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[Frontispiece: "I'll give each of you three guesses."]




  JUBILEE HALL; OR,

  "THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME."

  BY HON. MRS. GREENE



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




  _CONTENTS._

  I. _Joyful News_
  II. _The Journey to the Hall_
  III. _Jubilee Hall_
  IV. _A Bad Beginning_
  V. _Berry-picking_
  VI. _The Winner of the Prize_
  VII. _The Voice of Conscience_
  VIII. _Covering the Jam_
  IX. _Aunt Marian's Store-room_
  X. _A Discovery_
  XI. _Watching his Opportunity_
  XII. _At Dead of Night_
  XIII. _From Bad to Worse_
  XIV. _Gloomy Forebodings_
  XV. _A Contrast_
  XVI. _Fighting with Self_
  XVII. _The Mischief Discovered_
  XVIII. _A Full Confession_
  XIX. _Home, Sweet Home_




_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS._

_"I'll give each of you three guesses" ... Frontispiece_

_Fred threw his arms around his mother's neck_

_Kathleen ducked down as she was told_

_"I am so glad I have met you"_

_"Another pot of strawberry, if you please"_

_The flame of the candle flickered horribly_

_"Fred, here is mother come to see you"_

_Supper was laid in the bright parlour_




JUBILEE HALL.



CHAPTER I.

JOYFUL NEWS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I did."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: Fred threw his arms around his mother's neck.]

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course I do."

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

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

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

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

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

"O Fred!"

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

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




CHAPTER II.

THE JOURNEY TO THE HALL.

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

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

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

"Oh, mother!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER III.

JUBILEE HALL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: Kathleen ducked down as she was told.]

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

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

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

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

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

"You did."

"No, I didn't."

"You said something very like it then."

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

"Well, have it your own way."

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

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

"Nothing; go to bed."

"You are not quarrelling, are you?"

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

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

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




CHAPTER IV.

A BAD BEGINNING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER V.

BERRY-PICKING.

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

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

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

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

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

"Not one pick."

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is your can?"

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

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

"Millions and billions."

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

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

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

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

"I promised myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER VI.

THE WINNER OF THE PRIZE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, what fix are you in?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, suppose I did; what then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER VII.

THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE.

Kathleen did not venture to show her desk to Fred the following
morning, especially as she could hear from the tone of his voice in
speaking to his brother that he was in no pleasant frame of mind.
But when breakfast was over, and Fred had gone out for a stroll, she
called Harry into her room, and exhibited to him, with a mixture of
pride and distress, the beautiful prize which her aunt had so
generously given her.

"It's without any exception the most gorgeous thing of the kind I
ever saw!" cried Harry, raising up the flaps and surveying the paper
and envelopes, the pencils, pens, knives, scissors, india-rubber,
sealing wax, &c., &c., with which it was filled.  "It is simply A1,
and I am delighted you got it!"

"Yes; but I am not quite sure whether I ought to keep it."

"Ought to humbug!  I can't for the life of me see why you need feel
any scruple about it.  You won the prize fairly, and Fred did not."

"Yes, that's the very thing; for, don't you see, Harry, if I keep the
desk, then Aunt Marian will either feel sure Fred put the stones in
on purpose, or she will think I,"--here Kathleen hesitated, suddenly
perceiving she had no real ground of argument to put forward.

"Well, she'll think what?" asked Harry magisterially.  "You girls
have as much idea of explaining things clearly as a frog has of
flying.  I know perfectly well what the fix is that you are in.  You
think it will appear greedy in you to accept a prize as well as Fred,
when there was such a small difference in the weight of the two cans;
and, besides, you are just shaking in your two shoes at the thought
of Fred's anger when he finds out that Aunt Marian has given the
first prize to you instead of to him,--now, is not that it, old girl?"

"It is; at least it's nearly that," murmured Kathleen, nervously;
"only I wish,"--here a painful blush covered all her face,--"I wish,
Harry, if you could see Fred, you would tell him that if he will go
and put back the bow in Aunt Marian's boudoir, I will give him this
desk as soon as ever we go home."

"Indeed, you'll do nothing of the kind."

"Please, please, Harry."

