOURS OF SUSPENSE.

 
"OH, sir! Oh, sir! There's been a terrible accident!"
 
Sir Jasper, who was seated before his writing-table in the library, dropped his pen and looked up at the speaker—Mrs. Mallock—in sudden alarm, for she had burst into the room like a whirlwind, without even knocking at the door, and now stood wringing her hands, her face white as death.
 
"What has happened?" asked Sir Jasper, curbing his first impulse, which had been to reprimand her sharply for so far forgetting herself as to break in upon him without asking leave. "Is anyone hurt?"
 
"Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Miss Joy! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Miss Celia's all right, and Mrs. Wallis is only shaken and bruised, but poor Miss Joy's fearfully injured; and they've taken her to the Vicarage!"
 
"Who are they?" questioned Sir Jasper. "Pray try to explain, Mrs. Mallock. Compose yourself, my good woman, and tell me exactly what has happened."
 
"It was one of those nasty traction engines, Sir Jasper. And the horses took fright, and ran away. They dashed the carriage against the engine, and Mrs. Wallis and the children were flung out. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! But the horses were not hurt, Sir Jasper. Gay was pitched out, too; but a couple of farm labourers stopped and caught the horses before they had run away very far. Gay was not hurt either."
 
Gay was the coachman, a steady, reliable man, perfectly trustworthy in every respect, so Sir Jasper was certain the accident was owing to no carelessness on his part.
 
"It happened close to the Vicarage," Mrs. Mallock proceeded, "and as Miss Joy's so much hurt they—I mean the Vicar and Mrs. Wallis, Sir Jasper—thought it the wisest plan to take her there. Gay's just led the horses home; the poor man's most terribly frightened, and he wants to know if you would like to see him. He says it was all the fault of the traction engine."
 
"No, I don't wish to see him at present; I will hear what he has to say another time. Where are Mrs. Wallis and Miss Celia? Are they at the Vicarage, too?"
 
"I suppose so, sir; but Gay did not say. Shall I ask him? Oh!" she cried, as the sound of footsteps was heard in the hall, "who's that, I wonder?"
 
Sir Jasper rose, and followed the housekeeper as far as the doorway, where he encountered Celia and her brother. The little girl was weeping most bitterly, whilst Eric was vainly trying to console her; his own face was quite colourless, and his eyes were full of tears.
 
"Oh, Uncle Jasper! Oh, Uncle Jasper!" sobbed Celia, "have they told you what has happened, and about poor Joy? Oh, I am sure she is dreadfully, dreadfully hurt!"
 
"Bring your sister into the library, Eric," commanded Sir Jasper. "There, put her in that easy chair. She is upset and frightened, poor child, and no wonder. Celia, my dear little girl, don't cry so. A word of sense with you, Eric. Is Joy really much hurt?"
 
"I fear so, Uncle Jasper," was the response in a low, sad tone. "She is unconscious, so we thought it better to take her into the Vicarage. Putty went off on Mr. Cole's bicycle to T— at once for a doctor, and mother desired me to bring Celia home, for she did nothing but cry, and was only in the way."
 
"Your mother is not hurt much, Mrs. Mallock says? No. Thank God for that! Keep up your heart, Celia. Joy may only be stunned. Did you see the accident, Eric?"
 
"No, though it happened in the road outside the cricket field. We heard the traction engine whistle as it turned the corner, and then followed shouts and screams, and the sound of horses running away. Of course we stopped our game of cricket immediately, and went to see what was amiss. Oh, I shall never forget the sight! By the time we reached the scene of the accident, mother and Celia had picked themselves up, and Gay was running after the horses, but Joy—" here the boy's voice faltered— "was lying quite unconscious. Mr. Cole carried her into the Vicarage, and that's all I know, for Celia had to be seen to, and I half dragged her home."
 
"I could hardly walk," sobbed Celia, "my legs shook so!"
 
"Poor little girl," said Sir Jasper, laying his hand tenderly on her shoulder, his voice full of sympathy, "try not to cry any more; be a brave child. Tears never did any good yet. Here, Mrs. Mallock, I give her into your charge. Take her upstairs, and do, like a good soul, endeavour to be more cheerful yourself!"
 
Mrs. Mallock accordingly took Celia by the hand, and led her away. The housekeeper was crying, and when she tried to whisper that perhaps Joy was not so much injured as they all feared, she actually broke down and sobbed. She drew Celia hastily out of the room, and closed the door.
 
"I think I should like to go back to the Vicarage now, if you have no objection," Eric said, the moment he was alone with Sir Jasper. "I must find out what the doctor says about Joy, I expect he is there by this time." The boy was showing wonderful self-control considering that he was apprehensive that his favourite sister was seriously hurt. "She looked so deathly pale," he continued with an involuntary shudder, "and when the Vicar lifted her up in his arms her head fell back as though she was really dead."
 
"No doubt she was in a dead faint," Sir Jasper responded, trying to speak reassuringly, though he was shocked at the boy's words; "but I should like you to return at once, and ascertain exactly what the doctor thinks of her condition. And, Eric, should she really be much hurt—too hurt to be moved, for instance—remember that no expense is to be spared in obtaining everything she wants. But it may be that you will find her better. If people are faint, or stunned, they always look very ill."
 
Eric thanked his uncle and left him. On his way to the Vicarage he met a waggon bearing the shattered carriage and Celia's box to the Moat House; he hurried past it with a shudder, and arrived at his destination in a state of breathlessness. Lawrence Puttenham met him at the front door, and led him silently into the dining-room, looking very grave and sad.
 
"Well?" Eric questioned, anxiously.
 
"I went for the nearest doctor—Dr. Forbes —and fortunately found him at home," Putty explained; "he cycled back with me immediately, and he's upstairs now."
 
"Then you don't know what he thinks of Joy."
 
"Yes. He came down and told Mr. Cole, and went upstairs again. He said he feared she was seriously hurt, and that if she recovered she would be ill a long time, and would want careful nursing."
 
"But he does not think that she will not recover, does he?"
 
"He—he did not say that. Oh, Wallis, don't look so cut up! Perhaps she may get well after all."
 
Eric groaned, and sinking into a chair covered his face with his trembling hands. Presently he looked up, and inquired:
 
"How is she hurt?"
 
"Her head—she has concussion of the brain, and there are other injuries besides—internal injuries."
 
"Then, Putty, she will die! I feel certain of it!" Eric cried, in an agony of grief.
 
"No, no! You cannot tell that. I hope and pray God will spare her life. Mr. Cole has sent one of the servants to Home Vale to ask Miss Pring, or her niece, to come and help your mother with the nursing to-night—I expect it will be Miss Mary, for I've heard in the village that she's a capital nurse. Don't give way, Wallis. You must bear up, for your mother's sake."
 
"Where is Mr. Cole?" Eric asked, after a brief silence.
 
"Gone to T— to fetch ice. He went himself so that there should be no delay in getting it."
 
A very short while later Miss Mary Pring arrived, looking pale and startled, but perfectly composed. After hearing what the boys had to say, she went quickly upstairs, and a few minutes later the doctor came down, and went into the dining-room.
 
"You are my poor little patient's brother, are you not?" he said, glancing pityingly at Eric. "Ah, I thought so!"
 
"Please tell me exactly how she is," Eric implored. "I have to return to the Moat House presently, and what am I to say to Uncle Jasper?"
 
"Say your sister is seriously ill, but I cannot tell to-night how it will be with her. I am going back to T— now, but shall return in a couple of hours to visit the patient again. Afterwards I will call at the Moat House, and see Sir Jasper myself."
 
"Oh, thank you!" Eric replied. "You do not think the case hopeless?"
 
"No, certainly not." The doctor laid his hand very kindly on the boy's shoulder, and felt how he trembled. "Be a brave lad," he said; "go back to the Moat House, for you can no good here, and try not to despond."
 
"Cannot I see Joy?"
 
"No. She must be kept perfectly undisturbed."
 
"But I will not disturb her."
 
"You will not see her with my consent," the doctor said, decisively; "her mother and Miss Mary Pring will remain with her to-night, and the Vicar and my friend here" —indicating Lawrence Puttenham— "will be at hand, so you may depend if there is the slightest change in your sister's condition you will be informed at once. But I anticipate no immediate change."
 
The doctor took his departure, and Eric, seeing no course open but to act on his advice, returned to the Moat House. Sir Jasper listened to his report in silence; but the boy saw the old man was much agitated, and his heart warmed towards him on that account.
 
A silence hung over the Moat House that night. The servants moved about with noiseless footsteps, and spoke in hushed tones, their thoughts full of the bright little girl who had endeared herself to them all. In the sitting-room in the east wing Celia lay huddled up on the sofa, a heap of misery, no longer weeping, though an occasional sob shook her slender form, whilst Eric sat with his elbows resting on the table, and one hand covering his eyes.
 
"What is the time?" Celia inquired at length.
 
"Ten o'clock," her brother replied, after consulting his watch; "don't you think you'd better go to bed?"
 
"Oh, no! I couldn't! Not before Dr. Forbes has been here! You think he'll be sure to come?" she asked, with feverish anxiety.
 
"Yes, he said he would, and if anything happened to prevent his keeping his word, I'm sure the Vicar would come himself, or send Putty."
 
"Concussion of the brain is very dangerous, isn't it, Eric?"
 
"Yes, very." A slight pause, then the boy continued: "I think Uncle Jasper is very grieved about Joy. I expect he's glad, though, that he's been so much nicer to her lately. They're quite good friends now, you know!"
 
"Are they? I'm so pleased to hear that," Celia responded, heartily, her tear-stained countenance brightening.
 
Eric regarded his sister approvingly, and getting up from his chair he went over to the sofa and sat down by her side, addressing her more kindly and sympathetically than he had done at all.
 
