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Title: "Us, and our donkey"

Author: Amy Le Feuvre

Illustrator: William H. C. Groome

Release date: July 19, 2025 [eBook #76530]

Language: English

Original publication: London: The Religious Tract Society, 1909

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76530

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "US, AND OUR DONKEY" ***

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

"US, AND OUR DONKEY"

BY

AMY LE FEUVRE

Author of

"Me and Nobbles," "Probable Sons," "Teddy's Button," etc.

Semper fidelis, semper paratus

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

W. H. C. GROOME

SECOND IMPRESSION

London

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

————————

Bulbs and Blossoms.             A Little Maid.

The Carved Cupboard.            Odd.

Eric's Good News.               Odd made Even.

Heather's Mistress.             Probable Sons.

His Little Daughter.            Teddy's Button.

Miss Lavender's Boy.            "Me and Nobbles."

On the Edge of a Moor.          A Bit of Rough Road.

A Puzzling Pair.                Dwell Deep.

A Thoughtless Seven.            His Birthday.

Bunny's Friends.                A Little Listener.

Jill's Red Bag.                 The Making of a Woman.

Legend Led.                     The Mender.

——————————

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY                  4 Bouverie Street London, E. C.

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. OUR MOVE

II. THE KNIGHT'S MOTTO

III. MY SECRET

IV. MARKET DAY

V. LYNETTE'S SCRAPE

VI. OUR VISIT TO THE HALL

VII. THE GIPSY CAMP

VIII. THE DONKEY RACE

IX. THE GIPSIES' SUPPER

X. THE CHARIOT RACE

XI. ANDY AND ME

XII. LITTLE ANNIE STEEL

XIII. OUR DREADFUL DAY

XIV. A DONKEY IN A NIGHT-CAP

XV. AN UNSUCCESSFUL SEARCH

XVI. OUR KNIGHT'S STORY

XVII. FOUND

"US, AND OUR DONKEY"

CHAPTER I

OUR MOVE

OF course the boys say I shan't keep it up, but I say I shall. You see, there's such a lot to tell about, for we have come into a fresh village, and everything is strange and new. Denys says every one who writes is a prig, and Aylwin says I shall only write about myself, but I shan't do that, I know, for I think the others are much more interesting than I am. And I don't mean to write all our sayings and doings. There are a good many other people besides ourselves about here, and they will be very interesting, I'm sure. Of course, I may not write as I ought, always. I make good resolutions very often, but the difficulty is to keep them. And, of course, I must describe ourselves a little. I always like to hear what the children are like in books.

So I will begin this chapter by saying that our father's name is John Henry Marjoribanks, and he is a clergyman. Mother died just a year ago. I don't like writing about it, but I think I must. It was such a horrible, awful time. We were very poor, for father was only a curate then, and mother could not afford a thick winter jacket. She cut down hers for me—I hate the very sight of it now—and then she went out one bitterly cold night to see a sick woman, and she came back shivering. And then she got—I really can't spell it, but I know it begins with a 'p' which you don't pronounce. It means inflammation of the lungs—and we had to have a nurse, which cost a lot of money. And none of us were allowed to see her until the last day, when she asked for us, to wish us good-bye. I won't write any more; it makes me cry; we did love mother so. But she told me to try to take her place, for I was the eldest daughter. And I feel I never, never shall, for I'm so forgetful, and can't sit still, and hate needlework. And I laugh at the most solemn kind of things; anybody can make me laugh, and they know it.

Poor father got graver and graver, and Mrs. Glass, our rector's wife, was horrid; she kept interfering so. We always hated her little girls. They were prigs (I think I would rather be a convict than a prig!), and they were always so superior to us.

"Your father has to do what our father tells him," they said one day when we were fighting with them. "And if he doesn't, he'll be sent away."

They seemed to think father was a kind of servant. So we told them what we thought of them, and after that we didn't speak to each other for five whole days. And then the glorious news came at breakfast by the post. Father was going to be the Rector of Warlington, and that meant a church of his own, and a house of his own, and a move. A move is the most splendid thing, we all think. We have had two before, and we would like one every year. This one wasn't quite so nice as usual, because mother wasn't at it. And Aunt Caroline came to see to it. We love the way the house gets more and more untidy, and the last day, when we have to eat our meals off boxes, and everything is in the most hopeless muddle, and the rooms get emptier and emptier, and no one has time to look after us—it is simply ripping!

But I can't stop to describe this move of ours, because it is all over, and I want to hurry on to where we are now. Aunt Caroline came to settle us in, and she's with us now. She's father's sister, and very kind, but a little fussy, we think. She says she feels she never ought to have her needle out of her hand, because we tear our clothes so. We had to come a very long way by train, because we had been living near London, and our new home is in Lincolnshire. We got so tired that we were all asleep when we arrived. Perhaps I had better describe ourselves before I describe the house, and then I shall be able to begin my story quite properly.

Denys is the eldest—he is thirteen; Aylwin is twelve. They always do everything together. Denys is the managing one, and Aylwin generally agrees with him, after he has argued the thing thoroughly out. Everybody thinks they're very nice-looking. I think they are, but when people say to father, "What dear boys! Such thorough little gentlemen," he shakes his head. "They're gentlemen, I hope, but desperate pickles!"

Then I come next. I'm the ugly one of the family. I have reddish hair, and a white face, and greenish-brown eyes. I think I'm quite fair in saying my hair is reddish, because it could be redder. I've seen some a real red, and mine isn't that. The boys say red-haired people are always ugly, and spit-cats. I do flare up, I know, but I try not to. I won't say any more about myself, except that I mean to write books one day, and that's why I'm beginning now to get my hand in. My name is Grisel. Isn't it a dreadful name? It was given me by an old great-aunt, who was my godmother. The boys, of course, call me Gristle and Grizzy. "You couldn't possibly be a beauty with a name like that," said Denys one day to me, when I told him I wished I was like Lynette. "No," I said, "but if I shut my eyes, Grisel sounds like a grim, grey-haired old woman with a beard under her chin, and I suppose I shall grow up like that." "I dare say you will," he said, "but you needn't be grim unless you like. You aren't grim now." So that is one thing I'm thankful for—that I'm not grim!

I find I am writing an awful lot about myself, so I will hurry on. Lynette is nine years old, and very pretty, and a regular mad-cap. She has long fair hair that comes right down to her waist in curly waves, and very big blue eyes, and she is never still a minute unless she is concocting mischief. Then Puff is the last one of us, and he used to be the baby. His real name is George, but we call him Puff because he talks so fast that he puffs like a steam-engine between his words, and he thinks an awful lot of himself, and struts about like a bantam-cock. He is only six, and he is always in pinafores, which he hates, and tries to get rid of whenever he can. We tie them in tight knots behind him. He tried dirtying them as fast as he could at one time, but if he has to have more than one pinafore a day, he has to go without sugar at tea-time, and he can't bear that. He has very curly hair, and a chubby rosy face, and he stamps when he walks, so he wears a lot of shoes out.

Now I will try to describe our house, as it is a delicious one. It is at the corner of a very pretty village with thatched cottages, and it is close to the church. Our big gate is almost side by side with the church gate, but when we go into church, we go down a little narrow path between thick shrubberies, and then we come to a narrow little iron gate which leads into the churchyard exactly opposite the door. Our big gate leads up a broad drive to our hall door, which is built in the side of our house; the stables are this side, and there are a coach-house and harness-room and loft, and two stalls for horses. We haven't a carriage or horse, but they're lovely places to play in.

The front of the house looks over a lovely big lawn; there's a summer-house and a lot of trees one end, and two big elms the other end, and at the bottom of it is a straight gravel path, and on the other side is a huge strawberry-bed. The strawberries divide the flower-garden from the kitchen-garden, which slopes down to a field. There are two fields after this one, and then comes the railway line. Our house is rather on a hill, so the fields slant down, which is a good thing when you're running to catch a train. Then there's a bit of garden that runs up the other side of the house, and that is full of flower-beds, and there's a small greenhouse, and father's study window looks out upon it. At the back of the stables is the yard, with the outhouses and the fowls' run; and then there is a wild bit of grass under a small plantation, and a high wall dividing our garden from the road. I am not good at descriptions, but I hope I've said enough about it outside.

Inside, we have the dining-room and drawing-room and father's study. Then there are a baize door and a long passage leading past the kitchens to the yard. Upstairs, we have our schoolroom over the dining-room; then there are father's bedroom, and Aunt Caroline's, and the spare room; and then there are another baize door and a long passage with our bedrooms and the servants'. Aylwin and Denys sleep together in one room, and Lynette and I in another. Puff sleeps with Aunt Caroline. What we like are the broad low stairs, and the long passages. And there's a lovely country smell about the house. I can't describe it. We've always lived in towns before, but if I shut my eyes, I can tell where I am because of the smell. It's something like burnt wood and hot loaves and lavender all mixed up together, and it made me sniff all over the house when I first got here.

The first few weeks after we came were lovely. We helped Aunt Caroline to arrange the furniture, and father went into Lemworth, our nearest town, twelve miles off, and bought some new carpets and a lot of new furniture. We clapped our hands when we saw it, but father said, "Oh, children, how mother would have enjoyed this!" And then he went into his study and shut the door, and we hushed at once, till we forgot again.

You see, we have run rather wild, but it's all so new to us, and we've never had a proper garden before, and we can hardly believe that everything in it belongs to us. We came here the beginning of June, and we haven't finished eating the strawberries yet, and it will be July to-morrow. Yesterday was the first wet day that we've had, so we all got together in the schoolroom and talked. We always find a lot to talk about, and we began about the lessons. Denys and Aylwin are to walk three miles every day to the clergyman of the next parish, who teaches his own boys and a few others. They will have their dinner there, and not come back till tea-time. Lynette and I shall do lessons with Aunt Caroline. I don't think she will be very strict, but I don't know. She and Aunt Mildred are going to take it in turns to come and keep house for father. They live near London with grannie. We like Aunt Mildred because she plays games with us and tells us stories, and she is quite a young grown-up, but her turn won't come till next autumn, and that seems years away.

"I think six miles every day will be awful rot!" said Denys, swinging his legs upon the table, and looking rather cross. "We ought to have bikes, then we should do it easy!"

"We'll never have them," said Aylwin, "as long as we're a poor parson's sons. When I grow up, I shall make a fortune before I marry, and give every one of my sons a bike on their sixth birthday."

"How will you make it?" scoffed Denys. "Not by working, I know!"

"I shall just find," said Aylwin. "Gold, or diamonds, or oil. I don't care what, but that's how you make your money."

"The gold and diamonds don't come spouting out of the earth as you walk by," said Denys.

"Oh, no, but I shall come across them unexpectedly."

"I wish we could keep a little pony-cart," I said. "I saw one driving through the village yesterday; it was such a darling little pony, and it was tearing along, and a little girl was driving it. I don't know who she is, but I mean to know her. She was dressed in a blue cotton frock and a white straw hat, and she looked rather hot and grubby—that's why I liked her. She wasn't a bit stuck up."

"Ponies cost a lot," said Aylwin. "An old ass wouldn't be bad. If we could make him go, he would take us to school in no time."

"Yes," I said, with a yell of delight, "and I should come with you every morning to drive him back again, because we should want to use him in the daytime. I should come every day to fetch and carry you."

Denys threw the book he was reading at my head. I caught it, and returned it with a better aim. Then we had a regular shindy, and every one joined in. And Aunt Caroline put her head in at the door to tell us to stop. But we began to think about the donkey, and then we determined to save up money to buy one ourselves. We don't often have money given us, but on birthdays we do, and we solemnly promised each other that we wouldn't spend a penny on sweets till the donkey was got.

"We'll be able to ride him in turns, even if we can't afford a cart," said Aylwin.

And then Puff began to speak.

"I'll save all I've ever had, and I'll get a wocking-horse, that'll be muchest better than a old donkey."

"Could you go six miles along the road on a rocking-horse, you booby?" said Denys.

Puff began to agitate himself.

"A old donkey doesn't know how to wock, he only goes straight. I likes wocking, and I don't care nuffin about going along stupid old roads, and I shan't give my pennies at all, at all, and I—"

"Shut up, you little duffer, or we'll hang you by the neck over the banisters. Now, how much tin have we altogether? I'll be treasurer; hand out, sharp."

Before Denys had finished speaking, Lynette and I had rushed to our room to get our purses—Lynette had fivepence-half-penny, I had three shillings.

We gave this amount to Denys, who dropped every bit of it into a money-box of his. He then took from his pocket two shillings and a penny, and Aylwin confessed with sorrow that he was without a penny. Then Puff was forced to part with two treasured farthings, which he did with a burst of tears, and when we counted up we found we had five shillings and seven-pence. It seemed a good deal to us, but very little for a donkey.

"We shall have to earn some money," I suggested.

"That isn't a bad tip, and I've thought how I can do it," said Denys.

"So have I," I said hastily, "but I shan't tell you, and I'll do it next week; it will be awfully jolly."

Lynette was busy hopping round the room on one leg. She stopped for a minute. "I wish we could beg," she said.

"There are no policemen to stop us in the country."

"As if our class could beg!"

Denys was very fond of talking about "our class." I asked him once what class we were, and he said we were second. He said the first-class were the lords and ladies, but I reminded him that mother's grandmother was called Lady Louisa, so we ought to belong to the first-class. He said we must be a cross breed. I don't know what that means, and I don't care.

"P'r'aps father will buy us a donkey if we ask him," said Lynette; "he's much richer now. I'll tell him about it."

She flew out of the room. Father is very fond of Lynette; he never scolds her if she goes into his study any time. We waited, wondering.

And then she came back again with a long face. "He says the move has taken so much money that he can hardly pay all the bills that are coming in."

THEN PUFF WAS FORCED TO PART WITH THE

TWO TREASURED FARTHINGS.

"It will be much greater fun buying the donkey ourselves," said Denys.

"I've thought of a ripping plan for earning money," cried Aylwin.

"Now we've three plans," said Denys, "and we'll do them without telling each other, and this day month we'll call a meeting and produce our money. Lynette, you'll have to think of a way to get money."

She nodded her head with a laugh. "Yes, I've got a way, and I shan't tell any one."

So we gave some cheers then, and had a steeple-chase round the room, until Aunt Caroline put her head in and told us to stop.

When Puff was going to bed that night, he asked father if God had any money. Puff is always asking ridiculous questions, and father always answers him quite gravely; he never laughs at him.

"God is very rich, isn't He, father?"

"All things in heaven and earth belong to Him," father answered.

Puff trotted off to bed quite happy, but he put his head inside the door before he went.

"I've got a vewy good plan," he said.

And we all laughed, because we guessed what it was.

CHAPTER II

THE KNIGHT'S MOTTO

WE have two weeks' holidays before we begin lessons, and then we shall only have a few weeks of them, and it will be holidays again—the proper summer holidays, for they begin at the end of July.

I am longing to start my plan for earning money, so I thought I wouldn't wait any longer, and I've begun to-day. I don't think I'll tell about it just yet, but I've got father's leave for a little part of it, and I've told him not to tell the others. Lynette never can keep a secret; she wanted to tell me what she meant to do this morning while she was in bed, but I wouldn't let her do it, and I stopped my ears up with my fingers, so she saw it was no good. I'm perfectly certain we shan't keep it secret long; we never can, for some one is sure to tell, or find out. If it was one secret, it would be different, but five secrets couldn't possibly be kept. And I know I shall just long to tell some one mine, for I think it's rather clever—for me.

To-day is Saturday. Aunt Caroline has a practice for church every Saturday afternoon, and we all go to it. It is a dear old church, and I like to think that it belongs to us. Aunt Caroline plays the harmonium—there is no organ, and we have a funny choir; Denys calls it a scratch pack. There is one old man who used to be the clerk, and say the responses when no one else did. He has the most awful wheezy voice, and he is always a good line behind everybody else. He has to clear his throat so often that it takes up the time. His name is Nathan Porter. Denys said to him last Saturday: "Look here, don't you bother to sing so loud; we'll do it for you. I should think you're jolly well tired of sitting in the choir. Why don't you retire, and sit in the middle of the church, and put a cushion behind your back?" He was quite offended, and tapped his stick on the aisle very solemnly: "Look 'ee here, laddy, I be a fixture in these parts; ye passon folk pass away like the grass that withereth. I hath seed four passons in my time, and they all comes and turns us topsy-turvy first year of office, but not one on them turns me out of me seat, what I hath had these forty year or so. I hath singed in this 'ere 'oly sanctury since I were a lad, and sing I will, till I goes up to the sanctury above, and does my singin' there!" Denys felt awfully small, and said nothing at all after that. Then there's a lame young woman who does dressmaking, and the schoolmistress, and four school-children, and Denys and Aylwin and I make up the rest.

I like the choir practices, but the boys rather grumble sometimes. They had been playing cricket in the lower field early this afternoon. I was fielding for them, as Lynette was busy with her secret, and we all came in dreadfully hot, and had a rush to wash our hands and tidy ourselves by four o'clock. The church seemed very cool and still after the hot field outside, and somehow I always feel good when I'm inside it. There is only one painted window in the church, the rest are clear glass, and you can see the green trees waving outside, and the blue sky, while you are singing. It makes me go into dreams, and sometimes as I look-out, I forget where I am, and then the boys nudge me and whisper, "Wake up, Grizzy; look-out for a whopper of a wasp!" They know how I hate wasps, and I almost scream out loud, and then I find they're only humbugging. It is very difficult to be always good when you're with boys; they sometimes make you laugh, and sometimes make you lose your temper. And I have such a longing to be good when I'm in church, or when it's a beautiful day and everything is quiet and still, and especially when I look up into the sky at sunset, and see all the golden flames and pearly blue streaks and crimson clouds. It sends a little shiver over me, and I just whisper to myself, "O God, make me good, make me good!"

Denys and Aylwin have lovely voices; they ring out through the church like—well, I was going to say like a bell, but they're sweeter than that, they're like finger glasses when you wet your fingers and rub the edge of them! Father says I haven't a bad voice, but it's nothing by the side of the boys'. Mother used to sing beautifully—but I don't talk about her—it makes me cry—and then I hate the boys seeing me. I often wonder why it should be such a shameful thing to cry; I suppose it is because it is babyish. Denys is awfully hard on any of us who cries, even if we hurt ourselves awfully. He says the finest people in the world are the North American Indians, and they would smile all the time they were being scalped. But I can cry at the least thing; the tears simply pour out of me, and I can't keep them back. Even the boys' voices at the choir practice make me feel weepy. I wish I was a North American Indian!

When the practice was over this afternoon, I stayed behind in the church with Aunt Caroline to tidy up the choir-books, and father came in. He looked about him with a pleased smile, then walked over to an old tomb in the chancel, and called me to his side. There was a figure of a knight carved in stone—we think it is such a pity that his nose is broken, as it spoils his face, but father pointed out some words that were written on the shield at his feet. "Grisel, those are the words I should like placed upon my grave as an epitaph—that is, if I lived worthy of them. Read them to me, child." So I read them, though I did not understand them: "'Semper fidelis! Semper paratus!'"

"Always faithful, always ready!" said father. "Not sometimes, Grisel. How few of us can put the 'semper' before our virtues!"

I don't always understand father, but I said nothing, until the sun shone through the coloured glass window, and sent patches of red and blue all over the knight. Then I smiled. "Oh, father, isn't it a lovely little church? And aren't you glad it all belongs to you? It's our very own, isn't it? It's so lovely to think of it."

He shook his head at me.

"It is not my church, Grisel; it is my Master's."

"Yes, I know that," I said soberly.

"Only a steward," said father in a low tone, more as if he were talking to himself than to me. "Moreover, it is required in stewards that a man be found faithful, 'semper fidelis!'"

Aunt Caroline came up to us.

"It is tea-time, Grisel: run along indoors."

I went, feeling rather sorry to leave the cool church. I wish we could have all our meals out-of-doors. Tea in the summer is so hot. I went into the dining-room. The venetian blinds were down; there was a hot steamy smell from the urn which had just been brought in. Aylwin was chasing the flies away from our plates of bread-and-butter, Denys was trying to make Puff walk on his head, and Lynette was nowhere to be seen. I was just going to hunt her up, when she burst into the room. Her hair was flying, her face was red and hot and sticky, her pinafore was sticky too.

She danced round the room, singing at the top of her voice, "I've done it—hurrah! hurrah!" And then she suddenly stood still, and held out a sixpence.

"My first earnings!" she cried. "I've beat you all!"

I approached her cautiously, then said, "I know what you've been doing, I can smell you!"

"You're not to say! Catch, Mr. Treasurer; I'm going to wash!"

She darted out of the room. Puff looked solemnly at me.

"Her 's been making toffee in the kitching!"

The boys began to laugh.

"Easy enough to guess her old secret, but who's given her sixpence for it, I'd like to know?"

"Perhaps father or Aunt Caroline," I said, "but we mustn't try to find out till she tells us. It wouldn't be 'good form.'"

"Good form" is really Denys's word; he's always saying it.

"It isn't 'good form' to be a prig!" he said.

"I know that as well as you!"

"Then don't you be it, Grizzy!"

Aunt Caroline came in, and we stopped; we're so easily in the middle of a fight before we know where we are, but I hate being called Grizzy, and I'm not a prig!

She sat down and poured out tea for us. And then Lynette came in, looking sleek and shiny with the washing she had given herself.

"Dear me, child, how hot you are!" Aunt Caroline said.

And Lynette's face did look like a boiled lobster still.

"I've been working so hard!" she said. "I wouldn't be a cook for a thousand pounds!"

Father came in then; he always sits down and has a cup of tea with us, but he doesn't have his proper meal till eight o'clock. He and Aunt Caroline have that together; it's the only meal we don't have with them.

None of us were very hungry for tea; it was so hot, and there was only bread-and-butter—no cake, and no jam, and no strawberries. Of course we don't have those kind of things every night.

Then the boys went out into the garden, and I had to help Aunt Caroline put out all our best clothes for Sunday, and put buttons on the boys' shirts, and do a lot of mending. She makes even Lynette help on Saturday evening. We only keep two servants, cook and Emma, so they can't do our mending. Emma gives Puff his evening bath, and he leads her rather a dance over it, as his head is washed on Saturday, and he turns head over heels in the water and makes an awful noise and mess.

Lynette is awfully proud over her sixpence. I can't earn any till next Tuesday, but I'm going to have great fun then. And now I must stop writing, for I'm to go to bed. Lynette has just come up to me and said:

"Grisel, do guess how I got that sixpence; I'm dying to tell you."

"It's to be a secret," I said.

"Yes, but you can keep secrets, can't you?"

"I know you sold your toffee to some one," I said, "but I don't know who bought it. Emma did, perhaps; I know she is fond of sweets."

"Emma! As if I would take sixpence from her! A very important person gave it to me, nobody in this house."

That made me curious, but I wouldn't let her see I was.

"Father wouldn't let you sell toffee to strangers," I said.

"This isn't a stranger." Then she whispered into my ear: "Mrs. Ribbon. Don't you tell the boys!"

I gasped. Mrs. Ribbon is a great friend of ours, though we have not known her very long. She keeps the village shop. She is very fat and very good-natured. She has a grown-up son who is great friends with Emma. He has painted outside the shop door a little piece of poetry. We think it is splendid:

"If once you come, you come again,

You never come to us in vain."

And Mrs. Ribbon really has everything that everybody wants in her shop. She told us she had everything when first we came, and we didn't believe her. Aylwin went in and asked her for a Brazil stamp—he collects stamps. She said she would have them in a week, for they were on order. We didn't believe her, but on Tuesday, which is market day at Lemworth, she sent her son Tom to a very good stationer's there, where they keep packets of foreign stamps, and he brought back not only a Brazil one, but some others that Aylwin had been trying to get for a long time. Then Denys went to her, and said he wanted to buy a white mouse. She went straight out to the back-yard, and brought one for him to see. I said that she caught a common mouse and painted it white, but he said No, it was a real one, only she wanted more money than he could give for it. We found out afterwards that Tom keeps quite a happy family in the back-yard—pigeons, and guinea-pigs, and mice, and canaries, and a lovely black bull-dog.

There's such a nice mixed smell in Mrs. Ribbon's shop. We sometimes try to describe it to each other. Denys says it's a kind of soapy, oniony, treacley, hot-cakey, coffee sort of smell. I say it's a matchy, bacony, appley, cheesey sort of smell. And Aylwin says it's a sugary, cabbagy, tallowy, leathery kind of smell. I really think it's all those things put together, with a lot more added to them. She is always sitting there smiling, and we love to watch her selling. First it is some peppermints, then a piece of pickled pork, then six yards of calico, then a saucepan, cups and saucers, a pony's halter, bootlaces, some ink, some patent medicine, some turnips, or biscuits—I can't possibly write them all down, but she always knows where everything is, and never loses her head.

I told her one day that keeping shop must be a most exciting thing to do, as you never knew what you would be asked for! And she said, "Bless your heart, missy, I knows their wants better 'n they do theirsel's!" Which shows she is a most clever woman.

"Did Mrs. Ribbon buy your toffee?" I asked Lynette.

"Yes, I took it over and showed it to her, and asked her if she didn't think it good, and I told her I wanted to earn some money. And she said it was lovely, and if it sold well, she'd buy some more from me next Wednesday."

I felt a little jealous. We have always made toffee since we were quite small, so it's very easy. I taught Lynette how to do it first. Of course it was clever of her to think of it, but it's no trouble for her to take it over to Mrs. Ribbon to sell. And when I think of what I have got to do . . . but I mustn't say, in case the boys see this book.

"I don't know if Aunt Caroline will like you using all the butter and sugar up!" I said a little crossly.

"Oh, cook will make that right; she says she will. I'm to give her one penny out of every sixpence I make, and she'll keep it to get more butter if she wants it!"

"I'm sure she won't let you mess in her kitchen every day," I said.

"I shan't do it every day. Cook will let me do it as often as I like; she said she would."

I knew that was true, for Lynette always gets her way with every one, she coaxes so. I don't know why I felt cross, but I did, and then I was cross with myself for feeling cross, and that made me crosser still. Lynette was so awfully pleased with herself that she couldn't keep still.

"None of you have begun to do anything yet," she said; "I'm at the top of you all."

"Go on to bed," I said; "you fuss and bother so that I can't write a bit!"

So she has run out of the room calling me "crosspatch," and I shall have to go to bed too, and say I'm sorry before we go to sleep, because we always do that in case we don't wake up alive in the morning.

We heard a dreadful story once of a boy who wouldn't forgive his sister before she went to sleep, and she never woke up; she died in her bed of heart disease. I am rather glad it is Sunday to-morrow, because none of us can think of earning any money, so we can't get in front of each other. I never do like people getting in front of me; we all like to be the front one ourselves.

CHAPTER III

MY SECRET

I HAVEN'T written in this book for over a week, so I shall be very busy now doing it. I think I'll tell about Sunday first. We all have a boiled egg on Sunday morning for breakfast; that's the first nice thing that happens, if we don't count our clothes. I'm afraid Lynette and I rather like our best white dresses. We are only just out of our mourning, and it is nice to be in white instead of black. Our hats are white straw with white ribbon; father always likes our things to be very plain. I think Lynette looks rather like an angel on Sunday; if she had wings, she would be exactly like one. And I do think it's very nice to know you're dressed better than on any other day in the week; it makes you feel good.

We had to be rather quick over breakfast, because Aunt Caroline had to go off to Sunday school. She comes back in time to go to church with us. It was another very hot day, and the sun streamed in through the church windows and made us hotter still. It kept coming into my eyes—I was very uncomfortable—and then it settled on a farmer's bald head. He didn't like it at all; he kept flicking his head with his handkerchief as if he were beating off flies. And then he spread his handkerchief over his head, and he looked so funny that I struggled and struggled to keep from laughing, and in the end I exploded, and made such a noise that father stopped reading the lesson and looked at me. I was ready to cry then, I felt it was such a disgrace. And I honestly had tried not to laugh, but it would come in spite of me. I felt miserable till father got up to preach, and then I listened. I always like father's sermons; he never says long words, and he always tells us something new out of the Bible.

He began telling the story of the centurion, and he took for his text the verse: "I say unto one, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh; and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it." Father said this was the picture of a faithful servant. And then he told us that Jesus Christ said those three words to us, only father changed the order of them, He said it was Come, Go, Do.

And he said that was our Christian life. We must "come" first before we could "go," and then we must "do." We must "come" and give ourselves up to Jesus as His soldiers and servants, and get Him to forgive us our sins, and make us His own. And we must "go," and tell others—to our friends first, and then to those who don't know about Jesus. We must "go" straight into the world from our knees; some had to go far away—from England and home. Father talked about missionaries a good deal, and he said there were others who could "do" in their own homes, just doing what Jesus told them all day long. I could understand every word of it, and even the boys listened, because father called it a sermon preached by a soldier, and they like anything about soldiers.

I began to think a lot before I came out of church; the boys asked if I was worrying over my secret, but I told them I wasn't. After dinner we all went out on the lawn, and learnt our collects and bits of the catechism. Aunt Caroline went off to Sunday school again, but father came out and sat in an easy-chair under the elms and talked to us about our collects. We said them to him. Then the boys went off and so did Lynette, but I stayed, for I hoped father would say something about his sermon. He did presently; he put out his hand and laid it on my shoulder. I was sitting upon the grass close to him.