"Gammon!  I never heard such rubbish.  You won your prize as fairly
as you could, and he has not the faintest right to it in any way.  He
crammed himself with fruit the whole time the others were hard at
work.  He then supplied his can out of mine, which was awfully shabby
of him; and then he put five large stones into the bottom of his, so
as to make it weigh more than the others.  I think he was an awful
sneak to do such a mean thing, and I told him so this morning; but he
turns on me every time I speak to him.  He says I was as bad as he
was, and that I wanted to fill your can out of mine, which was quite
as sneaky if not worse.  I don't think it would have been quite fair
of me to do it, I must say, but still there is a difference somewhere
between the two things if I could put it into words."

"You wanted to help me, and he only wanted to help himself,"
suggested Kathleen, meditatively; "and besides, you gave up your
chance of the prize in my favour.  But for all that, if I had won it
I should not have kept it, for I should have known it was not mine
fairly, and I could never have explained it all to Aunt Marian."

"Well, you have expressed yourself clearly for once in your life.
And now let us think what is best to be done, for I can't bear the
idea of Fred's chousing Aunt Marian out of that splendid bow; and
besides, if he lets himself do a thing like that once, he'll be ten
times as likely to do the same kind of thing again, and perhaps get
into a worse scrape.  Suppose you and I go down and have a
_parlez-vous_ with him--eh, Kathleen?"

"Very well, whatever you like; but he never minds what I say."

"Doesn't he though?  I can tell you what, old lady, bad as you are,
whenever you tell me a thing is not right which I'm doing, it sticks
there like a bone in my throat; and though I often swallow it down in
a rage, and take my own way, still I generally do turn it over in my
mind, and give over whatever it was that was wrong.  And Fred's just
the same, only he has a way of telling himself that things aren't
wrong which I don't understand; or, even supposing they are wrong, he
thinks if you aren't found out it's no matter, and that to my mind is
the worst of all."

"Yes," replied Kathleen, "much the worst."

"And now, what do you think he says?"

"What?" asked Kathleen.

[Illustration: "I am so glad I have met you."]

"Why, that very likely he did put the stones in to keep down the
leaves,--that he does not exactly know why he put them in.  And at
the beginning, you remember, he never denied that he put them in on
purpose.  But that's just it, he can persuade himself to think
anything he likes, and then he grows to believe in what he has made
himself think.  But, I say, let us go out and try to find him; and if
we can only catch him in a good humour, we might coax him to put back
the bow.  The best thing to put it on will be poor mother; for, you
know, if it ever came to her ears, she'd simply never get over it."

The children found Fred strolling in the sycamore walk.  He was
sauntering along with his hands in his pockets, and kicking little
pebbles in front of him, as he went along, with the toe of his boot;
but he was neither whistling nor singing, as was his wont, and his
gait had a certain air of depression about it that both Kathleen and
Harry instinctively recognized.

"Well, what are you following me for?" he asked, as he turned at the
sound of their footsteps, and saw them coming rather nervously
forward to meet him.

"We guessed you were dodging about somewhere in these diggings," said
Harry, speaking first, "and we wanted to see you before we began the
jam-covering."

"What for?" asked Fred, kicking another large pebble along the walk,
and his brow darkening.  "I should think you and I had had enough of
each other's company this morning."

"Come along, Fred, old boy, and don't be so cranky," cried Harry,
taking his brother by the shoulder and thrusting his hand through his
arm.  "I want awfully to pal up with you, and make things straight if
we can.  You see Katy and I have been thinking what an awful thing it
will be if mother comes to hear about this tin-can affair; and she'll
be so cut up about it that I don't think she'll ever get over it, and
the whole thing could be set straight so easily."

"Oh ay, I daresay it's an awfully easy thing, is it not, to go and
say, 'I did cheat, and you found me out, and so I can't help making a
clean breast of it'?  I tell you now, Harry, once for all, if you and
Kathleen have come down here to wheedle me into putting the bow back,
I'll see you further first before I'll do it, and that's an end of
it."

"But, Fred, only think."

"Think!  I've thought until I'm blue in the face with thinking, and
the more I think the more certain I am I did nothing but what was
quite fair, or, at least, no worse than any one else; so if you've no
more to say you had better cut off about your business."

"You'll come in for the jam-covering, won't you?" asked Kathleen
anxiously.

"Not I.  I've just as much idea of pasting on old jam covers as I
have of putting a cover on myself.  Besides, I am not going to run
the risk of another affectionate note from my aunt, telling me that I
cheated, or, perhaps, accusing me of taking a little out of each pot
I covered.  No, no; once is enough for that kind of thing."