"This is a sad end to your visit, poor Celia!" he said; "but you must try to be brave, and," he added in a low tone, "we can pray for Joy, you know."
 
"You can!" she cried; "but oh, Eric, I can't pray! I can't, indeed!" she reiterated, stressfully.
 
"Why not?" he asked, considerably surprised.
 
"Because I'm too wicked. Oh, you don't know what a naughty, selfish wretch I've been!"
 
"Well, don't call yourself names," he said, more and more astonished, for Celia in this frame of mind was a new study for him. "I daresay you've been all you say," he remarked, after a few minutes' reflection, "but that's no reason why you shouldn't pray for poor Joy."
 
"I don't believe God would listen to my prayers."
 
"Oh, you know better than that!"
 
"I wish I'd never gone to stay with the Tillotsons!" Celia cried, passionately.
 
"Why? You had a good time, hadn't you? And you and Lulu Tillotson are such great chums."
 
"Humph! I don't know about that," Celia said, a trifle dubiously. "Lulu is very fond of dictating to people," she continued, in an explanatory tone, "and she's very selfish."
 
Eric could not help smiling on hearing this; but before he had time to reply the door opened, and Mrs. Mallock entered. She had brought a message from her master to the effect that Dr. Forbes had been to see him, and that he had reported Joy to be lying in exactly the same condition.
 
"Sir Jasper desires you will both go to bed now," she said, looking commiseratingly at the young people on the sofa; "he will send to the Vicarage to inquire for Miss Joy the first thing in the morning."
 
"I shall get up early and go myself," Eric declared, decidedly. "I don't believe I shall sleep a wink."
 
"Nor I," Celia sighed; "but I suppose it's no good our sitting up any longer."
 
The sister and brother said good-night to each other, and repaired to their respective rooms.
 
Celia found her box awaiting her, and examined it to see if it had been injured. It had not; but she was unsatisfied until she had unstrapped and opened it, and found the butterfly brooch was perfectly safe.
 
"I hope I shall soon be able to put it back in its proper place," she thought, as she examined the jewel. "How could I have been so foolish as to take it? It has brought me nothing but trouble."
 
She placed it at the bottom of her box again, and prepared for bed. When she knelt down to say her prayers, her frame shook with sobs as she thought of Joy, and tried to commend her to God's care; but no words came to her lips, and her attempt to pray ended in a fit of weeping. She crept into bed then, and lay awake thinking of her sister. Remorse was in her heart that she had allowed her to bear Sir Jasper's displeasure, when she alone had been the culprit. How generous it had been of Joy to hold her peace when she might so easily have cleared herself from the suspicion of untruthfulness! Oh, if God would only spare Joy's life, Celia felt she would do anything, bear anything, to atone for what she had allowed her to suffer in the past! At that moment she acknowledged herself vain, and false, and selfish, and a great abhorrence of her own character filled her soul. Yet, though her faults were plain to herself, no thought of going to Sir Jasper with confession upon her lips entered her mind; it never occurred to her that that course would have shown her truly repentant. At length, worn out mentally and physically, exhaustion overcame her, and she fell asleep. Meanwhile, Eric had likewise retired to rest; but, before lying his head upon the pillow, he had poured out all the trouble of his sorrowful heart to his Father in Heaven, and had committed his well-beloved sister to the infinite mercy and love of Almighty God.
CHAPTER XXIII. SIR JASPER BESTIRS HIMSELF.

 
 
ERIC was up betimes the morning following the carriage accident; and seven o'clock found him at the Vicarage hearing the latest news of the invalid, which was anything but reassuring, for Joy was no better, and had shown no signs of returning consciousness.
 
The boy saw his mother for a few minutes, and her self-control gave way as she flung her arms around his neck, and wept scalding tears of weariness and grief.
 
"Oh, Eric," she cried, "I fear I am adding to your distress, but she is very, very ill, and we can do nothing for her!"
 
"But God can, mother," he reminded her tenderly, his voice almost choked with emotion.
 
"Ah, yes!" she replied. "He is mindful of His own, and our Joy belongs to Him, we know. We can only pray for her, Eric, and leave her in God's hands."
 
Eric returned dejectedly to the Moat House; and informed the anxious household there that Joy was no better. Celia received the news in silence; but her pale, troubled face, with its dark-rimmed blue eyes, appealed to her brother's sympathy far more than had her noisy weeping of the night before. Indeed, the little girl looked heart-broken, but her tears had apparently all been shed.
 
Much to the young people's surprise, Sir Jasper sent them a message to join him at breakfast in the dining-room. They found him seated at the table when they entered the room, waiting for them. He looked very grave and anxious, but unusually alert.
 
"Good morning!" he said, nodding to them in turn. "Celia, my dear, be good enough to pour out the coffee—no sugar for me, thank you. I'm sorry you have not brought home better news of Joy, Eric. I could not sleep for thinking of the child, so I thought I might as well get up to breakfast."
 
"I don't suppose anyone slept much last night," Celia replied, sighing. "I know I did not."
 
"Ah!" the old man exclaimed, glancing sympathetically at the little girl's wan countenance. "I am going to the Vicarage after breakfast," he announced, presently. "I have ordered Gay to bring around the pony carriage and drive me. I shall not be satisfied until I have seen Margaret, for if Joy is no better she must have further advice, and no time must be wasted. Meanwhile, you two had better keep each other company at home."
 
As soon as breakfast was over, Gay brought round the pony carriage to the front door, and Sir Jasper took his departure.
 
"Well, I am surprised!" Eric cried, as he watched the conveyance disappear from sight. "I thought he never went outside the grounds."
 
"He never has since his son died, until now," Celia replied, and Mrs. Mallock, who was standing by, bore evidence to the truth of this statement by exclaiming: "No, indeed! Well, I never! Wonders will never cease!" Celia and Eric spent the first part of the morning together; they talked only of Joy, and longed for Sir Jasper's return. At length Eric fetched Wag for a run in the rock garden, and Celia went up to her own room. The idea had crossed her mind that now, if possible, was the time for putting back the butterfly brooch in its rightful place.
 
The girl quickly possessed herself of the jewel, and stole downstairs to the library, closing the door carefully behind her. She knew it was very unlikely she would be disturbed there, for Sir Jasper never allowed servants to interfere with anything in the room, and consequently Mrs. Mallock herself did the necessary cleaning. Celia glanced quickly around, and noticed everything was in apple-pie order; she then crossed to the safe and tried to open it, but found it locked. She had expected that, so she was not daunted, but turned her attention to the writing-table to see if Sir Jasper had left his bunch of keys there. Swiftly and cautiously she opened drawer after drawer, and turned over the contents of each; for some time she could not find the keys, and a feeling of keen disappointment mingled with despair was creeping into her heart, when in moving some loose papers she heard something jingle beneath. The next minute the keys were in her hand, and she was standing in front of the safe once more, trying to find the key which fitted the lock. Her fingers trembled and made her clumsy, so that it was a long time before she met with success; but after she had discovered the right key, it was but the work of a very few minutes to unlock the safe, replace the butterfly brooch in the jewel case, and re-lock the safe again.
 
Celia's heart throbbed exultingly as she put the bunch of keys back under the papers where she had found it. Immediately afterwards she hurried from the room, crossed the hall, and went out into the garden, where she joined her brother.
 
It was nearly dinner time when Sir Jasper returned. He brought no fresh news; but he had seen Dr. Forbes, and a physician from Plymouth had been sent for. All that could be done for the patient was being done.
 
The old man was evidently terribly upset about Joy's illness. He ate very little dinner, and afterwards retired to the library, where he spent the afternoon alone, thinking of the little girl who lay at the Vicarage, sick unto death. In imagination he could see her seated at the old piano, and could hear the strains of "The Last Rose of Summer "; then pictured her earnest face, full of tender sympathy, as it had been when she had talked to him of his gamekeeper's invalid wife, and asked himself if it was possible she could be a hypocrite and a thief, as he had thought her last night.
 
"No, no!" he exclaimed. "And yet I must believe the evidence of my own senses," he reflected; "I heard her at the safe, though pretended she had only been shutting window. Yes, my first impression must have been correct."
 
He rose, took the keys from under the papers in the drawer of his writing-table, where he remembered having left them, locked the safe, and lifted the lid of the jewel case. The next moment he uttered a cry of intense surprise, scarcely believing he saw aright, for the first ornament his eyes rested upon was the butterfly brooch.
 
"Am I out of my mind?" he thought. "I am sure it was not there last night. Yet it must have been. But how could I possibly have overlooked it? Oh, to think that I should have accused that poor child wrongly! Oh, Joy, poor little Joy!"
 
His distress of mind was very great, for he always tried to act justly. Whilst he was still gazing at the jewel, there was a knock at the door, and Eric's voice informed him that Miss Pring was in the drawing-room with Celia. Hastily locking the safe, he put the bunch of keys in his pocket, and opened the door to find Eric waiting for him outside.
 
The boy's face was flushed with excitement, for Miss Pring had come from the Vicarage, and had brought slightly better news. The Plymouth physician had seen Joy, and though he pronounced her seriously ill, and admitted there was great cause for anxiety, he did not consider the case a hopeless one.
 
"Thank God he does not," said Sir Jasper, fervently, when Eric had given him this intelligence. "Oh, my dear lad, if God spares Joy's precious life my gratitude to Him will know no bounds!"
 
Eric was so touched at the sight of the old man's emotion that he could hardly answer him. He had not thought his uncle loved Joy so well.
 
Miss Pring was prevailed upon to remain to tea, and her cheerful society did her companions a world of good. During the evening there were several callers to inquire for Joy, the result of the carriage accident having by this time become widely known, and amongst others were Mr. Tillotson and his daughter.
 
Lulu, looking immeasurably shocked and grieved, was very gentle and sympathetic in her manner to Celia; she had never appeared to better advantage, being perfectly natural, and utterly unconcerned as to the impression she was making upon the others present.
 