"Did you listen to my sermon, Grisel?"

"Yes, father."

"And which command of those three have you obeyed? Are you going to be one of Christ's faithful servants?"

"I think I have 'come,'" I said shyly.

Father did not say anything.

"But I don't quite understand the 'going,'" I said. "I couldn't go into all the world and preach the Gospel!"

"I heard your aunt ask you if you couldn't help her by teaching the infants' class at Sunday school; I think you could 'go' to that."

"Oh, father!" I said, looking at him with startled eyes. "I'm not old enough. The boys would say I was more of a prig than ever, if I did it; they're always calling me a prig now!"

"The question is whether Christ's commands or the boys have most weight with you."

I hung my head, then faltered out:

"A prig is such 'bad form.'"

Father laughed aloud.

I added hastily: "I do hate a prig so myself, father, and teaching in Sunday school would be very priggy."

"Very well," said father; "I will say no more."

I didn't feel comfortable. Puff came up at this minute and launched himself on father's knees, so I left them, and went up to the schoolroom and got a story-book out of the Sunday bookshelf. I sat down and read till tea-time, for I didn't want to think. I really cannot teach a class. I shouldn't know what to say, and the infants stare so, and I know Denys would laugh at me.

We went to evening church after tea, but I'm afraid I tried not to listen to the sermon.

And when we were singing the evening hymn—

Sweet Saviour, bless us ere we go,

Thy Word into our minds instil,

And make our lukewarm hearts to glow

With lowly love and fervent will—

I felt the tears come into my eyes, because I knew I had a lukewarm heart.

I was rather glad when Monday came, because I was very busy making preparations for Tuesday. Aylwin asked father at breakfast if he could go into the hayfields for the whole day with Mr. Cummins—he's the farmer who has father's glebe farm. And father said he might, if Mr. Cummins liked to have him.

I envied Aylwin, because I simply adore hayfields. "You're going to have a nice lazy day," I said to him, "when you ought to be carrying out your plan!"

"Shut up, old Grizzly!" he said. And then he ran off laughing.

Denys looked after him for a minute as if he would like to have gone too.

"I'm going to be ferociously busy," he said. "My plan is ripe for carrying out to-day."

"Mine will be ripe to-morrow," I said.

And then I went out into the garden to talk to old Baldwin. He is our gardener. We have never had a gardener in our lives before, but then we have had no garden. He's a very nice old man, but he won't take orders from anybody, not even father.

"The garden be my job," he said to him one day, "and sermons be your'n, and 'tis no manner of use of mixin' 'em up together. Might as well mix onion seed and lavender. You be trained to preach, I be trained to garding, and we both knows our own bizness best."

He is always ready to talk to us, and I'm afraid I've told him a part of my plan. He and father have both heard a bit of it, but then they had to, or I couldn't have done it.

I was busy till dinner-time, and then Aunt Caroline said to me:

"Grisel, I want you to take some soup to an old woman who lives half a mile out of the village. You can take Puff with you; a walk will do him good."

"Oh, Aunt Caroline!" I said. "Need I go this afternoon? I wanted to do something in the garden so much."

"I notice that whenever I ask you to do anything, Grisel, you always want to do something else. It isn't a great hardship to go half a mile with some soup to a sick woman. I can't go myself, for I am returning a call with your father."

I made a wry face, and then I thought this might be one of the "go's" father talked about. Anyway, it was better than teaching a Sunday class, so I tried to look pleasant, and got Puff ready and started with him. Lynette came out to the gate with us, and took advantage of opening it to have a good swing on it.

"Hurrah!" she cried. "I'm going to make some more toffee. I shall beat you all hollow, you are such slow-coaches!"

She was so excited that she swung herself a little too violently, and the next minute she was flying off the gate upon the ground.

"Pride will have a fall!" I called after her, as she picked herself up and rubbed her grazed elbows, and then I hurried on with Puff.

He was, of course, full of talk, as he always is.

"I shall wide the donkey nex' week," he said, "and I shall have first turn 'cause it's me that gotted it!"

"When is it coming, then?" I asked him.

He looked thoughtful for a minute, then said:

"I said it must be a vewy clean one, newly washed, not like the donkeys when we went to the seaside, and it must have blue eyes, and teaf that doesn't bite. I expect it about four days after to-morrer."

I laughed.

He looked so earnest as he trotted along, and then he panted out:

"It'll be the bestest donkey in the world, 'cause I've asked the richest Person in the world to get it, and if He gived a million pounds for it, He wouldn't mind a bit, 'cause He is so rich."

"I don't think you should speak of God like that Puff—it isn't reverent."

"I didn't say who it was, you horrid fing; you've guessed my secret, and it's a shame."

Puff looked ready to cry, and came to a standstill in the middle of the road. I took hold of his hand and hurried him on.

"Never mind! I won't tell any one, I promise you."

And then I began to tell him a story to take his mind off.

It was a long hot walk to Mrs. Tapson's. I'm sure it was more like a mile than half a mile, but we got there at last. It was a dear little cottage in a garden by itself off the road. The door was partly open, so I went in, and a man who was making up the fire turned round when he saw me.

"Soup for mother?" he said, smiling, when I told him why I came. "I be right down grateful for it, that I be. She be upstairs in bed with cruel rheumatics, and I be tending on her like a baby. To-morrer be my day to Lemworth, and I leaves the village sharp at eight and don't come back till seven at night, and I were just trying to cook a bit o' bacon pie to last her, but the soup be grand."

He had taken the jug from me, and was looking in it.

"There be plenty o' this for a drop to-day as well as to-morrer," he said. "Well, I thank 'ee kindly, missy. Go on up and see mother, will 'ee? She dearly likes a bit o' company."

So I climbed the little narrow stair, and Puff came thumping after me. I am rather afraid of sick persons generally, but I liked this old woman. She had a clean frilled night-cap, and a wonderful patchwork quilt, and her face was quite bright when she saw us. She said she had heard about us, and was I the little lady with the lovely hair? I laughed as I shook back my red mane, and told her that was Lynette. And then Puff began to talk to her, and of course he told her about the donkey—he was full of it.

"Puff doesn't quite understand about prayer," I said, explaining. "He thinks he is bound to get everything he asks God for. He asks to have his toys mended, and I generally have to be the mender, because he goes on expecting miracles so."

"Ah, dearie," said Mrs. Tapson, "the Lord does love to hear the baby chatter, I'll be bound, same as I used to listen to my Bob's, though well I knew I couldn't and wouldn't give him half he asked for. But pray away, sonny, pray away; 'tis the habit of prayer will make you a strong soul, if so be you sticks to it, and you be an example to us older folk, for sure you be."

Puff didn't understand her. He grew restless and stumped downstairs, and I got up to go, and then I found out that Bob Tapson, her son, was the carrier. And then I told her my secret; I felt I simply must tell somebody, and I told it all, every bit of it. She was quite interested, and told me her son would look-out for me and keep a seat for me in the cart.

There! I am letting the cat out of the bag, so I think I had better tell my whole plan. Father said I could have any vegetables and flowers that Baldwin could spare me, because we have such a lot of them. And I had been busy picking flowers and arranging them in nosegays, and tying up lettuces that were weeded out, and onions, and cabbages, and a lot of odd things, and I had found an old hamper in the stable, and Baldwin helped me to pack it, and my idea was to go to Lemworth Market in the carrier's cart and sell my vegetables and flowers myself, like lots of our village women and children do. Of course you can go to Lemworth by train, but it is a very long way round, and you have to change trains, and the carrier is cheaper. When I heard that I should have to be off at eight o'clock and not come back till seven at night I wondered how I should do it, as I should be missed, and perhaps Aunt Caroline might make a fuss and try to prevent me if she knew.

I walked home with Puff, feeling rather worried. I should have to go without my breakfast, that was certain, because we don't have breakfast till eight o'clock. I could easily get off so early, because no one would see me—but would they think something had happened to me? And then I thought I would leave a note for father and explain, and ask him not to tell. So I cheered up, and directly we got in I rushed off to the garden and went on packing my hamper. When we came to tea, Aunt Caroline told us that father had been sent for to take a funeral in the next parish, for the clergyman was away.

"And he is going to sleep the night there," she said. "He won't be back till to-morrow afternoon, for there is a wedding in the morning he must take as well."

So my note to him was no good. I felt rather puzzled, and then I thought of what I could say to Aunt Caroline. So I wrote this note before I went to bed:

"DEAR AUNT CAROLINE,—If I am missing all day, this is to tell you that I am not drowned, but quite well. And I shall come back at seven o'clock, and it is because I am carrying out my plan, which is a secret.

"Your loving niece,

"GRISEL.

"P.S.—It isn't mischief, but good business."

Aunt Caroline said before we went to bed that she had hardly seen any of us all day, and that she hoped we hadn't been getting into mischief. Aylwin looked as scarlet as a poppy, and said he was dead tired, and Denys looked rather crestfallen.

"I've worked hard enough to earn ten shillings," he said, "and I mean to make that before very long, I can tell you."

"I don't like all this talk about money, children," said Aunt Caroline. "You seem to think of nothing else. It is so mercenary and unchildish."

"But it's to get a donkey," we all shouted.

Aunt Caroline didn't say any more.

CHAPTER IV

MARKET DAY

I WOKE up at four o'clock the next morning.

I had been dreaming all night that I was trying to catch trains, and just missing them, and trying to hide from Aunt Caroline. I was so glad when it got light at last and I could get up. I was very excited, for it was a regular adventure, and we do love adventures. I had thought out everything. I did not want people to know who I was, so I put on a very old cotton frock and my pinafore over that—the one I wear in the garden—and then I plaited my hair in a tight pig-tail and stuffed it into a cotton sun-bonnet, and drew that well over my face. Aunt Caroline bought these cotton sunbonnets at Mrs. Ribbon's—she said they were just the thing for Lynette and me to wear in the garden, but we never go out in the village with them, because we don't like to look like the village children.

I didn't wear gloves, and I had to dress very quietly so as not to wake Lynette, but I was ready at last, and then I put my note on the dressing-table for Lynette to see and take to Aunt Caroline. I stole on tiptoe down the stairs, for it was very early, and I did not want the servants to see me, and then I opened the hall door as gently as I could and let myself out of the house. Baldwin had carried the hamper to the stable the night before, and the only difficulty was in getting it down to the gate. It was very heavy, but I did it at last. I had to drag it along the drive most of the way, and I kept looking up at the house to see if any one was peeping at me. I left it outside the gate, for the carrier's cart always passed along the road at the corner, and then I walked as quickly as I could to Mrs. Tapson's cottage. Bob Tapson had told me if I came there early, I could get a comfortable seat by him, before the village people got in. I found him harnessing his horse. He looked quite surprised when he saw me, but he didn't recognise me in my sun-bonnet.

"I don't want the village people to know what I am doing," I said. "You won't tell them, will you? And I've left my hamper just outside our gate. I thought you would fetch it, and lift it in by me."

"That I will, missy," he said heartily. "You be a early bird. Have you had some breakfast?"

I took out of my pocket two thick slices of bread-and-butter which I had coaxed cook to give me the night before. She thought I was extra hungry and wanted something to eat before I went to bed. He smiled and went indoors, and then brought me out a lovely cup of tea. He had just been having some himself. Then he went up to say good-bye to his old mother, and asked me if I would like to see her. So I went up, and she took hold of my hand and smiled at me.

"You be a brave little lass to go," she said, "and I tell 'ee who will help 'ee there. You ask for Mary Dutton; she be my own sister what lives two mile out of Lemworth, and she'll let 'ee stand by her stall and see to 'ee. Bob will take your goods right in to her."

"I've never been to a country market before," I confessed to her; "I shall be so glad if she will help me."

And then I went down and climbed up into the big covered waggon which was standing in the yard. I could not help feeling glad that Aunt Caroline had told me to take the soup to Mrs. Tapson, for she was making it all so easy for me, and it seemed so strange that her son should be the carrier. Bob was very good; he put a footstool in the corner of the waggon just behind him, and I was quite comfortable. Then we started; it was delicious to be really off, but I thought we were never going to get through the village. Only three women got in, but nearly every one sent parcels or messages. Bob brought my hamper in, and then one of the women looked at me.

"Whose be that little lass?" she asked.

I didn't turn my head, and Bob said rather crossly, "She have come wi' me."

And she said no more, for she was so busy talking to the other women that she quite forgot me.

I sat still and loved my ride, only we went so slowly that it seemed like years and years, and my legs got rather cramped. I was tired too, for I had been awake so early, and I actually found myself nodding before we came to Lemworth. It seemed quite a big town, and I was almost frightened when we got to the market; there were such a lot of people, and everybody pushed so.

I let them all get out first. We were quite full up, because so many people had got in on the way. And then Bob shouldered my hamper and told me to follow him. It was a lovely market; there were rows of chickens, and ducks, and fruit, and flowers, and butter, and eggs, and everybody was laughing and talking at the top of their voices. There were such funny old country-women and men; children were crowding round the sweet-stalls, and farther down there was the little market. It was like the pictures I have seen of fairs, only there were no "Punch and Judys" or peep-shows.

Bob took me right along to the corner stall, where a dear old woman sat. She was very like Mrs. Tapson, only she had a fatter face. He told her who I was, and she laughed and begged me to tell her all about it. So I did, and then she unpacked my hamper, and made room for me to put my things on the corner of her stall. I began to enjoy myself very much, and I longed that the boys could see me. And my bunches of flowers were prettier than any I saw, because I had arranged them very carefully.

But for a long time no one bought anything, and I began to feel very nervous. I never shall forget the first person who took hold of my flowers and asked me how much they were a bunch. I said twopence—Mrs. Dutton had told me to ask that—and she took six bunches from me. I could have got up and danced round the market, I was so delighted. And soon after that two ladies came along with baskets. They stopped and said "Good-morning" to Mrs. Dutton and asked her if she had any lettuces. She said she hadn't, but told them I had some nice ones. They looked at mine and bought four, and they bought a bunch of parsley from me, and three beetroots, and they gave me ninepence, and one of them turned to the other and said:

"Is she not a little picture in her neat dress? If only the poor would always dress their children as sensibly as her mother dresses her, we should not have such extravagance amongst the lower classes. She is quite an example to her class!"

And I nearly laughed aloud when I heard them. Later on I sold four cabbages, and three bunches of sweet peas, and some carrots. By the end of the afternoon I had sold all I brought except two cabbages and a vegetable marrow, and Mrs. Dutton bought those from me—she keeps a little, greengrocer's shop, and said they would come in handy. I forgot to say that at one o'clock I went with Mrs. Dutton into a large room joining the market where they sold cups of tea and buns and meat pies. I felt very hungry, but I didn't want to spend much of my money which I had earned, so I got a penny cup of tea and a penny bun, and Mrs. Dutton gave me one of her big apples.

Bob Tapson came along to tell me that his cart would start at four, and long before that the women were packing their baskets up and leaving. I counted up my money and found I had actually four shillings and a penny! I was so proud and pleased. And Mrs. Dutton seemed pleased too. I felt I should like to sit in the market and sell every day. Everybody seemed so good-natured and kind to each other. And the jokes they made when they gave each other change, and the stories they told of their own and their neighbours' complaints, would have made the boys roar. They generally began each sentence with "Well, there, my dear," and "You don't say so!"

I was quite sorry to leave the market, but I climbed up into the cart and got my own seat again. It seemed quite an endless way coming back. There was an old man who smelt very strongly of beer and who kept laughing at nothing at all, and some girls who were screaming with silly jokes, and trying to make Bob Tapson look at them. I felt dreadfully tired, and then I got the fidgets and couldn't get comfortable, and then at last I went fast asleep and never woke up till Bob put me down at the Rectory gate.

"Well, missy, have you had a good time?"

"Yes," I said, trying to wake up; "how much is it I have to pay you?"

"Oh, nothing at all—you didn't take no room. And mind you come and tell mother all about your day. She'll be proper interested to hear about it."

I shook hands with him and thanked him very much, and then I carried my empty hamper back to the stable, and opened the hall door and went quietly in. I was rather afraid of Aunt Caroline.

Lynette came running downstairs.

"Oh, you wicked girl! You'll catch it; father has come home, and he is awfully angry with you; and what have you been doing? We've been guessing all day—and do you know, I've found out what Denys is doing. Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm tired," I said; "can I have some tea? Where is Aunt Caroline?"

"They're all in the garden, watering the flowers. Grisel dear, darling, dearest, do tell me what you've been doing."

But I wouldn't tell her then. I was feeling rather uncomfortable, so I thought I'd better go to father straight and tell him. I ran out into the garden. Aunt Caroline came towards me at once.

"Grisel, this is very naughty of you. Where have you been? And what have you been doing all day? You ought to know better than to absent yourself without leave in such a manner."

"I want to tell father; it's a secret," I said.

Aunt Caroline was always very good when we said we wanted to go to father. She called father, who was filling the water-can from the garden tap, and then she walked away and left us. Denys says it's very "good form" when she does that.

Father put on his spectacles and looked at me.

"You have made your aunt very anxious to-day, Grisel; I am not pleased with you."

"Please listen, father. It's about the vegetables and flowers you said I could have. I've been selling them to help to buy our donkey."

And then I told him as fast as I could just what I had been doing. And once he laughed, and then I knew I shouldn't get a big scolding. But I got a little one, and he said I must not think of doing such a thing again, which made me miserable.

"No, Grisel. I don't like my little daughter to be alone amongst a lot of rough people, however kind-hearted they may be. It is not suitable. Your mother would not have allowed it, I am sure. And you ought to have asked permission first. I am afraid you must have known you would not get it. Speak up and tell the truth."

My cheeks got scarlet.

"I did think—at least, I was afraid you might not let me," I said, "but I wasn't disobedient, for I didn't know it for certain!"

"That is where you did wrong, and you know it. Don't do such a thing again. And now go in and have something to eat."

"And I may keep the money?" I asked.

"Yes; I have no objection this time, but you must find another way of disposing of the vegetables than of selling them yourself in the market."

So I went into the dining-room, and Aunt Caroline had been getting my tea ready. She didn't say much, but before I had finished eating, the boys and Lynette burst in.

"Now, you sinner, own up! What have you been doing with yourself?"

"'Good business' indeed! We saw your letter; it was an awfully cheeky one!"

"And Aunt Caroline was in a jolly wax, I can tell you."

I quietly produced my purse, and poured out my silver and copper upon the table.

"There!" I said. "Can any of you beat that?"

"Four shillings!" exclaimed Denys, grabbing it like any old miser. "Ah, well, it isn't bad for a girl! Tell us how you did it."

"That's my secret!" I said.

It was my triumphant moment. But I knew I could not keep it much longer. I did so want to tell them all about it.

"Well!" said Lynette. "I know what Denys has been doing these last two days. Ask him how much he has got, Grisel!"

Denys grinned and held out his hand.

"I've had an adventure to-day," he said. It was a half-crown he held out.

I got up from my tea and danced round the table. "We shall soon be rolling and rolling in money," I cried.

"Wallowing!" put in Aylwin. "But I haven't begun to roll yet. You'll have to wait till the end of this week for my little million!"

Then we all pursued each other round the table, and Denys sang—

When the money comes rolling in, boys,

And our silver turns to gold,

We'll then buy a noble steed, boys,

And ride like the knights of old.

Denys can always spout poetry whenever he likes. We were so delighted that we sang it at the top of our voices and danced faster and faster, till we got into a regular war-dance, and then at last tumbled down on the top of each other in a regular heap of arms and legs. And then we got up, rather out of breath, and I shouted:

"'Pax!' If you tell your adventure, Denys, I'll tell mine."

"Ladies first!" he said, with a grin.

So I began in a great hurry, for I thought it would astonish them, and it did.

At first Denys and Aylwin wished they had done it themselves—I know they did, though they wouldn't say so. And then Denys put on his soberest face and said:

"I don't think you and Lynette are playing the game fair. Anybody can make money out of father's things! Why, I could go into his study and take some of his books and sell them!"

"Oh!" I gasped. "That would be sac—sacrilege!"

"The flowers and vegetables aren't yours to sell," said Denys, "nor more is Lynette's butter and sugar she uses for her toffee."

"Oh, but," we both cried, "father has given leave."

"And I pay for mine," said Lynette; "and it's a lot harder work in the stuffy hot kitchen than sitting in a market and selling, and not half the fun!"

"Father gave me leave," I repeated, "so it's quite, quite fair."

"Well, but we've all a right to sell the flowers and stuff," said Aylwin.

"No," I said firmly, "only those who thought of doing it. It was my plan."

"Well, if you thought of doing it yesterday, I shall think of doing it to-morrow; why shouldn't I? And I've been working much harder than any of you, and I'm going on all this week."

"But I can't go on," I said dolefully; "I'm not to do it again, father says."

"Like to hear my adventure?" asked Denys.

"He's dying to tell about himself," said Lynette mischievously.

We were all attention, but Denys would not begin at once. He hummed and hawed, and then, just as he was settling down to tell us, in came Aunt Caroline and packed us off to bed.

"It will keep till to-morrow," said Denys.

And I was almost glad, for I was so sleepy and tired that I fell asleep directly my head touched the pillow.

CHAPTER V

LYNETTE'S SCRAPE

DENYS told us his adventure the next day. I'll write it down as he said it, because it will be easier. He had been up and down the river near us trying to fish.

"I had no luck the first day at all," he confessed, "so yesterday I went higher up; it's a long way from here, and I got into a jolly shady part, where I saw the fish simply leaping to get to me! And then they began to bite, and I had a lovely time. Some of them were rather small, but they were good trout, and I soon had my basket full. The next thing was to sell them, so I thought I'd make a visit to a few farmers about here on my way home and see if they would buy any. And then I saw a rather big house standing back in a lot of trees, so 'nothing venture, nothing have,' I said to myself, and up I went to it as fast as my legs could carry me. Just before I got to the house, I saw an old chap sitting in a garden-chair and smoking a big pipe. So I took off my hat to him, and he stopped me and asked me who I was.

"'I'm a kind of fish-hawker,' I said. 'I'm selling fish, and I thought your cook might like to buy.'

"He stared at me as if I were a chimpanzee.

"'Have the goodness to open your basket,' he said.

"I showed him my basket with pride. He glared at me.

"'Where did you get these fish—in what part of the river?'

"I pointed it out to him.

"'I've only had luck to-day,' I said; 'I suppose I didn't go to the right spot first. I'll let you have the lot for two shillings, sir. Beautiful and fresh, just caught.'

"He gave a laugh.

"'Who turned you into a fish-seller?' he asked.

"'I turned myself,' I said. 'I'm trying to earn an honest penny to buy a donkey.' And then I told him our plan.

"He seemed awfully tickled, but took out half a crown, and gave it to me.

"'Take the fish up to the house,' he said; 'and bring me a basket again to-morrow.'

"Well, I went on up to the house, and gave my fish in, but there was a groom standing by who asked me where I had got it. I told him.

"'It's lucky Morris didn't nab you,' he said. 'That's the mester's private bit of water, and he prosecutes like mad if any one dares to trespass.'

"I didn't say anything, but just walked off, and then I began to feel rather beastly. I knew now why the old chap had grinned so. But I wasn't going to be made a fool of, so I marched up to him and told him I'd like him to take his half-crown back.

"'I've found out it's your own fish, sir,' I said. 'I'm sorry I trespassed. I won't do it again.'

"'Here!' he said. 'You keep what you've earned. We'll consider you're fishing there with a permit from me. It isn't often I get a chance of buying my own fish! I used to be a keen fisherman once, but my gout has stopped all that.'

"'Well,' I said, 'if you think it square and fair, I'd like to keep the money, for I did have a lot of trouble with those fish. But I won't fish there again; I'd rather not, for your keeper will be nabbing me. I'm much obliged to you, sir. Good afternoon.'

"So I took off my hat and came off, and he laughed as if it were a good joke—but I've got the half-crown."

"Well," I said slowly, "it seems you aren't much better than us after all, for you are catching fish that aren't yours."

"But I'm not going to do it again," said Denys hastily. "I shan't go near the old chap's place. I shall try miles away from him. I know father has fishing rights a part of the way."

"Who is the old gentleman?" I asked.

"He is the Squire of Benton—General Walton his name is; he didn't ask my name, which showed he was a gentleman."

"You said he asked you who you were, the first thing," said Aylwin.

"Yes—he meant my occupation," said Denys grandly. "Gentlemen don't ask each other their names; it isn't good form."

"Well now, as all the plans are known, I'll tell you mine," said Aylwin. "I'm a farm labourer, and I'm doing more work than all of you put together!"

We roared with laughter.

"All right!" said Aylwin, getting very red in the face. "You go and ask old Cummins! He was telling father on Sunday what a busy week he was going to have with his hay, and how he was one man short, and how difficult it was to get labourers. I went to him early Monday morning, and told him I'd work as well as any labourer if he'd give me pay, and he finally said he'd give me lad's pay, because I told him what I wanted money for. I didn't want him to think I was so hard up as to take his labour if I hadn't a purpose. And I've been working hard ever since, and I shall get my pay Friday night, when he hopes to get all the hay in."

We rather admired Aylwin's plan, but we began to wonder how long it would be before we got enough money. I suddenly thought of another plan, and I rushed straight off to Mrs. Tapson's to ask about it. This was to send a hamper in by Bob every Tuesday and let Mrs. Dutton sell it for me. Mrs. Tapson thought it a splendid idea, so I came home and asked father if I could do it, and he said Yes, as long as Baldwin only gave me what could be spared.

And then we all felt a little flat, because now our secrets were known there was no mystery, and we love mysteries. Next week we begin lessons. I wasn't a bit surprised when Lynette came rushing to me the next afternoon, saying:

"Oh, Grisel, I'm in the awfullest scrape; do help me!"

Lynette always comes to me when she has been doing anything outrageous, and she always gets into scrapes when she has nothing to do. She told me she had been swinging on the gate, when she saw passing down the road the little girl I had seen before in the pony-cart. She was quite by herself, and she went into Mrs. Ribbon's shop and left her pony outside, without any one to hold it. Lynette followed her out of curiosity, and then without thinking—Lynette never thinks when she wants to do a thing—she jumped into the pony-trap, and drove it down the village.

"It was only for fun, Grisel," she said. "I meant to come back in two minutes, and she wouldn't have known. But I gave the pony a little flick with the whip, and he tore like the wind, and I couldn't stop him. When I knew I couldn't stop him—" here Lynette's eyes twinkled with mischief—"I sat back and prepared to enjoy myself. We tore along like furies, and then we came to Cross Glen village, and he turned up through some big open gates. Then I began to get frightened, for I know our squire lives there; father told me so. Such a big house, Grisel! And directly we got up to it the pony stopped short, and a butler came down the steps, looking quite scared when he saw me.

"'Where is Miss Clarice?' he asked.

"I got out of the trap as quick as I could.

"'She's in our shop,' I said, 'and the pony ran away with me.'

"Then I felt awfully frightened, Grisel, and I ran away down the avenue, and hid amongst some shrubs at the bottom, for fear any one would see me. At last I ventured out, and climbed over the hedge, and came home by the fields. I'm so hot and tired."

"But how awful of you, Lynette! Where's the little girl?"

"I don't know. I suppose she walked home. Do go across to Mrs. Ribbon's and find out, Grisel. I hope they don't know it was me!"

"Go yourself!" I said crossly.

Then Lynette put her arms round my neck.

"Darling Grisel, I do love you so! You will just go, won't you? Because nobody will know you have anything to do with it."

So of course I had to go, and Mrs. Ribbon was in an agitated state of mind as she told me what had happened.

"'Tisn't often one of the little ladies from the Hall comes to my humble shop," she said: "And then! You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard the pony galloping away! I was just servin' her with a ounce of Miss Lynette's toffee, and I were makin' her laugh when I telled her who made it, when we heard a noise, and her and I runs to the door, and there we seed Miss Lynette, her hair a-flying like a golden cloud in the air, a-tearin' round the road just for all the world like one o' these motor machines.

"'Stop her!' cried Miss Clarice. 'She's run away with my pony!'

"But one might as well stop a flyin' swaller! Then I begged the little missy to sit down in my shop and wait. But she were real angry, and she stamped her foot, and said, 'My mother will have that toffee girl punished.'

"And then she marches out and down the road. And if Lady Laura do hear of it, she will come up and ask me why I didn't let someun' hold the pony, and like enough she'll make it hot for me. I wouldn't do nothin' to offend her ladyship for all the world, for this be her house, and I be her tenant."

"Well, I'm very sorry, Mrs. Ribbon, but you know what Lynette is. The toffee has kept her quiet for a little, but she's always doing something she oughtn't. Do you think the little girl has got home safely?"

"How am I to tell? I've never seed or heard nothing since."

I came home thoughtfully. I hate being a tell-tale. That's one of the things which are bad form—that, and bragging, and lying, and being a prig. But I knew that father would find it out, and there's nothing he hates more than finding out things. He likes us to tell our scrapes at once. So I told Lynette to go and tell him, but she wouldn't, so I said I should, and then of course she called me names, and father came into the room when we were in the middle of a regular quarrel about it.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"Lynette won't tell you something!" I said, and then I ran out of the room.