"If you don't come in, Aunt Marian will think you are afraid, or
ashamed."

"Afraid!  If you think there is any danger of that, I'll go in this
very instant and give them such a piece of my mind that I'll pull the
whole house down about their ears.  Afraid, indeed!" and Fred pushed
on before them with great strides of anger.

"We had better leave him alone," whispered Harry.  "He's in a stunner
of a temper."

"But he won't go in and say anything to Aunt Marian, will he?"

"Not he; he has just as much idea of doing so as I have.  He is just
blustering all round the compass because he knows he's in the wrong.
Oh, how I wish mother were here.  Two words from her would set him as
right as a trivet; but I'm such an ass, I always manage to make
things worse.  See, he has turned in exactly the opposite direction
to the Hall.  I would not be inside his jacket for a great deal."

Harry was quite correct in all his surmises.  Fred had not the
smallest intention of going to beard his aunt in her own home; on the
contrary, his own desire was to escape from her sight.  Although he
tried to force his conscience into the belief that he had not acted
dishonestly, or at least not more dishonestly than Harry had also
tried to do, still he felt a guilty tremor rush all over and through
every fibre of his body when he thought of coming face to face with
his aunt, and foresaw the conversation which would most probably
ensue; and thus he bad brought himself to the cowardly determination
to absent himself altogether from the afternoon's employment.  But oh
the longing he had that he could see his mother,--that he could have
just a few moments' conversation with her, and tell her all.  She was
so kind, so easy to speak to, he could confess all to her without
trouble or fear, and could ask her for help and advice.  She would
explain to Aunt Marian how all had happened, and return the bow to
the boudoir, which he had not the courage to do, and which he was too
proud to allow his brother or sister to do for him; and Fred, when
well out of sight of the others, in the sombre shade of the
close-growing pines, threw himself down on the grass and cried,
bitterly exclaiming between every sob, "Oh, mother, why are you not
here; why, why are you not here, and then all would be well?"

In his grief and utter misery of mind Fred's heart rushed out
spontaneously to the mother who had been all to him in his life.  He
had been in his childhood a delicate boy, and therefore of necessity
his mother had watched over him with a peculiar care, and had
shielded him from the troubles and sorrows of boyhood with a zealous
watchfulness; and now that he had outgrown his former delicacy, and
had to push his way through the rough world like the others, he
turned at every rude breath to the shelter of her side, and still
tried to draw the strength of his character from hers.

But those who choose willingly to lean all their weight on a human
friend, must some time or other come to find that the reed, though it
may bend and bow almost to the ground with its willingness to endure
and be leaned upon, must give way some time, and then the fall is all
the more helpless and hopeless.  And this Fred's mother had many a
time pointed out to her son, imploring of him in his troubles, which
were many, to go to a higher and more certain Friend, and to draw
help and succour from Him.  She knew how frail her own life was, and
she knew equally well the weakness of Fred's nature,--a nature keenly
susceptible to pain and terribly open to the attacks of
temptation,--and she had hesitated long and long before she consented
to accept the invitation to Jubilee Hall; but in the end she and her
husband had felt that it was well to give Fred the opportunity of
acting and thinking for himself, and for testing how far his strength
of character could be relied on.

Could Fred only have listened to the pleading voice that had been
urging him on to the easy and silent confession of his guilt demanded
from him by his aunt, how immeasurably better it would have been for
him: for conscience, once rudely thrust aside with a resolute hand,
lies often silent and crushed, and allows perhaps a worse error to
creep in unnoticed and unopposed; the truth of which terrible danger
Fred was also but too soon to experience.  But for the present, blind
as he was to the future and the temptation creeping silently at his
heels, he only thought of the trouble which oppressed him, and not of
the guilt which stood as yet unrepented of and unforgiven before the
throne of God.

Fred, with his face on the grass and his hands pressed on his ears,
did not hear in his trouble the sound of footsteps approaching slowly
and lightly over the moss-covered ground, nor did the fear of any
one's stumbling accidentally upon his retreat enter into his
calculations for a moment.  It was therefore in no low or suppressed
accents of pain or entreaty that he called on his mother for help and
assistance, and sobbed out his grief into the ferns and creeping ivy
leaves.