"Lulu, I've put back the brooch all right," Celia found an opportunity of whispering to her friend by-and-bye.
 
"Oh, have you?" Lulu returned, with relief in her tones, "I'm so glad to hear that. Oh, Celia, how little everything seems to matter when anyone is so dangerously ill as Joy is!"
 
"I don't think I understand you," Celia replied, looking puzzled.
 
"Oh, don't you? I mean money, and enjoyment, and fine clothes, and all those sort of things don't count for anything when one comes to die. It's goodness that tells then. Oh, I don't mean to say that I think Joy is going to die—I hope and believe she will recover!—but it's certain she is dreadfully, dreadfully ill, and if God should take her we know she loves Him! There's comfort in knowing that."
 
"Oh, don't talk like that," implored Celia. "I can't bear it! Oh, I wish I could see Joy only for a few minutes, but Uncle Jasper won't let me go to the Vicarage, and Eric says if I went they would not allow me inside her room. Oh, Lulu, I've not always been as kind to her as I ought to have been, and it half kills me to remember that now!"
 
Lulu soothed her friend as best she could, though she failed to understand the cause of her remorse, and she succeeded in making her more cheerful.
 
"Lulu Tillotson is improving," Miss Pring observed, when the lawyer and his daughter had gone.
 
"All, no doubt Celia's society has benefited her," Sir Jasper rejoined; and Celia, overhearing this remark, hung her head, and blushed with shame, for she was beginning to understand that in many ways Lulu was her superior.
 
Weary, anxious days followed, during which Joy hovered on the borderland between life and death; but there came a morning when Eric hurried back to the Moat House from the Vicarage with the bright light of hope in his eyes, and the news that the invalid had regained consciousness, and had recognised her mother; and though she had not spoken, there could be no doubt but that she was better.
 
Dr. Forbes corroborated this opinion; but insisted that no one should see his patient except her mother and Miss Mary Pring, who had helped in the nursing all along, until he gave permission. The internal injuries had not proved as serious as had at first been feared, but the girl's right hip bone had been hurt, and gave the doctor much anxiety still.
 
Great was the delight at the Moat House when it was known for certain that Joy had taken a good turn. Eric went off for a ramble in the woods with Lawrence Puttenham and Wag with an easier mind than he had possessed for many a day; and Celia threw aside her depression, and allowed herself to smile once more. Sir Jasper took the news more quietly than anyone, though he was none the less rejoiced; but mingled with the sense of relief he experienced was the feeling of remorse that weighed down his spirits on account of his having accused Joy wrongfully.
 
He was still extremely puzzled concerning the butterfly brooch, for he could hardly bring himself to believe that he had overlooked it on the occasion when he had failed to find it. Why, he had searched for it again and again in vain; and yet he had finally found it lying directly inside the jewel case! The more he thought of the matter the more bewildered he became; but one thing was certain, he had brought a cruel charge against Joy, and he could not forgive himself for having done so, or for the harsh words which he had uttered in his anger.
 
Every day, much to the astonishment of his household, Sir Jasper was driven by Gay to the Vicarage to inquire for the invalid; and, on one occasion, cheered by a good report of the progress Joy was making, he stopped at Home Vale on his return journey and made a call on Miss Pring.
 
The members of the Crumleigh Cricket Club, unable to play in the field near the Vicarage, for fear of disturbing the sick child, now met in a field nearer the Moat House, and great was their astonishment when Sir Jasper one evening hobbled through the gateway leaning on his stick, accompanied by Celia. Certainly he did not stay very long; but the news that he had been there was spread through the village of Crumleigh that night, and discussed with much wonderment.
 
It was the second week in September now, and Celia and Eric were looking forward eagerly to their first interview with Joy; and at last a day came when she was well enough to see them for a few minutes.
 
"Only for a few minutes, mind," Mrs. Wallis told them, before admitting them into the sick room; "you must say or do nothing to excite her, remember."
 
They promised; but it needed all the self-control they could summon to their aid to enable them to keep their word, as their eyes fell upon their sister. She looked still terribly ill, "all eyes, like a young bird," as Eric said afterwards; but when she smiled she appeared more like her old self, for it was Joy's own happy smile that lit up the wan face. Eric kissed her in silence, his heart full to overflowing; then Celia's turn came, and as she bent over her sister, Joy whispered:
 
"We'll be better friends than ever, won't we?"
 
And Celia answered: "Oh, yes, yes!"
 
"I think I am going to get well," said Joy, bluntly. "Dr. Forbes thinks so too. I've been great trouble to everyone, but I'm so glad it as I who was hurt, and not mother or you."
 
"Oh, Joy, Uncle Jasper told me to give you his love."
 
"His love! To me?"
 
"Yes; and he's coming to see you soon."
 
"Oh, no, no! I don't want to see him! I'd rather not!"
 
There was a flush of excitement rising to the invalid's face, noting which Mrs. Wallis promptly hurried Celia and Eric from the room.
 
"I wonder why she doesn't want to see Uncle Jasper," remarked Eric, thoughtfully, as walked home by Celia's side; "you know they had become friends again, and he's been cut up about her. How distressed she looked when you spoke of him!"
 
"Sick people get queer fancies, I've heard," said Celia; "oh, how glad I am we have seen her! She is really better, though she does look so ill. Oh, how thankful I am to God for sparing her life! What should we have done without Joy?"
 
"Don't think of it, Celia. I shall not mind going back to school now when the time comes, for mother says Joy will soon be well enough to be moved to the Moat House. Then you'll be able to help in the nursing. By the way, we won't tell Uncle Jasper that Joy doesn't want to see him."
 
"Of course not. He would be dreadfully hurt."
 
"You are his favourite, Celia," Eric said, candidly, "but I think he's fond of Joy, too, though he doesn't understand her; and yet she always seems to me so much easier to understand than you."
 
"Joy's better than I am," Celia admitted, with a new humility in her tone which struck her brother with surprise; "she never pretends to be what she is not."
 
"And do you?" he inquired, curiously.
 
But Celia declined to answer, and he did not ask her again. They finished their walk in silence after that.
 
CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT ALARM.

 
"I AM sorry the holidays are so nearly at an end," Lawrence Puttenham remarked one evening, as he strolled back to the Moat House with Eric. He was to return to London on the following day to spend a week at home with his own people before school re-opened. "I've had a really splendid time," he continued, "and I think we've licked the Crumleigh Cricket Club into shape, eh, Wallis?"
 
"Yes," Eric agreed, with a laugh, "and we've got on with the village boys very well on the whole, haven't we? I am sure Sam Dart, who certainly looked unfavourably on us both at first, was quite sorry to say good-bye to you to-night."
 
"Yes, I believe he was. I wonder if we two are at all likely to meet here another year. The Vicar said something yesterday about asking me to visit him again next summer. Do you think you'll be at the Moat House then?"
 
"I really can't say. We were asked for a year, and sometimes Uncle Jasper speaks as though we were settled here, but I don't know about that. Mother was saying to-day, Putty, how kind and attentive you've been to her all the time Joy's been ill at the Vicarage."
 
"Oh, nonsense! I did what I could in the way of running errands for her and so on, and took care to keep quiet in the house; but that's been all. I'm glad Joy is so much better, and well enough to be moved."
 
"Yes, she's to be brought home on Monday, so she and I will have a few days together before I go back to school. It's a bother about her hip—that it keeps her from walking, I mean."
 
"I suppose it will get well in time?" Lawrence Puttenham inquired.
 
"Oh, I suppose so," Eric replied, a faint shade of anxiety crossing his face. "You don't think there's any doubt about it, do you?"
 
"I never heard anyone say so," was the somewhat evasive answer.
 
Putty was accompanying his friend to the Moat House in order to say good-bye to Sir Jasper, whom, on their arrival, they found on the terrace with Celia. She had been reading the newspaper aloud, but the light had failed; the short September evening was drawing to a close, and she was very glad, for she had wearied of her task, a fact Sir Jasper had failed to notice.
 
"What, come to say good-bye!" Sir Jasper exclaimed. "I am sorry for that. I hope we part to meet again," he added with great cordiality, for Putty stood high in his estimation.
 
"I hope so," was the smiling response; "and I want to thank you, Sir Jasper, for all the kindness and hospitality you've shown me."
 
"Before you came, I remember saying you would be welcome here as Mr. Cole's godson, and doubly welcome as Eric's friend; now I can say you will always be welcome for your own sake."
 
Putty flushed with pleasure on hearing this; and Eric flashed a smiling glance at Celia, who, however, did not smile in return, being occupied with thoughts of her own. She looked rather depressed and unhappy, her brother fancied.
 
After Putty was gone, the others went into the house to supper, and an hour later Celia and Eric said good-night to Sir Jasper, and retired to their own quarters in the east wing.
 
"Oh, dear! I've spent such a long, dull evening," Celia complained. "Uncle Jasper kept me reading the newspaper to him for nearly an hour. I was really thankful when I could see to read no longer."
 
"Poor girl!" laughed Eric.
 
"Poor girl, indeed!" sighed Celia. "You boys get by far the best of it. Oh, what a miserable time I've had whilst Joy's been ill! First the anxiety and trouble about her; and then having only Uncle Jasper for a companion, whilst you and Putty have been enjoying yourselves here, there, and everywhere."
 
"Well, that's been your own fault," Eric told her, truthfully; "whilst you were staying with the Tillotsons at T—, Joy used to have a very good time with Putty and me, but you always refused to join us in everything. Why, it was only yesterday I asked you to go on a nutting expedition with us to Brimley copse, and you turned up your nose at the idea."
 
"Because Brimley copse is two miles from here; and what fun is there in climbing hedges after nuts, and scratching yourself in brambles and—"
 
"That's all very fine!" Eric interrupted, impatiently. "We were quite contented that you should remain at home, but you needn't put on an injured air as though you'd been purposely neglected."
 