Of course she did when I had gone, and father took her into his study and talked to her for ever so long, and she came out crying. She told me after that father made her write a little note of apology, and he wrote himself to Lady Laura and told her how it happened. He told Lynette he was continually being made ashamed of his children, and that made Lynette cry awfully; it always does. But he kissed her before he sent her away; father is very fond of Lynette—he says she reminds him of mother.

The very next afternoon, which was Friday, Lynette and I were having one of our washes in the bathroom. It is great fun. We fill the bath half full of water, then we wash everything we can get hold of Puff was there helping us. We wash all our combs and brushes first, and all Lynette's dolls' clothes, and odd pocket-handkerchiefs, and our lace tuckers, and anything about the house that looks dirty. Puff was bringing us all kinds of things, and he had just plunged an old fur monkey of his in the bath and we were laughing at his draggled look, when Emma came hurrying in.

"Miss Grisel, you and Miss Lynette are to go down to the drawing-room at once; there's company, and your aunt says you're to come now!"

"Oh, bother!" I said. "Who is it, Emma?"

Lynette and I were in our petticoats; we had taken off our dresses because we splash so.

"It's the Lady Laura Londesburg and her little girl."

Lynette and I looked at each other with frightened faces.

"I won't go down," said Lynette—"I won't."

But Emma was dragging us into our bedroom and helping us to get into our tidy frocks.

"We must, Lynette. Oh dear, I wish you hadn't done it. I should like to be friends with that little girl!"

"I shouldn't, and I shan't!"

Lynette spoke crossly, and she wriggled away from Emma, who was trying to brush her hair with one of our brushes we had just washed.

"Go away, Emma. I shall keep them waiting hours and hours for me. I shan't be ready for 'years!'"

Emma went off in a huff.

And then I coaxed Lynette to be good, and in a minute or two she brightened up—she is never cross more than five minutes—and she was quite ready to come downstairs.

"I shall pretend I don't know anything about it," she said; "father is out, so he won't tell!"

So we came into the drawing-room, and I was more frightened than Lynette was. There sat the little girl on a chair, looking very pretty in a white silk frock and hat, and Lady Laura was talking very fast to Aunt Caroline. Everybody in the village is afraid of Lady Laura—why, I don't know; she didn't look stern, and when she saw us she laughed out loud.

"Which of you wrote me that pretty little note? I have come to forgive you, and ask you to tea with my little girls to-morrow. Will you come?"

Lynette didn't look a bit ashamed of herself.

"It's me you have to forgive, please," she said; "I didn't mean to do it."

Then Lady Laura shook hands with us, and we shook hands with Clarice. She frowned rather at Lynette, but smiled at me.

"Have you got a nursery?" she asked.

"No, but a schoolroom. Will you come and see it?"

She followed us at once; Lady Laura said she might. We walked upstairs without speaking, but at the top of the stairs Lynette said, "Would you like to see our bath?"

She stared first, and then said "Yes," and we took her along.

We forgot we had left Puff there by himself, and when we went in we found he had got our old cat and her two kittens in the water, and was trying to wash them all. The kittens were nearly drowning. We were so excited in getting them out, that we forgot to be shy, and Clarice began to talk as fast as we did. She told us that she was a twin, and her twin sister was called Beatrice, but that she had sprained her foot, and couldn't walk, and the doctor said she must lie down for a long time.

Puff looked at her for a minute, then he said:

"Would you like to wash somefing? My pinbefore is vewy dirty!"

He was tugging at it as he spoke, and I scolded him. Lynette was drying the poor cat and kittens, and when they looked more comfortable, we carried them downstairs to the kitchen to dry. Then we let the dirty water go away in the bath, and turned on some more, and Clarice got awfully excited, and we gave her a dirty old woollen sheep of Puff's to wash.

We told her how we had tried to wash a rag doll once—it was Lynette who did it—and she came rushing downstairs, saying, "She's bleeding fast, come and look!"

And Aunt Caroline was awfully frightened, for Lynette's hands were all red, and it was trickling red all down her pinafore. Aunt Caroline screamed, and rushed upstairs, and there she saw the bath water quite red, and it all came out of the red frock the doll had on. Of course she had thought it was I who was bleeding.

Clarice loved that story. Presently we were sent for, and then we found that Clarice's frock was simply soaking, and so was her hat. She was what I call a messy washer. We tried to dry her.

But when we got downstairs Aunt Caroline was dreadfully cross, and Lady Laura looked a little cross too. Clarice had to have Lynette's best white frock—it just fitted her, and Aunt Caroline said to Lady Laura:

"I assure you I never know from moment to moment what will happen. I can't tell you how distressed I am."

But Clarice's face was beaming.

"I enjoyed myself so awfully much, mummy. I never have such a nice time at home!"

And then Lady Laura smiled.

"I expect you have your hands full, Miss Marjoribanks, but I must have no washing when they come to tea with my little girls."

And then they drove away in a grand carriage and pair, and Lynette and I had dry bread for our tea because we let Clarice splash herself.

I think that kind of thing is very unfair. We often get unfair punishments from Aunt Caroline, but never from father. Aunt Caroline thinks we ought to be more grown-up than we are. And we privately think to ourselves that grown-ups are the dullest people in the world. And they have the dullest time in the world, so we don't mean to be like them before we can help it.

CHAPTER VI

OUR VISIT TO THE HALL

LYNETTE and I were very excited about going out to tea. We wanted to dress ourselves long before Aunt Caroline would let us do so. Emma was going to walk with us, and she talked a good deal about the squire's big house. I wish they all came to our church, but they don't; they attend another church nearer to them. I think the boys were rather jealous of us, but I reminded them that there were no boys, and Denys said a girls' tea-party was poor fun. Lynette was in wild spirits; I told her if she did anything to disgrace us, I would run off home and leave her. Of course she called me a prig, but I didn't care, for when Lynette gets excited, she doesn't mind what she does.

She sobered down when we got up to the big front door. I think she was rather frightened. I was, I know, when the footman took us up a very broad staircase lined with pictures and books, and along huge passages that seemed as if they would never end. At last he threw open a door, and announced:

"The young ladies from the Rectory."

And then we found ourselves in a lovely big nursery, and Clarice came up and shook hands with us. She took us over to the window where Beatrice was lying on a sofa. She was just like Clarice, only her cheeks were paler and her face thinner. There was rather a nice governess in the room—Miss Tudor was her name, and Lynette actually asked her if she was any relation to the Tudor kings! She didn't mean it for cheek, she really thought she might be. She didn't seem offended, for she laughed and said she was afraid she wasn't.

And then Clarice began showing us her big dolls' house and all her toys. Lynette sat down on the floor at once by the dolls' house, and I sat by the sofa and talked to Beatrice.

"Clarice told me about your washing," she said; "I wish I'd been there. Tell me more."

So I told her about our donkey, and how we were trying to get money, and she was frightfully interested.

And then Clarice came running up to us.

"Oh, Bee, we're having such fun with our dolls' house; Lynette has been telling me such lovely things to do. We're making burglars climb down the chimney and hide under the beds, and—" here she lowered her voice to a whisper—"when Miss Tudor goes out of the room, we're going to make a fire happen, and then we're going to be firemen, and get the garden syringe, and syringe it with water."

Beatrice's eyes shone, but I had to spoil that game. I told them how we had done that to our old dolls' house once. The boys did it. They put a lighted match under one of the dolls' beds. Of course it was awfully exciting, but the whole place caught on fire, and all our dolls were burnt. And though it was great fun putting it out with water, mother came in and made us promise we would never, never attempt such a thing again. And I said, "If we make a mess with water again, we shall never be allowed to come here."

Lynette looked at me very crossly.

"You're so stupid, Grizzy, you never like any fun!"

I think it's very hard to be thought stupid when you're trying to be good, but I didn't say anything more, and then Lynette thought of something else, and the next thing they were doing was turning the dolls' house into a castle besieged with soldiers, and she and Clarice were soon shrieking at the top of their voices as the lady dolls were racing about trying to hide from the soldiers, and some of them were being caught and killed.

Beatrice told me how tired she was of lying on a sofa, and how she longed to get up and run round the room. And then she showed me some of her books, and we played a funny game together—something like parlour croquet—and then came tea. We were all the greatest of friends by tea-time, and Clarice told us there were no other little girls like us for miles and miles. Then we asked them to tell us all the clergymen's names who lived near, and their families, and then all the squires, and theirs, and they appeared to know everybody. The families seemed to be mostly grown-ups, except where the boys are going to school, and there are no girls there. It is funny, because where we've come from, we knew quantities of girls and boys, and here in Lincolnshire there seems hardly any. The country is empty, I suppose. I know every house seems to be either the squire's or the clergyman's. Nobody else seems to live in this part.

Beatrice said to me after tea, when Miss Tudor was out of the room:

"I'm so glad you aren't good. I thought clergymen's children were always very goody; I shouldn't have liked you a bit if you had been like that."

"Wouldn't you?" I said slowly, and feeling a little uncomfortable. "I don't want to be goody, but I try to be good."

She stared at me.

"But it's much more fun to be naughty."

"I don't know," I said. "It seems so at the time, but it isn't afterwards!"

"I wish there was no 'afterwards' in the world!" said Beatrice impatiently. "This is an 'afterwards'—my lying on this horrid old sofa, I mean. You see, I sprained my foot trying to climb a tree like a boy. Miss Tudor told me to come down, but I laughed at her and went up higher, and then I tumbled!"

"How dreadful!" I said. And then added, while I felt my cheeks get hot and red, "That's just the kind of thing I should have done. It's the only thing I want to be grown-up for—it's so awfully easy to be good then."

"I like to be naughty best," said Beatrice firmly—"it's more fun."

"I wish you knew father," I said; "he likes us to have plenty of fun. He keeps saying to Aunt Caroline, 'A loose rein, Caroline, with my wild young colts, and as few orders and commands as you can help, for it only incites to disobedience.'"

"What a nice father!" said Beatrice.

"He says," I went on, warming with my theme, "that if we obey God's commands, we shall obey his. When I was a little girl, I used to read over the Commandments in church, and I thought I never broke one of them. I know better now. Father told us of three commands last Sunday; they're lovely and short. 'Come,' 'Go,' 'Do.'"

Beatrice seemed rather interested.

"Tell me more. You are a funny girl; one moment you roar with laughter, and the next you preach a sermon!"

So I told her as much as I could of father's sermon. "It's what a faithful servant does," I said. "There's a knight buried in our church who was 'always faithful' and 'always ready.' Father says he tries to be that, and of course he is, but, when I don't forget, I'm going to try to be it too!"

"And do you often forget?"

"Nearly always," I said, sighing.

Then Lynette and Clarice interrupted us; they wanted to dress up, so I went with them into Clarice's bedroom, and we all put on different things and came back and visited Beatrice. Clarice was an old beggar woman in a shawl and apron, and a long black skirt, and a red handkerchief tied round her head. And Lynette was an Indian in bath towels and striped silk rug. And I was a fashionable American lady, with a long train I made out of a counterpane, and some feathers and flowers in my hair. And we all told her our stories and said we had come over to England to see her because we heard she was so rich and good. And then Lynette said she would give an Indian dance, and she got up on the table, and spun round and round till she made us giddy, and Beatrice laughed till she cried.

And then we were told that Emma had come to take us home. So we said good-bye, and they begged us to come again soon.

We enjoyed ourselves awfully, and Lynette said to me coming home:

"You see, it was rather a good thing I drove off in the pony-carriage, for that has made us know Clarice and Beatrice."

"No," I said, "it was a good thing you told father about it, as he made you write the note. And I believe that made Lady Laura come to see us."

When we got home, we found the boys very busy counting out their money. Denys had made one shilling and tenpence by some fish which he had caught and sold at two or three different farm-houses, and Aylwin had three shillings from Mr. Cummins. He had given him sixpence a day for his work in the hayfield.

"It has been earned by the sweat of the brow," Aylwin said proudly, "but it's all I shall get, for there are no more hayfields to be worked. And it's school next week."

We counted our money up anxiously; it was not nearly enough to buy a donkey, but we were hopeful about getting more. Lynette could go on making toffee, and I could go on picking flowers, and sending vegetables to market. Denys could go on fishing, for the farmers' wives all liked to get fish, but Aylwin would have to get some other plan quickly.

"Shan't!" he said. "I have worked harder than the whole lot of you put together. I've done my share nobly!"

"Three shillings isn't very much," I said.

"It's the quality, not the quantity, you have to consider," said Aylwin, beginning to argue. "These three shillings repre—sent—" he brought out the long word with a slow drawl—"a huge lot of heavy toil. Which would you value most for a birthday present—a book that some one threw away and which was picked up and given to you, or a book that had taken the earnings of a year to buy, and had quite exhausted the strength of the one who bought it?"

I was much impressed, but Denys wasn't a bit.

"You're a lazy sluggard," he said; "I know you rested half the time in the hayfields, and drank lots of cider."

Then after a lot more talking, Aylwin said he would take one whole week's rest, and then start another plan.

"My body is so tired that my brain won't think, and I must rest it thoroughly. And I tell you, I'll take care my next plan is as jolly easy as yours is!"

When Saturday choir practice came round again, and I was singing away just opposite the knight, I thought of father's sermon and of "Semper fidelis, semper paratus." I thought of what father wanted me to do. But I still felt I hadn't the courage to do it. Denys would laugh at me, I thought, and I should never hear the last of it. We hate children who are always trying to teach others how to behave, and if I had a class, he would be always teasing me about it.

Before I went to bed, I added a little bit in my prayers. I asked God to make me brave enough to do it. And then I felt almost afraid of being made brave. It was dreadful of me, and my last prayer was made in bed before I went to sleep. I said, "O God, answer my prayer, even if I don't want You to."

On Sunday morning we were all at breakfast. Aunt Caroline very often gets up from the table and leaves us to finish by ourselves, as she has to go to the school.

She was just leaving us, when to our astonishment Denys sprang up from his seat too, after hastily swallowing the last drop of his tea. He was rather red in the face, but he said:

"I'm coming to school with you, Aunt C. I'm going to take the infants' class."

Aunt Caroline took it very quietly, but if a cannon had been roared off in our ears, we couldn't have been more astonished.

"I have so often suggested that one of you should do it," said Aunt Caroline. "The poor babies cannot understand my class at all."

Denys dashed out of the room.

Aylwin cast up his eyes to the ceiling, and raised his hands mockingly. "Sky, fall!" he ejaculated.

Lynette began to giggle.

"Fancy Denys teaching the infants! He won't know what to teach them except 'good form'!"

I felt literally crushed to the earth. If only I had known!—If only I had known! The very one I was afraid of, was doing what I ought to have done; I had lost my opportunity for ever. I went out into the garden and had a good cry in the shrubbery. And oh, how I admired Denys! He is always doing those kind of things. He never talks, and sometimes pretends he doesn't care, and then he suddenly gets up and goes and does it. It makes me wish so to be like him.

"I'll have a good joke over this baby teaching," said Aylwin to me, as we walked to church together.

"No, you mustn't," I said, "because it's very good of Denys to do it, and I know it's father's sermon last Sunday has made him. It nearly made me, only I was afraid you would all laugh at me, and so I didn't, and Denys has done it instead. And do you know, Aylwin, all breakfast I was getting up courage to say what he did, and—I was just too late."

Aylwin looked at me curiously, but he said nothing, and when we saw Denys at dinner-time, none of us said anything to him about it; we just pretended nothing had happened. I'm wondering so if Denys is getting good. He always says he isn't; I think he would be simply furious if I was to say he was. But we never can talk about good things to each other—we think it's priggish.

Now I must come to Monday morning, and to the great surprise that came to us. Puff has been saying every day that he is going to get a letter from God with the money for the donkey. And every morning, he runs out to the postman. I don't know what he thinks of him, but we heard Puff say the other morning:

"Are you tru'fully sure there's no letter for me, for I'm 'specting one from God, and it will be a heavy one, I can tell you!"

On Monday he brought the letters in and gave them to father; and, sorting them out, father said suddenly:

"Is there a Master George Marjoribanks in the room?"

"It's me!" yelled Puff, dancing round him in a perfect frenzy of excitement. "Let me open it my own self! Oh! It hasn't any money at all."

He was holding it in his hand, and there was bitter disappointment in his voice.

"Open it!" said father, in a curious tone.

Puff opened it. Three postal orders were done up in a sheet of paper, and across it was written:

"From Granny. For a donkey."

And the postal orders were for £1 each.

We could hardly believe it. Granny very seldom gave us money—only on birthdays. Of course I knew that Aunt Caroline must have told her how hard Puff was praying for it and expecting it. Puff's face was a study when it was explained to him. His eyes looked as if they were going to start out of his head, and then he puffed out his chest.

"O' course," he said. "I knows very well what's happened. Father says God gives a lot of His money to peoples to take care of, and so He was too busy to send it Hisself, so He tolded granny to do it."

"I think you've hit upon the truth, Puff," said father, kissing his curly head.

Puff looked round at us with great solemn eyes.

"It's me that's gotted it," he said. "My plan is the bestest one of all."

We were too surprised to speak. Father murmured to himself:

"Of such is the kingdom of heaven."

And then we couldn't help sending up a wild cheer. The donkey was as good as bought, and we would have some money over. Denys said at once that it would do for a saddle, but father said that we might get a second-hand cart and a donkey too for three pounds, perhaps. But father always thinks things are cheaper than they are.

CHAPTER VII

THE GIPSY CAMP

"AND now where can we buy the donkey?" We were all lying out on the lawn under the trees. Puff was the only one who couldn't keep still. Every now and then he would dart out into the sun, chasing a butterfly or pursuing a bee. It was a very hot afternoon.

"You generally see donkeys grazing somewhere," said Aylwin, leaning over towards Lynette and tickling her ear with a bit of grass, "but I haven't set eyes on a donkey since we've come here."

"Let's go and tell Mrs. Ribbon we want one," I said, and then I chanted:

"If once you come, you come again,

You never come to us in vain."

"She'll produce it from the back-yard," said Denys, "and it will be a mangy one, I can tell you. No, the only people who have real good donkeys are gipsies, and we shall have to find them first of all."

"Hurrah! We'll all go and visit a gipsy camp," shouted Aylwin.

"Mrs. Ribbon will tell us where to find one," said Lynette.

"Wait a bit," said Denys. "We'll put up a notice in the village like they do in the police stations. I'll make it out."

"Oh, but we may as well try Mrs. Ribbon first," I urged. "I should love to hear her say, 'I'm afraid I can't do it for you.'"

So we all started to our feet and swooped over to the village shop. There were two women gossiping over the counter, but when they saw us, they went off, and we quite filled the shop. Of course Puff insisted on coming too. Oh, how hot it was! The flies were swarming over everything. Mrs. Ribbon's face looked as if she had put some sticky syrup over it to attract the flies—they were dotted about her like currants in a cake. She kept flicking them off with her handkerchief, but she smiled upon us as she always does. She never does anything but smile at everybody.

"If you please, we want a gipsy camp," said Denys, in a business-like tone.

She looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes. Mrs. Ribbon loves a joke—that's why we like her so.

"How much have you got to pay for it?" she asked. "They be expensive, Master Denys."

"Oh, if you find us one, we'll pay afterwards," said Denys.

"A gipsy camp be a big order," said Mrs. Ribbon thoughtfully. "You must give me more particulars. How many gipsies do you want, or is it only their camp?"

We saw she was laughing at us, so Aylwin pointed to the motto outside.

"The first time we come here in vain, Mrs. Ribbon, we'll take that notice down. We want a regular gipsy camp—with live gipsies in it."

"But bless your heart, I only sells things for folks to buy. Live gipsies aren't to be bought and sold in this here Christian country."

We began to feel rather small. Mrs. Ribbon is too clever for us.

"We'll put up a notice," said Denys; "I told you we should have to do it. It's the 'information' about a gipsy camp we want to buy, Mrs. Ribbon, but we won't trouble you any further."

We all marched out of the shop with our heads very high in the air.

"She'll be sorry she didn't help us now," said Denys.

And then we came home, and he wrote out on a big sheet of father's sermon paper, in his best handwriting:

"Wanted immediately. Information of the nearest gipsy camp. To be brought to the Rectory within a week.—DENYS MARJORIBANKS."

Then the question was where to put this, and we determined we wouldn't let Mrs. Ribbon have the pleasure of putting it in her shop window. Denys thought of a beautiful place. At the cross-roads, just at the beginning of our village, there is a big-signpost. We got some paste and went off there at once. On the way, I said:

"You'll have to offer a reward, Denys."

He hadn't thought of that, but he quickly added it on the paper—"The informer will be suitably rewarded."

We pasted it high up, so that everybody should see it, and then we came home. After tea Denys went off on two visits to it, to see if it was sticking properly. The last time he went, he said there were two men and a boy reading it.

"I didn't let them see me," he said—"I hid behind the hedge, but they seemed very much interested."

"I think it would have been better to ask for information about a donkey," I said.

But the boys both exclaimed at this.

"The gipsy camp is half the fun," Denys said.

"Perhaps they don't have camps in Lincolnshire," said Lynette.

This hadn't struck us. We began to be very interested in gipsies and their ways now. We asked father a lot about them, and he told us that once he had often visited a gipsy camp, as there was a man ill there; we didn't tell him why we asked, but Puff was anxious to know whether they stole boys and girls. The very next day a boy came to the back-door and asked to see Denys. It was very fortunate he was home, for we were going to begin lessons the day after.

Denys came in after a few minutes, very excited.

"I've got the information," he said. "Farmer Brown, up on the high road to Lemworth, always lets tramps and gipsies camp out on a waste bit of ground of his; and this is the month they generally come, because they always attend Lemworth Fair, and that's in about a week from to-day."

"We're in luck!" said Aylwin. "How much did you give him?"

"Sixpence. He was quite satisfied. I shall take it out of the money-box, of course."

"I should like to get the donkey to-morrow," I said; "it seems so stupid to wait so long."

But the boys said it was well worth waiting a week to choose a real donkey out of a real gipsy camp. And then lessons began. The boys were away all day. Lynette and I did lessons all the morning with Aunt Caroline, and Puff pretended to do some too. The afternoons we had to ourselves, but there was always something to take to a sick villager, or a message to some one.

One day father heard me grumbling, for I wanted to read a new story-book that had been got for the school library, and I had been out once for Aunt Caroline, and now she wanted me to go again.

He shook his head at me.

"'Semper paratus,'" he murmured. "You're not making a good servant, Grisel."

"But I'm not Aunt Caroline's servant," I said rather quickly.

"I thought you were one of Christ's servants," he said gravely. "Your little daily duties are the duties He gives you. You can't separate His service from your service at home; they're one and the same thing. Do you ever think of His commands day by day, child?"

"I forget so," I murmured.

"An unfaithful servant is such a disappointment," father said, in his soft low voice.

Then I began to cry. I couldn't help it.

"I don't believe I shall ever be a faithful, ready servant, father."

"Why not? This errand of your aunt's was one of the 'go's,' was it not?"

"I suppose it was," I murmured.

"Do you consider yourself in the service of Christ?" he asked me.

"I hoped I was, father. I want to serve Him, because He has died for me, and I do love Him for it—a little, not as much as I ought to. I think the 'come' you told us about is easier than the 'go.' And as for the 'do,' I haven't thought about it at all. And, father, I'm dreadfully sorry I didn't take the Sunday school class; Denys was too quick for me."

"I wonder if you have taken in, Grisel, that you must 'come,' every day, as well as 'go.' A servant comes to his master for orders the first thing in the morning, every day. Did you go to your Master this morning for His orders?"

"No, father," I said, "I rather hurried my prayers this morning—I got up late."

"Ah, that is the cause of unfaithfulness, Grisel. I have been in my Master's service many more years than you have. If I try to carry out His orders without going to Him continually, I get into trouble at once. It is 'come' and 'go' all day long, Grisel."

"But," I said perplexedly, "I can't keep going upstairs and saying my prayers, father. I shouldn't have time."

He looked at me meditatively.

"'Blessed is the man that heareth me, watching daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors.'"

Father has a way of quoting texts to himself which makes one think. Then he added:

"We must live close to the Master, child, to get the listening attitude. It doesn't come quickly. You may take years to learn it, but remember it was a child who said, 'Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth.'"

"That was Samuel," I said. "Father, are you angry with me that I didn't take that class? Because I'll take it now, whenever Denys wants to give it up."

"Oh, Grisel," said father, as he turned to leave the room, "when will you learn to put your Lord and Master before me?"

I got into a long fit of thinking then. Of course it was Jesus Christ who ought to be angry with me, not father, so I went upstairs and asked to be forgiven, and I made a promise in my heart that I would try to be a ready servant, and not grumble if I were sent a hundred errands in the day. I think, if it isn't wicked to say so, grown-ups never mind interrupting children. They often say to us, "Don't interrupt me now; I'm reading, or writing," but when we're reading or writing or painting we can never say that to them, and we are always being interrupted.

We heard a good deal about the fair that was coming off at Lemworth, and we asked father if we could go to it, but he said No. And then the boys asked him if we could all go out for the day on Saturday, which was a holiday, and take our lunch with us.

"We want to go a long walk," Denys said, "just to see if some gipsies have got a donkey that would do for us."

And father said we might, and told us that we could make inquiries, but must not buy—we must leave that to him. We thought Saturday would never come. But it came at last, and we started off directly after breakfast. Puff roared and cried because he couldn't come with us, and Aunt Caroline began to promise him all kinds of treats to quiet him.

We started, and went about two miles along the hot, dusty high road, then we climbed over a fence and kept along in the fields. And we talked hard the whole time; the boys were telling us about the other boys at their school. I'm going to call it a school, though it isn't a proper one. There's one boy there that Denys says he knows he shall fight before long. He comes from London, and talks as if his father is a duke, and he has a scorn for "parsons' sons," as he calls them.

"I don't think it's 'good form' for gentlemen's sons to fight," I said.

I always like to use Denys's words against him.

"He'd go down like a sausage!" said Denys. "I'd love to get my knuckles into him. But I'll leave him alone unless he runs down parsons, and then I'll give him a licking!"

"Do you think we're sure to find the gipsies at home?" asked Lynette presently. "Don't you think they'll be at the fair?"

This had not suggested itself to us. We stopped to consider it, and then we began to feel hungry, and so we sat down on the grass and ate our lunch.

"All the donkeys can't be at the fair," said I.

"Do gipsies always have donkeys?" asked Lynette. "Do they ride them?"

"Oh, shut up, and don't ask so many beastly questions," said Denys a little crossly.

It seemed a long way to Farmer Brown's waste bit of ground, but we came to it at last, and there to our delight was a caravan, a dirty-looking tent, and a lot of grimy children playing about. One swarthy woman was washing some clothes in a big saucepan.

But there were no donkeys to be seen, only one old white horse grazing close by.

"I'm afraid they're at the fair," whispered Aylwin. "Go ahead, Denys, and do the polite."

Denys can always do that. The village people love him because he takes off his cap to them. He walked straight up to the woman and raised his straw hat.

"Good-morning, ma'am; may we have the pleasure of speaking to you for a minute or two?"

She took her hands out of the saucepan and stared at us as if we were wild animals.

"We have been waiting for you to arrive for a long time. I don't know who is the—the boss of your camp, but I should like to see him on business."

"Are ye sarcing?" she asked a little roughly.

"We're all in serious earnest," said Denys. "We want—if you would like to know—to buy a donkey, and we conclude you have one to sell!"

The woman laughed, then she called out:

"Jim! Come and tell the young gent that 'e's come to the wrong quarters for donkeys!"

A man lounged round the corner. He was a real gipsy. I am sure he was, because he had a lot of buttons all over him, and a red and yellow handkerchief round his neck, and a big ring on one of his fingers.

"Us don't deal in no donkeys!" he said, sticking a pipe in his mouth, and looking at us out of the corners of his eyes. "How much be 'ee goin' to give for un?"

"Father will settle that," said Denys grandly. "We want a ripping good donkey, one that will go like the wind, and we want him sent to Warlington Rectory for us to see one evening, after six o'clock, without fail."

Denys is always awfully business-like, just like a grown-up man. But we all felt dreadfully disappointed not to see any donkeys.

Lynette stole away to the caravan and peeped in, then she came back to the woman.

"Do show me the inside of your little house," she said in her coaxing way. "I should love to live in a caravan."

The woman good-naturedly led the way, and Aylwin and I followed, while Denys talked to the man. It was quite lovely inside. There were little pictures, and muslin curtains, and brass pans hung on the walls, but it didn't smell very nice—stuffy and oniony, I thought. Lynette was delighted. Then she said:

"Do tell me—we won't tell anybody—but do you ever steal children now, or is it only in books you do? Are any of those children out there stained with walnut-juice?"

The woman laughed out loud.

"Would 'ee like to come 'long wi' us, missy?"

"Oh, awfully!" exclaimed Lynette. "Just for a few weeks, you know, in the holidays. I should think it would be lovely to be stolen."

The woman shook her head.

"Children be more bother than they're worth," she said; "us bain't likely to want more 'n we have, as 'tis!"

Lynette was quite disappointed. Then Aylwin asked her if she could tell fortunes, and she shook her head. So we told her we were afraid she wasn't a proper gipsy at all, and then she said if we wanted our fortunes told, we must go to the fair.

So then we found out the proper fortuneteller was there. Then we asked her if they all sat round the fire in the evening, and ate stews of chicken and rabbit, and Aylwin said we should love to be invited to supper one night, and she laughed till she shook herself all over. Then Denys called us.