Once a sound had startled him, and he had raised his head in terror,
but it was only a cock pheasant calling to his mate; and in the
intense stillness of all around him the rabbits were eating
peacefully close by, or stroking the muffled down on their faces with
their velvety and heathery paws.

But beyond this wild copse, where in the autumn the gun of the
gamekeeper often made sad havoc, ay Aunt Marian's dairy-farm, in
which she took a warm interest, and which, when time allowed, she
personally superintended.  This morning she had gone down to see the
calves fed, and to doctor a poor heifer which had leaped a wire fence
and hurt itself severely, and the time had glided so quickly by that
she had not noticed it was nearly luncheon time until the farmyard
bell had sounded for the workmen's dinner, and she knew that only ten
minutes intervened between this bell and the gong which announced to
the assembled guests that luncheon was on the table.  She chose,
therefore, the short cut through the wood, walking quickly though
lightly, and arousing at every footstep some wild inhabitant of the
copse; but when she had traversed about half the way she paused for a
moment, hearing a cry of pain which seemed to come somewhere from the
ground close by.  She fancied at first that it was a wounded cat
which had crawled somewhere among the ferns to die; for the
gamekeeper had no compassion on these semi-wild animals, which ate
his young rabbits and rifled the nests of the young game fledgelings,
and from many a branch in the wood depended the dead bodies of three
or four of these marauders.  But as she paused, Aunt Marian caught
distinctly the sound of a human voice, and approaching a few steps
nearer heard, with pain and self-reproach, Fred's piteous
lamentations and the cry for his mother's help, which brought quick
and hot tears to her eyes, and for a moment made her irresolute
whether to pass on noiselessly, or to stop and proffer her assistance
and comfort to the boy.

Aunt Marian had a very soft heart, especially towards boys, and boys'
tears could move her into an almost foolish weakness; and now Fred's
sobbing appeal for his mother's love suddenly and effectually melted
her heart from a kind of growing dislike and distrust of her nephew
to a feeling of tender sympathy and compassion.

She paused, however, a moment before making known her presence, to
settle in what manner she should address him.  She feared increasing
his distress, and her whole anxiety at the moment was how but to
reassure and encourage him.

"Fred," she said presently, in a somewhat low but very cordial voice
as she advanced to meet him, "I am so glad I have met you."

Fred started up, his cheeks blotched with tears and his eyes dazed
and misty; but the moment he recognized his aunt a rush of crimson
blood covered every inch of his face, and the expression of shame and
alarmed surprise seemed to intensify the confusion and awkwardness of
the meeting.

But Aunt Marian had looked for confusion and awkwardness of manner at
so unexpected a rencounter, and in her sudden flow of sympathy she
did not recognize the look of guilt and shame.

"Fred," she continued kindly, stretching out her hand to the boy, who
now stood embarrassed and blushing before her, "I have just found you
in the nick of time, for the workmen's bell has rung, and I shall
certainly be late for luncheon, unless you can take this heavy basket
from my hand and allow me to walk free."

"Of course I will, aunt," said Fred, his natural politeness of manner
coming to his aid, though he shrank nervously from the thought of the
long _tête à tête_ walk home together to the Hall.

"May I take your arm," she continued in a peculiarly soft and
pleasing voice; "for I have been standing so long in the dairy fields
I am quite tired.  I always make my own boys my walking-sticks," she
added, with a short laugh, "and as they are not here, I must enlist
you in my service."

"Certainly, aunt," replied Fred, growing much more at ease under the
healing influence of Lady Brinsley's kindness.

She took his arm, and they walked on through the copse, Aunt Marian
keeping the conversation going with descriptions of the wild cats and
their thieving propensities, and telling him the quaint sayings of
the head gamekeeper, an Irishman, who was quite a character and full
of genuine wit and humour.  She also promised him a day's shooting
with the same gamekeeper, if his father had no objection to his
handling a gun; and Fred, by the time they had come within sight of
the Hall, felt comparatively at his ease and very grateful for his
aunt's kindness and good-natured tact.

It was not until they were within a few paces of the massive oak door
of the Hall that the dreaded topic was touched on, and Fred was so
comparatively off his guard, that his aunt was in the thick of the
subject before he almost understood what she was saying.

"You'll come, of course, and give a helping hand in the jam-covering
this afternoon," she said, taking the basket from his arm and moving
a little forward.