"You have no consideration for me," Celia pouted; "however, I shall have Joy for a companion again soon."
 
"Celia, I suppose there is no doubt but that Joy's hip will get well after a while?" Eric asked, impressively. "Don't you think she ought to be able to walk by this time?"
 
"Oh, I suppose Dr. Forbes understands all about it," Celia rejoined, "and he says she must not stand yet."
 
Eric looked dissatisfied; but he said no more, and shortly afterwards the sister and brother separated for the night. The boy, who had been out-of-doors all the day, and had been playing cricket for several hours, was very tired, so that the minute his head touched the pillow he was in the land of dreams. And such disturbing, horrifying dreams they were too!
 
He fancied he saw the carriage accident, the lumbering traction engine, the horses running away, and his mother and sisters flung from the carriage into the road. Then the scene changed, and he imagined that he and Putty were making an enormous bonfire in the Vicarage garden, and that it was burning finely, the flames leaping up high, whilst clouds of smoke arose from it. A sudden puff of wind seemed to blow the smoke into his face; it grew thicker and thicker so that he could not see the bonfire at all; it made his eyes smart, and almost choked him. He tried to run away, but could not move; he was bound hand and foot, and though he endeavoured to scream, his lips refused to utter a sound; then he felt he was falling headlong over a precipice, and suddenly awoke with a sensation of shock.
 
"I've been dreaming," he muttered. "How horrible it was! There's no bonfire really, and I'm safe in bed all right."
 
The last thing before getting into bed he had pulled up the blind, so now the full harvest moon shone into the window, and lit up the room. Eric opened his eyes and looked around; shut his eyes, and opened them again. How misty everything looked, and surely he really did smell smoke!
 
Fully awakened now, the boy sprang out of bed and slipped on his dressing-gown. Opening the door, he was startled to find the smell of smoke stronger outside. Celia's room was between his mother's and his own, and thither he hurried, rapping sharply upon her door. Receiving no answer, he turned the handle, but the door refused to open. It was locked.
 
Now thoroughly alarmed, Eric rapped louder than before; then he became aware of the fact that smoke was pouring from under the door, and through the crevices by the hinges. Uttering a cry of alarm, he rushed down the passage to the swing door which shut off the east wing from the rest of the house, and pushing it open shrieked, "Fire! Fire!" at the top of his voice.
 
In a very few minutes there were sounds of doors opening, a confusion of tongues, and Eric shouted:—
 
"The fire is in the east wing! Get help quickly! Someone come with me, for Celia's locked into her room, and I can't make her hear!"
 
Suddenly remembering that he could gain admittance to his sister's room through his mother's, Eric waited no longer at the swing door, but hurriedly retraced his footsteps, conscious that the smoke was becoming denser and denser. He entered his mother's room and rushed to the door leading into Celia's apartment, the dread thought in his mind that that, too, might prove to be locked; but, no! it opened immediately, and the following moment he was almost driven back by the volume of smoke which met him on the threshold.
 
"Celia!" he called, his heart imploring help from God, "Celia, where are you? Why don't you answer me? Celia!"
 
There was no reply. Eric sprang forward, and looked wildly around him. At first he thought the whole room was in flames, for tongues of flame were leaping around the bed, and creeping across the floor towards him.
 
"Celia!" he cried, hoarsely, "Celia!"
 
He rushed to the bed, expecting to find sister there, but she was not; instead, she was lying back in an easy chair close by, wrapped in her dressing-gown, her feet on an ottoman, and her golden head resting on a pillow. A paper-covered novel lay upon her lap, and the remains of a candle flared on the ground close to the smouldering valance of the bed.
 
Eric saw what had happened in a minute. His sister had settled herself comfortably in the easy chair to read by the light of a candle which she had placed on a small round table at her elbow. She had fallen asleep, and unconsciously had knocked the candle off the table, and thus had set fire to the room. Fortunately the candle had fallen away from her towards the bed, or she would have, in all probability, paid for her folly and carelessness by her life.
 
Eric grasped the sleeping girl by the shoulder and shook her violently. She stirred and moaned slightly, but did not open her eyes, for the smoke had quite overpowered her. Then, in his alarm, Eric shouted loudly for assistance, which proved in a moment, to be close at hand.
 
"All right, sir, I don't think the fire's touched her! I'll see to her!" said a voice, and with a sensation of relief, the boy saw Gay, the coachman, who always slept in the house, pick the girl up in his arms and bear her away. Eric followed, almost choked and blinded with smoke, but with sufficient sense left in him to close the doors behind him.
 
The whole household had arisen by this time, including Sir Jasper, who had already sent to the village for assistance. The servants were fetching pails of water; but in a very short while no one could enter Celia's room on account of the flames, which now had spread in every direction, and everyone realized that the east wing was doomed to destruction, if not the whole building as well.
 
Under the housekeeper's instructions, Celia was laid on a sofa in the drawing-room, where she soon regained consciousness, and was able to ask what had happened. Mrs. Mallock told her briefly that the house was on fire; and it was not until Eric came to see how his sister was doing that she learnt that she had caused the conflagration.
 
"It's all your fault!" Eric cried, blurting out the exact truth in his indignation. "You sat up reading a silly novel, knocked over the candle, and set the house on fire. You might have been burnt alive. And we don't know that the whole place won't be burnt down yet. It all depends upon how long it will be before the fire engine arrives."
 
Willing helpers had come from the village, and water was being carried upstairs in every utensil that could be used for the purpose; but still the fire spread, though it was kept somewhat within check. A messenger had been sent to T— for the fire engine, and at last it arrived, and in a very few minutes the hose was at work upon the burning wing of the house. Fortunately there was a good supply of water, and by daybreak the fire had been extinguished; but the rooms which Mrs. Wallis and her children had occupied were completely gutted, and open to the sky.
 
The alarm of fire had spread far and wide so that morning found half the inhabitants of Crumleigh, and a good few from T— on the terrace outside the Moat House. Slowly, when the excitement was all over, the crowd dispersed, until only Miss Pring and the Vicar were left. Lawrence Puttenham had been amongst the number present; but he had thoughtfully returned to the Vicarage to assure the household there that no one's life was in danger; and it was not until Mr. Cole arrived home to his breakfast at eight o'clock that Mrs. Wallis learnt how the fire had commenced.
 
"Celia set the house on fire!" she exclaimed when she knew the facts of the case. "And but for Eric she would have been burnt alive! Oh, Celia, Celia!"
 
"She's a very foolish little girl, I fear, Mrs. Wallis. She sat up reading a novel, and locked her door—"
 
"Locked her door!" Mrs. Wallis interposed. "I never permit her to do that. Are you quite sure? Oh, what could have induced her to do it?"
 
"The knowledge that she was reading a book of which those about her would disapprove, I imagine." The Vicar forthwith told Mrs. Wallis how he had seen Celia with Lulu Tillotson in the stationer's shop at T— and how they had been employed. "Miss Pring has taken her back to Home Vale for the present, for, as you can easily imagine, Sir Jasper is greatly incensed against her," he said, in conclusion.
 
Mrs. Wallis was looking very pale, and immeasurably shocked. She was not surprised to hear of her uncle's anger. How sadly he had been repaid for his kindness to her and her family.
 
"Does Joy know about the fire?" the Vicar inquired.
 
"Yes, she heard the fire engine pass in the night, but she knows no details, and I shall keep her in ignorance of them until I have seen Uncle Jasper. If our rooms at the Moat House are destroyed, we must alter our plans. Mr. Cole, I think I shall take the children back to A—."
 
He appeared surprised, but, after a moment's thought, he responded: "You must talk the matter over with Sir Jasper. Although you have arranged to leave here on Monday, that is no reason why you should go. You and your little girl are very welcome guests."
 
"You are most kind," Mrs. Wallis replied, gratefully, "but we have trespassed on your hospitality so long already. I shall never be able to thank you for all your goodness to us. I must go to the Moat House after breakfast, and consult Uncle Jasper."
 
Poor Mrs. Wallis was unutterably grieved at all she had heard. She felt ashamed and humiliated on Celia's account, and shuddered as she reflected how nearly the little girl had lost her life. Ah, how great cause had she for gratitude to God for His merciful care of her erring child! She decided to stop at Home Vale on her way to the Moat House, and hear what Celia had to say concerning the events of the night. Meanwhile, she left her breakfast untasted, for she was thoroughly unnerved, and intensely unhappy. She wondered if Celia had acquired the habit of reading in her bedroom whilst she had been staying with Lulu Tillotson; and then suddenly she remembered the paper-covered novel which Wag had destroyed in the rock garden, and the suspicion crossed her mind for the first time that it might have belonged to her elder daughter. If so, Celia must have allowed her sister to be blamed in her stead.
 
Mrs. Wallis felt she must have a full explanation of everything from Celia now, and if possible, learn the actual state of affairs. It had appeared to her lately that she had found a safe haven of refuge from many a trouble and care; but as she reflected on events of the night, she much doubted there would be a home for her and her family at the Moat House any longer.
 
 
CHAPTER XXV. A CHANGE OF PLANS.

 
"IF you please, Sir Jasper, Miss Tillotson's here, and is asking to see you," said Mrs. Mallock, in a nervous, apologetic tone.
 
It was twelve o'clock on the morning subsequent to the fire, and Sir Jasper, seated in his favourite easy chair in the library, had composed himself sufficiently to glance at the news in the morning's paper. He had been naturally much upset by the excitement of the night; and want of rest had made him irritable. For several hours he had not known whether his home would be entirely burnt down or not, and he had spent a time of much anxiety, for every stone in the walls of the Moat House was dear to him.
 