"It's all right," he said; "we're going to have some donkeys sent to choose from, the day after to-morrow. We'll have to wait till then."

Then Aylwin asked him to ask the man to invite us to a proper gipsy supper one evening. And Denys asked, and said we could pay fourpence a head. And the man grinned, and told us to come on Tuesday night at nine o'clock. So then we wished them good-bye and came away.

I don't know how it is, but we're always getting disappointments. We expected to see a beautiful donkey and come home with everything settled, and we thought we should see a crowded gipsy camp, with an old kind of witch that told fortunes, and men with earrings in their ears, and dancing and feasting going on, and perhaps a stolen child crying behind a tree. At least, that is what Lynette and I expected, and it all seemed so tame.

But Denys said that the man knew some one who kept a lot of donkeys to sell, and he was at the fair. And he said he would tell him we wanted one, and he'd bring them along.

"I've given him till Monday evening," said Denys grandly; "and I've thought of a ripping plan. We'll put up another notice at the cross-roads, and tell people to bring their donkeys for us to choose from, the same evening."

"It'll be a kind of donkey-show," said Aylwin, capering in the road. "We'll have hordes of them driven in!"

So we cheered up, and looked forward to Monday. We always like something to look forward to. That's the best of making plans, and that's why we're never dull. Beatrice and Clarice say they are very often, but I told them they should make up plans as we do. We walked home quite contentedly, but when we began to talk about the gipsies' supper-party, I felt rather uncomfortable, for I didn't believe father would like Lynette and me to go to it. I told Denys so.

"Oh, well," he said, "you had better not go. Aylwin and I will, because father used to go into a gipsy camp; he told us so, and he had supper with them once. He said some of them are the most sober, respectable people there are."

"But we should love to come," I said a little discontentedly. "I do wish all the delicious things weren't wrong!"

"Don't be a prig!" said Aylwin.

And Lynette said excitedly:

"I mean to go—I don't care what old Gristle does; I shall be there if I'm punished ever so much afterwards!"

I didn't say any more, but I felt rather sober all the way home after that.

CHAPTER VIII

THE DONKEY RACE

PUFF was awfully disappointed when we arrived home without the donkey. Denys put up the notice on the signpost directly after tea. We all went along and helped him. He wrote up:

"Wanted. A high-class donkey. To be brought to the Rectory on show, Monday evening at six o'clock." And he headed it with the words, "Important and immediate."

I said he ought to have put "first-class" donkey, not "high-class," and Aylwin said "fast-class" would have been better still, but Denys said that "first-class" would make all donkey-owners sit up. I don't know what he meant, and he didn't explain.

Then I had to go indoors and help Aunt Caroline with the mending, for it was Saturday night. She had let us off the choir practice, because we had been out. But before we went to bed, she took us to the piano in the drawing-room, and we sang over the chants and hymns to make sure we knew them. And then Aunt Caroline said to Denys:

"Are you coming to school to-morrow?"

And he answered very gruffly, "I s'pose so."

Then I said:

"I would take a class if you had another, Aunt Caroline."

"I don't think there are enough children, Grisel. I wanted you to do it a long time ago."

"What do you teach them, Denys?" asked Lynette.

Denys simply left the room, whistling loudly.

I wondered very much what he taught them, but when I asked Aunt Caroline she said:

"Denys is the best of the lot of you underneath, Grisel. It is a pity boys always think they must hide their feelings. He keeps the infants in perfect order, teaches them their text and hymn, and tells them a Bible story beautifully."

I sighed, for I wished so much that I had been brave enough to do it.

On Monday afternoon Lynette came rushing to me.

"Oh, Grisel, I've been over to Mrs. Ribbon's, and she says she knows of a beautiful donkey, and she could have told us long ago if we had asked her, instead of going off to the gipsies. She says it belongs to a farmer, and he wants to sell it."

"Well," I said, "tell her to tell him to send it in for us to look at to-night."

"I told her, but she said she had no one to send and tell him."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know."

So I ran across to Mrs. Ribbon at once, and found out. It was rather far off across the fields, but I thought I might go if Aunt Caroline would let me. She was just going out with father. They were going to some meeting in Lemworth, and father was going to take the chair at it. They told me I could go, and said we mustn't wait tea for them.

"But you'll be back in time to choose our donkey, father?" I said anxiously.

He smiled.

"I think we shall have to advertise for one," he said: "I doubt if you will have any donkeys arrive, my dear child."

"We expect loads!" I cried out gleefully as I ran away.

Lynette said she would come with me, so we set off across the fields. We didn't hurry, as it was very hot; we picked dock-leaves and ferns to fan our faces. At last we came to the farm. It looked bigger than our Rectory, and had a lovely garden. There was a gentleman lying on a cane couch on the lawn and a lady was sitting by the side of him. I wondered if we had made a mistake, but we had to go across the lawn to get to the front door, so I asked them if Mr. Donnyball lived there. The lady smiled.

"Yes, dear, he does. Go up to the house and you will find his wife there. We are only lodging here."

I went on, but Lynette lingered behind. She likes to make friends with strangers; I don't much. I rang the bell, and a farm servant came out, but she soon called the farmer's wife, who was very nice when she knew who I was. I recognised her at once, as she and her husband always come to church Sunday morning, and sit in the middle pew.

"Ah," she said, "come in, dearie. Me and John always say you sits up like cherubs in the church, and sing so pretty-like, 'tis a treat to hear you; and your dear good father do preach like one of the 'postles. Come in, and I'll fetch you a bit of my home-made cake and a glass of milk. And what is your message, dearie?"

She talked so fast that I could hardly get in a word. But I told her at last, and she said:

"Well, to think of your wanting a donkey, now! It's like this: we takes in lodgers at times, and a Captain and Mrs. Roger's have come all the way from London—they have relatives in Lincoln; and he is crippled since the war, and we thought as how our old Nell would draw him out nicely in a wicker chair, but she turns nasty at the sight of it and refuses to move, so we think o' gettin' a small Welsh pony. MY husband's brother breeds 'em, and so I was saying to Mrs. Ribbon the other day, we shouldn't be keepin' Nell. You see, my little boy used to ride her—" Here she began to cry, so I knew her little boy was dead, and I said I was very sorry.

Then she made me sit down in such a nice cool hall, and called Lynette in, and we both had a glass of milk and a piece of cake, and she promised she would send the donkey up that evening by one of the farm lads. I was delighted, and we wanted to see the donkey, only she had gone to the mill for some flour. Then we said good-bye and came away, but Mrs. Rogers and her husband spoke to us from the lawn. Lynette, of course, had told them everything, and the Captain looked at us and laughed.

"How much are you going to give for the old brute?" he said.

And then I explained that we were having a donkey-show to choose from.

"Oh!" he said. "I think I must come along and see the show."

And Lynette clapped her hands and begged him to come.

But Mrs. Rogers shook her head—she didn't want him to come; she said he wasn't well enough.

And then Lynette said:

"I'll write you a letter and tell you about it, if you like. Aunt Caroline lets us write letters for composition when we're doing lessons."

So Mrs. Rogers said that would be very nice, and we came away.

"They're so nice," said Lynette, skipping along. "I think Captain Rogers has forgotten to grow up—he talked just like the boys do. Mrs. Rogers keeps looking at him, and once she said, 'Charlie, don't shock the child.' That was when he said he didn't care a hang for the old doctors, and he was going steeple-chasing in a bath-chair! I said I couldn't possibly be shocked by anything in the world, because I wasn't grown-up, and it was only grown-ups who were shocked.

"And then he said in a solemn whisper to me: 'You take a straight tip from me and don't you move from where you are. Nine years old is old enough for anything. If you sleep head-downwards you'll stop growing. It's a tragedy to be grown-up, I can tell you.'"

"I think he sounds almost as nice as Aunt Mildred," I said. "I wish he would come and see us."

"I'll write him a letter and ask him to," said Lynette.

When we got home it was tea-time, and the boys were just back from school. They were rather scornful over our donkey.

"If it's Mrs. Ribbon's donkey, we'll beat that when the others arrive," they said.

And we told them it was not her donkey, but Mr. Donnyball's.

We got very excited as six o'clock arrived, and Puff climbed on the front gate to be the first to see them come. We waited and waited till nearly half-past six, and then up came Nell. She looked a perfect beauty, fat and clean, and a pretty grey colour. The boy who led her looked very proud of her. And then, as we were all crowding round her, up came, in a perfect cloud of dust, four ragged, miserable-looking beasts, and a man and boy were driving them.

Then business began. I wished father was there, but Denys didn't seem at all afraid of choosing. We were all walking round these four donkeys when an old woman came up with another one, and hers was in much better condition. It was getting quite exciting; a crowd of village children was round us, and more kept coming. We now had six donkeys, and father wasn't in. The four mangy-looking donkeys belonged to the gipsies' friend, the nice black one belonged to a friend of Mrs. Tapson's, and there was the fat grey one from the farm.

Denys was quite important. He presently whispered to Aylwin something, and Aylwin threw up his cap and shouted "Hurrah!" So then we knew it was something nice, and so it was.

"Look here," said Denys in a loud voice, "we want a donkey who'll go, and we've got to find out the best of the lot. We'll have a donkey race for one mile, and the one who comes in first will be our choice."

The village children all cheered at this, and we joined them; the man with the shabby donkeys didn't look over-pleased.

"I've brought these 'ere vallyble beasts o' mine near ten mile; didn't know a racehorse were asked for. Yer can't look for a flier from them wot have done ten mile on a broilin' afternoon."

"Well," said Denys, who was always very just, "we'll have a handicap, and we'll give them a fair start. We'll have the race on the high road; it's half a mile to the old oak-tree that was struck by lightning. I've measured it, so I know it's just half-way between the milestones. We'll race them there and back. We'll have the winning-post outside our gate."

Then he asked Mrs. Tapson's old friend, Mrs. Rowe, how far her donkey had come. She said five miles. Bob Tapson had seen our notice on the signpost and sent her word, and she had come in her donkey-cart.

So then Denys began arranging the race.

"We'll have to have jockeys," said Aylwin excitedly, "and I'll be one. I'll ride the grey beast."

"I'll ride the black one," said Denys.

That was Mrs. Rowe's donkey.

But Mr. Donnyball's farm lad said he ought to ride Nell because he knew her ways, so Aylwin took the best of the four brown ones, and the boy who brought them rode another, and the man was going to ride another, but Denys told him he was too heavy weight. Lynette and I begged to ride too, but Denys wouldn't let us. He said we might hold the tape at the winning-post, so we went into the house to get it, and when we came back we found two village boys were mounted on the other donkeys. They were all to ride bareback, but they were allowed to have the halters on.

It was great fun; every one got very excited, and when we got the donkeys out on the road all in a row, the whole village seemed to have turned out to see us.

Denys gave the ten mile donkeys two hundred yards' start, Mrs. Rowe's black donkey had one hundred yards' start, and the grey one that had only come a mile started from our gate. It all seemed to take up a good deal of time to arrange. Denys said we ought to fire a pistol off, but we hadn't got a proper one, so we got our dinner gong, and I went up the road a short way off, so that they all could hear, and then I struck it with all my might.

They were off, but the whole of the village children started running after them, and the screams and yells were something fearful. Lynette and I longed to run too, but we had to hold the tape, so we got ready as soon as possible. One of the brown donkeys wouldn't go at all: he sidled into a ditch and nobody could move him. The man who brought him ran up and began swearing and beating him. Lynette and I were quite frightened. I told Baldwin to go after him and make him stop. Of course cook and Emma and Baldwin all came to the gate to look on.

It seemed a long time before they came back, but we heard cheers, and then we saw Denys on the black donkey coming up in fine style. He simply galloped in to the winning-post, and the others were nowhere to be seen.

At last Aylwin appeared: he had been thrown twice; he said his donkey bucked, and just as he was telling us so, the creature did it again, and he went over his head into a bed of stinging-nettles. I couldn't help laughing, though I felt very sorry for Aylwin. Then the farm boy came along, but his donkey lay down on the road and rolled him off every few minutes, how he got on at all I don't know. The other donkeys were no good at all, they didn't even get as far as the oak-tree; they stood still in the road and wouldn't budge. As Denys said to the man, we wanted a donkey to go, not to stand still.

The man was very unpleasant, and he swore a good deal, and he said he meant to be paid for his journey, and then he went off to the public-house to wait till father came home. Of course we hadn't a doubt which donkey was the best—the winner. And Mrs. Rowe was very pleased. She said her Andy was a splendid trotter, and she said she would sell us her donkey-cart and harness too very cheap if we liked, so we all went off and looked at it. It was very shabby, but she said it only wanted a fresh coat of paint and would look as good as new.

And then we asked her the most important thing of all—the price. She said she didn't want the donkey or cart any more, for she was going to live in Lemworth, so she would let us have it very cheap; and then she said she would take four pounds ten shillings for the whole concern. It seemed a bargain, but then we hadn't got as much as that. Denys counted up that he only had about seventeen shillings in our money-box, and then there was granny's three pounds.

Whilst we were still talking to her, father and Aunt Caroline came up the hill from the station. Though father was very tired, he helped us at once. He asked a lot of questions about the donkey, how old he was, and how long she had had him, and if he had any vicious tricks, and how fast he could go, and then we told about the races, and father said he must see the others. And then in the middle of it all, Aunt Caroline called Lynette and me to come to bed. She had taken Puff in with her when she arrived. So we were obliged to go, but we felt quite sure that father would choose Andy.

HE WENT OVER HIS HEAD INTO A BED OF STINGING NETTLES.

And so he did, and Aylwin put his head in at our bedroom door to tell us that father had bought the cart as well. We were to give him as much money as we had earned, and he would add the rest. Mrs. Rowe came down to four pounds, and that was what father paid her.

Lynette and I were awfully disappointed not to see the donkey put into the stable. We found out in the morning that Baldwin turned him into our field next the kitchen-garden. Baldwin said he knew all about donkeys and their ways.

We got up very early to go out and see him, and Lynette took him a carrot. He came up to us at once and took it, but when we tried to get on his back, he galloped off.

After breakfast father and Aunt Caroline came out to look at him. The boys had gone off to school. Father said they could paint up the little cart quite well, and he would get the harness done up for us. And Aunt Caroline said that a donkey-cart would be very useful in many ways. We were all delighted about it. After our lessons were over, Lynette and I went to the stable and took down all the harness, and made Baldwin explain how it was put on. And then we got into the cart and found out that it would hold the five of us quite well if we squeezed up. And then we went out to the field and tried to catch Andy.

I don't think we could have been happier if we had had a beautiful carriage and a pair of horses given to us. Puff was most excited. He got rather cross when he found he couldn't get near Andy, but at last we got him in a corner and put Puff on his back. Then we walked slowly round the field. Lynette was holding Andy by his tail in case he ran away, and I was holding Puff on. The boys came home and found us in the field. They got a halter, and then we each had a ride on him in turns, and at last, as Andy was quite tired, and lay down on the ground, we left him and went into the house, and Aylwin whispered to me:

"We're off to the gipsies' supper to-night!"

CHAPTER IX

THE GIPSIES' SUPPER

IT is so dreadful when in the bottom of your heart you want to be good, to find yourself wanting most frightfully to do what you know isn't good. All the delicious things seem to be wrong. And I think this gipsies' supper seemed the most delicious thing I had ever heard of. After tea, I walked round and round the path in the garden and thought about it. I knew perfectly well we shouldn't be allowed to go—certainly we girls should not. But we were always in the garden till bedtime, so it would be quite easy to slip away without being seen, and the walk there in the dusk would be jolly, and the supper, with the fire, and the gipsies all sitting round, would be simply entrancing, and then the walk back afterwards by moonlight would be so unusual. I simply ached and longed to do it.

And then I thought to myself that of course if I meant to be a faithful servant, I couldn't go to anything that my Master wouldn't like me to, and so I must ask Him about it first. And I hope it isn't priggish to write it down, but I went into the shrubbery close to the church, where no one could see me, and told Jesus Christ all about it, and asked Him to make me stop at home if it was wrong to go. And when I got up I felt quite, quite sure I mustn't go, and I knew I must try and prevent Lynette from going too. So then I went to find her. I'm afraid I felt very disappointed; particularly when I saw the boys stealing down the drive.

I ran after them.

"Are you going?" I said.

"Yes; you had better be quick if you're coming," said Denys.

"I'm not coming," I said; "where's Lynette?"

"Trying to be as good as yourself!" said Aylwin in a mocking voice.

The tears would come into my eyes.

"Oh, I wish, I wish I could come!" I said.

And then I ran into the house, for it just struck me I was like Balaam, who wanted to go when God didn't want him to. But I was glad the boys were going off by themselves without Lynette.

I went all over the house calling to her, but I couldn't find her anywhere. Then I thought she might have gone to wish Andy good-night, so I went down to the field, and all over the garden, and asked Baldwin and Emma and cook if they had seen her, but none of them had. And then Aunt Caroline told me it was bedtime, and asked me where Lynette was. I told her I could not find her, but she didn't seem to take it in. She told me not to wait, but to go to bed myself, and Lynette must follow. So I said good-night to father, who was in the study, and then I went upstairs, and I felt lonely and miserable, and began to wish again I had gone with the boys. And then I wondered if Lynette had gone with them after all. I remembered what she said, that she meant to go, however much she might be punished afterwards. I was in bed, rather worrying over it, when Aunt Caroline came in.

"Where is Lynette, Grisel? Emma says she can't be found, and the boys too—where are they?"

I was silent, for it isn't "good form" to tell tales. We never do.

Aunt Caroline would make me speak. She said she would fetch father up if I didn't, so then I said:

"I know where the boys are, Aunt Caroline, but I'd rather not say. And I don't know if Lynette is with them or not."

"But you must say where they have gone, Grisel; it is very naughty of them to go off like this."

"They won't come to any harm," I said, "but they'll be in rather late."

"I shall speak to your father about it at once."

Aunt Caroline knew we would never tell tales of each other, and I was sorry for her, because she looked so anxious.

No one came near me for some time, and then father did, and when I heard his step, I was tempted to hide my head under the clothes and pretend to be asleep. But I didn't, for he put his hand on my head. And when he does that, it's like a kiss, and I feel I can tell him anything.

"Well, little woman, has Lynette not turned up yet? What pickles you are! Your poor aunt is quite upset."

"I'm so sorry, father, but Lynette never told me she was going, and I never saw her go."

"You know where the boys are?"

"Yes, father."

He was silent a minute, then he said:

"I am afraid you must tell me. I can't have one of my little daughters out of the house at this time of the night without knowing where she is."

So then I told him—I had to; and he heaved a sigh.

"It's very wrong of them, and they must know it. I am disappointed in Denys!"

"Oh, father," I said, squeezing his hand, "if only you were a boy again, I'm sure you'd like to do it yourself. Fancy! They may be sitting round a camp fire, eating rabbit stew, and hearing gipsy songs being sung! Why is it wrong to do it? I wish it wasn't!"

Father smiled.

"Well, Grisel, it might not do the boys much harm, but gipsies are not fit company for my little girls, and Denys ought to have known better. Why, Lynette is a baby!"

He walked towards the door, then he gave a little nod at me.

"Good child!" he said, and then he left the room.

I heard the hall door shut immediately after, so I knew that he had gone to meet them coming back. I tried to keep awake, but I couldn't, and I never woke till the next morning.

I looked over towards Lynette's bed, and found she was there right enough, and when she woke up she was very sleepy and cross.

"Do tell me all about it," I said. "Did you go with the boys?"

"Of course I did, you stupid! I told you I would go. I ran out before they did, in case you might try to stop me, and I waited on Mrs. Ribbon's doorstep till they came by, and then I joined them."

Lynette stopped, then she added mischievously:

"Denys wanted to send me back, so I told him I wasn't one of his Sunday scholars, and he didn't like that at all. He said he would punch my head for cheek, if I didn't look-out."

"Do tell me about the supper," I said eagerly.

"There was none," said Lynette crossly. "It was all for nothing, and my legs ached with tiredness. When we got there, it was all dark, and the van and the tent were gone, and there wasn't a single person there. But there was a piece of paper nailed to a tree, and in awful bad letters it was written:

"'THE GIPSIES' SUPPER

First catch your hare, then cook it.'

"Denys said it was quite a clever joke for gipsies, but he and Aylwin were awfully angry, and so was I."

"It was just a sell, then!" I said.

And I tried not to feel glad. I'm not properly good at all. I wish I was. I felt much gladder now that I hadn't gone, for I didn't miss anything. And I ought to have been just as glad if they really had had a ripping good supper.

"It's too bad," grumbled Lynette; "we're all going to be punished for nothing at all, for we never had the supper."

The boys were very quiet at breakfast. I knew father must have given them a good scolding, and neither they nor Lynette were to go out into the garden after tea. They had to stay up in the schoolroom. Father doesn't often punish, and it's more the disgrace than the punishment itself that we mind. Though after tea is our favourite time in the day, because lessons are over, and we meant to ride the donkey in turns round and round the field to get him accustomed to us. Just before the boys went off to school, Denys said to me in the hall:

"I don't wonder grown-up people are always saying the world is getting worse, and everybody is quite different from what they used to be, I know jolly well the gipsies are!"

And that was all he ever said about the gipsies' supper-party.

For the next few days we were all very busy getting the donkey-cart ready. Father let the boys have some paint. Mrs. Ribbon got it for them; they chose the brightest green they could get. We wanted scarlet, but it seems red paint is the most expensive, and we had to have the cheapest. Denys and Aylwin are very good painters; they've done a lot of things before, and they don't make themselves in a mess. I do; and when they let me paint the shafts, I just covered my hands all over, and my dress too; the brushes got so full of paint, that the paint ran down the handle and covered me with it. I suppose I try to be too quick. However, Lynette and I cleaned the brass parts of the harness, and we got a brush and groomed Andy. We caught him and brought him into the stable. He seemed to like it, and I'm sure we did. And all the time Denys was trying to settle how we could buy a saddle.

"Of course we must have one," he said. "We can't always go about in the cart. I shall have to go on fishing for a bit, and you'll have to fish too, Aylwin, and Lynette can go on toffeeing."

"And I'll go on selling vegetables and flowers," I cried. "We can all go on doing it till we get enough."

"And Puff can go on praying," said Aylwin.

"You're not to be irreverent!" I said.

"I'm not," said Aylwin. "I really do think his prayers were answered, because granny must have been made to send the money. She never has done such a thing before."

"Cook is always saying, 'God helps those who help themselves,'" I said.

"Yes," said Denys, "and I'd rather earn the money than have it arrive in a letter."

So we set to work again, but we found time to have some rides on Andy, though we had to ride bareback.

The next thing that happened was our school-treat. We always love school-treats, but when we lived in a town we used to go out in wagonettes to the country. Here they're held in fields or gardens close by.

Lady Laura always has the children in her park, and they march from our village with flags, and the next village joins us, and so it is a very big thing indeed.

The day before the treat Denys came back from school with a black eye and a cut just above it. He told me at once he had been fighting "the Sausage." That's the boy with thick legs, who's so nasty.

Father asked Denys at once about it, and Denys said:

"I kept my hands off him too long, father. He got to think he could say anything. He said the convicts in prison were nearly all parsons' sons, because their fathers were all snivelling hypocrites. I told him to take it back, and he looked me full in the face and said:

"'Your snivelling dad may lay down the law in the pulpit, but his bounder of a boy won't dictate to me, I can jolly well tell you!'"

"And then I went for him, and he actually ran away, and picked up a stone and flung it at me. I wouldn't have minded having a fist in my eye—but a stone! We all howled and yelled at him, and he tried to take refuge in old Gray's study, but we had him out of that, and we made him stand up, and I gave him a jolly good licking. And it was a good thing I did it and not some of the others, for I knew when to stop, and if young Gray had got at him I believe he would have half killed him!"

"Yes," Aylwin chimed in, "and he went blabbing to old Gray, and he told him he jolly well deserved what he had got."

Father did not say much. He seems to understand boys, but just before we went to bed, Denys came to me, when no one was near, and he said:

"Look here, Grizzy, I'll hand you over the infants' class to teach. I can't keep it up. I can't tell them not to fight when I do it myself. I separated two boys in the village yesterday. It was a mistake my trying to do it, but I wanted to carry out the 'go' we heard about. And then there was that scrape, taking Lynette out at night. I can't keep it up, it's no good."

"All right," I said, "but I'm afraid I won't be much better. Must you never do one wrong thing if you teach a class?"

"I won't be a hypocrite," Denys said, and then he ran off.

When father heard of the class being handed over to me, he shook his head at Denys. "My boy, do you know why you failed?" he said. "You put the cart before the horse: you began to 'go' before you had 'come.'"

Denys got very red and didn't say anything for a minute, and then he said:

"How do you mean?"

"You were like a civilian insisting upon marching out to battle with soldiers, and considering himself a soldier, when he had never enlisted and couldn't draw soldier's rations, or uniform, or arms."

Denys said no more, but I saw he was thinking hard. And I began to think over it too, and I think I see what father meant. He often tells us that though he gave us to God in our baptism to be His soldiers and servants, the time must come when we must do it ourselves. And he says we need not wait till our confirmation to do it. And I am wondering if I have got my uniform and arms to fight. After all, if I have given myself to be Christ's soldier and servant, He will look after me, and give me all I want.

Denys didn't much like the idea of going to the school-treat with his black eye, and father told him he must please himself about it.

"If you stay at home," he said, "you might like to drive your donkey over to Morton Relton. It's five miles from here, and I want a message taken to a farmer there."

So Denys quite cheered up, and said he would do it. The school-treat was on Saturday, so of course we all had a holiday.

All of us except Denys started with the school-children at two o'clock. Even Puff trudged along, though it was a long walk for him. We joined the other school-children at Cross Glen village, and then we all walked up through the big gates to the Hall.

Clarice and Beatrice were waiting on the steps. They were awfully excited when they saw us. Beatrice was much better, and was able to limp about on crutches. We stayed with them a little whilst the school-children went on. There were all kinds of games in the park, and races, and a Punch and Judy, and then came tea. One thing surprised us at tea—all the plum cake was buttered; the children won't eat any cake unless it is buttered. I think it is only a custom in our part of the country. It seemed very funny to us, and I thought everybody must be very rich in Lincolnshire; we could never afford to have it, I know. I wish we could. Aunt Caroline told me to see that Puff didn't eat too much of it, because he is rather greedy.

We told Beatrice and Clarice all about our donkey and cart and how we got it, and then we planned that they should come over to our village in their pony-carriage. It's the one thing they are allowed to do alone. And then we'll bring out our donkey-cart, and we'll have a race with them. I believe Andy will go quite as fast as their pony, though Lynette said the pony tore like the wind when it ran away with her.

There were a lot of grown-up people at the school-treat. We kept away from them as much as we could, because it's very dull when you have to talk to them; they are never very interesting, and they always think if they know father, they ought to know us. But presently a lady came up to me when I was playing at "nuts and may," and I saw she was Mrs. Rogers.

And in a few minutes she took me off to see her husband, who was sitting under a tree with several other grown-up people. We had been so busy that Lynette had quite forgotten to write the letter she promised, and Captain Rogers wanted to hear if we had got a donkey.

"We heard old Nell had misbehaved herself, but I didn't wonder at that," said Captain Rogers.

So I told him everything, and how our cart was painted and the harness done up, and we were still trying to earn enough money to buy a saddle. Then he asked how we were doing it, and when he heard of the boys' fishing, he told me to tell them that he was awfully fond of fresh-water fish and would like some for breakfast every morning if they could bring some. So then I went and fetched Aylwin and told him I had got him a customer. Aylwin didn't like coming at first, but when he knew Captain Rogers was a man, he didn't mind. And in a minute he was talking as hard as ever he could to him. Captain Rogers is such an easy man to talk to. He told us he had got his steed and was going to crawl about the lanes in a bath-chair, but he said it as if he liked it, and Aylwin told him he could have great fun if he was game for it.

"A bath-chair and fun don't seem to fit," said Captain Rogers gravely.

"You could race in it," suggested Aylwin.

"Yes," I put in, "we're going to have a chariot race next week. I'm going to get Denys to mark out the course. Beatrice and Clarice are coming in their carriage, and if you could come in your bath-chair there will be three of us."

"It sounds ripping, only must we drive three abreast? For the lanes aren't over wide."

"I had thought of a big field," I said; "round and round, you know, like the Romans used to drive in the ampi—something."

"Have you got any laurel crowns?"

"Yes," I said excitedly, "we have lots of laurel in the shrubbery, and we'll make them."

"Oh, Charlie, what nonsense you talk!" said Mrs. Rogers, with a laugh, but her eyes looked quite sad.

My face fell, for I thought it might be all chaff. So I begged her to help us have the race.

She said to me, "The doctors won't let my husband go out of a foot's pace, dear; he must not be shaken."

"Never mind," said Captain Rogers cheerfully; "I'll be umpire, and give the crowns away."

"And we could have a tortoise race," said Aylwin, "and that could be an easy crawl; last in, best man."

"I think you'll all have to come over to our big field close to the farm. Mr. Donnyball has cut his hay and isn't ploughing it up for a bit."

"That will be lovely," I said. "If you could fix a day, I would tell Beatrice and Clarice about it. Saturday is our best day, because it is a holiday."