"Oh yes, of course."  Fred felt so much at his ease with his aunt
now, that he had no fear or dislike to the occupation, and he
answered without hesitation or reserve.

"I'm glad of that," she said quickly and without looking round; "for
I'm afraid,"--here feeling her own cowardice she turned and looked
Fred full in the face,---"for I fear I have acted very ungenerously
towards you, and accused you of a fault which I fully believe now you
had no intention of committing.  We all of us," she added kindly,
tears springing up into her eyes, "make mistakes sometimes, and judge
hastily and without sufficient grounds; but I know, Fred, you will
believe me when I say how truly sorry I am for having given you so
much pain, and that I beg of you not to think of the subject any
more."

"Oh, Aunt Marian, please don't, don't say such things," cried Fred,
his heart leaping up into his throat and his eyes also filling with
impetuous tears.  "You, you--Aunt Marian, don't go into the house,
please; I--I--"

But Aunt Marian had said what she had been struggling to gather
courage for during the last ten minutes; and she was now inside the
doorway and hurrying up the stairs to take off her out-door clothes
before the gong should summon the guests to luncheon.




CHAPTER VIII.

COVERING THE JAM.

When Fred entered the luncheon-room a few minutes after the gong had
sounded, with bright face, easy manner, and a general air of
satisfaction, Kathleen and Harry could scarcely believe the testimony
of their eyes; and when further, in reply to a question of their
aunt, he undertook to marshal the whole bevy of jam-coverers to the
housekeeper's room as soon as luncheon should be ended, their
amazement almost amounted to disbelief, and many glances, expressive
of surprise and curiosity, were exchanged between them, with mutual
elevations of the eyebrows, to explain that neither party was in the
secret of this great and unlooked-for change.

"I say," said Harry, getting close to his brother as they went out
into the passage preparatory to going downstairs, "have you done it
after all?  I guess you have; and if so, you're no end of a brick."

"Done what?" said Fred testily, as he pushed Harry aside with his
elbow; "of course I haven't; but it's all as right as a trivet, and
aunt and I are the best of friends."

"Then you have told her?"

"Do be quiet, will you, Harry? and not call every one's attention to
me and my affairs.  I tell you I have done nothing of the kind, and
don't intend either.  Aunt Marian has been awfully good-natured to
me, and she says it's all right; and I suppose if she says so, you
need not trouble yourself about it."

Harry was hustled away from his brother's side and his hopes and
fears made light of; but still, though Fred said he need not trouble
himself about the matter, he could not help doing so.  He drew
Kathleen aside into the shadow of the coal-vault, and there they
stood and argued the whole question backwards and forwards in timid
whispers and in much anxiety on Fred's account, as they both felt the
whole thing would come to light some day or other, and that then his
case would be even more desperate than it seemed now; and besides,
Kathleen could not imagine Fred looking so happy and buoyant if he
still had the heavy weight of deception and guilt hanging round his
neck.

"I do believe he has brought himself to think that he has done
nothing either wrong or shabby, else he could never look so sprag,"
said Harry with a parting sigh; "and I'm afraid there ain't much use
in our trying to undeceive him.  He only gets into awful waxes when I
go in at him, and says even worse things than he feels.  What do you
think, Katy?"

"I think--I hope," she whispered, "that when we go home he will tell
mamma all about it, and she will be able to speak to him so much
better than we can; and besides, she can explain everything to Aunt
Marian, and perhaps things may come right in the end."

"Well, we must just hope so," said Harry; "but I can't bear to see
Aunt Marian imposed on.  I see perfectly well, by all she says and
does, that she thinks she has accused Fred unjustly; and it's awfully
shabby of him to act up to it.  Not but that I might do the same
myself if I were in his place," he added humbly.  "But I say, Katy,
there are rats in this cellar.  I hear something rustling in the
corner.  Oh, I see something white; let's cut and run;" and in
another moment, with somewhat grimy hands and white faces, the two
children took their places at the long deal table where the process
of covering the jam had already begun.

Fred was seated at the head of the table, busily engaged in
dispensing paper, gum, and innumerable pairs of scissors to his subs;
and not a lingering cloud of trouble seemed to overshadow his
good-humoured affability.  When he chose to be amusing and pleasant,
there was no one who could make himself more generally agreeable; and
"Bravo, Fred!" "That's a good fellow, Fred!" might be heard at
intervals from various admirers round the table as he laid down some
maxims couched in the most absurd language, or made some buffoonish
grimace.  And thus the afternoon wore on in the most peaceful and
perfect harmony; and whenever Aunt Marian looked in on her guests,
she saw with genuine delight all the heads busily bent over their
work, and heard the peals of laughter at each fresh pun or joke
perpetrated by one of the company.