In his anger he had spoken very harshly to Celia, and had desired Miss Pring to take her away out of his sight. He lifted his eyes from the newspaper now with a frown as Mrs. Mallock addressed him from the doorway, and exclaimed, testily: "Miss Tillotson? What does she want?"
 
"I don't know, Sir Jasper. I told her you were resting, and did not wish to be disturbed; but she declared she must see you, and—good gracious, here she is!"
 
The housekeeper withdrew precipitately as Lulu entered the room, evidently in a high state of excitement.
 
"I must speak to you, indeed I must!" the girl cried, both look and tone full of distress. "What I want to say is important!"
 
Sir Jasper rose, laid aside his paper, shook hands with his unexpected visitor, and gravely offered her a chair. He saw her boots were covered with dust, and that her appearance altogether was decidedly dishevelled.
 
"I walked," Lulu explained, as she noticed his scrutiny; "it was so hot and dusty, but I felt I must come when I heard what had happened. Father is very angry with me, but he doesn't know where I am. I came of my own accord. Now, please tell me, is it really true that Celia set the house on fire?"
 
Sir Jasper reseated himself in his easy chair, as he answered:
 
"Well, yes, she did—not purposely, of course."
 
"Did she sit up reading a novel?" Lulu inquired.
 
"Yes," was the brief reply.
 
"Then, what father said was right. I am as much to blame as she is. It is all owing to me that Celia ever got into the habit of reading those light novels at all. I induced her to read them in the first place. It was I who lent her 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' you know, and—"
 
"I thought you told me you lent 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' to Joy!" Sir Jasper interrupted, sternly.
 
"No—to Celia."
 
"You certainly gave me to understand it was Joy to whom you had lent the book," Sir Jasper persisted.
 
Lulu stared at him in puzzled silence for a few minutes; then she shook her head.
 
"No, you have made a mistake, Sir Jasper," she said, decidedly. "Now I come to think of it, I don't know that I mentioned Celia by name. You said that I had lent the book to 'that silly little niece of yours,' and of course I thought you meant Celia."
 
"Nevertheless it was Joy who was in my mind," the old man almost groaned.
 
"Joy would not have read 'Lady Isabella's Treachery.' She thought it very wrong of me to lend it to Celia; she did not like her reading it a bit—she was quite unhappy about it—and I know now she was right. I've been very unhappy about it, too, since; and this morning when I heard how the fire had broken out I told father how Celia and I used to sit up reading when she was staying with me, and he was so angry, and said I was greatly to blame. And that's why I've come here to tell you that I was 'at the root of the mischief,' as father said, and that I'm a very wicked, deceitful girl." Here Lulu drew a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped away two scalding tears which were running down her dusty cheeks. "If I had never lent Celia 'Lady Isabella's Treachery' she would never have liked novels of that sort, and she wouldn't have sat up reading, and the east wing wouldn't have been burnt down," she concluded, dolefully.
 
Sir Jasper made no response. He had covered his eyes with a shaking hand; but after a brief silence he looked at Lulu again, and saw that her tear-stained, freckled face wore the stamp of truth. So Celia had kept deliberate silence, and allowed him to misjudge her sister and treat her most unfairly, he reflected wrathfully. She had wilfully deceived him.
 
"What is the real object of your visit, child?" he asked, presently.
 
"I came to ask you not to be too hard on poor Celia, and—"
 
"Poor Celia, indeed!" he interposed, bitterly. "What consideration has she shown for her sister? She allowed me to treat Joy as—as I am ashamed to remember I treated her, now! She knew the mistake I had made! Tell me," he cried, a sudden suspicion crossing his mind— "you appear to be in her confidence—tell me, was it Celia and not Joy who meddled with the butterfly brooch—"
 
"The butterfly brooch!" Lulu echoed, growing crimson, and beginning to stutter. "I— I thought, that is, I—she told me she had put it back!"
 
"Put it back!" he almost screamed in his excitement. "Yes, she did! But—"
 
He paused as the door opened, and Mrs. Wallis, followed by Celia herself, entered the room. Lulu, frightened at the admission she had made, burst into a flood of tears and covered her face with her hands, utterly overcome with alarm at the situation in which she had placed herself. Sir Jasper struggled for composure, and with his stern glance upon Celia, pointed to the weeping girl.
 
"She came to plead for you," he said, sarcastically, "but I should like to hear what you have to say for yourself."
 
"Nothing," Celia answered, her scared face drawn with an emotion which almost amounted to terror, "nothing, except to confess how wicked I've been. Uncle Jasper, I've been a worse girl than you can possibly imagine. I let you think it was Joy who had been reading 'Lady Isabella's Treachery,' when it was I who had borrowed the book from Lulu; and she—Joy—was so generous, she would not betray me to you. I've been selfish, and deceptive; and—oh, much worse than that! I've told mother all, and I want to tell you. I—I stole the butterfly brooch—that is, I did not mean to steal it, only to borrow it for the time—but it was stealing it really. Lulu knows how I wore it at the flower show, and at the concert, and how I lost it, and the misery and despair I was in. Then, when I had it again, I never rested it I had put it back."
 
"But how did you manage to put it back?" Sir Jasper inquired, in bewilderment.
 
Celia looked around almost wildly, first at her mother, who had seated herself quietly in the background with a world of pain depicted on her sad countenance, then at Lulu, who had uncovered her face and was looking at her friend with wide-open eyes, finally at Sir Jasper, whose look of contempt pierced her to the soul.
 
"I found your bunch of keys in one of the drawers of your writing-table," she admitted, shamefacedly. "I—I will tell the truth—I searched for the keys, and I easily unlocked the safe. I don't know how I could have done it! Oh, when I think of all I have done, and how badly I have treated Joy—"
 
"And how you have let me treat her!" Sir Jasper put in, severely.
 
"Yes," said Celia, sadly, "and when I remember the mischief I have done, I know you can never, never forgive me!"
 
"I was very fond of you, child," he told her, in a moved voice, "and my affection for you must have made me blind to your true character. Joy must be told the whole truth, for I—I accused her of having stolen the butterfly brooch."
 
"Oh, surely not!" Mrs. Wallis cried, distressfully, whilst both Lulu and Celia looked aghast. "Oh, my poor Joy! That is why she does not wish to see you, Uncle Jasper. I could not understand her attitude at all. It is plain to me now."
 
There was a dead silence for a few minutes; then Sir Jasper rose from his chair and laid his hand on Mrs. Wallis's shoulder.
 
"My dear," he said, with great tenderness in his tone, "I am more grieved than I can express, but do not look so sadly distressed. God forgive me for my treatment of Joy! I would not wilfully have wounded her for the world. You must tell her how I have been deceived, and—but I must speak to you alone. Celia, take your friend into the drawing-room, and wait for your mother there."
 
Celia obeyed. Both girls felt a sense of relief as soon as they were out of Sir Jasper's presence, and Lulu explained what had brought her to the Moat House.
 
"It was not fair to let you bear all the blame, poor Celia," she said, pityingly, "and Sir Jasper quite understands now that it was my fault you ever began to read novels of that kind. I told him all about it. Oh, who would have thought that my disobedience in setting father's wishes at defiance would have brought about such a terrible result as the fire. Oh, father does blame me so much, and no wonder! Oh, dear, I am sorry I ever lent you 'Lady Isabella's Treachery'! That was the beginning of it all. And, then, to think that you should have allowed Joy to have been blamed! That was mean of you, Celia."
 
"Yes," Celia replied, in a low, shamed voice. "I—I was a coward and—and I wanted Uncle Jasper to think well of me."
 
"He'll never make you his heiress now! And I used to fancy—"
 
"Oh, Lulu, don't talk like that!" Celia cried, with a sudden burst of grief. "I wish we had never come to the Moat House. I wish Uncle Jasper had let us stay in our little home at A—. I was happier there. Yes, I was!—although we were so poor. And I was a better girl—oh, a much better girl! And Joy and I were good friends! Oh, Joy, Joy!"
 
Lulu started in amazement, unable to account for this sudden change in Celia's sentiments; she remarked with an attempt at consolation:
 
"You'll be good friends with Joy again; I am sure she will not bear malice."
 
"Oh, no! Have you heard—have they told you that she may never be able to walk as long as she lives?" Celia inquired, tearfully.
 
"No!" gasped Lulu. "Oh, it can't be true! Oh, it's too terrible!"
 
"It is true!" Celia sobbed. "Mother told me this morning; and, oh, it nearly breaks my heart to think it! It's her hip; it's more injured than the doctors considered at first; and it may be that she will have to spend the rest of her life lying on her back like Mrs. Long, the gamekeeper's wife. Oh, isn't it hard lines for her? She loves running about outdoors, and—oh, poor Joy!"
 
"Does she know?" Lulu asked, in shocked accents.
 
"Yes, mother told her yesterday, and she took it very well. At first she cried dreadfully but afterwards she said she would try to be brave, and not to mind, because she was sure God knew what was best for her. You see, the accident wasn't the result of any wrong-doing on her part, so she has nothing to reproach herself with. But, oh, Lulu, isn't it simply awful to think she may never walk again?"
 
Celia was so concerned on her sister's account that her own affairs were quite a secondary consideration to her now. Lulu was quick to notice this, and her really kind heart swelled with sympathy and affection as, throwing her arms impulsively around Celia's neck, she kissed her tear-stained face.
 
"Perhaps it won't be so bad as you fear," she whispered consolingly. "Doctors are very clever nowadays, and make wonderful cures—I've heard father say so—and—and God can do what no one else can, can't He? We'll pray for Joy. We can do that, Celia.
 
"I can't pray properly," Celia sighed. "I used to, but since I've been at the Moat House my mind has been so full of—of things that I couldn't speak to God about."
 
"Oh, I know what you mean!" Lulu cried, with ready understanding. "You mean things that don't matter, such things as money, and fine clothes."
 