"Next Saturday then, sharp at two o'clock, and we'll have tea down by the river, which runs at the bottom of the field."

"There's the choir practice," whispered Aylwin to me; "we're always missing it. I do wish Aunt Caroline would change the day. It's our only holiday."

I felt rather impatient that he had reminded me of it. Father had been talking to us about it. He said children nowadays thought of nothing but amusement, and exercised no self-denial. And if they took up a thing, they never stuck to it if it interfered with their pleasure. I knew he meant the choir practice, as we had been rather irregular lately, but I was simply longing to have the race, and it seemed such a pity to put it off.

"When do your summer holidays begin?" asked Captain Rogers, seeing our hesitation.

"The last of this month," I said; "at least the boys' do. I believe Aunt Caroline is going to keep Lynette and me at lessons longer. She says we have lost such a lot of our time because of our move."

"Well, let us put off the race till the 1st of August," suggested Captain Rogers. "That will be a Thursday, and you can be practising for it beforehand."

"Yes," I said, cheering up, "we will. Andy must beat Clarice's pony; we'll make him."

"And where's the lady of the hair?" asked Captain Rogers.

I knew he meant Lynette, so I called her, and then I went back to the games, and Lynette stayed and talked.

I found out Clarice and Beatrice, and told them about it, and they were awfully delighted. They said their mother had known Mrs. Rogers when she was a little girl, and had recommended her to bring her husband to the farm, so she would be sure to let them come.

Soon after, we came home, and we told Denys about it. He said he must be charioteer, for girls couldn't drive, but I said Clarice was going to drive their pony, so I should drive Andy. We almost got into a quarrel over it, until Aylwin said that he should offer to be their charioteer, and then it would make us quits.

And then Lynette and I suddenly thought we would cover our cart with flowers and make it lovely. So we were all friends again, and longed for the 1st of August to be here.

CHAPTER X

THE CHARIOT RACE

I WAS rather frightened of teaching Denys's class, but I asked Aunt Caroline what to do, and she told me, and I got my Bible and read over the story of Samuel till I knew it by heart. And the next morning I walked into the schoolroom with Aunt C., quite happy, for I felt as if I was really "going" at last. (I must call Aunt Caroline "Aunt C." like the boys, because it will take a shorter time to write.) I had my class in the corner of the room away from Aunt C. There were four little boys and three little girls, and none of them were older than six. They smelt of soap and pomatum, and had very shiny faces and hair.

One of the boys, Freddie Galt, couldn't or wouldn't sit still, and the three little girls were watching what he was doing the whole time instead of attending to me. Freddy first pretended to catch a fly in his hands, and then he offered it in turn to every one. And when they held out their hands for it, he opened his and slapped them hard. I couldn't keep him still, and at last I said to him very sternly, "Freddy, if you can't keep still, I shall take you on my lap like a big baby, and hold you there."

He stared at me in fright. If I had said I would whip him, I don't believe he would have been half so frightened. And he stopped fidgeting and was as good as gold all the rest of the time.

I told them the story of Samuel, and then I told them that God wants all of us to be His servants and do what He tells us. Another boy, Bertie, said at once:

"I never hears God a-callin' me in bed."

"No," I said, "but when you're going to do something naughty, He speaks to you in your heart and tells you not to do it."

They seemed to understand this, and then one of them said thoughtfully:

"God can't slap us. He be too far away."

I told them how close He was, and how He loves us, and how we must try to be good to please Him, not from fear of being punished.

But I don't know if they understood. They seemed to think the only reason they must be good was not to be slapped or punished. And then the smallest of the little girls said, nodding her head at me:

"I loves Jesus always, I does. When I'm good girl, I loves Him, and when I'm naughty girl, I does."

"You can't love Him if you grieve Him," I said. "Jesus is grieved when you're naughty."

"I loves Him just the same," she repeated.

And I felt it was no good telling her she oughtn't to love Him, so I took no notice. But I was rather glad when the class was over. I felt so hot and tired, and I told father after church I thought it was very difficult to teach little children. He asked me what I had said to them. And I told him, and he said:

"Keep to the Bible, Grisel; the seed sown comes up after many days. Tell the little ones of their loving Saviour Who died for them, and Who lives quite close to them now, and is willing to help them every hour of the day. If your heart is full of Him, child, it will be easy to talk to others about Him."

"But," I said, "my heart is so full of such lots of other things, father. I can't help it. I'm not properly good at all."

"Do you love your Saviour?"

"Oh, I hope I do, I think I do, but I'm always doing what I oughtn't to do."

"Don't be always looking at yourself, but look up at Him, and try to do all things faithfully for Him."

He said no more. Father never says very much to us, but he always seems just to say the thing you want. And if I try to be faithful all day long, I expect that will keep me straight.

We had a discussion with the boys about being faithful. It was rather a funny place to have it—in our donkey-cart. We went out after tea yesterday evening for a drive. Denys drove, and Puff sat up on the front seat with him, Lynette and Aylwin and I crammed in behind. It was lovely. We drove right through the village, and everybody came to their doors to look at us.

And then when we were out of sight of houses, we talked. It began with Andy.

"I wonder if he knows us by this time," Lynette said.

"He'd be an ass if he didn't," said Aylwin quickly.

And then we all laughed at him.

"He is an ass," I said—"that's just the reason: if he was a dog, he would be much cleverer."

"All dogs aren't clever," said Denys.

"But they're faithful," I said. "You always hear of faithful dogs, never of faithful donkeys."

"What is it to be faithful?" said Lynette—"Full of faith?"

"No," said Denys, "a dog has no faith at all."

"I think," I said slowly, for I was thinking it out, "to be faithful is to be always the same and never change. If you love a person once, you love him always. If you do a thing once, you do it always."

"A faithful knight," said Denys, "is a man who never fails his lady. She can be sure of him."

"What is a faithful servant?" Lynette asked.

"One who doesn't shirk his work," said Denys.

"I think you can't be faithful unless you love," I said.

"Yes, that's the tip," said Aylwin; "if a dog doesn't love his master, he can't be faithful, nor can a knight be faithful if he doesn't love his lady, nor a servant, nor a friend. They must go together."

"'Semper fidelis,'" I murmured.

"Don't you pretend you can quote Latin, Grizzy; you only got that off the old chap's tomb in church."

"Yes, I did. What a lot faithful means! You must love, and be thorough, and certain, and always the same, and never fail your master. It's rather difficult to do all that."

"If you really love a person, you would do it naturally without thinking about it; a dog does," said Denys.

"I suppose you would," I said, and then I began to wonder how big a love I had for my Master.

But Puff suddenly turned the conversation by saying:

"I'm going to have a effelun net' birfday, and he'll be my very own. I shan't have only a bit of him, like this ole donkey."

"What bit of the donkey have you got?" Lynette asked.

"He has one-fifth of it," said Denys. "Go on, you Puff-Bag, tell us about your 'effelun.' Who will give it to you?"

"God," said Puff, nodding his head most earnestly. "It'll be mine very own, and I shall wide on him, and he'll be bigger than our house."

At this moment we passed an old woman carrying a bundle of sticks over her back.

"Hi!" Denys called out to her. "Are you going far? Would you like us to take your load for you?"

She said Yes, and then called down blessings on our head. She pointed out her cottage higher up the road; she had been gathering the sticks in the wood and seemed to find them pretty heavy. Denys told her we would leave them on her doorstep, so we rattled on.

"When I went to Morton Relton the other day, while you were at the school-treat," said Denys, "I offered every one that I passed a lift in the cart, and when I drove into the village, I had two old women and a boy."

"What fun!" I said. "That's like the knights did in the olden times. They rode out in search of adventures, and always took up weeping girls behind them, and rode them home in safety."

"We'll do the same," said Aylwin enthusiastically; "we'll drive on and rescue somebody from somebody."

"But there will be no room for any more in our cart," I said. "We're crammed already."

"You'll have to get out and walk then," said Denys. "If we could meet a broken-down carriage or motor, with a lady wringing her hands, that would be the style!"

But we didn't meet any one, and we drove home without any adventures. It set me thinking. It was very nice to drive about in a donkey-cart, but that wasn't doing much good. At last I said, just as we were coming past the signpost where we put up notices:

"Look here! I think when our holidays begin we ought to take it in turns to have the donkey. I can drive the cart as well as you, Denys, and I should like to do some business of my own sometimes. I think I ought to have one day in the week at least."

"Well, there are six days in the week, not counting Sunday. We four could have it in turns, and there would be two days over for father or Aunt C. and Puff." Denys said this. He is always very just.

"Yes," said Aylwin, "and we'll begin the week according to age. Denys, you can have it every Monday, I'll take it on Tuesday, Grizzy can have it on Wednesday, and Lynette on Thursday."

We all thought this a splendid plan.

"And sometimes," Denys said, "we can change days with each other to oblige."

I had a plan in my head which I wouldn't tell the boys, but I'm going to write it down now. I have made out a notice, and I am going to paste it on the signpost, and it's this:

"Anybody wanting parcels or themselves carried anywhere must apply to Grisel Marjoribanks, The Rectory, on Wednesday morning early. Free of Charge."

Everybody in the village loves our signpost; they always look up to see if there is any notice on it, and I knew they would read mine. I told Lynette about it this afternoon.

"It will be rather like a carrier," she said. "Won't it be a bother if you want to go off and enjoy yourself somewhere?"

"No," I said; "I think I shall like doing it. You know father always says his time, and as much as possible his goods, are at his parishioners' service. So Andy is going to be at their service every Wednesday. It is going to be a proper Rectory donkey! And I shall have the fun of driving him."

"I shall have to think of what I shall do with Andy on my day out," said Lynette.

And I feel that she'll get into the most awful scrapes with him if she can.

*****

We thought the holidays were never coming, and father said the boys oughtn't to have any holidays at all, because they had had so many already. At last they came. Denys had been tearing along the road with Andy as often as he could to try and get him in training for the 1st of August. Aylwin said he ought to be dieted, to get his weight down. He said race-horses were. Andy is getting rather fat; he eats so much grass. He eats all day long without stopping, except when he is out with us. But we didn't know what to give him. Oats cost a lot of money. Lynette suggested strong beef-tea in a bucket, but beef-tea costs money, and so does everything that makes you strong. Andy is a very good donkey to go, and he has no tricks except that he sometimes stops still in the road for a minute or two, and then he starts off again. I say he does it for a rest, and to gather fresh strength. Denys says he does it to think. Aylwin says he does it to show us he has a will of his own, and he intends to use it sometimes.

Lynette and I were very busy making laurel crowns, and getting flowers to trim up our cart. The day before the 1st, we worked all day long at it.

We made some lovely rosettes of scarlet geraniums to put on Andy's blinkers, and we had ferns and ox-eyed daisies all over the cart outside, and we twined daisy chains round and round the shafts. Baldwin wouldn't let us pick the best flowers, but we covered the whip-handle with snap-dragons and sweet peas when he wasn't looking. And the boys were awfully pleased with it. You see, I have helped at so many church decorations that I know how to fix the flowers. Aunt C. let us have dinner at half-past twelve. We all dressed in our best things, and Lynette and I coaxed some roses out of Baldwin and put a wreath round our hats.

Everybody came to see us off, and the village people were awfully pleased with us. I heard one woman say to the other:

"Us do have grand toimes now. Us never knows what they be up to nex'. 'Tis always somethin' fresh they thinks of!"

We couldn't help giving a wild cheer as we drove through the village, and Andy trotted off with his head up as pleased and proud as Punch. We got to the field first. It was a nice flat one, and in one corner of it under a tree Captain Rogers sat in his bath-chair. When he and Mrs. Rogers saw us arrive, they could hardly believe it was us, for we looked so grand.

Beatrice and Clarice arrived five minutes later, and then the first difficulty happened. They wouldn't think of Aylwin being their charioteer; they said they would drive themselves, as that would be half the fun. Aylwin was awfully disappointed, and then Captain Rogers thought of a splendid thing. He got out of his bath-chair and made Mrs. Rogers help him into another one, and then he told Aylwin that if he went to the farm, he could have his little pony that drew him out, and harness him in his chair, and drive him. We simply screamed with delight, as that made three chariots. And then to be quite fair, we settled that Denys and I should drive in our cart, and Aylwin and Lynette in Captain Rogers's chair—there was just room for both of them—and we told Puff that he must wait at the winning-post. Then he began to roar and cry, and said he got the donkey and he was going to ride.

Denys said he would make us much heavier than the others, so that we couldn't go so fast, but Puff wouldn't listen, he just roared on. So then I said I would let him go with Denys instead of me, because it did seem rather hard that he shouldn't. Denys was awfully pleased, because he said he would be much lighter weight than I was. Mrs. Rogers asked me if I didn't mind, and I said No, not much, for I should be able to stand at the winning-post and see them come in.

"I don't mind enough to roar and cry because I'm not in it," I said, as I wiped Puff's tears away with my handkerchief.

He was beaming all over, and got into the cart and sat up like a little king.

Beatrice told me she thought our cart was simply lovely.

"I wish Clarice and I could think of the things you do," she said, with a little sigh. "We feel so dull when we're not with you."

I looked at their pretty little jingle with its blue cushions, and their silver harness, and their sweet pony, and shook my head. "Ah, but we have to hide up our ugliness," I said. "You haven't."

And then she quite cheered up, and said she supposed that was it.

Well, Captain Rogers had marked out the course—at least he had made a farm boy do it with a heap of stones here and there. And then they all got into line, and Captain Rogers had a real pistol which he let off. It was awfully exciting. They were to go twice round the field, and as I was watching, I really thought it was much more fun being out of it than in it.

First I thought Beatrice and Clarice were going to win—they were well ahead. Then Denys gradually caught them up, and when Andy actually passed them, I yelled with delight. Then to my astonishment, in the second round the bath-chair, which had been a long way behind, now got faster and faster, and at last passed Denys, but he slashed and shouted at Andy so hard that he bucked up and tore along and got first again, and I thought he was going to win, when just before he came up to the winning-post, he stopped dead short and nothing would make him move. Denys shouted and whipped, but he only shook his ears and stood perfectly still. It was quite too bad. I nearly cried.

Then up came Aylwin and Lynette, and then Clarice's pony put on a spurt and came in exactly at the same time as they did; the boys called it neck-to-neck. They both won the race, and directly Andy heard us cheer them, he started off and dashed in after them, but of course he was just too late. We were all perfectly disgusted with him except Aylwin and Lynette, and they were delighted to have won. They seemed to forget that it was our donkey who had lost, and all from sheer wicked obstinacy.

Mrs. Rogers did not know who to give the laurel crown to, so Captain Rogers said the bath-chair and the jingle must have another try, and he set them only a short distance to run. The bath-chair won easily. And Lynette got the laurel crown. She was enchanted with it, and wouldn't take it off. She wore it instead of her hat, and said it was much cooler.

Then after we had all talked a lot about the race, we went down to the river, and Captain Rogers was wheeled along in his chair. We had the most lovely tea, because we boiled the kettle ourselves, and made a fire; it was almost as good as being gipsies.

And then we played games afterwards; and though Beatrice couldn't run about, because of her foot, we managed to have great fun with sitting-still games. We were quite sorry to have to go home, but we all drove in our cart by the side of Beatrice and Clarice, and they said they thought Andy looked quite as handsome as Queenie, their pony, did. They were rather disappointed that they hadn't won, but of course we couldn't all win, and somebody had to be disappointed. Denys was disappointed too. And I was. For the aggravating part was that Andy only lost the race on account of his bad temper. Captain Rogers said it was just because of his donkey's nature.

CHAPTER XI

ANDY AND ME

THIS is our week for taking it in turns to drive Andy. We have decided that we needn't always go out alone on our day, but we can invite the others to come with us if we like, only we must drive.

I put up my notice on the signpost on Monday. I did it before breakfast. The boys didn't know anything about it till the afternoon, and then they saw some people gazing up at it, and they came home and laughed at me.

"Are you going to carry the people or the parcels on your back, old Gristle? Both, I suppose. I'm sure they think you are, for there's no mention of Andy."

"That's my look-out," I said. "If they have any wits, they can guess."

I didn't mind them laughing at me a bit, for I was quite excited at the thought of being a carrier.

Father read my notice too—I didn't think he would see it—and he said to me:

"That is right, Grisel; you take after your mother. I want you all to share your pleasures with those who are less fortunate than you are."

Denys spent the whole of his day out with Aylwin and the donkey. They seem to have gone all over the country. They took their lunch with them and didn't come back till late.

Aylwin seemed to have had so much of it that he wasn't keen to take the donkey out himself the next day. But in the afternoon he drove off with Lynette, and I saw from their faces that they were up to something. Poor Andy must have had a dreadful time. It was a windy day, and Aylwin got hold of two big kites that he and Denys had made last winter. He and Lynette unrolled them and let them fly, and then tied the end of their cords to each side of the cart. They went down the village with the kites flying in splendid style, but directly they turned the corner, the kites pulled one way and Andy another.

Lynette told me she hoped the kites were going to pull them up in the air. Andy did his best to pull against them, and then he stopped short and wouldn't move at all. And for half an hour they tried to get him on, and then Aylwin turned him round, and he tore off home like lightning. And one kite broke its string and got clean away, and the other caught in a tree and stayed there, and Aylwin had to climb up and get it. They came home quite early in the afternoon. Denis asked Aylwin why he was such a fool. He said he thought the kites would act like a sail, and take Andy along in double-quick time.

Aylwin is very cross with Andy.

"I begin to think he isn't much fun!" he said.

"Well," I said to him, "I thought you would ride him more. You and Denys said you would like a donkey to take you to school, but you have never used him once."

Aylwin grinned at me.

"Do you know why? That was the beginning of old Denys's fight with 'the Sausage.' 'The Sausage' heard we had a donkey, and he danced round us and sang:

"'Pass! Parson, pass!

Riding on an ass!

Teach your boys to bray!

'Tis the Parson's way!'

"So Denys walked up to him, and then he said a lot more, and then he got a licking—and I would have done it if Denys hadn't!"

"I wish you had!" I said. "Denys had to give up his class because of it!"

"Oh, he wouldn't have kept that up long!" said Aylwin. "It's all very well for girls, that kind of thing!"

I faced round on him.

"It wasn't girls that Jesus Christ told to go and tell others about Him—it was men. You're always wanting to do what men do!"

"Don't be a preaching prig!"

"I hate it when you speak as if it isn't manly to be good," I went on with red cheeks. "That's how 'the Sausage' might talk, not the boys of a gentleman like father!"

Aylwin put his hands to his ears and ran away from me. There's one thing, he doesn't mean what he says. Now I know why the boys won't ride on Andy to school, they think they'll get laughed at. I believe boys are much more frightened of a laugh than girls are.

Lynette's day with the donkey did not end very well. She didn't take it out till the afternoon, because we were busy picking some plums for jam and helping Aunt C. to stir it in the kitchen. She always likes to make the jam herself. We were very interested in helping her first, and then we got tired. And Lynette was cross because she couldn't take Andy out before dinner.

"I'm going to drive Puff," she said. "I've promised him, he shall come."

"Shall I come too?" I asked.

"No, thank you; you'd be trying to manage me. Oh, do let us leave this old jam. Why doesn't cook do it? Now father has called Aunt C.; she won't be back for ever so long."

"You needn't wait—I'll go on stirring it," I said. "Cook is busy clearing her larders out this morning."

"But it's too late to take Andy out now—it is a shame!"

She ran out of the kitchen. When Aunt C. came back, it was just dinner-time.

"I hope there won't be any more jam to make," I said. "I do hate doing it; it's so hot!"

"It's very good for children to do what they don't like sometimes," said Aunt C. rather sternly. "Life isn't given you, Grisel, to live entirely for yourself!"

I felt rather ashamed of myself, because we have a good deal of holiday-time, and just this first week or two of the boys' holidays, Lynette and I are doing no lessons.

"I don't like making jam in a hot kitchen any better than you do, Grisel," Aunt C. went on, "but I do it because it has to be done."

"I thought grown-up people liked everything," I said. "They needn't do it if they don't. There's no one to make them."

"The sense of right principle makes them," said Aunt C. "When you grow up you'll find your whole life sometimes consists in doing things that you don't like, but which you must do."

This was quite a new idea to me. I thought grown-ups never did anything they did not like. I dare say Aunt C. doesn't like looking after us. Perhaps she would rather be at home. It makes me feel I ought to help her do things more. I'm always running off to play with the boys whenever I can. I expect it would be one of the "do's" if I helped her more. I really will try.

I was busy all the afternoon playing cricket with the boys. About four o'clock Lynette appeared. Her hair was flying, and she was looking most excited.

She called out to Denys:

"Do come; Andy is a perfect brute, and I expect Puff will be drowned."

So we all raced across the grass to her, and she explained breathlessly:

"I wanted to cross the river with him—just by the ford, you stupids, don't look so scared! I got him in, and then instead of going straight across, he went crooked, and the cart got wedged against a stone, and he wouldn't move; and at last, after trying for hours, I climbed out and waded through the water. I took off my shoes and stockings, and told Puff to sit quite still till I came back. And you must come at once, and help me get him out!"

"You've left Puff in the donkey-cart in the middle of the river!" I exclaimed in horror.

We were tearing out of the Rectory and down the road as we talked.

"Why on earth didn't you get the first man or boy that you met to help you?" said Denys.

"I didn't meet any one," said Lynette; "I was afraid of them telling father, that's why I came straight to you."

"If Puff is drowned, father will have to be told," Denys said shortly.

And then Lynette began to cry.

Happily it wasn't very far out of the village, but how Lynette could have thought of going through the river, I don't know! I shouldn't have liked to do it, and Denys said a carter was drowned in this very place last winter, when the river was high; some one told him so.

When we got down to the river there wasn't a sign of Puff or the donkey. Lynette burst out crying afresh.

"They're all drowned," she sobbed, "and I shall be hung for drowning them!"

We crossed the river by a plank bridge a little higher up, and then Denys said he believed that Andy must have gone through all right, and trotted on somewhere. So he and Aylwin lay flat on their chests and examined the grass close to the bank, like detectives or Red Indians do.

I CLIMBED OUT AND WADED THROUGH THE WATER.

"The wheels would be wet, so they would leave the grass wet," said Aylwin, looking very clever. "And here's a wet mark along here; look at my hand!"

"Yes, and the blades of grass are bent over," said Denys. "Now we must begin to track them. I wish we had a blood-hound."

Lynette cheered up, and we felt as if we were playing a game. There was only a short bit of grass beyond the river, and then we came to a lane. So now we started to run our "lopetty" run, as we called it. The boys taught me and Lynette a long time ago how you ought to run in paper-chases or anywhere where you have to go on running a long while. The great thing is not to run too fast. We call it "loping"; it's a kind of running saunter, or perhaps sauntering run. You can keep on ever so long at it, because you don't get out of breath. We all loped along, hoping to see signs of the donkey-cart, but there were none.

Then we came out on the top high road, and now we did not know which way to take, up or down, but we saw a cottage in the distance. So we went off to that, and asked a woman if she had seen a little boy in a donkey-cart. She opened her door wide, and there was Puff sitting on a low stool eating an apple! We were so relieved. And Andy was in her back-yard. She said she had seen them tearing along, and Puff was calling out, "Stop! Stop!"

She rushed out and managed to stop them, and then she tied Andy up and comforted Puff, who was crying from fright. Of course, directly Lynette left them, Andy took it into his head to start. It was only one of his obstinate fits, I think, and he dashed out of the water and up the road. It was a mercy that Puff sat still.

We thanked the woman very much, and then we brought out Andy, and we all drove home together, but we didn't try to take him across the river. We went home another way, and father scolded Lynette well for attempting it. I don't think she will try anything of that sort again.

Puff, of course, pretended he liked it.

"I dwove Andy myself; we went fuwious!"

"Yes, and you cried furious," said Aylwin.

"I only cwied when I saw the wimon," said Puff, who will never be snubbed. "I knewed she would stop me, that was why I cwied!"

"You mustn't say what isn't true, Puff; it's not 'good form,'" I said, "besides being wicked."

"I only cwied a teacup!" said Puff. "I was so angwy with Andy, and I always cwies when I'm angwy!"

He will always have the last word, so I gave it up.

Well, I've had my day, and I really have enjoyed it. To begin with, I started from the house at ten o'clock. Just outside our gate I found a huge brown-paper bundle, with a piece of paper saying, "Please delevar with kare to Miss C. Londesburg. Hall. Cross Glen."

I saw the spelling was bad, so I really thought one of the villagers had sent it. It was very, very heavy, and I could hardly lift it into the cart. I was rather pleased that I was asked to go to the Hall, for I hadn't seen Clarice since the day of our chariot race. I got in at last and drove through the village very slowly. Mrs. Ribbon came down to the gate when she saw me.

"Miss Grisel, my dear, do you mean's you reely will oblige? For I did promise to send old Susan Combe a sack o' coal. You gets it at the station, but my Tom, he has had to go off early into Lincoln by train, and she have no bit o' fire to cook her dinner, and I be that busy in the shop—"

"I'll do it," I said; "I'll go down to the station at once."

So I did, and I got the coal, and drove off to Mrs. Combe. She was so glad to see it, but neither of us could lift it out of the cart, it was so heavy, so she had to take the coal out of it gradually, and that took time.

And just as we were doing it Beatrice and Clarice came by in their pony-trap. They did stare when I told them what I was doing. "I'm a carrier for the day," I said, "and I've got a parcel for you."

They were very much excited.

"For us! Oh, do let us see it! What fun!"

They had to wait till Mrs. Combe got her coals.

And then Clarice insisted upon getting into our cart and looking at it. Then she and I began to undo the parcel together. We could not lift it out, for it was so heavy. There was a lot of paper to be undone, and then we suddenly came upon it—and it was only an old pail full of stones! Clarice was really angry. I knew at once it was the boys' joke. They wanted to make me carry that rubbish to the Hall. I was so glad I had not. I tried to explain it to Clarice, but she said:

"They're rude, horrid boys, and I shall tell mother of them!"

She jumped out of the cart, and went back to Beatrice and told her. She began to laugh—she can see a joke better than Clarice can; so then I told them they had better send a parcel back to the boys. They were quite delighted, and said they would send it by post, and then they would not guess who had sent it. We tipped out the bucket and the stones in the ditch, and I drove back to our village wondering if any one else had an errand for me.

And then I saw lame Hannah, who does dressmaking and sings in the choir. She was standing at her gate, and looked at me as if she wanted to speak, and didn't like to. So I stopped and said, "Can I do anything for you, Hannah?"

She got very red, and then she said in a hesitating kind of way:

"I've got to go over to Farmer Luscombe's, miss, and 'tis a long way for me this hot day; and mother thought as we seed you ride by, and having read your notice—"

"I know," I cried, "you'd like me to drive you there? Get in, Hannah; I shall love to do it. I'm looking out for jobs."

So she got in; she told me her leg hurt her so when she had to walk far, and yet she wanted to make a dress for Mrs. Luscombe, and was hoping that some one would give her a lift there. So I told her I hoped to have Andy one day in every week, when I could do any errands for anybody. And she thought it very nice indeed. After we had been talking some time I said, "I shall have to go back home after this, because it will be dinner-time. But I mean to come out in the afternoon again. Do you know anything that I could do, Hannah?"

She seemed to think for a minute, and then she said:

"I wonder, Miss Grisel, if you know little Annie Steel. She have come from London to live with her gran'mother, Mrs. Buxton, and she be a proper cripple—can't walk at all. Bein' lame myself, I calls in and gives her a cheerin' word. Mrs. Buxton and her old man be terrible strict and hard to her. They think her a great burden not bein' able to help them, and she sits in that back kitchen getting whiter and thinner in spite of our good country air. She never gets out, even so much as to sit on the doorstep; she's a little unformed, miss, with a hump on her back, and terrible sensitive she be, and her grandmother talks as if she be ashamed on her. 'Twould be heaven to the child if she was took a drive in this cart."

"Oh, I'll do it," I cried, "if she can get in. Won't it shake her?"

"Not a bit, miss, if you took a cushion or two, and let her sit in the bottom, and Mrs. Turner nex' door would lift her in, if her gran'mother can't."

"I'll go for her directly after dinner," I said joyfully.

When I got home, they all asked me what I had been doing. The boys didn't say anything about their parcel, and I didn't either. But Aunt C. thought it a very good plan to take Annie Steel out for a drive, and then father said:

"You mustn't work poor Andy off his legs, children, between you all."

I said I hadn't really been very far, and I drove very slowly, but Denys said to me after dinner was over, and he was helping me to harness Andy:

"Don't you overdo this Good Samaritan business, or it will be a perfect nuisance. It's rather setting yourself up as a virtuous story-book kind of person."

"Oh, Denys, you don't call Bob Tapson a story-book kind of person. I'm only a carrier."

"He does it for business, gets paid for it; you don't."

"Of course I don't, but I enjoy the driving."

He was silent for a minute, then he said:

"I believe you're getting goody."

"I wish I was," I said, laughing. "I'm simply doing it because I like doing it, but I think I'll go on for ever doing it if I can, because father said it was like mother."

He didn't say a word more, for Denys simply adored mother, and so did we all.