"I say, Harry," she said, kindly laying her hand on her nephew's
shoulder, "what's gone wrong with you this evening?  I see all the
rest laughing and as merry a& crickets, but I don't think you and
Kathleen have smiled once.  You are not ill, are you?"

"Oh no, thank you, aunt, I am quite well.  It's awfully jolly work
this jam-covering, and I like it awfully; really I do."

Poor Harry's confusion was evident to the whole table, and Aunt
Marian good-naturedly desisted from asking any further question.

"When the jam is all covered, I must ask for your assistance in
putting it by," she said presently, addressing the assembled company;
"some of the shelves are too high for me to reach up to, and besides
I think you would like to see my store-room, which I consider is one
of the most comfortable rooms in the house."

Of course, the boys and girls around the table were loud in their
acquiescence, and the snipping and snapping of the various pairs of
scissors seemed to proceed even more rapidly than before.

"I say, what a regiment of jam pots that brother of yours has managed
to cover with all his tomfoolery and joking.  I never saw such a
fellow for being first in at everything," said young Maurice
Brinsley, looking across the table at Fred, whose row of neatly
covered preserves certainly seemed more numerous than any of the
others.  "He won the prize for the jam-picking, and now he's going to
bag this one as well.  How does he manage it, I wonder?"

"I am sure I don't know," replied Harry, not raising his head from
his own work; "I have been so busy looking after my own affairs, I
never saw how fast he had got on."

"I can't imagine how he managed to get his can filled so quickly
yesterday," continued Maurice innocently, "for he and I went in for a
grub of black currants that lasted till we were both fairly done; and
though I picked hard for the rest of the time, I had not half filled
my can, so I could scarcely believe my eyes or my ears when I saw his
tin handed in, and afterwards heard he had got first prize."

"But he did not get first prize," replied Harry, forgetting for the
moment what might be the result of his confidence.  "It was Kathleen
who really won it; for--for there was a mistake somewhere, but Aunt
Marian set it all right afterwards."

"How! a mistake!  I don't quite understand."

"Oh, nothing; it was only some stones which Fred had put at the
bottom of his can to keep the leaves down.  At least, that's to say,
there were some stones, and of course that made his can weigh heavier
than hers."

"You don't mean to say that Fred put stones into his can after all?"

"Why 'after all'?" asked Harry open-mouthed.

"Why, because when he and I were grubbing at the currants, I said for
fun, 'What a lark it would be to fill one's can with stones and put
only a layer of fruit at the top, and then to see mother's face of
surprise when she came to weigh the fruit;' but--"

"Then he did think she would weigh it?" said Harry again, speaking
more in accordance with his own thoughts than with the prudence his
brother might have expected from him.

"Of course we knew she would have to weigh the cans, or at least, we
felt more or less certain of it.  But I say, Harry," here Maurice
sunk his voice suddenly to a whisper, "Fred's got his eyes fixed on
us, and he don't seem to like our conversation."

"Pooh! who cares?" replied Harry hotly.  But for all that he went on
with his work, and after this a general lack of conversation seemed
to fall over all the company, Fred setting them the example by a
stony and somewhat sullen silence.

"I expect you'll catch it by-and-by," whispered Maurice into Harry's
ear.

"Of course you'll not repeat anything I have said to you?" replied
Harry nervously.  He was beginning to think he had perhaps inculpated
his brother, and yet he possessed no certainty of his guilt.

"I! of course not; it would only drag you into a row, and do no
good;--but I must say, if he did put stones in his can after all the
talk we had about it, it was a howling shame, and no mistake."

When the first gong sounded and the time for dressing for dinner had
arrived, Aunt Marian entered the housekeeper's room to adjudge the
prize; and again on this occasion, without any doubt or even loophole
for suspicion, Fred's quick and neat fingers had gained the day.  He
had covered a round dozen more than any of the others, with five
minutes allowed to him for dispensing the necessary materials; and
this time the prize was a box containing a complete set of
lawn-tennis, all beautifully packed into different compartments, and
the whole case of a portable size, and fitted with a good lock and
key.