"Yes," Celia acknowledged.
 
There was a short silence, then Lulu spoke, somewhat shyly:
 
"Don't you think we should be happier if tried to think more of the things that do matter?" she asked. "Father said this morning that he had spoilt me by mistaken kindness, but I mean to show him he hasn't—quite! I'm going to turn over a new leaf, and try to please him for the future. I won't ever deceive him again—at least, I'll try not to, and I mean to ask God to help me to be a better girl—more unselfish, and not so set on my own way. I've never been very happy yet, have you?"
 
"No," Celia admitted, after a few moments' reflection.
 
"Because you've been selfish, like me, and have wanted the best of everything for yourself. Joy is happier than either of us, even now."
 
Celia knew that Lulu with her shrewdness of observation had discovered the truth. She realized that Joy's happiness had foundation in a faith as simple as it was perfect. She trusted Jesus, and was content. No one understood better than Celia how great a blow it was to her sister to know that there was a strong possibility that she might be crippled for life. Vanished were the little girl's plans for the future. Her ambition to become a great pianist must be set aside. Yet, even now, when life was holding a cup of sorrow and disappointment to her lips, her name did not appear in the light of a mockery to her. She was "Joy" still.
 
"Where is your brother?" Lulu asked presently.
 
"Gone to see Lawrence Puttenham off at the T— railway station, I expect; but I have not seen him since daybreak. I have been at Home Vale with Miss Pring, she has been very kind to me. I wish I might go back to her again instead of remaining here." Celia's wish was to be granted her, for when Mrs. Wallis came into the drawing-room a short while later, it was to inform the two girls that Sir Jasper had ordered the pony carriage to drive Lulu home to T—, and she added that Celia was to accompany her as far as Home Vale, where she was to stay for the present.
 
"Miss Pring very kindly said she would be pleased to have you as her visitor," Mrs. Wallis told her elder daughter. "I find all our belongings have been destroyed, and, under the circumstances, it will not be convenient for Uncle Jasper to have us here any longer. On Monday, if all's well, and if Dr. Forbes considers Joy is sufficiently strong to bear the journey, we shall all return to A—."
 
"Oh, mother," cried Celia, "this is my doing!"
 
"Yes, Celia, it is," Mrs. Wallis admitted, gravely. Her face was very pale, and she had been weeping, but she was perfectly posed.
 
"Oh, how sorry I am!" cried Lulu. "I fear I shall never, never see any of you again! How sad it is! Mrs. Wallis, mayn't I come and see Joy before you go?"
 
"Assuredly you may, my dear. Has Celia told you—"
 
"Yes, yes! Oh, I am so grieved! perhaps something may be done to cure her poor hip. Oh, I hear the wheels of the pony carriage! Do you think I ought to say good-bye to Sir Jasper before I leave?"
 
Mrs. Wallis shook her head and explained that her uncle was far from well, having been terribly agitated by all that had taken place during the last twenty-four hours. She accompanied the two girls to the front door, and saw them driven off, then returned to the drawing-room, where she stood looking out of the window until someone came behind her and slipped his arm around her waist.
 
"Eric," she cried gladly, and laid her head on her son's shoulder.
 
He explained where he had been, and then she told him of all Celia's misdeeds, and Lulu Tillotson's visit. He listened in silence, too angry and indignant to trust himself to speak, but when she broke to him the sad news about Joy, he cried out in grief and dismay.
 
"Mother, it is too cruel! God will not permit it!"
 
"Hush, my boy! It will be as He sees fit. If Joy can say, 'Thy will be done,' surely we ought to be able to say it too! We must try to make things easier for her to bear, not harder. I shall go back to her presently, but you must stay with Uncle Jasper till Monday. Then we will all return to A— together."
 
"This is Celia's doing, I suppose. Is Uncle Jasper in a great rage, mother?"
 
"No, he is not in a rage at all, now. He is as grieved as I am that matters have taken the turn they have; but he agrees with me that, under the circumstances, it is better we should go home."
 
CHAPTER XXVI. AT A— AGAIN.

 
IT was Sunday evening; and all the members of the Vicarage household were at church with the exception of Mrs. Wallis and her little invalid daughter. Joy lay on a sofa in the drawing-room; her face, pale and worn with sickness though it was, wore its habitually happy expression, and she was talking animatedly to Sir Jasper Amery, who was seated by her side. This was her second interview with him since Celia had made full confession. The first had been a painful meeting for both, but it had ended in a perfect understanding between them; and now Joy was quite enjoying her chat.
 
Sir Jasper had been explaining the exact amount of mischief the fire had wrought, and that the work of rebuilding was to begin at once.
 
"You will see—" he was commencing, when he stopped abruptly, and left the sentence unfinished. "I hope the journey will not be too much for you to-morrow," he proceeded, presently. "Dr. Forbes thinks you will be none the worse for it. I have made all arrangements for your comfort; you will have a first-class carriage to yourselves, and—"
 
"Oh, how thoughtful you are!" the little girl interposed, earnestly. "And so good to us all! Eric was saying to me last night that he was never was so ashamed about anything in his life as about Celia's behaviour. I'm sure I feel the same. I—"
 
"Celia's conduct is no reflection on her family," the old man put in, quickly, "and I do not think that even she is as ungrateful as she appears. I had hoped to have kept you all with me, and it is certainly Celia's fault that the plan is impracticable. However, she is very repentant."
 
"Oh, very! Everyone says that since the night of the fire she has quite changed. She and I have had several long talks together, Uncle Jasper, and she has told me all about the butterfly brooch, and how she came to take it. If you only knew how fond she is of pretty things you would understand how she gave way to temptation."
 
"There is no excuse for her, Joy. I fear Lulu Tillotson, with her love of finery, has not been a good companion for her."
 
"I think Lulu rather flattered Celia," Joy said, thoughtfully; "she used to tell her how pretty she was, and that she ought to wear some handsomer clothes; but she was very shocked about the brooch. She was here to see me yesterday, and was so kind, and—and sorry for me. I'm going to write to her, and—oh what do you think? I've heard from Jane—our old servant, you know—she's out of a situation, and mother has asked if she will come and wait on me. It's very bad for me to be so helpless," she concluded, with a sigh.
 
"I suppose you have had a lot of visitors these last few days to say good-bye?"
 
"Oh, yes! Last night Miss Pring and Miss Mary were here."
 
"Ah, Miss Mary Pring is sorry to lose her pupils; but I hear she is not going to look-out for another situation."
 
"No," Joy replied, with a beaming smile; "but who told you that, Uncle Jasper?"
 
"Miss Pring, whom I encountered on my road here to-night. She was full of the news of her niece's engagement to the Vicar."
 
"Isn't it splendid news?" Joy questioned, eagerly. "Don't you think Miss Mary will make a capital clergyman's wife? Mother says she will. And it is not very far from here to Home Vale, so Miss Pring won't feel lonely, will she? One good thing has come from my illness, you see!"
 
"How do you make out that?"
 
"Well, Miss Mary came to help mother nurse me, and, of course, Mr. Cole couldn't help seeing how sweet, and gentle, and—"
 
"Oh, so you think you have been the means of making the match!" interposed Jasper, with a chuckle of great amusement.
 
Joy laughed; then stopped suddenly, a look of pain crossing her face.
 
"It's my hip," she explained; "it does worry me so. Mother says when we get home she will have further advice for me, I'm afraid that will be no good. Oh, Uncle Jasper, I can so well understand now poor Mrs. Long feels! I wish I could have seen her before we go, but, of course, that's out of the question."
 
"If you like to send her a message I'll give it to Long."
 
"Oh, will you? That is kind. Please him I sent his wife my love, and say I hope God will comfort her as He has comforted me."
 
"Oh, my dear child, it is hard for you!" he exclaimed.
 
"It isn't half so hard as it was, Uncle Jasper. At first I felt dreadful about it—it was wicked of me, I know. But not to be able to join Eric in any of his amusements! Never to be able to run about and enjoy any of the things I so love! And, worst of all, to have to give up my music! I don't suppose I shall ever play 'The Last Rose of Summer' to you again. Oh, it seemed so hard to be shut off from everything I cared about! But I didn't feel that long. I began to think of all the helpless people in the world worse off than I am—people who are blind, and deaf, and even dumb, and I remembered that if I couldn't help mother in the future as I had hoped, that God might have a plan for me that I didn't know anything about, so I determined to trust Him; to have patience, and wait."
 
"We haven't all of us your faith, my dear," Sir Jasper said, sadly. "When my son was taken from me—"
 
He paused, and Joy exclaimed:
 
"Oh, Uncle Jasper, I've so often thought what you must have felt then! It must have been dreadfully, dreadfully hard for you to bear."
 
"It was, my dear. He was all I had, and God took him from me. It almost destroyed my faith in the Almighty—but that was my selfishness. There is another world than this."
 
"Yes, and some day you will meet your son again," Joy said, softly, "and then you will understand why God took him."
 
The old man talked with Joy some time longer, and when at last he took a lingering farewell of her, Mrs. Wallis, who had been seated at the far end of the room listening to the conversation, accompanied him to the pony carriage. Joy shed a few regretful tears after he had gone and her heart was sore as she remembered that she might never see him more. She had forgiven him his unkindness to her in the past—indeed, she never resented it, though it had grieved sorely—and now remembered only his generosity, and that he had tried to make them all happy.
 
The next day the Wallis family left Devonshire, and returned to A—. The journey was accomplished easily, and Joy experienced no ill effects from the move. At the end of another week Eric went back to school, whilst his mother and sisters settled down quietly in their old home. There was a new maid-of-all-work in the kitchen, and Jane was in attendance upon Joy.
 
It had been decided that Celia was to remain at home till Christmas, after which she was to be sent to a good boarding-school, by Sir Jasper's desire. The three months at home did much for Celia, for during that time she learnt many lessons she had failed grasp before—lessons of self-denial, and patience, and humility.
 