CHAPTER XII

LITTLE ANNIE STEEL

WHEN I got to Mrs. Buxton's, I found her in the front garden cutting cabbages. She was awfully surprised when I told her what I wanted to do. First she said she couldn't let Annie go.

"I never should ha' had her, if I'd knowed she were so 'elpless. Her mother, which was a widow when twenty, died sudden like, and Annie oughter have gone to the infirmary, but my 'usband's people have never none on 'em come to that. So to humour 'im, I says, 'Us will have the lassie here,' and here she be, and no strength or back-bone in her. All she do is to sit in a hunch like and cry. Can't walk a step, no more than a baby. But there, miss, if you're set on it, come on in and us will get her out into your cart easy enough."

So I tied Andy up to the gate-post and went in. The back kitchen was a stuffy little place, and in a low chair sat Annie. She really looked like a tiny old woman, only she had short fair hair standing out straight. When I told her what we were going to do, she smiled such a pitiful smile that it made me almost cry. She was as white as her pinafore. She is only nine years old—just as old as Lynette, but she is all doubled up. I had brought four cushions and a rug, and I made her as comfortable as I could. Her grandmother lifted her right in. She is as light as a feather. Her grandmother tied a cotton sun-bonnet on her head, and then we were off.

I drove very slowly down the lane, for I was afraid of shaking her, and then she began to talk. At first she lay still, looking up into the sky and opening and shutting her mouth rather like a fish, and when I asked her why she did that, she said:

"'Tis the air, miss; I haven't breathed none at all since I come to granny's. Afore mother died, I always sat at open winder, but granny's back winder don't open at all."

She told me she loved Hannah, and then she began exclaiming at everything she saw in such a funny way.

"There be no houses, miss—what a hempty place. This be the real country. I never seed it till I come to granny's, and then 'twas all over so quick, and I never 'ave come outdoors since. Mother allays said God lived in the country, not in the town. Mother 'ated London, she did, she said 'twas so dirty, but we 'ave the sky in London, only not much of it at a time. Oh! This must be like 'eving. The fields, and the trees, and the flowers—I have seen picturs, but not so living as this."

I stopped at the gate of a field to let her see some rabbits play about, and when a butterfly rested on the cart for a minute, she screamed with delight. And then when she grew tired of exclaiming, I began to talk to her. I told her how we got Andy, and she said to me, when I had finished:

"Does God listen to everybody, miss, or is it only rich folks. I ain't heard nothin' 'bout Him since I come to live with granny. Mother used to have a distric' visitor, but I didn't like her. She were always in such a hurry to get away, and she said I'd be better in a 'ome or 'ospital."

"Of course God hears us all," I said, surprised she was so ignorant. "Don't you pray to Him?"

She shook her head.

"I used to say 'Our Father,' but I've clean forgotten how it goes on arter 'kingdom come.'"

"Can you read?" I said.

She shook her head again.

"I did begin, but mother died afore I'd got to big words, and no one has learnt me since."

"Oh, you poor little thing!" I said. "What can you do with yourself all day?"

"I looks at picturs, and sews—I can sew. I'm doin' patches for a quilt for granny."

"You ought to pray to God," I said.

"Why?"

"Oh, because He likes you to. He loves you. Do you know about Jesus Christ?"

"Him what was killed on a cross? Mother telled me that."

"Do you know why He was killed?"

She shook her head.

"Something about saving sinners and the world," she said. "I've forgotten. I b'lieve He was very good and kind. He's been dead hundreds of years, hasn't He?"

"He isn't dead at all," I said, quite horrified. "Why, Annie, you don't know as much as the infants in my class."

"No one never learns me," she said, in a whimpering voice.

So then I began to tell her as well as I could what Jesus had done for her. She didn't know she was a sinner at all, but I think I made her understand she was, after some time, and she was quite surprised when I told her that Jesus was still alive, and still able to help us and be with us and lead us along, though we couldn't see Him. She didn't know the Cross had anything to do with her, and she drank it all in with big eyes and open mouth, till I wished that some one better than I was talking to her. I had to attend to my driving too, and every now and then I got down and picked her some honeysuckle and wild flowers to take back with her. And at last I felt we had been out long enough, so I drove her back, and when we got to her house, she began to cry, and she caught hold of my hand.

"You will come and take me out again—you won't forget me? Oh, do promise you'll come another day!"

"I'll try and come this day week, Annie," I said, "and I'll come and see you before that, and perhaps I can help you to read. I'll bring some books with me."

Her granny lifted her out and seemed quite pleased.

"Well there, missy, 'tis very good of you, and it'll do her a power o' good. Poor bit of a thing, 'twould be a mercy of the Lord to take her. She'll never be no use to no one in this world."

I felt quite angry, but I didn't know what to say, and I saw that Annie's face quivered all over at her horrid words, so I waved to her.

"Good-bye, Annie. I'll come to see you very soon."

Then I ran home and told father all about her. He said:

"I blame myself for not having discovered her. I have been to see Mrs. Buxton, but she never told me she had a grandchild."

"She's ashamed of her," I said. "Hannah told me she thought a deformed child was a disgrace to any one. Isn't it cruel of her? Do you think I could teach her to read, father?"

"Yes, most certainly. Go to her as often as you like—only mind, ask Mrs. Buxton's permission to do it."

When I told the others about Annie, they didn't laugh, and Lynette was quite interested. She got some of her old dolls out, and told me to take them to her.

Aunt C. said at tea:

"I think Grisel has had the most enjoyable day with the donkey."

"Oh, yes, aunt," said Aylwin quickly, "we know what you're going to say—because she thought of other people's pleasure before her own. But she's made that way, it's no credit to her. And don't you make her conceited, because she thinks a lot too much of herself already."

"I don't!" I said angrily.

"Hush! Hush! No quarrelling!"

Aunt C. is always having to say that, so none of us went on with it.

The next morning came a big parcel by post addressed to "Master Denys and Master Aylwin Marjoribanks."

They were awfully excited, and didn't notice Lynette's and my sniggles, for I told her about it. Well, they went on unrolling and unrolling paper after paper, and at last they came to a cardboard box; and when they opened it, it was full of old cabbage-stalks, and a little piece of paper was folded up at the bottom of the box, and they read it out:

"With thanks from Beatrice and Clarice."

Then Lynette and I danced round the table and laughed at them, for they deserved it. And then I told them that I'd never taken the parcel to the Hall at all, and they were awfully disappointed and very angry at the "cheek of those girls," as they expressed it.

I told them they always liked playing jokes on other people, but never liked to have them played on themselves. And Denys said he would have his revenge, but he always says that when he comes off worst in anything, and then he forgets all about it.

I was so interested in Annie Steel, that nearly every day I went to see her, and she got a pink colour in her cheeks, and looked almost pretty. Every Wednesday I take her out.

We're all hard at work earning money for a saddle for Andy. The boys find Captain Rogers likes the most enormous lot of fish. They can't keep him supplied, and he pays them very handsomely. I still send some vegetables and flowers in to Lemworth market by Bob Tapson, and Lynette makes toffee on and off—she gets tired of doing it very often. But the money seems long in coming.

Mrs. Rogers brought Captain Rogers to tea yesterday afternoon, and he made us open our money-box. We found we had fifteen shillings. We had great fun. We had tea out on the lawn—a kind of picnic it was—and Captain Rogers said we must try and make money quicker than we were doing or we should never get our saddle. So then we asked him if he had any plan, and he said Yes, he thought he had. He said he and his wife were going to have an archery competition in their big field, and a lot of grown-up people were coming to it, and also he was going to ask all the children he knew for a children's competition, and he was going to give a prize to the best shooter, and the prize-money was going to be one guinea.

"So all you have to do is to win that prize," he said; "and I know a place where you can get a good boy's saddle for thirty shillings or so."

We all set up a shout; it was lovely to think of. And then we told him that we didn't know how to shoot with bows and arrows, but we supposed we could learn. He said it was one of the few things left to him to do, and that we must come over and practise in his field.

"And we can set up a target here and practise," said Denys. "I will make it; only we have no bows or arrows. Are they expensive?"

"We'll ask Mrs. Ribbon," said Aylwin. "I bet you she'll have to own she doesn't sell them."

"No," said Captain Rogers, "I'll lend you some of mine till after the competition. Let me see, you'll want four, won't you? One apiece."

"Me too!" cried Puff, in an injured tone. "I want to shoot."

So Captain Rogers promised to send five bows round and a packet of arrows. And Denys said, to save him trouble, he'd go back with him and get them, so that we could start at once.

"And how is Andy behaving?" he asked.

"Just as uncertain as ever he was," I said. "Sometimes he's very good, and then he suddenly plays up his old trick of coming to a standstill, and not one of us, or all of us together, can make him move. He's not a faithful animal—he never will be."

Captain Rogers laughed, and pulled a bit of my hair.

"Come here, you little old woman, and tell me what a faithful animal is."

"One you can depend upon," I said; "a certain, sure animal, that is always the same. Isn't that the meaning of faithful? We were talking about it the other day."

"Yes," he said, "that's a very true description of faithfulness. I think I would back you to be faithful, Grisel."

"Oh, I wish I was. But I'm not. You aren't properly faithful if you aren't always faithful, like our knight—'semper fidelis.' I'm trying to be a faithful servant, but I'm always forgetting."

"Whose servant?" he asked. "I think I would like you for a faithful friend, Grisel."

"Christ's servant," I said to him in a whisper. "He comes first, you know. But I'd like to be your faithful friend very much, Captain Rogers."

"We'll make a compact now," he said; "and if I get into trouble and want a friend, I shall know to whom I can turn."

Both the boys went back to the farm with Captain Rogers, and they came home triumphantly with the bows and arrows. And all to-day they have been making a target with straw and white calico and paint. I do hope one of us will get the prize. We stand a good chance, as there are four of us. Beatrice and Clarice are to be asked too, and some other children from a long way off. I believe Captain Rogers hopes we shall win.

*****

It is some time since I wrote in this book, for I have been so busy. First of all I must tell about our archery competition. We began to practise hard for it the very minute the target was ready. We put it up at the end of the lawn and shot at it from as far as we could get away from it. And it's awfully exciting, and great fun. I thought I was getting on splendidly, but I'm rather afraid I was very cross at being called so often away from my practice. As it happened, Emma scalded her leg, and had to be in bed for a whole day, and when she got up, she couldn't move about. And so Aunt C. said Lynette and I must make our beds, and dust the rooms, and help in the house as much as possible. It seemed very provoking, because we did want to be good shooters. I can't bear not doing things well.

Lynette kept running away, but I couldn't do that; and I helped all I could, only I felt very cross the whole time. I don't think I was at all good that week. When Wednesday came, I didn't want to take Annie out for a drive, because Beatrice and Clarice came to spend the afternoon with us, and all of them were shooting hard at the target. I went off with Andy, wishing I hadn't promised to take Annie out every week, but when I saw her little smiling face, I was ashamed of myself. I was half an hour late. She said:

"Grannie said you wouldn't come. I knewed you would. I wakes in the night and thinks o' my drive. You never disapp'int me, do you, miss?"

"I hope I never shall," I said.

Annie was very talkative. "I says my prayers proper when I goes to bed and when I gets up," she said. "I telled granny 'bout it. I said to her, I oughter speak and thank for all the nice things I was havin', special to thank Him Who died on cross for me; and she said so I did oughter, that 'twas more 'n I deserved to have a young lady come so constant to see me. And please, Miss Grisel, you said las' time you were here, you and me were both the Lord's servants, and please if I'm one, what can I do for Him?"

Annie always makes me feel that she is really much better than I am, though she has known about things for such a short time. She seems so dead in earnest.

"I wants to do somethin' for Him," she said; "I loves Him so."

"I don't think Jesus wants us to do very big things for Him when we're children, Annie," I said. "That's what father says. He wants us just to do all day and speak all day as if He were in the room smiling and watching us. Of course He is really in the room with us, you know, but we can't see Him. I'm sure He must often want to turn away His head and look the other way when we get cross and disobliging and grumbling. I do forget about it so. I've been cross to-day myself."

"I cries and grumbles when my back is bad," Annie said thoughtfully. "I'll hush up nex' time if He's near. And do you think He'd like me to peel the taters for granny, and learn to mend grand-dad's socks? 'Cause I sometimes tells of 'er I can't do nothin' when my back aches?"

"I'm sure He would like you to help your granny all you can, Annie," I said. And then I didn't want to be a hypocrite, so I told her how cross I had felt when Aunt C. had asked me to do things, and we agreed together that we must keep saying to ourselves:

"Jesus is in the room. He is watching to see what I'm going to do."

I felt quite happy when I came home from our drive. The others were just having tea, and afterwards I ran out and practised with my bow and arrow for a little, and once I hit the bull's-eye, but I couldn't do it again, though I tried ever so.

HE SHOT SO STEADILY AND FIRMLY.

At last the day came, and we all went off to the farm, and the field was full of people, and there was the most lovely tea spread out under the trees, and four boys and five girls, all strangers to us. Three girls and a boy were the children of the Squire of Tenbury, a village seven miles from us, and the others were a clergyman's family near Lincoln. They had come by train. We liked them all, and they were quite as excited as we were over the archery.

We began at once, and it was great fun taking it in turns; the boys lay on the grass and cheered when any one did well. I was very nervous when my turn came, and my hand shook as if I had the palsy. But I didn't do badly, only of course I didn't win; I knew I shouldn't do that. I don't think any of us were surprised when Denys was the winner. Somehow I felt he would be. He stood up so straight, and shot so steadily and firmly—just like a grave man. He said after, he felt it was a matter of life or death, because he was determined to get the prize. And then we all cheered like mad, and Mrs. Rogers gave him his prize in a pretty bead purse.

We all came home wild with joy, for we had got our donkey, and donkey-cart, and now we had got the money for the saddle. And none of us need try to earn money any more.

It seemed too good to be true.

CHAPTER XIII

OUR DREADFUL DAY

AND now I've got to write about a dreadful day. And I'll begin at the very beginning of it. It was rather near the end of our holidays. We had got our saddle by this time, and we all used to ride Andy anywhere; he was a very good donkey on the whole, and he galloped awfully well. We were just talking over our plans for the day at breakfast when Emma came in with a telegram for father. He often got telegrams about meetings, so we didn't take any notice, until we heard him give a kind of groan, and hand it to Aunt C. And then she began to cry, and we knew it must be something bad. It was to say that granny had been taken dangerously ill, and father must go at once.

Aunt C. gasped out:

"She's dying, John; I must come with you."

"There's no train till ten-thirty. We must catch that."

Aunt C. rushed out of the room; then father turned to us:

"Children, can I trust you alone? It would be a sad thing for your aunt if she did not come with me. Will you try to prove yourselves trustworthy? Denys, you are getting a big boy, and know the difference between right and wrong. I look to you in my absence to take care of your brothers and sisters. Grisel, keep Lynette with you, and do not get into mischief. I will go and have a talk with cook. There is no time to be lost."

We promised faithfully to be as good as gold. We were very sorry about granny, but we couldn't help feeling a little tiny bit glad that we were to be left to take care of ourselves. We never have been before, and it's a delicious feeling to be quite, quite alone in the holidays, and to manage ourselves. I don't think there could be a nicer thing happen. Then I ran upstairs and helped Aunt C. to pack up her portmanteau. She was very upset, and Emma and cook were so excited, they kept running up and down stairs the whole time asking her questions.

At last they were off; and Denys drove their small luggage in the donkey-cart to the station. Father said he would be sure to come home in time for Sunday, as this was only Tuesday. Aunt C. kissed me very hard, and said she knew I would do my best to be good and to keep the others good, as I had been a great comfort to her lately. I was so pleased when she said this that I nearly cried, but I put both my arms round her neck instead, and gave her a good hug.

When Denys came back, we all went out into the garden to the summer-house to talk about it.

"Granny was quite well two days ago," I said. "She wrote to Aunt C. and said she had just been for a drive. I didn't know people could die without being ill."

"But she is ill," said Aylwin.

"Yes, but she couldn't get very ill all at once, could she?"

"Lots of people do," said Denys.

"Could we?" asked Lynette, with a frightened look. "I shouldn't like to. Aunt C. said she was sure granny was dead, and that was how Aunt Mildred broke the news."

"Anyhow, granny won't mind dying," I said. "She is like the knight, 'semper paratus.' And you ought to be too, Lynette."

"I'm not," she said; "are you?"

"Oh, do stop talking rot!" said Aylwin. "Now, what shall we do with ourselves?"

"A picnic would be nice," I suggested, "down by the river."

"And we might take Andy with us, and give him a good tubbing in the water. He must be dreadfully dirty; he never has a bath."

Lynette said this. If there's one thing she is fonder of than another, it is water, and washing something.

"And we'll boil a kettle, and pretend we're gipsies," said Aylwin.

"All right; let's go to cook and see if she's got any raw meat we can cook ourselves—that's half the fun."

So Denys and I went off to the kitchen, and cook seemed only too delighted to have us out for the day. She gave us some sausages, and a frying-pan with some fat in to fry them, and a bit of rabbit-pie, and some cold potatoes, and some apples, and half a loaf of bread, and a bottle of milk, and a small tin of sugar, and an envelope filled with salt, and another with tea in it. And then we all bustled about and got some cups and plates and the kettle, and then we packed ourselves in the donkey-cart, and away we drove, and we were all feeling so jolly that we had to keep reminding ourselves that granny was dying. And for a few minutes we tried to keep sad and have dismal faces. At last Denys said:

"Look here, we can't go on like this. We'll hope she has turned the corner and is getting well fast. Lots of people do, you know. And doctors always say, 'While there is life there is hope.' So we'll be as jolly as we like, because she's getting better."

We were all quite relieved. It was so much nicer having cheerful thoughts about granny than sad ones. And I'm afraid we didn't think much about her again, for we got very busy when we got down to the river. And then Denys said to Lynette:

"I say, if you want to wash anything, you can wash yourself—your hands would be all the better for it—and you can wash our dinner-plates, but don't you try it on Andy, or I'll duck you in the river head first. Donkeys aren't made to be washed."

Lynette was awfully disappointed, but she was rather afraid of Denys.

We had the most lovely time cooking our dinner. We first made the fire, and then we boiled the kettle, for we were all going to have cups of tea, and then we got the frying-pan and put the sausages in and the bit of rabbit-pie and the cold potatoes, and they smelt delicious. Denys and I were cook by turns, because Aylwin would taste so often that we were afraid there would not be enough to go round, and Lynette said the fire scorched her face. I don't expect grown-ups would have liked our fry, because it was rather smoky, and once the frying-pan tipped right over, and we lost some of the potatoes in the fire. But we all liked it immensely, and then we made tea, and we felt as if we were having a thorough good kitchen dinner—Emma and cook always have tea with their dinner. Then we tried to roast our apples, but it was too much bother, and we were tired of cooking by that time, so we just ate them raw.

Lynette and Puff and I washed up our plates and cups, and then we packed them away, and then we began having a game of hide-and-seek. There was a small wood close to us, so we had great fun. And now the first thing began to go wrong with us. We had unharnessed Andy and let him munch about on the grass, but when we were playing we forgot all about him, and suddenly we found out that he had gone off. We all hunted for him, and called and shouted, but there was no sign of him. And then we felt angry with him. Lynette said he must have remembered running off with Puff the other day, and the river must have reminded him of it.

"It will be no joke if we spend the rest of the day in hunting for the old beast!" said Aylwin sulkily. "I vote we go home, and let him find his way back!"

"But we can't leave the cart here," said Denys.

"Harness Aylwin to it, and let me drive him," said Lynette, dancing up and down in delight at the thought.

The boys wouldn't listen to her. We spent nearly an hour looking for Andy.

We were quite three miles from home, and we didn't know what to do. Then the boys said we must all help to drag the cart home. We cheered up then, because we thought it would be great fun. There was a great deal of talking, of course, before we settled it. I said we ought to draw it tandem, and Lynette could be leader, because she was the youngest, and I believed it was the easiest place, but Denys said we must be a four-in-hand, and Puff could-drive, because he was tired out already, and would have to be in the cart. So then we settled that Lynette and I should be front horses, and Denys and Aylwin back ones. We had some rope which we had brought to tie our hamper with, and after some time we got ourselves arranged, and started.

"Let us think Puff is member for the county," Denys said, "and he's just elected, and we've taken out his horses and are pulling him round the town."

So we all yelled out, "Three cheers for Puff, M.P., the labourer's friend!"

For we had seen plenty of elections before we came into Lincolnshire. But, oh dear! It was hard work pulling that cart. It was easier pulling it on the high road, but we all got very tired, and had to rest pretty often. Puff was the only one who enjoyed it, only we had to take the whip away from him, because he got so excited that he forgot we hadn't donkeys' skins, and really hurt us with it. And then, as we were all pulling our very hardest, who should come by but Lady Laura in her grand carriage and pair, and Beatrice and Clarice were with her.

"We've lost our donkey!" we shouted out to them. "And we're a four-in-hand."

We were trying to gallop past, for it was a little down-hill when we met them, only Lady Laura made us stop.

"Oh, you madcaps!" she said. "I am so glad you don't belong to me."

We thought that was rather nasty of her, because we really didn't want to draw our cart home; we were only doing it because it was our duty. So Denys took off his cap to her and tried to explain, and asked her if she saw Andy anywhere to let us know, and she laughed and promised she would, and Beatrice and Clarice called out that they would love to get out and be a six-in-hand, only they had their best clothes on.

We got on pretty well after that, until we came to a steep hill before we came to our village. We thought we would have a regular gallop down it, and come through the village in style. I suppose we went a little too fast, because just before we came to the bottom the cart seemed to come on the top of us, and Denys and Aylwin couldn't hold it back. Lynette tumbled, and then I hardly know what happened, but the next thing we were all in a confused heap in the ditch, and Puff was yelling as if he was being murdered. The hamper tumbled out, and nearly all the plates and cups were broken. I suppose we hadn't packed them very well. Denys picked himself up first. He was all right—only a few bruises, he said. Lynette had a great bump on her forehead almost as big as a small egg, and Aylwin had hurt one of his legs most dreadfully; he said he was sure it was broken, but Denys felt it all over and said there were no bones sticking out anywhere. Puff had only grazed his knees; one was bleeding rather—I tied my handkerchief over it. I had cut one of my elbows with a stone and felt rather bruised, but that was all.

THE NEXT THING WE WERE ALL IN A CONFUSED HEAP

IN THE DITCH.

We all sat down in the hedge to rest, after we had examined ourselves. And then, as no one came by who could help us, we left our cart in the hedge, and Denys carried Aylwin on his back all the way home, which was very good of him. Lynette's frock was all torn, and my hat was covered with ditch mud. When we came in, Emma shrieked at the sight of us. She told Baldwin to go and get the cart, and Aylwin got on the sofa, and cook came in to look at his leg. She said she thought it would be all right if she put a cold-water bandage on. It was rather swollen and bruised, but she said she was sure nothing was broken.

We were all rather disgusted with ourselves for coming home in such a state, but of course it was all Andy's fault, not ours.

Just after we had had our tea, a boy came to the Rectory. He had found Andy tearing about in a farmer's field, with some young colts, ever so far away. How he got there we don't know. He must have broken through the hedge somewhere. We were very glad to see him, but Denys nearly gave him a good beating. Emma said it was a regular hospital with all of us so scratched and bruised, and she said we might have all killed ourselves.

I wish I could say our day ended there, but the worst is still to come.

I was sitting in the garden reading a story-book. Puff had already gone to bed, and Lynette was playing a game of Halma with Aylwin indoors, when Denys came to me in great excitement.

"I say! There's a fire at a farm half a mile out of the village. It is Mr. Gaythorpe's. I'm off to it!"

"Oh, I must come too!" I said.

I suppose it is a dreadful thing to like, but we all love seeing a fire. We saw one or two in the place we were in before we came here, and we always went to them if we could. If it was at night, the boys would steal out of their beds and go off just the same. And, of course, a fire is much more exciting in the country.

I put on my hat and ran off with Denys. We saw volumes of smoke going up into the sky. Denys said some hayricks must have caught fire. We ran as hard as we could, and at last we came to it. It was a rick, we found, but it had caught on to the stables, and the stables were close to the house. There were a lot of men and boys throwing buckets of water over it. There was no fire-engine nearer them than Lemworth, so of course that was no good at all.

Denys at once began helping the farmer's wife to bring her furniture out of the house; it had a thatched roof, so there didn't seem the slightest chance of saving it. I stood a little distance off and watched the flames curl and lick up to the sky. It sent a little thrill through me as I saw them. Only I was glad that all the horses had been brought out and all the farmer's children. There was no one in the house at all. The farmer did his very best to save his house. One of the men got a ladder and began cutting away the thatch on the roof, and they soaked it with water, but the ladder actually caught on fire, and the man had to get down as quick as he could. His hands were quite burnt, and he was taken away by his wife at once.

All the time the farmer's wife, and her two servants, and Denys, were bringing out everything into the field which was close to the house. I wanted to help too, but Denys wouldn't let me; he said it wasn't girls' work. I felt quite sorry that Aylwin and Lynette knew nothing about it; they would so have enjoyed seeing it.

Then I heard something about oil in the back kitchen; the farmer was afraid the fire would get to it. And just then we heard the most awful howl, and we looked up, and there at one of the top windows which was open stood a dear little terrier.

"It's Foxy!" screamed Mrs. Gaythorpe. "I must have shut him in when I got the children out!"

"I'll get him!" shouted Denys, and he dashed into the house and up the stairs. I never thought he would be in danger, until, a minute after, there was an awful flare coming out of the kitchen windows, and Mr. Gaythorpe said it was the cask of oil. Then we saw Denys at the top window holding out the dog.

"Shall I throw him out?"

"Come down yourself!" shouted out the farmer. "The oil has caught downstairs!"

Denys disappeared. I still didn't think he was in danger until I saw him back at the window, and heard him shout out:

"The staircase is on fire. I can't come down!"

Then I felt quite sick. It was an awful moment.

"Hold out a blanket," said Denys, "if you've got one, and I'll throw you Foxy."

Two men held out a blanket, and Foxy was thrown out and caught. Meanwhile, Mr. Gaythorpe had gone for the ladder. It was broken and was too short to reach Denys. They tried another, but it was too short; then they began to splice them together, and I was in perfect agony.

Denys was awfully calm.

"Hurry up!" he said. "The fire is coming into the room."

Then we saw an awful volume of smoke behind him. The old house was burning like tinder.

"Oh, Denys! Denys!" I screamed, hardly knowing what I said. "Won't somebody save him?"

I heard afterwards that the ladders had been so badly burnt that they were quite rotten. And still Denys never lost his courage.

"Throw me up a coil of rope," he shouted. "I must get out of this; the floor is burning under me!"

He was standing on the sill as he spoke. I felt awful, as if I longed to be there instead of him. And then they got hold of a mattress, and four men held it at each corner.

"Jump!" they cried. "We'll catch you. 'Tis your only chance!"

For one moment Denys hesitated; he looked down. He was up such a long way, for it was a high house. Then he looked behind him, and then he sprang forward. I hid my eyes in terror. I suppose he must have jumped too strongly—he was always a splendid jumper—for I heard a sickening crashing thud, and they hadn't caught him! They said after, he jumped beyond them. I don't think I shall ever forget that moment all my life long. There was a loud groan from the whole crowd, and then dead silence. I dashed forward, but Mrs. Gaythorpe caught me by the arm.

"Stay with me, my pretty; 'tis no sight for you! Ah, the poor, poor boy!"

I have never done such a thing before, and I hope I never shall again, but I fainted. I seemed to know that they were taking up Denys's dead body, all crushed and still.

When I came round, I was in a cottage near, and a woman was tickling my nose with burnt feathers. I sat up, and remembered it all.

"Where's Denys?" I cried.

"The doctor's with him, missy. Such a chance; he were riding home from Farmer Turts, who have been to bed with the gout, and he saw the fire and comed straight up. They've taken him in next door."

"Oh, is he dead?" I cried. "He can't be dead, he can't be dead!"

"There now, my dear, we'll hope for the best!"

I dashed her arm away from me, and rushed out of her cottage. I hardly knew what I was doing, but I found myself saying, "I don't want to hope, I want to be sure!"

And then outside Mrs. Blatch's cottage next door I met cook and Baldwin. Some one had run off and told them.

Cook was wringing her hands and crying:

"The master is away, and who will tell him? Oh, never will I be left again in charge of these children!"

And her screaming and crying made me feel quiet. I walked into the cottage through a crowd of people.

"Is he dead?" I kept saying, and no one answered me.

And then the woman the cottage belonged to came out of a back room, and I shall love her till the day of my death.

"There, dearie," she said; "take heart: he's only a few broken bones, and young bones mend fast, the doctors say. Alive! Bless your little heart, he'll be laughing in a day or two! And I'll keep him here and look after him. He mustn't be moved, the doctor says. I was nurse once in the Lemworth Infirmary, and I'll look after him right well, I promise you!"

Then she told everybody to go away except cook and Baldwin and me, and we sat down in her front parlour and waited till the doctor came out.

CHAPTER XIV

A DONKEY IN A NIGHT-CAP

DR. FENNING was an old man. He lives about six miles from us. He came out with a smiling face. I think he saw how frightened we all were.

"He'll do!" he said. "With care. But he must be kept absolutely quiet, and I can't allow any one to see him but Mrs. Blatch. She'll carry out my orders."