Fred was more than satisfied with his aunt's choice.  He had wished
every day since he came to Jubilee Hall that they had lawn-tennis at
The Cedars; and he had even planned in his own mind whereabouts the
game could be best played, and the shady spots where garden-seats
could be placed for lookers on; and now his aunt had forestalled his
wishes, and when he went home he would be able to set it up at once,
and have capital games in the autumn.  He thanked his Aunt Marian
again and again in the most grateful and enthusiastic manner, and not
a few of the company envied him the possession of such a prize.




CHAPTER IX.

AUNT MARIAN'S STORE-ROOM

"Now, Fred, listen to me," observed Harry the following morning,
when, breakfast being over, they all sallied out in front of the
house for a stroll, "if you are going to come it over me in this way
I won't stand it, and that's an end of it."

"How come it over you?" said Fred slowly and indifferently, as he
pretended to follow the flight of a distant wood-pigeon.

"I mean sticking me into Coventry, and riding your high horse."

"I'll ride any horse I like, high or low, without asking your leave."

"Very well, ride away, and do just as you like; but if you go on with
these airs to Kathleen and me which you have kept up all yesterday
afternoon and this morning, I'll go my way, that's all."

"Well, and what's your way, may I ask?"

"Simply, I shall go straight to Aunt Marian's boudoir and let her
hear the whole matter out, every word and syllable from beginning to
end; for, to tell you the truth, I am getting dog-tired of this kind
of life.  When we came here first I was as jolly as a sand-boy, and
now I'm sick of the place, and of everybody and everything."

"Well, that's not my fault."

"It is your fault, it's altogether your fault; for every atom of this
wretchedness has come out of that odious heap of stones which you put
into your can."

"Humbug! how on earth can that harm you?  If it hurts any one it's
me, and that's my own affair."

"How can a thing be only your affair, when it has made, and does
make, so many people miserable?"

"You are talking simple rubbish, Harry, and I defy you to prove one
word of what you say, except, indeed, so far as concerns yourself and
Kathleen; and as any one with two eyes in his head can see what a
pleasure it is to you both to be miserable, I don't see how you can
blame me for it."

Harry's face and eyes perfectly flamed with indignation at Fred's
justification of his conduct, and a host of passionate words came
rushing hotly to his lips, but Maurice's voice being heard in the
shrubbery-walk close at hand, he constrained himself to silence, and
walking a step or so forward he picked some pebbles from the
gravelled walk and began slinging them at random across the lawn.

"And what's more," cried Fred, roused to a sudden recollection by the
sound of his cousin's voice, "I don't see what right you have to call
me a sneak and a cheat, and all that, when you go peaching on me
behind my back to Maurice, and setting all kinds of suspicions afloat
about me, when you may be quite as wrong as--as--"

"As you are," replied Harry shortly.  "But as I said before, I'm sick
of this sort of life, and of this house and this place; and jolly and
delightful as I thought it at first, I'd a million times rather be at
home now; and if things don't change from what they are soon, I'll
write and ask father and mother to come over for us."

"Bosh!" said Fred, "as if father or mother would come even if you did
write.  Of course they wouldn't, unless there was some good reason
for bringing them over, and I'd like to know where you'd find that."

"Easily enough," murmured Harry beneath his breath; and then, having
remained a long ten minutes looking at the beds of flowers all about
and around him, he turned towards his brother, and, with quite
another tone of voice and expression of face, exclaimed,--"Fred."

"Well."

"Listen; I'll say it all for you, if you like."

"Say what?"

"I'll go now and see Aunt Marian, and make everything straight,
you'll see, when I have told her all; and how at the beginning you
didn't mean--at least--well, never mind, I'll promise you I'll say it
the best way it can be said; and then we shall both be so awfully
glad when it's off our minds, shan't we, Fred?"

"I am sure I don't know," replied Fred, swinging his long legs
backwards and forwards beneath the iron chair on which he had seated
himself; "you always make such mountains out of mole-hills, a fellow
never knows what your opinion is worth.  I can't for the life of me
see that I've done anything so very wrong; in fact, I should never
have thought of it a second time, only you and Kathleen pulled such
awfully long faces at me, that you turned me sour and cross whether I
would or not; and for all I know, if you had left me alone I might
have set the whole thing straight in a jiffy."