Joy was always more or less ill and suffering, and Celia gave up many a pleasure to devote herself to her sister, whom she had neglected and ill-used during their visit to the Moat House. The old sisterly love between the two grew and strengthened in those days till there was full confidence between them once more.
 
"I believe that having every comfort and luxury at the Moat House actually turned my head," Celia remarked to her mother on one occasion; "it certainly brought out all my worst qualities. I never was really happy all the time I was there. Oh, mother, I do feel so ashamed when I remember I was as good as sent away in disgrace from the house, and through me there was no longer a home there for you and Joy and Eric! I was never so well off in my life as I was there—and yet that did not make me happy."
 
"Because you were trying to live without God," Mrs. Wallis told her, gravely; "you were searching for happiness where it was not to be found."
 
"I always wanted to be rich," Celia confessed, "but lately I've seen that even riches wouldn't make me happy. I've been all wrong, somehow."
 
Swiftly the months slipped by, bringing news from Crumleigh of Miss Mary Pring's marriage to Mr. Cole, and of the rebuilding of the east wing of the Moat House; and nearly every week a letter came from Lulu Tillotson to one or the other of the girls. These letters were characteristic of their writer; it almost seemed on reading them that Lulu herself could be heard speaking.
 
"Father and I went to Miss Mary Pring's wedding," ran one of these letters to Celia; "we were the only invited guests, except Sir Jasper Amery. Yes, your uncle was actually there, looking quite smiling, and he hadn't to church till then since his son's death! Miss Pring gave her niece away, and wore a new gown for the occasion—I think Miss Mary must have chosen it, for it was like nothing I had ever seen Miss Pring wear before, and actually suited her." Here followed a lengthy description of the gown; then Lulu proceeded: "Lawrence Puttenham's father married them, and the Vicar looked almost handsome, and Miss Mary positively lovely—I never even thought her pretty, did you?"
 
In another letter Lulu wrote:
 
"I'm to go to boarding-school after Christmas and father has decided to send me with you, Celia. Oh, I am glad! By the way, I've quite given up reading light literature, and, what do you think? Miss Pring says I've greatly improved of late! There, you can take her word, can't you? Seriously, though, I do believe I'm a different sort of girl from what I used to be; I hope it doesn't sound conceited to say that, but I do try to be less selfish, and think what father will like, and I'm ever so much happier than I was when you knew me first. Please give my love to Mrs. Wallis. I don't think she ever approved of me quite, though she was always so kind; but perhaps she may like me better when we meet next."
 
"When we meet next!" sighed Joy, after her sister had finished reading Lulu's letter aloud. "I don't suppose I, for one, shall ever see Lulu again!" —and for a few moments she looked very doleful indeed.
 
"You cannot tell that, my dear," Mrs. Wallis returned, with a cheerfulness which was really assumed.
 
"I get no better, mother," the little girl remarked, sadly.
 
"No, my dear, you do not; but do not grow faint-hearted."
 
"Sometimes I think my hip gets worse," Joy continued; "I have seen several doctors now, and they all say the same, that I must have patience; but not one of them will say there is the faintest hope that I shall ever walk again."
 
"They cannot tell, Joy—clever men though they all are. Uncle Jasper has written to me about a London surgeon whom he has heard much talk of lately, he wants me to send for him to see you."
 
"Shall you, mother?" Joy asked. "I don't suppose he could do me any good, and his fee would be a large one, I expect."
 
"Yes, but Uncle Jasper says he will gladly pay it."
 
"How good he is to me!" Joy cried, her face aglow with gratitude as she spoke.
 
The great London surgeon came and examined the patient. Though she had schooled herself to the contemplation of a life of inactivity and suffering with resignation, Joy could not help a faint ray of hope lingering in her heart that some day her injured hip might get better. After his examination, the London surgeon consulted with the two A— doctors who had lately attended the little girl; then, much to Joy's surprise, the stranger returned to her room with Mrs. Wallis, and taking a chair by her side, entered into conversation with her. He was a big, powerful-looking man, with a plain, rugged countenance which was singularly attractive, and a pair of keen, grey eyes, that had looked on much suffering and sorrow, and yet retained a smile in their kindly depths. He told her he had young daughters of his own, and asked her how she would like to go to London.
 
"I don't know. I'm not likely to go there," Joy answered, soberly; then she asked: "Please, doctor, what do you think of me?"
 
"I think you're a plucky little girl, and so I'm going to speak out and tell you what I have already told your mother. I believe that if you undergo a certain operation, you will eventually be able to walk; but you will always be slightly lame. Now, what I want to explain to you is this—the operation cannot be performed here, it must be done in a hospital where you can have treatment suitable for your case. You have a brave spirit, I am sure," he added hastily, as he noticed the look of dismay and shrinking on her face, "or I should not have spoken so plainly. Will you come to London, and go into a hospital, as I suggest?"
 
"Mother, what do you say?" Joy asked, looking at Mrs. Wallis, who stood at the foot of the bed observing her anxiously.
 
"You must decide, my dear," was the faltering reply.
 
"There is a chance that the operation may not be successful," the doctor said, gravely, "but I am very hopeful about it, myself."
 
"Who would do it—the operation, I mean?" Joy inquired, timidly.
 
"I should," he rejoined.
 
The little girl looked at him with manifest doubt, but as she met the glance of his kindly eyes, she recalled how gentle had been the touch of his big, strong hands, and a feeling of confidence in him took root in her heart.
 
"I should be quite alone in the hospital?" she questioned. "Mother would not be there?"
 
"No, but she could be near you; she could get lodgings close to the hospital. You would see her often. What do you say?" —and he smiled encouragingly.
 
"I say that if you think you can make me well enough to walk again, I will let you do anything to me. I don't mind any pain, or how long it takes, or—"
 
"Oh, you won't feel anything, my dear child! You have suffered these last few months with this poor hip of yours, as I trust you will never suffer again. Your mother will bring you to London, and place you in my care. I shall do my best for you, you may depend, and the result will be in God's hands."
 
The eyes of the little invalid and the great surgeon met again, this time in a long look of perfect understanding; and the smile which illuminated Joy's face was very confident and bright as she exclaimed hopefully:
 
"I shall not mind being lame if only I shall be able to walk again!"
 
CHAPTER XXVII. SUNNY DAYS.

 
 
IT was a hot day towards the end of July; and a fast train from London was speeding westwards, bearing among its passengers three young people going home for the holidays—namely, Celia and Eric Wallis, and Lulu Tillotson. The two girls had met Eric by arrangement at Paddington railway station, where they had had no time for conversation; but now, settled for the journey in a comfortable compartment which was not over-crowded, they found they could exchange confidences.
 
"Isn't it like a dream, Eric?" Celia said, as she sat by her brother's side, and glanced from him to Lulu opposite.
 
The boy smiled as he looked at her. She was prettier than ever, he thought, with her cheeks flushed to a deeper hue than usual, and her face aglow with excitement.
 
"Isn't what like a dream?" he asked, understanding perfectly all the while what she meant.
 
"Why, you know! That we're going to the Moat House again! That we shall see mother and Joy, and Uncle Jasper in the course of a few hours, now! To me it seems like a wonderful, wonderful dream, too good to be true."
 
"Oh, I can realize it all," Eric replied, laughing from pure light-heartedness. "It seems very real to me. How did you like spending the Easter holidays at school, Celia, by the way?"
 
"Not at all," she answered; "it was the most miserable time I ever spent in my life, and I was thinking of Joy all the while, longing to see her, to know from hour to hour how she was. Oh, I shall never forget it, never!"
 
"You may depend upon it I was not very happy, either," Eric said, earnestly. "I used to moon about by myself all day long, wondering what news I should hear."
 
"And then, when you did get news, it was the best possible," Lulu interposed, eagerly; "oh, it's quite marvellous to think Joy can walk again!"
 
Yes, Joy could walk again. After the operation to her hip, she had spent two months in the London hospital where it had been performed, during which period her mother had occupied lodgings near; and when at last she had been pronounced well enough to be moved, she had been taken direct to the Moat House, where the east wing had been rebuilt, and refurnished with Mrs. Wallis's own furniture from A—.
 
When the girl had seen the familiar articles around her, she had not needed the assurance that henceforward this was to be her home, for she had realized at once that Celia's misdemeanours had been forgiven, and that Sir Jasper still adhered to his original intention of providing for the futures of his niece and her children. As Joy had been in the hospital during Easter, her sister and brother had spent their holidays at their respective schools, so the young people had not met for many months, and Celia and Eric were naturally much excited at being together again.
 
"We shall have great fun this long vacation, you'll see," Lulu proceeded; "father wrote and told me that Sir Jasper means to invite me to the Moat House to stay, and Lawrence Puttenham will be at the Vicarage, won't he, Eric?"
 
"Yes, for a month, I believe. I wonder if the Crumleigh Cricket Club still flourishes?"
 
"You may depend it does. The Vicar takes such an interest in it, and so does Sir Jasper."
 
"Did you see Uncle Jasper at Easter?" Eric inquired.
 
"Yes," Lulu nodded. "I spent a week-end at the Moat House with father, and Sir Jasper was very nice to me. I think he's greatly altered. On the Sunday he went to church with us, and—"
 
"Went to church with you!" Eric cried, vastly astonished. "Well, I never!"
 
"He always used to be a regular attendant at church before his son's death, but after that he wouldn't go anywhere till—"
 
"Till the carriage accident," Celia interposed, with a flash of remembrance. "I recollect how surprised we were when he went to the Vicarage to inquire for Joy."
 
"I expect you'll find Joy has put your nose out of joint altogether," Lulu told Celia, with her customary candour.
 
"I shall not mind that," Celia returned, really meaning what she said.
 