"Oh, please!" I said. "Couldn't I see him for a minute? Father is away. Is he much broken?"

"It's a mercy he fell where he did, on the grass; and it's a miracle that he is as much alive as he is. Broken? Well, he has got a rib broken and an arm, and a nasty crack on his head, but he's young, and I'll pull him round, so trot along home and leave him here."

Then cook and Baldwin would have their say, and Dr. Fenning got impatient and broke away from us, and then we went home, and I found Lynette and Aylwin knew nothing about the fire, so I told them. We all settled that I must write at once to father and tell him of it, and I wrote the letter before I went to bed, so that the postman could take it as early as possible the next morning.

And then, for the first time in my life, I was glad to get to bed to end our horrible day. I was so tired that I fell asleep directly, but when I woke the next morning it seemed as if there was a great weight on me pressing me down, and then I remembered Denys.

When the post came in, I had a letter from father. He wrote to say that dear grannie had just died, and he hoped we would all be good children, as he could not be back till after the funeral, which was to be on Saturday. Lynette and I felt very unhappy. We didn't think that granny would really die.

Aylwin's leg was paining him a good deal. He tried to order us about, and tell us what we were to do, but we wouldn't have it. We told him he was pretending to be like Denys, and he never could be. And then after breakfast we left him and went off to Mrs. Blatch's cottage to ask how Denys was. She wouldn't let us see him, and she told us that he was sleeping, and mustn't be disturbed.

"Is he in pain?" I asked. "Does he talk? What does he say?"

"He isn't rightly conscious, missy, but the doctor gave him some stuff to keep him quiet. He'll do nicely. Don't you fret."

"Father isn't coming home till Saturday," I said, trying to keep the tears out of my eyes; "and it's dreadful being without Denys. Are you quite sure he won't die, Mrs. Blatch?"

"I don't think he will, dearie, not if I can help it, and if the good God gives us His help."

"Oh, Lynette, let's go home and pray for him," I said; "I've been so miserable that I haven't done it."

So we went back. Lynette was quite grave, not a bit harum-scarum as she always is. And we went upstairs to our bedroom and knelt down and prayed that Denys might get better soon. And when we got up from our knees, we felt much better.

And then we went back to Aylwin, who was on the dining-room sofa. Puff was riding Andy in the field, and Aylwin was quite cross. We told him about Denys. He said:

"Well, I know I'm jolly ill; my leg gets worse and worse. I think it's going to mortify—it's turning black. I shall soon be every bit as bad as Denys; and then they'll amputate me, and I shall be on one leg for the rest of my life!"

We felt rather frightened, and made him pull off his linen bandage and show his leg to us.

"Oh!" I said. "It's badly bruised. Bruises always turn black; I've lots on my arms!"

I pulled up my sleeve and showed him.

"Yes," said Lynette eagerly, "and look at my forehead!"

"Pooh!" said Aylwin. "I'd swap my leg in a minute for any of your trifling bruises! I consider I ought to have had the doctor called in. Cook thinks herself very clever, but she's made a hash of me."

We couldn't help laughing, for that's cook's one saying to Aunt C. when she doesn't know what to have for dinner. "We'll make a hash, mum," she says, and she would give us hashes every day of the week if she could, and if there was meat to do it.

"I wonder what Denys feels like!" I said. "What an awful day yesterday was!"

"Andy was at the bottom of it all!" grumbled Aylwin. "If he hadn't run away, I shouldn't have hurt my leg, and I should have gone to the fire with you."

"And then what?" I said.

"I shouldn't have let Denys be so foolhardy as to run into a blazing house."

"He saved the dog," I said. "I think he was very kind and brave. I wouldn't like to have been him just before he jumped. It was awful! And I think he must have felt he was going to miss the mattress. He stood up so straight, and looked so grave. The village people think he was a regular hero."

Aylwin didn't say any more, but he made us help him out into the garden, where he lay on the grass, and we sat and talked to him. It was a very dull long day, and we didn't know what to do with ourselves. Cook and Emma kept going off to Mr. Blatch's to see how Denys was; at least they said they were there, but they stood in the village half the time, talking to every one. Mrs. Ribbon told cook we ought to have telegraphed to father about Denys, but she said she thought not, as we couldn't properly explain in a telegram.

And then in the afternoon we got a visit from Mrs. Rogers. We were so glad to see her. I began to feel I had had enough of being without any grown-ups to talk to. She went to see Denys at once, and stayed till the doctor came, and said she would write to father herself.

"You must all come over and spend a long day with us at the farm," she said. "You will cheer my husband up."

"But there's nothing but misfortune happened to us," I said: "accidents and death and illness. We don't feel very cheerful!"

"Yes, but we won't look at the blackest side. Andy isn't lost, and none of you were seriously hurt when you tumbled into the ditch with your cart, and Denys is going to get better, and your father will be home on Saturday!"

"Oh!" I said. "I wish you'd come and stay with us till father comes back!"

But she said she could not leave Captain Rogers. We were very sorry when she went, but we said we would like to spend a day at the farm the next day, and so we did, and quite enjoyed ourselves. I had another letter from father, and cook had one too. He said he had been coming straight back to us, only he telegraphed to the doctor, and he told him he need not, for Denys was going on well. And he said he hardly knew how to leave before granny's funeral, he had so much to do and arrange. And he told me that Aunt Mildred was coming back with him on Saturday instead of Aunt C.

We were quite delighted to hear that. Aunt Mildred is the very best story-teller we know. In winter we sit in the dark with just a little bit of fire, and she begins to tell us a story of the Civil Wars, hundreds of years ago, between the Royalists and Roundheads. She tells us about girls and boys hiding their fathers in secret rooms, and creeping along secret passages, in and out of dungeons. And our hearts thump, and we hold our breaths, because the most awful things are going to happen, and you think there is no possibility of escape this time, and then they just miss coming by a hair's breadth. It's so deliciously exciting to listen to her!

I haven't written in this book for a long while, so I must make up for lost time now. Denys got very slowly better, but even when father and Aunt Mildred came back, he couldn't be brought home. That came about three weeks later. We were very glad to see him, but he looked dreadfully white and thin, and his arm was in a sling, and he had to stay in bed; he was quite an invalid.

We used to go up to his room and sit with him, and we did a good many things up there to amuse him. We acted charades sometimes, and once we had a kind of acrobat performance, and Aylwin tried to walk across a pole between two chairs and balance a tumbler on his nose; he didn't do the tumbler badly, but he smashed both chairs and the pole itself, and came an awful cropper. Denys was just as full of fun and plans as ever, but one Sunday afternoon I was sitting with him alone, and he got quite grave and earnest.

He asked me about my class, and then he said, "Father was quite right, Grisel; I wasn't fit to teach them. I was trying to take a servant's message when I wasn't a servant at all. Do you know what I thought about when I stood on the windowsill and waited for the ladder to come, and felt the flames roar behind me and underneath me?"

"No," I said; "I knew you were thinking of something; you looked so grave and quiet. Oh, don't let us talk about it. It was horrible!"

"But I want to talk about it. The words on the knight's tomb flashed across me: 'Semper fidelis, semper paratus.' And I felt I was looking death in the face, and I wasn't 'paratus.' And I hadn't been 'fidelis.'"

"You didn't look frightened," I said. "I thought you didn't understand how near the fire was to you."

"A fellow wouldn't be much good if he funked at a time like that," said Denys, with his grand air. "It's never good form to show your feelings."

Then he added in a different tone:

"But all the same I was in a funk, and I had reason to be, for I wasn't ready to die, and I knew it. How would you have felt, Grisel?"

"I think I should have screamed with fright," I said; "I'm afraid I should. But it wouldn't be death that would frighten me, it would be the fire. I think—" I stopped, for I always find it difficult to talk about myself—"I think I shouldn't be afraid of dying—because it would be all right after."

"How do you know?"

"The Bible says so. Sometimes I wonder, when I feel very blue, if I've made a mistake after all, and if I'm not safe in the fold. And then I think of that chapter about sheep, and how Jesus said about His sheep, 'I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of My hand.'"

"Yes, but how do you know you're one of the sheep?"

"He died for me," I said slowly; "and He called me, and I came. I can't explain it better."

Denys was silent.

"I'm going to be jolly sure of myself before I leave this bed," he said. He didn't mean it irreverently; he always talks like that. "I'm going to be so sure, that if I was to meet sudden death every day, I should never blink, or think it mattered a bit. A man has no business to have anything to make him funk; I mean inside him. I shall be 'paratus' for death. I'll make it my business to be."

"Father will tell you how," I murmured.

We didn't say any more, but a few days after Denys said to me:

"It's done. I've settled it, or I suppose I should say, God has. I don't think I shall funk death again—at least, I hope I shan't. And I hope if I'm 'paratus,' I shall be able to keep 'fidelis.'"

I nodded, but I didn't speak, and we didn't talk about it again.

Aylwin went off to school before Denys was well, and Lynette and I did our lessons with Aunt Mildred. And now it began to get cold and wet, and we began fires, and the winter slowly came along.

Sometimes when we couldn't go out we played hide-and-seek all over the house, and Aunt Mildred played with us. She used to come out with us in the donkey-cart, and father drove to one or two places with Andy. He got more and more useful. He used to bring up parcels from the station, and coals and oil, and every week I drove Annie Steel out, and did errands for the village people. And at last Denys got well enough to drive out, and then he went back to school.

One thing Aunt Mildred did which was very nice. She changed the choir practice to Friday, so that every Saturday we could go out for the whole day if we wanted to, and we generally had a plan which lasted all day, for it was our holiday. But sometimes it was a wet day, and then it was horrid. I don't know how it is, but it is quite impossible to stay the whole day in the house without doing something wrong, and we generally end by having a regular fight all round.

Last Saturday was a dreadfully wet day. We shut ourselves up in the schoolroom in the morning, and determined to be jolly without getting into any scrapes. And then Aylwin said:

"We've had old Andy a perfect age, and we haven't taught him any tricks yet. He ought to be like a circus donkey."

"What do circus donkeys do?" asked Lynette.

"Why, they sit up and eat dinner with table-napkins, and dance the hornpipe in caps and gowns, and play the piano with their hoofs, and all kinds of things."

"I think we ought to train him a little," said Denys thoughtfully.

"I heard of a donkey who used to come indoors," I said.

Then we all put our heads together, and Aylwin ran out of the room. He was going to see if Andy had been brought into the stable. Lynette and I went upstairs to our piece box. Our piece box is a box where Aunt C. puts odd pieces of our dresses and anything she cuts out. And at the bottom of it are some old clothes we play charades with. We chose out an old lady's night-cap that we had, and a long blue cloak, and a black-and-white plaid shawl. These two last were very moth-eaten, but we thought that wouldn't matter, and we got some tape and pins and scissors and needle and cotton and went downstairs to the drawing-room.

Aunt Mildred had gone out to see a sick woman with father. She never stops in for the rain.

Denys was holding the hall door open, and then I thought of the dining-room carpet, so Lynette and I very carefully put newspapers down in case Andy might be muddy. And presently we heard a great noise in the hall, and we ran out, and there was Andy looking quite pleased with himself! Aylwin had found him in the stable, and he had groomed him down and washed his hoofs before he brought him in. Aylwin is a very tidy boy. He had put the halter on, and Andy was in a very good temper. He didn't pull back at all; he just walked in straight after Aylwin and came into the dining-room like a lamb. We shut the door and locked it, in case Emma or cook would come peeping in. We wished we could have taken him to the schoolroom, but Denys said he would never go upstairs, he was sure. That would come afterwards when he was properly trained. Denys had meanwhile got a lovely bunch of carrots from Baldwin, and this was to train Andy with.

The dining-room was a very good place to have him in, we thought, because if Andy got troublesome, we could just open the French window and take him into the garden, back to the stable again.

"Now," said Denys, "we must dress him first."

So we put the night-cap on, and first he began twitching his ears and shaking himself about, until we thought of cutting holes to let his ears through, and then he let us tie it under his chin properly, and he looked so funny that we all went into shrieks of laughter. It was rather small for him, but we fixed it very firmly on so that he couldn't shake it off. Then we folded the blue cloak round him and tied it round and round with tape. And then came the most difficult part, and I had to do this with needle and cotton. We cut up the black-and-white shawl into four bits and made him trousers. We sewed them round his legs and fastened them on to the blue cloak, so that they couldn't slip down. He kept shaking himself, and looked at us as if he thought we were humbugging him, but he was awfully good until Denys tried to make him sit up and beg like a dog.

He held the carrots up very high, for he tied them on a stick, and then when we all tried to heave Andy on his hind legs, he suddenly kicked out and tore round the room. We opened the window quickly, for fear he should break something, and he dashed out.

It was raining horribly, but Denys and Aylwin rushed out after him. That stupid Baldwin had got the front gate wide open, and of course Andy tore out of it and along the village as hard as ever he could. Denys said he could hardly run after him for laughing, for he looked so awfully funny in his night-cap and blue coat and trousers. Some men were coming home from work, and they didn't attempt to catch him. They simply stood still in the middle of the road, and roared with laughter.

Lynette and I had promised Aunt Mildred we wouldn't go out, so we left the boys to catch Andy, and we tidied up the dining-room, as it was in an awful mess. We thought the boys would never come back. Father and Aunt Mildred came in, and asked us where they were, so we told them, and father was very shocked. He said he would send Andy right away if ever we brought him into the house again. Aunt Mildred laughed.

"I should love to have seen him," she said. "I think we'll dress him up another day in the stable, and then I shall be in the fun."

It wasn't till dinner was nearly over that the boys came back, and then they were in the most awful state of mind. They had lost Andy altogether. He got to the four cross-roads before they did, and they didn't know which way he had gone.

"He tore like the furies," said Denys, "and if he meets a carriage, he'll frighten the horses into fits. I can't tell you what he looked like going through the village."

"There's one comfort," said Aunt Mildred, "he will easily be traced. Donkeys in night-caps are not common in this part."

"You must go out again and look till you find him, boys," said father sternly. "It would serve you right if you lost him altogether. You must have thoroughly frightened him."

Denys and Aylwin were quite willing to go off again. They got into dry clothes, had their dinner, and then went off. And this time they didn't come home till tea-time, and they were dead tired.

But they had not found Andy!

Father sent Denys straight to bed, and told Aunt Mildred to give him something hot to drink, for since his fall, he hasn't been quite as strong as he used to be.

"We'll put up a notice," I said. "He is sure to come back; he always does."

But we had to wait till Monday came to do that, and all Sunday passed and no one had seen or heard anything of Andy.

Mrs. Rogers was in church in the morning, and we told her all about it. She said that she and Captain Rogers were leaving their lodgings very soon, and going back to London. We were awfully sorry to hear it, for we all loved Captain Rogers, and used to go over to the farm very often and see him.

"I'm sure," she said, "I don't know what we shall do without you children. You keep us so lively. I must tell Charlie about poor old Andy."

"There's always something happening to us," I said. "We hardly go a week without some scrape coming."

She laughed.

"I would back you against any one for getting into scrapes!" she said.

And when she had gone, I didn't feel very happy. The odd thing is, that when we do things they never seem wrong till afterwards. I didn't think dressing up Andy was wicked, but it seems as if it was now, and we have lost him through doing it.

CHAPTER XV

AN UNSUCCESSFUL SEARCH

ON Monday we put up a notice on our signpost. It was this—

"LOST, STRAYED, OR STOLEN

"A BLACK DONKEY. WHEN LAST SEEN HE WAS WEARING DARK BLUE COAT, BLACK-AND-WHITE CHECK TROUSERS, AND WHITE NIGHT-CAP. ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF ANDY. WHOEVER BRINGS THE SAME TO WARLINGTON RECTORY WILL BE SUITABLY REWARDED."

Father told Denys he would pass the policeman's house on his way to school, and he had better tell him about it. After our lessons were over, Aunt Mildred took Lynette and me out, and we went along the roads, asking every one we met if they had seen Andy. The strange part was that no one had. Aunt Mildred said she thought that the heavy rain must have kept people indoors, and Andy must have had the roads to himself. We felt very down-hearted when we came home, and when the boys arrived from school they were just as miserable as we were.

"That policeman will get his head punched if he doesn't look-out!" said Aylwin wrathfully. "He is too cheeky by half!"

"What did he do?" I asked.

"Oh, he began chaffing; asked if Andy had any rings on, and whether his pocket-handkerchiefs were scented, and who his barber was. Denys told him to mind his own business, which was to find him, and if he didn't, he wasn't worth his salt!"

"I'm afraid," I said sorrowfully, "Andy has come to a bad end. His cloak may have got round his throat and choked him, or tripped him up, and he may have tumbled into a quarry or a pond. I don't believe he is alive, or some one would have seen him."

"Well, his body must be somewhere, stupid! It isn't so small that it would be overlooked!"

"I expect," said Lynette tragically, "he must have hurt himself, and crept sadly away into the bushes and laid down to die. Poor Andy, he's wondering we haven't found him."

"How can he wonder if he is dead?"

"He may have gone into a wood somewhere," I said.

But the boys laughed at Lynette and me. We were all very unhappy; and the days passed, and we didn't find him.

On Wednesday I met Captain Rogers in his chair, and I told him about it.

"Cheer up!" he said. "Donkeys and dogs generally turn up again."

"Ah, but," I said, "to-morrow is Thursday, and Annie is expecting her drive. I've never disappointed her yet, and I don't know what I shall say. And if Andy is lost for ever, she'll never be able to drive out again. It makes me miserable." I tried to keep my tears back, but they would come.

"Look here, little woman," said Captain Rogers. "I am going away next Monday. How would you like to take your little cripple out in my chair? It is quite light, and you could push her along in it yourself. I would send it to the Rectory, and you could trundle it round every Thursday instead of the donkey-cart, if you liked."

I simply screamed with delight, and thanked him over and over again.

"I was so afraid she would never go out-of-doors again, and now I can tell her she will be able to, on Monday. It is most awfully kind, Captain Rogers—only I wish you weren't going. We do like you so very much."

"Thank you," he said, laughing, "and I can say the same. I think you'll have to write to me, Grisel—a letter a month, say, with an account of all your doings. Or—aren't you writing a wonderful book? Couldn't you send it to me when it is finished? Is it a kind of thing that goes on for ever, like a diary?"

"No," I said. "I have been thinking of finishing it off very soon. And then I shall begin Volume Two. Would you really like to see it?"

"Immensely."

"I'm afraid," I said, feeling very doleful, "that it will be a book with a sad ending, for everything seems going wrong. You're going away, and Andy is lost, and the winter is coming, and it does nothing but rain. We love the summer so! You see, we're so fond of being out-of-doors! When we're shut in the house we get cross, and then get into scrapes. Even Aunt Mildred doesn't play with us so much as she used to do; she says she has so much to do in the parish."

"Well, I'll hold you to your promise to send me your book."

"Yes, I will. And, Captain Rogers, would you mind if I used your chair on Thursday for a few things beside Annie? You see, I take some parcels from the villagers to Cross Glen sometimes. I'm a kind of carrier."

"Now why on earth do you bother yourself about such things?"

"I like it." Then I added, "You see, father says you ought never to leave off anything you have begun, unless you have a very good reason for it. It isn't being faithful, is it?"

"What made you begin such a thing?"

I didn't like to tell him at first; and then I thought that was cowardly, so I said:

"I want to be a servant of Jesus Christ, and He says, 'Go and help others,' and then I have to go. It's what I call one of my go's."

Captain Rogers didn't laugh.

"Tell me more, little Grisel," he said.

"I think," I said more cheerfully, "I like my 'go's' better than my 'do's.' It's doing things at home I don't like—mending stockings, and helping Aunt Mildred about the house. But of course I ought to like them. Didn't I tell you about the motto father said to me—the one in our church at the knight's feet? 'Semper fidelis, semper paratus.' That's a perfect servant, and that's what I'm trying to be!"

"Yes," he said, looking at me very steadily, "and that's what you will succeed in being. Good-bye, child; I must be moving on. I'll send you the chair—I won't forget. And you'll all have to come to a farewell party of mine on Saturday. I'll send you a proper invitation."

"That will be lovely!" I cried excitedly. And then I ran straight off, and told Annie all about our lost donkey and the chair. She had heard about Andy, so didn't expect a drive, but I promised to go and sit with her instead, and so I did. And first we had a reading-lesson, and then I read her a story-book.

On Saturday morning, we all set off for another good hunt for Andy. Puff didn't come with us, as Aunt Mildred thought he would be tired for our party. Captain Rogers had asked us to come at three o'clock in the afternoon, and we never came home as a rule till eight o'clock. We liked to stay at the farm as long as we possibly could.

Well, Denys said when we got to the cross-roads that we had better each take a different road, and go along as far as ever we could, but I didn't think that at all a good plan. Lynette never walked out alone very far, and father didn't like me to do it either. So then Denys got out a map.

"Look here!" he said. "I've been thinking that each of these roads leads to villages and towns, and those are the places to get to. Now we'll see from this map the nearest one that we haven't been to, and we'll walk to that."

So we all looked, and after a great deal of talking we found that there was a village or town called Rockwell about five miles off.

Well, we started off. We were very good walkers, and Lynette had walked ten miles before this. Denys said that the following Saturday we must take another road in the same way. I suppose we had gone about three miles, when Aylwin suddenly climbed up into a hedge to get some specially fine-looking blackberries. And then he gave a yell, which sent us all rushing to him. There in the ditch, almost hidden by dead bracken, was a piece of black-and-white shawl! We scraped it all out, and found the four trousers with my big stitches in them. We looked at each other, not knowing whether to be filled with joy or horror.

"We're on his track at last!" said Denys.

"Just let us sit down and think it out," I suggested, for I knew Lynette wanted a rest now and then, and so did I. The boys always walk so very fast when they first set out.

"The question is, how did they come there?" said Aylwin.

"Perhaps," said Lynette, looking fearfully round her, though it was broad daylight, "a murderer and robber met him, and wanted his clothes, and so he killed him, and buried him just here!"

"Yes, and Andy kicked his trousers off in his last dying effort," said Denys mockingly, "and the robber went on his way, dressed in a night-cap and blue cloak! That's a very likely thing to have happened!"

"I don't think Andy could have taken his trousers off himself," I said. "I sewed them on so very tight. Besides, look at this—it is cut."

I showed them a great slit right across one piece. Denys looked at it with screwed-up eyes like a detective.

"Yes," he said, "this is one other bit of evidence we have collected. I was thinking that Andy might have torn them off with his teeth, but this is clearly the work of a knife."

"And a knife means," said Aylwin solemnly, "that a man is in the plot."

"He has been stolen!" I cried excitedly. "Now let us track the thief."

I got up from the ground and was eager to walk on, but the boys wouldn't move yet. They turned up all the ditch, they climbed over the hedge, and then they came upon something else—a piece of orange-peel.

"Now," Denys said, "this makes us quite sure that a tramp has been here and taken Andy off. Only tramps eat oranges; country people can't buy oranges to eat, and they're always too busy."

THERE IN THE DITCH WAS A PIECE OF BLACK-AND-WHITE SHAWL.

"On market days they could buy oranges," I said. You see I knew all about the country markets; the boys did not.

"Well, let's move on!" said Aylwin. "We know that Andy came along this road and no other. I dare say we shall find him in Rockwell."

So we went on in very good spirits. Three miles had shown us a good deal; the other two might show us Andy himself. We were all a little tired when we got to Rockwell. It was a big village, and had about ten shops in a little High Street. We went into a sweet-shop and had some ginger-beer, and then we asked the woman if any one kept donkeys in the neighbourhood.

She was rather a stupid woman, but after a lot of thinking, she said the vicar had a very old one, and that was the only donkey she had ever seen, and she had been there forty years. So then we knew she was no good, and we left her. And then Denys found out the police-station, and then we had a long talk to a police-sergeant there, who wrote out all particulars and didn't chaff us, and we gave our names and addresses and came away.

But we were determined to find out anything that was to be found out, so we all separated for a quarter of an hour, and then we met at the sweet-shop again, and walked home. Denys settled this. We each took a different street, and asked every person we met, man, woman, boy, and girl, whether they had seen a black donkey. I was rather shy at first, but I never altered my way of putting it, which I thought was very polite.

"Please excuse me, but have you seen a black donkey lately? We lost him a week ago, and he has come along this way."

Sometimes they stared, sometimes they laughed, and once a very rude boy said to me:

"Yes, if 'ee goes home an' looks in glass, 'ee 'll see a black donkey with red 'air."

That was me, because I'm wearing black for granny! But not one of us got the answer we wanted, and when we met again we confessed to each other that Andy could never have got as far as Rockwell.

So we very sadly and sorrowfully went home; and when we spread out on the dining-room table the four black-and-white trousers, Aunt Mildred quite vexed us by going into a fit of laughter, and Denys said to her crossly:

"It may be comedy to you; it is tragedy to us!"

And then she begged our pardons.

It was tragedy; and though we went to Captain Rogers's farewell tea-party, and had no end of fun, the loss of Andy hung like a black cloud over us.

As Aylwin said:

"It's worse than a death, for it goes on all the time."

And I suppose the bit that brought no comfort to us was that it was all our own fault. Poor Andy had been patient and long-suffering ever since we had had him. If we kept him on the trot all day, he never complained. But when it came to dressing him up in an old woman's night-cap, and expecting him to dance on his hind legs, he had had enough of us, and he went off, and I believe he fully intended to leave us altogether, and never come back to us again.

We were dreadfully sorry when Captain and Mrs. Rogers left us. There were no other grown-ups that we really liked, but I mean to send Captain Rogers this book when I have finished it, and he says that perhaps he will get it printed for me. I must go on writing it till I get to a happy ending, because a proper book always ends nicely. I hate books with miserable endings. If I read them through once, I never do again, because however happy the children are at the beginning, I know everything is no good if one of them—and generally the nicest one—is going to die.

And that is a strange thing, because the Bible tells us that it isn't a miserable thing to die; it is "far better." And heaven is a lovely place—all our hymns tell us that—and it ought to be a happy ending when children die. But it isn't; it makes me roar with crying to read about it. And I know, from how I felt when Denys was ill, that I should be perfectly miserable if any of us were to die, even if we were quite ready for it. I suppose mother would be glad to see us. It's all right for those who go, but it's those who stay behind that feel it.

I went to Annie on Monday and took her out in the chair. She was very delighted; and we took a few parcels for Mrs. Ribbon as well, because Tom was laid up with a bad foot—and she didn't know how to get them sent.

But I was rather unhappy about Annie; she seems to feel the cold so much, and I'm sure she hasn't warm enough clothes. I think her grandparents are very poor. I spoke to Aunt Mildred about it, and she said it would be nice if Lynette and I made her a warm frock and some warm petticoats for a Christmas present. I didn't feel quite pleased at the idea, for I do hate work so, but when I thought of Annie, I was disgusted with myself, and I got Aunt Mildred to start us at it at once. She said if we worked in the evening after tea, she would work with us and tell us a story at the same time. So that sounded delicious, and even Lynette said she would like to do it.

We began yesterday evening. We sat in the schoolroom, and the boys listened too. They roasted some chestnuts on the bars of the grate.

"I don't see why boys should never be made to sew," said Lynette. "If I had boys of my own, I should make them do their own mending. Why should their aunts and mothers and sisters do it for them?"

"When I have girls of my own," said Aylwin, who always loved arguing, "I shall make them go out and earn their bread. Why should their uncles and fathers and brothers make money to keep them idle at home?"

"Well," said Aunt Mildred, "the world is altering strangely. Girls do earn money nowadays, and no mending gets done at all. But I think your father likes old-fashioned ways best, so we women will continue to sit at home and sew, and the boys must be prepared to earn money for us. Now, what kind of story shall I tell you?"

"Something about fairies," said Puff.

"Battles and hairbreadth escapes," said Denys and Aylwin.

"Princesses in a tower, and secret passages," said Lynette.

"Could you tell us about the knight and his motto in the church chancel?" I said.

"'Semper fidelis, semper paratus,'" said Aunt Mildred slowly. "Yes, I think I could do that."

Everybody wanted to hear about the knight. But Aunt Mildred said she must have five minutes to think about it before we began. So Lynette and I said we must have five minutes' rest from our needlework. And we got down on the hearth-rug and ate some of the boys' chestnuts. The fire was blazing up, and we all felt so cosy and comfortable that we began to think of poor Andy again, who might be dragging a heavy coster cart out in the dark and cold, and getting beaten by a drunken coster.

"If he was only with us!" sighed Lynette.

"He couldn't be here," Aylwin said. "It's a rotten affair altogether; we've got a saddle and harness and cart, and no animal to use them. And if the police did their duty properly, they would have found him long ago."

"God knows where he is," said Puff suddenly. "I'm especking him home very soon. God seemed to tell me this morning He would send him nex' week if I was a good boy!"

We never laughed at Puff now. He had got one answer to his prayers, why should he not get another? And I knew he had bigger faith than we had, though we were praying too as hard as we could.

We were all looking rather solemn as we munched our chestnuts, and then Aunt Mildred said she was ready, and Lynette and I went back to the table and took up our work again. I was making Annie's frock—it was a warm dark blue serge—and Lynette was making a thick flannel petticoat for her. I was very glad that Aunt Mildred was going to tell us about the knight, because I wanted to be kept faithful to Annie, and not think it a hardship to make her a frock. And it would remind me of the motto.

Aunt Mildred was mending some of the boys' stockings. She looked up at us with a smile, and then began.

CHAPTER XVI

OUR KNIGHT'S STORY

"ONCE upon a time there lived a knight called 'Sir Roger Dereker.' He had fought his king's battles from the time he had been a little boy of fourteen, when he had gone out with the king himself, as his page. He was the bravest knight about the king's court; he did not seem to know what fear was, and everybody who knew him loved him. For though he was bold and brave he was gentleness itself with women and children, and with any one who needed his pity and help. He lived in a strong castle not very far from his king, and he had a young wife to whom he was devoted—"

"Oh!" I cried. "You must tell us how he got her, Aunt Mildred; and please make it very exciting."

"Well, one bitterly cold winter night he was riding home with his page behind him. The rain and sleet were driving furiously into his face. His hands were so cold he could hardly hold his rein, and his good horse, called Goldenhawk, could only move at a foot's pace, for they were passing through a black forest, with gloomy pines, and a mass of undergrowth obstructed their progress. Suddenly he heard a crashing through the bushes behind him, and a snow-white horse dashed frantically past him with the form of a woman upon his back. She was covered from head to foot in a dark blue cloak, and seemed to be trying in vain to pull her horse up.

"'After!' Roger cried to his page. 'She is being carried away against her will!'

"He put spurs into his own steed, and he and his page pursued the runaway till they had left the forest behind them. Now a great plain stretched before them, and in the distance were the twinkling lights of the good knight's castle.

"So fast had the lady's horse fled across the plain, that they did not reach her till she had drawn up before the portcullis of the castle. The white horse was covered with foam, and the lady was breathless and exhausted.

"Sir Roger rode forward and saluted her.

"'Madame, it is a terrible night, and you are close to my door, which is always open to shelter strangers in need. Will you do me the pleasure of partaking of my hospitality?'

"The lady drew her cloak closer round her, and said in the softest tone possible:

"'I thank you, sir. I am far from home—in truth, I am homeless, and I know not where my servants are. Some one is pursuing me; he has killed my father and burnt my home. I need protection.'

"Sir Roger blew his horn, the portcullis was raised, and the knight and lady had barely passed inside before, with a thundering roar, a body of mounted men swept up to the gate.

"The leader called out in tones of fury:

"'That lady belongs to me. She is my promised wife!'

"Sir Roger vouchsafed no answer. He took his fair visitor to his mother's apartments, and did not see her again till supper-time. Her pursuers were not strong enough to storm his castle, so with many threats and curses they retreated.

"When Sir Roger met his guest at supper, he was startled at her wonderful beauty. She was quite a young girl, in a white robe embroidered with gold. Her hair was a rich brown, falling in rippling waves round her sweet pale face; she had deep blue eyes with long curved lashes, and her face was a picture of innocent beauty. As their eyes met, the faintest pink blush rose in her cheeks. She took her seat at his table in silence.

"But after the meal was over, he led the way into his favourite sitting-room, and beside a blazing fire she told him her history. Her sweet eyes were full of tears as she repeated how her father had fallen in a furious fight with his greatest enemy, Baron Dacre, who had demanded her hand and had been refused. She told him how, through the treachery of a servant, the Baron gained an entrance into their courtyard, and a terrible fight ensued. When at last her home was in flames, she fled alone, mounted on her white steed, and the Baron and his men instantly gave chase to her.

"'How can I thank you, sir,' she said, as she raised her eyes to his, 'for befriending and sheltering a maid who is now an orphan and an outcast?'

"'By giving me the right to protect and shelter you evermore,' was Sir Roger's earnest reply.

"And that was how he wooed and won his bride."

We all clapped our hands as a kind of applause.

Then Aunt Mildred went on:

"Troublous times came for our good knight. His king was surrounded by treacherous courtiers, and this very Baron Dacre rose up against him with a large faction of discontented subjects, and a civil war began to rage.

"On the very eve of Sir Roger's marriage with the Lady Gwendoline, a messenger arrived at his gates, calling him to arms. Sir Roger tore himself away from his beautiful bride, and when for one moment she protested, he said, 'My sweetheart, I am bound to my king with the cords of honour and of love. I love you not the less because I love him first. I would not sully the shield of my knighthood by failing him when he desires my services.'

"And so he rode away and was absent for four long months, when he returned to her covered with wounds and with glory.

"For a time, he rested peacefully at home, but one day his castle was assaulted by this Baron Dacre with a large number of followers, and he was hard put to it to defend his wife and belongings. In the very midst of the fray, a messenger entered the castle by the secret passage that led underground for a mile, and had its exit in the middle of the forest. It was a call to attend upon the king that very hour.

"For one moment he hesitated; he knew if he went, his home would be taken and destroyed.

"He looked at his wife.

"'Sweetheart, I must away to my king; it is a summons for me.'

"She rose to the occasion.

"'And I, with your faithful servants, will hold the castle until your return.'

"'Bravo!' exclaimed Denys.

"Sir Roger girded on his sword and departed by the secret passage with the messenger who came. He told his wife if hard-pressed, she must also take refuge in it. And if she reached the forest, there was at that end a cave where she could remain in safety till he rejoined her.

"He went to his king, who was having an important consultation with his nobles and wished to ask Sir Roger's advice upon a knotty point. He gave it; and then, happening to raise his eyes, the king saw from his castle window a mighty column of fire rising up into the sky. He asked the reason of it, and Sir Roger, standing before him with compressed lips and pale cheeks, made answer:

"'Sire, that is my castle, and the destruction of it has been completed in my absence by my enemy.'

"'Did you know aught of this before you came?'

"'I was in the midst of my defence when the king's messenger came.'

"'And you left your wife to perish?'

"'She was going to defend it as best she could, and I told her of a place of safety in case the odds were too great against her.'

"'Sir Roger,' said the king, 'I shall not forget this night. Go, and may God have saved your brave wife from death.'

"He went, and found his wife in the cave in the midst of a little company of wounded retainers. She was, without a thought of self, binding up and dressing their wounds. But when her husband clasped her in his arms, she fainted dead away. And he discovered that an arrow had pierced her left arm and was causing her agonising pain."

"Don't make her die, Aunt Mildred!" I cried.

"It was long before the brave knight got reconciled to another home, but the king gave him a much bigger property than he had had before, and years passed by. He had a little son, a boy who was the joy of his heart. And it was his desire to train him up as a soldier and servant of his king.

"At length in an evil day, after Sir Roger and his men had just returned from fighting their king's battles in foreign lands, they brought back with them that dreadful disease, the black plague, into the castle. First one servant sickened, then another, then Lady Gwendoline and her little son fell victims to it, and the knight sank on his knees and besought mercy from God above.

"At this identical moment the king's messenger again appeared, summoning him to attend his king on an expedition into a far country.

"The knight made not a sigh or murmur, but left his dying wife and son, and it was not till two weeks elapsed that his king heard of his faithfulness. They had a severe campaign before them, and Sir Roger was enabled at the most crucial moment to save the life of his king and turn the tide of battle from near defeat to a glorious victory. But he was sore wounded himself, and told his page when the fight was over:

"'Bear me back home, and it may be that my wife and boy have recovered. I would see them before I die.'

"They took him back, and marvelled that he reached his home in safety. As he tottered into his hall, he beheld to his infinite joy his wife and son with open arms receiving him. They had recovered, owing to a skilful herbalist who tended them night and day.

"But for many weeks the brave knight lay between life and death. At last he too took up life again, but his health was shattered and his strength had departed. For some years he lived happily, seeing his son grow into a brave, handsome soldier. And then, one awful howling stormy night, he heard a knocking at his gates.

"He was an old man now, his sight was dim, and his hearing dull, but he tottered to the door.

"'It is my king. Let me receive him and give him the honour that is due to him!'

"His servants tried to keep him back from the bitter cold of the courtyard, but he pressed on.

"'My king! My king!'

"And though his followers would not believe it, it was even so.

"The king had been betrayed, and was fleeing for his life. He knew one loyal subject would receive him, and it was to him he turned.

"The old knight led him into his warm comfortable hall, and then fell at his feet.

"'Oh, sire, I have dreamt of this honour, but never thought I would realise it. Enter into the dwelling that is rightly yours, for the owner of it is your humble and devoted servant, and all that he has belongs to his king!'

"When the king stooped down with tears in his eyes to raise his faithful knight, he found his spirit had departed. His last thought and breath had been spent, as they always had been all his life, in faithful loyalty and love to his royal master.

"And the king caused the motto to be engraved upon the shields of the Derekers for evermore—'Semper fidelis, semper paratus.'"

We were quite silent for a minute or two after Aunt Mildred ended. My heart was thumping, as it always does when I feel roused up.

"He was something like a knight!" said Denys.

"Oh!" said Aylwin. "If only we lived in those good old days!"

Lynette was crying.

"Poor old knight! The king ought to have hugged and kissed him for being such a dear."

I said nothing—I couldn't, but Aunt Mildred looked across at me and said:

"Well, Grisel, your eyes are blazing. Do you like it?"

I nodded; then I said with a little effort:

"We can be like that now—and I shall be."

"And so shall I," said Denys, looking across at me. He and I understood each other.

Aunt Mildred never pointed the moral, that's why we like her stories. They always inspire us, but she never tells us how they speak to us. We find that out for ourselves. I was so bubbling over with it, that I put down my work and dashed out of the room into my bedroom. Then I got down upon my knees and spoke to my King. And I asked Him to make me, through thick and thin, even if I had to suffer, a faithful ready servant of His, and to let me glory in it. And I really meant it.

Denys loved Aunt Mildred's story. I went into the church the next day to fetch father's surplice to be mended. It was Saturday, and to my astonishment I found Denys kneeling by the knight's tomb. He jumped up as if he had been shot, and I pretended not to have seen him kneeling, because I knew he wouldn't like it. I came up to the tomb and looked at the knight.

"Were you looking to see if he was really like Aunt Mildred's knight?" I said, not knowing quite what to say.

And then he spoke straight out.

"I was vowing a vow," he said.

I was awfully interested.

"Do tell me, and I won't tell any one," I said.

He pointed to the motto on the shield.

"I have vowed to be that, God helping me." And then he marched straight out of the church.

I was determined not to be behind him, so I knelt down again, though I had done it last night, only I put it in proper vow words this time, and then I went indoors feeling ready for anything.

We began getting ready for Christmas now. Every day we hoped to hear news of Andy, but we never did, and we missed him dreadfully. Father was certain he had been stolen. We were talking about it one evening. Lynette and I were still working away at Annie's clothes, and the boys were making Christmas cards. They said they could make them much better than the cards Mrs. Ribbon was selling for Christmas, and of course it was much cheaper. Aylwin could draw very well, he could copy anything, and Denys is very good at flags. He gets a piece of cardboard and colours it all over like a flag; and he has got a sheet of all the flags in the world—it came out of the "Boy's Own Paper." So he just copies them, and puts "A Merry Christmas to You" upon them, and then they're ready to send.

Aylwin was drawing a donkey, and so of course he began to talk about Andy.

"I wonder," he said, "if the gipsies have been about and stolen Andy? Mrs. Ribbon told me to-day that they sometimes come to Lemworth at Christmas-time. There's to be another kind of fair there. Perhaps if we went to it we should find Andy there."

"They aren't such duffers," said Denys gloomily. "They wouldn't bring him into this neighbourhood again. Of course, if they did steal him, they would sell him to some one else."

"I tell you who would be likely to steal him," I said. "Not the gipsies—they seem to have given up stealing in these days—but that horrid swearing man with the ragged donkeys. I heard from Bob Tapson that he goes to a seaside place in this very county every summer, and makes a nice sum out of them; and he starves them all the winter time."

The boys seemed quite struck with this idea.

"Of course we ought to find him out. Where does he live?"

"Somewhere the other side of Lemworth," I said. "You ask Bob; he'll tell you."

Aylwin wanted to rush off then and there, but it was too late, and they had to wait till the next morning.

And then they began to plan what they would do.

Denys said:

"I expect if we find Andy there, the scoundrel will have dyed him another colour. How can we identify him? He'll declare, of course, he belongs to him."

Then we began to think over Andy's marks, and at last we remembered that one of his ears had a tiny slit in it.

"I hope that will be proof enough," Denys said. "You see we may have to fight it out before a judge."

"Andy is such a rotter, he'll never answer his name as he ought," said Aylwin. "He would just as soon go to the thief as to us when called."

"And perhaps we shall have a long lawsuit that will cost heaps and heaps of money," said Denys again. "It will be called the 'Donkey case,' and will fill columns in the newspaper."

Lynette began to giggle at the idea.

Then I suggested:

"If you could find out quietly about Andy, it would be best. And when you were quite sure that it was he, couldn't you steal him back again? That wouldn't be wrong, would it?"

"Of course it wouldn't. We could visit the stables in the dead of night. It would be rather exciting."

"You see, he's such an ass," said Aylwin, "that he might take it into his head not to come with us. He might remember his night-cap."

"I'd make him come fast enough if I once got hold of him," said Denys. "But after all, the man may not have him, or he may have sold him."

"Anyhow, it is worth trying," I said.

And they all thought it was.

CHAPTER XVII

FOUND

I REALLY believe this is going to be my last chapter. I may write another volume next year, but I mean to send this to Captain Rogers, because I promised I would.

I must first go back to the day after we were talking about Andy. Denys went to Bob Tapson before breakfast, and came back with the donkey man's address, and we asked father what he thought. He didn't seem very hopeful, but he told the boys that they might go to Lemworth by train on the first day of their holidays, and then walk out to see this man. He lived three miles the other side of Lemworth. Lynette and I wanted to go too, but father wouldn't let us.

The boys' school broke up on the 20th of December. So the very next morning they started for Lemworth, and Lynette and I went down through the fields to the station to see them off.

Lynette gave them a crooked sixpence for luck; Mrs. Ribbon had given it to her in some change.

"And we won't expect you back till you find Andy!" I cried. "Oh, I wish girls could do what boys do!"

But they can't, so we had to come home. This is a very busy week; Aunt Caroline is going to spend Christmas with us. I think she and Aunt Mildred are both going to live with us after Christmas; and that will be very nice, for Aunt C. will look after the house and servants, and Aunt Mildred after us. At least, that is how we have settled it, but Aunt Mildred says that she will in that case have the heaviest burden. And we don't think that is very nice of her.

Lynette and I have helped to stone raisins for the Christmas puddings, and we have done up packets of tea and sugar for some of father's old people, and we have been making things for a big Christmas-tree we are going to have in the village schoolroom for all the school-children.

We had been so busy helping Aunt Mildred with it all that we had hardly any time to make our own presents. For a long time it had been an understood thing every Christmas that we all make our presents for each other. We never buy them. It is much more fun. This year Lynette and I were making a sermon-cover for father. It was of black velvet lined with black silk, and had black silk cord all round it. Lynette was making the cover, and I was doing father's initials in gold silk. Aunt Mildred had drawn it out for me. Then I was working a nightdress-case for Aunt Mildred, and Lynette was working her some little mats for her dressing-table. Lynette and I were making some reins for Puff out of red braid, with little bells. And I was covering a long cardboard box for Aylwin with penny stamps, and then I varnished them over, for him to keep his foreign stamps in. Lynette was making him a photograph-frame with sealing-wax and fir-cones. You gum the fir-cones on, and drop sealing-wax between them, and you varnish it all over, and it looks awfully pretty. My present to Denys I kept a dead secret, and wouldn't even let Lynette know about it. She was knitting him a tie in coarse red cotton.

All this took a long time, and when I was interrupted, I felt very cross. Only I tried to remember that doing things to help other people was my King's order, and I wanted to be ready to do it. When I think about this, I feel quite happy. It doesn't matter how often I am interrupted, if it is He who sends me.

Lynette and I had a lovely morning over our presents, and we weren't interrupted once. We stayed in the schoolroom and did them, and were very glad that the boys were away, because we were able to get on with their presents.

After dinner, Aunt Mildred took us and Puff to the nearest wood, and we got a lot of ivy and moss for the church decorations. It was lovely in the wood; so still and calm, though it was very cold. We kept thinking about the boys, but we knew they might not come home till eight o'clock, which was the time the last train came in.

We came back in time for tea, and then we sat and worked at our presents again in the schoolroom. But eight o'clock came, and half-past, and nine o'clock, but no boys. Lynette and I had to go to bed. Aunt Mildred said she wasn't anxious, but father was. He said he did not mean them to stay out all night, and there was no train to bring them back, and he hoped that nothing had happened to them.

Of course Lynette and I knew that a lot might have happened to them. We began talking it over while we were undressing. Lynette said the donkey man might have murdered them, and hid their bodies under the floor. I said that they might have found Andy, and run off with him, and that then the man might have caught them and taken them to the nearest police-station, and charged them with stealing his donkey. And they might not be believed, and then would be put in prison till they could be properly tried. And then Lynette said that perhaps the donkey man might have locked them up somewhere till he got away with Andy.

We talked over all the dangers that we could think of, and then at last we were so sleepy that we went off to sleep and forgot all about them.

When we woke up the next morning, and heard from Emma that the boys were not back, we felt dreadfully excited and rather frightened. Father and Aunt Mildred looked quite worried at breakfast, and father kept saying:

"I ought not to have let them go. Perhaps I had better go into Lemworth."

And Aunt Mildred said: "We will wait till this afternoon. I daresay they missed the train, and slept somewhere till this morning."

Lynette and I couldn't settle to anything; we kept running to the gate and looking down the road to see if there were any signs of them.

And then, just as we were really sitting down to work at our presents, they burst in upon us.

We were delighted.

Lynette screamed, and danced round the room. "We thought you were dead! We thought you were murdered!" she cried.

"Where's Andy?" I asked breathlessly.

"Guess," said Denys solemnly.

"Oh, he isn't dead!"

We felt an awful fear, because the boys looked so grave.

And then Denys said very slowly:

"In the stable downstairs."

We simply yelled with delight, and tore down to see him. And father and Aunt Mildred came running out, and Emma and cook; and Puff plunged into the stable, and we found him with his arms clasped round Andy, hugging and kissing him like he does Aunt Mildred.

We could hardly believe it was Andy. He looked dusty and thin and very tired. He just turned his head and glanced at us, and then went on munching some hay that Baldwin had given him.

That's the worst of donkeys; they seem so calm and indifferent. He didn't understand our feelings a bit. I couldn't help wishing he would get up and dance round with us to show he was glad to be back again.

"Who had him? Where did you find him? How did you come home? Where did you sleep last night? Why didn't you come back yesterday?"

Lynette and I fired off these questions, but father stopped us. He was really quite as pleased as we were, but he found the boys were both rather hungry, so he sent them into the house to get some food. And it was while they were eating it in the dining-room that they told us all about themselves.

"We've had such adventures!" said Aylwin. "You'd better get your old book and write it down, Grisel, for I'm sure it will be awful fun to read!"

"I'll begin from the beginning," said Denys; and then he began:

"We got to Lemworth all right, and started out to walk to Jem Harvey's house—that's the old chap's name. It was rather a long three miles, and seemed the other end of nowhere. It was a regular tumble-down shanty on the edge of a common, and we saw the donkeys grazing on it. Then we took counsel, and set very quietly to work."

"Just as if we were stalking deer or buffaloes," put in Aylwin. "We crept along under the shadow of an old boundary hedge, and had a squint at all the donkeys without any one seeing us."

"We counted five donkeys, but no Andy amongst them," continued Denys, "but of course we felt he might be shut up somewhere. So the next thing was to examine the outhouses and sheds, and this was rather difficult. For as we came near, we saw a man chopping wood outside with a pipe in his mouth."

"So we together," interrupted Aylwin, "at last laid our plans. Go ahead, Denys, and don't be so slow."

"We marched up quite boldly to him. 'Good afternoon,' I said. 'We've come to see you on a matter of business.'"

"And I searched him through and through with my piercing eye," put in Aylwin, "and he didn't so much as blink an eyelash."

"He looked at us in a cheeky kind of way. 'So you said once before,' he said; ''twarn't much of a business we did arter all.'

"'We've unfortunately lost our donkey,' I said, 'and we'd like to see some of yours in case we have to buy another.'"

"'But mine weren't good enough by long chalks for 'ee,' he said, with a kind of grin, which made me at once suspect him.

"'Perhaps you have got some better ones by this time,' we said.

"And then he knocked out the ashes in his pipe and led us to a shed. 'I do happen to have as pretty a crittur as ever ye saw, and goes like the wind she do, and took the prize at Lincoln show two year runnin'.'

"He shuffled inside the shed, and there in the straw was a very small grey donkey. We looked sharply round—"

"I saw it first," interrupted Aylwin. "I had my detective's cold clear eye travelling round, and spotted it instantly."

Denys went on as if he had not heard him:

"In the corner on a nail hung Andy's blue cloak."

There was quite a sensation amongst us at this. We all exclaimed, and I couldn't help saying:

"There! I was right after all, then. Why didn't we think of him before?"

"What did you say?" Aunt Mildred asked.

"We didn't say anything at first; we pretended not to see it, and we talked about the grey donkey, and said we were afraid she was too small for us. You see, I knew he was an ugly customer from the way he kept leering at us, and he smelt of drink. I nudged Aylwin to hold his tongue, and after a lot of jaw, and when we had gone round his premises and saw no other place where Andy could be hidden, we took our departure; and then we let him have it. We just got away from him a few yards and I said:

"'Where did you get that blue cloak in your shed, you scoundrel, and who cut the black-and-white shawl to bits? And don't you think us greenhorns, for we're going straight to the police and will put them on your track. There's one chance for saving yourself from gaol, and that is to take Andy in at once and tie him to the lamppost outside Lemworth market. We'll give you till four in the afternoon to do it, and we promise not to split on you. If he isn't there, the police will come straight off and take possession of your place at five o'clock, and there'll be no escape for you. That blue coat has betrayed you. It's stolen from us.'

"Of course he was awfully riled. He swore, and cursed, and said he picked up that blue coat on the road, and he'd have us arrested for blasting his character. We just told him it was all tommy-rot, and he couldn't trifle with us, for all the police in every town and village for miles round knew about our lost donkey and his blue cloak. And then we came off and pelted back to Lemworth as hard as we could go."

"Let me have a turn at it," said Aylwin, who never can keep quiet when any one else is talking. So Denys shut up, and he went on:

"We had our sandwiches and a bottle of ginger-beer at a shop when we got to the town, and all the time we were trying to arrange plans. Of course it was rotten telling that old thief we wouldn't split on him, for we gave him plenty of time to clear out before the police arrived. Denys said we were in honour bound to wait till four o'clock before we informed the police. Now then comes the exciting part. After our lunch we walked about, and then got tired of the shops and streets, and turned up a country lane. We had gone about a mile, I think, when suddenly we caught sight of a boy huddled up in a ditch, and he was groaning. He was a regular tramp, and at first I said, 'Come on and leave him.'

"And then we thought it would be very rough on him if he was hurt, so we shook him up and asked him what was the matter, and he showed us his leg, which was cut in a most ghastly way. But we couldn't make head or tail of his story. He said his guv'nor had thrashed him, and then he'd fallen from the cart when his guv'nor had been on the booze, and he seemed quite stupid in his head. He had bandaged his leg up in a kind of way, but it had bled an awful lot, so we got out our handkerchiefs and did the job in a much better style, and then we told him we would take him back to the town.

"We asked him where he lived, and he said, 'With the guv'nor', but he wouldn't tell us where that was, and he said he was 'never goin' back to him no more.' So we said we would take him to the infirmary, and then he could get his leg properly seen to. He seemed quite willing, but it was no joke carrying him. At last we crossed our hands and made him sit with his arms round our shoulders, and we carried him like that all the way.

"Denys said to me, 'It's a pity we haven't Andy here; didn't the good Samaritan have a donkey?'

"'Of course he did,' I said. And then the boy suddenly raised his head and looked at us, and in that moment we all recognised each other."

"Who was he?" Lynette asked breathlessly.

"Why, the boy who belonged to Jem Harvey, of course! So we said quite coolly to him:

"'Don't be afraid. We don't bear you a grudge for stealing our donkey, but your master is going to gaol for it. We've found it all out.'

"He looked quite scared.

"'Twas the guv'nor,' he said, 'but I knewed there would be trouble!'

"'Where did you see our donkey last?' asked Denys.

"And then he told us all about it. They had met Andy tearing along the road, and Jem had stopped him and caught him. And then he made this boy Ned ride him behind the cart till they got to a wood, and they went in there and stayed till it was dark. Of course they undressed Andy. Then, when it was dark, and no one could see, they took him home with them. And the very next day Jem took him away to a pal of his who lives at a place called Tannerton. Ned said he was keeping him till he could get a purchaser for him.

"So we asked Ned exactly where this man lived, and he told us. And he said he'd led such a dog's life lately, and had been so ill-used, that he'd run away, and wasn't going back. He was an orphan, and didn't belong to Jem at all by rights. We were wild to get at Andy, but we had to take him to the infirmary first. We found out that Tannerton was five miles off, so we felt we really couldn't walk there. And we were wondering whether we could hire a trap, when we discovered that a baker's cart was going to the village, and he said he'd give us a lift. So we got up and had a jolly time going there, and we told the baker everything, and he said he knew the man we were looking for; he was a knife-grinder and tin-pedlar, and lived away from the village with a wife who bullied him.

"'But you won't get nothin' out of them,' he said; 'they be proper queer customers.'

"It was getting almost dark when we got to Tannerton, and then we remembered that we would miss our train, but we couldn't go back when we were so near to Andy. Now you can go ahead, Denys."

Denys began at once. "We were rather afraid that Jem might have come off to his pal to get Andy or to hide him somewhere else—but we thought we must risk it. When the baker put us down in the village, he pointed out to us the house. We were thankful it was dusk, for we were quite determined to take Andy by stealth if we found him. So we crept up to the little house, and heard some wrangling going on inside. We found our way round to their back-yard, and there, tied in a wretched tumble-down shed, with a broken door, was Andy! I can tell you we didn't lose any time! We just cut his rope and led him out. As ill luck would have it, the man came out as we were going off with him; and then came the exciting part of our adventures. He yelled after us, 'Stop thief!'

"We both got on Andy's back, and galloped through the village like mad! We had about half a dozen people racing after us soon, and shouting, for they couldn't see who we were in the dusk, and we felt as if we were being pursued by Red Indians. When we were well out of their reach we took it easier, and we were a good time before we reached Lemworth. We were so afraid that Jem might be lurking about that we daren't stay there. We had lost our train, and we thought we had better push on."

"WE GALLOPED THROUGH THE VILLAGE LIKE MAD!"

"We rode and walked by turns. We were very hungry and tired, and Andy began to flag. And then suddenly he stopped short in the middle of the road, and wouldn't move. We didn't know what to do. And then right upon us dashed a motor. We yelled, and they stopped. And who do you think was in the motor?"

"Lady Laura!" I guessed.

"Wrong! General Walton, who bought my fish from me! He recognised me and asked me what we were doing. He was going home from Lincoln. I told him, and he was awfully kind. He made his servant get out, and told us to get in, and he would drive us to his house, where we could sleep the night. And he made his servant lead Andy behind us. He didn't play up any more tricks, and we've had the most lovely time."

"But you ought to have sent us word," said father. "Didn't you know we should be anxious about you?"

"We did. General Walton sent his groom with a message."

"I have never got it," said father.

"Oh, do go on and tell us what you did," I said.

So Denys continued:

"We had late dinner, and told him all our adventures, and he was awfully interested, and has invited us all to dinner with him on New Year's Eve!"

We screamed with delight.

"And then directly after breakfast we rode home on Andy, but he's not in good condition, and he kept stopping, and that's why we're so late."

Their story was over. I thought it was all most interesting, but Lynette said she thought it might have been more exciting if they'd been locked up or nearly killed. I said I was thankful they'd done it so quietly. Then we all went off to see Andy again; and we felt so happy that we didn't know what to do.

But father was very angry with General Walton's groom for not giving the message. We found out after, that he had passed the note on to one of the stable boys, and he had lost it on the way and never told any one.

And now that Andy is found, I think I had better wind up my story, as it has all ended very happily; and I shall be able to drive out Annie again, and carry parcels for the villagers on Wednesdays. It would take too long to tell about Christmas and all our doings, but we all enjoyed ourselves most awfully.

Just one thing more I must tell, and then I shall have done.

My present to Denys was the knight's motto framed like a picture. Aunt Mildred drew out the words and I painted the letters in blue and scarlet and gold—and though I did it, it looked lovely.

Denys called me into his room on Christmas Day after breakfast and showed me where he had hung it. Just opposite his bed, where he could lie and look at it in the morning.

"It's ripping," he said. "It's a good thing to be reminded of one's vow."

"Yes," I said; "and it's my vow too, Denys. I expect the old knight little thought that when he was dead his motto would live on. It's almost as good as a text, isn't it? It helps one to be good."

"Not as much as father's sermon," said Denys, "but it seems to fit in with it. 'Come—go—do'—I shall never forget that!"

"And I suppose if we try and keep those commands," I said, feeling a glow come into my heart at the thought, "one day our King may say to us, like the king in Aunt Mildred's story, 'Semper fidelis, semper paratus.'"

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Table of Contents

"US, AND OUR DONKEY"

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

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