Her brother looked at her again. She was quite like the old Celia, he thought; her manner was not so assured, and she seemed far less wrapped up in herself. Lulu, to outward appearances, had not much altered, except that there was nothing noticeable in her dress now; she talked almost incessantly during the journey, and at the few stations at which they stopped, found great amusement in watching the busy crowds on the platforms. They had lunch in the train, and were exceedingly merry over their meal, so that the other travellers in the compartment watched them with indulgent smiles, quite realizing the situation that they were going home for the holidays.
 
"Mother wrote and told me what good reports she had had of your work at school," Celia remarked to Eric; "she was pleased, and I am so very glad!"
 
"Celia's been working hard, too," said Lulu; "she's a much more promising pupil than I am."
 
"How's that?" Eric inquired, amused at Lulu's frankness.
 
"Oh, everyone says she's better able to concentrate her thoughts than I am. I'm feather-brained, you know. My mind's 'positively erratic,' so our arithmetic teacher declares. I'm dunce at arithmetic, and that's a fact."
 
"But I daresay if you're a dunce at arithmetic you're sharp at other things," Eric suggested, politely.
 
"Lulu doesn't do herself justice," Celia declared with a smile at her friend; "she knows more about English history than any other girl in the school."
 
As they neared the end of their journey, Celia grew more and more nervous. Mingled with the intense joy with which she was looking forward to be with her mother and sister once more, was the dread with which she thought of meeting Sir Jasper. Seeing his confidence in her had been so entirely destroyed, how could she hope that he could ever look on her with anything but suspicion again? Celia knew that her aspirations and views of life had so completely changed during the past ten months that it would be impossible for her to act this year as she had done last; but would Sir Jasper understand this, would he realize that she was no longer the deceitful girl who had not scrupled even to appropriate what had not belonged to her, in order to gratify her vanity and love of show?
 
Perhaps Lulu guessed some of the thoughts that were crowding her friend's mind, for she glanced at her sympathetically every now and again; and found an opportunity of whispering to Eric, who was wondering why his sister was growing more and more silent as they neared their destination; "Celia is dreading the meeting with Sir Jasper. That's what's making her so silent. I wouldn't notice it, if I were you."
 
At last the long, hot journey was at an end, and the train slowed into T— railway station. The minute it stopped, Lulu was out of the compartment, and in her father's arms; and Celia and Eric following, found their mother close by, waiting to welcome them. Her face was full of happiness as she kissed them in turn; then Mr. Tillotson saw to their luggage, accompanied them to the waiting carriage, and with Lulu hanging to his arm, watched them drive off.
 
Mrs. Wallis and Eric did most of the talking on the way to the Moat House, for Celia, in spite of her reunion with her mother, was nervous and ill at ease. There was a mist before her eyes as the carriage drew up before the front door, and it was through blinding tears that she saw Sir Jasper with Joy at his side.
 
"Joy!" she cried, with a world of longing affection in her voice; and the next minute she and her sister were in each other's arms. Joy was no less moved than Celia, but she was far more composed outwardly.
 
"I say, Celia, let me have a word with Joy before she is drowned altogether," Eric said, pretending to speak aggrievedly; and then Celia withdrew herself from her sister's arms, and ventured a glance at Sir Jasper.
 
The old man regarded her searchingly, and held out his hand, which she took with evident timidity. He drew her towards him, and kissed her gravely, tenderly. "Welcome home, my dear," he said, in the kindest tones possible.
 
"Oh, Uncle Jasper, have you indeed forgiven me?" she cried, involuntarily.
 
"Yes, Celia," he replied, with ready understanding of all that was in her mind. "I forgave you at the time. I saw how sincere was your repentance. I never meant to shut the doors of my house against you altogether. I always intended you to come back. Do not let us speak of the past again. Now, go into the house with the others; Mrs. Mallock is waiting to speak to you, and Jane—"
 
"Jane!" echoed Celia, in surprise. "I did not know she was here?"
 
"Yes, she is," Joy answered; "she came to wait upon me, like she did at A—, but I don't need her services any longer, I'm glad to say, so she's stopping on as a housemaid. Oh, Celia, it's good to see you again!"
 
Celia smiled. She thought it was good to see Joy, too, though it was a shock to her when she noticed that, though her sister had discarded the crutch she had been obliged to use when she had first begun to move about after the operation, she was still somewhat lame. But Joy did not seem to mind that in the least; indeed, as she told Celia, it was a wonder that she could walk at all, and she was full of praises of the famous surgeon, who, under God's guidance, had done so much for her.
 
How the young people talked at the tea-table that evening! Indeed the conversation was mostly between them, for Mrs. Wallis and Sir Jasper were content to sit quietly listening. Joy had so much to tell concerning her experiences in the hospital, of her subsequent removal to the Moat House, and of the great kindness everyone had shown to her.
 
"Miss Pring used to come and sit with me before I could get about much," she said, "and Miss Mary—Mrs. Cole, I mean—has been here nearly every day. Oh, Eric, the village boys are so looking forward to see you and Putty again! Do you know they are practising for a match against an eleven from T—? It's to be played on the Crumleigh ground, so we must all go and look on, mustn't we, Uncle Jasper."
 
"Certainly," Sir Jasper agreed, with astonishing readiness. "How does Lulu like it at boarding-school?" he inquired of Celia.
 
"Oh, very well, now," was the response. "She did not care for it at all at first, nor did I; we found the discipline so irksome, but we soon grew accustomed to that. Lulu is a great favourite with everyone, for she's really very kind-hearted." Celia paused a moment in hesitation, then proceeded with a glance at her mother's interested face. "The girls used to laugh at her for being so fond of dress, they nicknamed her 'The Duchess,' and, oh, she was so angry! It very rude of them, of course, but girls at school are like that, you know, they don't consider each other's feelings much. Well, that was last term. After Easter, Lulu came back dressed as plainly as anyone in the school."
 
"Bravo!" cried Sir Jasper, laughingly, whilst Eric remarked, with approval in his tone:
 
"I noticed she was without her usual fal-lals to-day."
 
After tea they all adjourned to the terrace, where they were joined by Wag, now grown a handsome dog.
 
"Poor fellow, he was so disappointed when he found he could not induce me to run about and play with him," Joy said, as she fondled the spaniel's soft, silky ears. "I believe he thought all the fun had gone out me. But never was there a greater mistake! You'll have to take him in hand, Eric, and give him some long walks, like you did last year."
 
"I suppose he has grown out of all his mischievous puppy tricks, hasn't he?" Celia inquired; then she flushed crimson, remembering the trick he had served her in the rock garden, and was covered with confusion and shame.
 
"He has sobered down considerably," Joy replied.
 
Memory was busy with her, too, and for a minute a shadow crossed her face; but it was gone again almost directly, and she met Celia's wistful gaze with her brightest smile.
 
By-and-bye, Sir Jasper, mindful of his rheumatism, and fearful on that account of the evening air, went into the house, and Eric and his mother strolled away to the rock garden, leaving the sisters alone.
 
"Isn't mother looking well!" Joy questioned, and receiving an answer in the affirmative, she continued, "She had a worrying time whilst I was in the hospital, but I think she is very happy now. Celia, do you know that Uncle Jasper means Eric to be his heir? Yes," as Celia gave a violent start of surprise, "he does indeed! He told mother so some time ago; he says Eric is a manly, honest lad, and he is very proud of him. And he's going to provide for our futures too. Dr. Forbes believes I shall be quite strong enough to take up my music again by-and-bye; but just at present he won't allow me to practice much, though I sometimes play a little to Uncle Jasper—'The Last Rose of Summer,' and the old tunes he loves. Oh, Celia, why are you looking so sad? Are you unhappy?"
 
"No, no! I am happier than I ever thought I should be again—happier far than I deserve to be. Oh, Joy, I am thinking of last year, and how I was always trying to curry favour with Uncle Jasper, and pretending to better in every way than I actually was, all the time I was so discontented really; and then, when I thought I had lost all I had valued most—money, and comfort, and luxuries, I found out that it was none of those things that would make me happy, and I did not mind their loss. And then—"
 
"Yes?" said Joy, interrogatively, as her sister paused.
 
"And then, after the fire," Celia continued, "when mother talked to me, and pointed out to me all the mischief I had caused, I was wild with remorse. And when we feared you would never walk again, I thought my heart would break, and I was as wretched as I possibly could be. Afterwards, when you were in hospital, before I heard the operation was successful, I felt—oh, dreadful!" She shuddered; then added: "Joy, I think I have learnt the secret of happiness now. It is not riches that make one contented, but faith in God."
 
Thus were the sisters one in heart and mind; and long before Mrs. Wallis and Eric finished their stroll in the rock garden they had come to a perfect understanding with each other.
 
A happy time followed, which the young people spent mostly out-of-doors, enjoying unclouded sunshine of the August days. Lulu came to the Moat House as had been promised; and Lawrence Puttenham paid his visit to the Vicarage, and, with Eric, spent many a pleasant evening in the cricket field. The members of the Crumleigh Cricket Club had become proficient players by this time, and actually won the match against the eleven from T—, when, true to his word, Sir Jasper Amery was present to witness their success.
 
No one ever made any reference to Celia's deceptions of the previous year; and she was intensely relieved and grateful on that account. The consideration and kindness of her relations and friends touched her deeply, and as the sunny days of the long vacation slipped away, she grew happier, and more at her ease with Sir Jasper, who now appeared to divide his affection more equally between his niece's children, so that it would have been difficult to have said which was his favourite—the outspoken school boy, with his high spirits and somewhat boisterous ways; the pretty, golden-haired girl who flushed with real pleasure if called upon to do him a service; or the little, pale-faced maiden, who, though lame, accepted her affliction with resignation, and possessed one of the happiest faces in the world.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE END.