Fred had a way of putting things that often puzzled Harry sorely, and
made him feel for the time as if wrong were right and right wrong;
and as Fred now sought to shove the burden of his fault on Harry's
shoulders, so Harry began to wonder and question himself if it might
not be quite true what his brother said, and that, if he had only
left him alone, he would have seen the right course to take, and have
followed it.  "I know I always do bungle things," replied he humbly;
"and I know people hate being bothered into things."

It was Fred's turn now to grow distressed and uneasy.  He made no
reply for some minutes to Harry's last speech, but kept his eyes
fixed on a large fuchsia in a neighbouring bed, evidently thinking
anxiously on some subject.  At last he said, with a nervous effort to
appear quite at his ease, "I'll tell you, Hal, what I'll do.  As you
seem to take it so much to heart, as soon as ever I go home I'll have
a talk with mother on the whole affair, and tell her exactly how the
land lies; and if she thinks I oughtn't to keep the prize, I'll give
it up, or I'll get her to return it, which comes to the same thing,
and that will set all to rights, won't it, Harry?"

"Are you really in earnest?" asked Harry, his whole face glowing from
the sudden and unlooked-for relief; "for if you are, I'll say you're
a brick, and no mistake."

"Of course I'm in earnest; I'm not quite such a hypocrite as you take
me for."

"Indeed, Fred, I don't take you for a hypocrite or anything the least
like it; only, I'm so awfully glad you're going to do it: for mother
will be sure to know what's right; and I'm such a gaby, I daresay it
is I who have been making a great fuss about nothing all the time."

"Well, at any rate, let's all try to be jolly for the rest of the
time we are here; Aunt Marian will think we are a set of prigs with
the way we have been going on, looking glum, and morose, and stupid,
when all the others were bursting their sides with laughter.  You'll
cheer up now, Harry, won't you?"

"Cheer up? why, I feel as if I could make one good flying leap over
sun, moon, and stars, and the equator into the bargain;" and Harry,
to prove the truth of his words, made one good flying leap over the
end of the iron seat, alighting somewhat ignominiously on the other
side, with face, hands, and knees in close contact with the sharp
gravel on the pathway.

"I say, Hal, old boy, that's what one might call a cropper of the
first water," cried a cheery voice in our fallen hero's ears, as he
raised himself up and shook himself free from the gravel and dust
which adhered to both hands, and to the knees of his trousers; "if
you make such a bad shot at the equator, you'll be likely to come to
grief, and get impaled on the North Pole, or something of the kind.
But I've been looking for you everywhere, for don't you remember you
and I were to have a game at chess to-day, and as we can't have it in
the afternoon on account of the jam having to be put away, I thought
we might as well have a shy at it now."

"All square," replied Harry cheerfully.  "I'm game for any fun going,
from pitch and toss to manslaughter, only I warn you, you'll get the
worst of it; for I feel as if I could fight Goliath this morning, I'm
so sprag and hearty in myself."

"If you make as good a shot at the game as you did at the iron chair
a moment ago, I'm afraid I shall get the worst of it," replied
Maurice laughing, "especially as I'm by no means in a serene temper.
I've been worriting at the old mother for the last hour to give me
out the Japanese chess-men which she has locked up in her store-room;
but she won't do it, for she says the old wooden ones are quite good
enough for us younkers; and though I coaxed, and bullied, and teased,
it was all no good, so we must put up with what we have got, and be
satisfied."

"They must be awfully precious men," said Harry open-eyed, for he had
never heard his aunt refuse Maurice anything before.

"Precious is no word for it.  They are all of the most exquisite
carved ivory.  Every piece is a curiosity in itself: the castles are
all on elephants' backs, and the king and queen are the grandest old
coves going; and as to the knights, they are simply A1, all of them
mounted on horseback, and with banners in their hands.  Oh, I do wish
I could even have shown them to you, but mother didn't seem to like
my asking her."

"I wonder why; I confess I for one would have given a good deal to
have a peep at them," said Fred, who, having a lathe of his own at
home, and being a decided genius in the art of carving, took delight
in looking at anything new and curious in his favourite art.

Maurice scarcely looked at Fred or noticed his remark, but addressing
himself to Harry, cried, "I am sorry, now that I think of it, that I
nagged at mother so much about them; for it's dawning on me that
these very chess-men were a present from my poor father, which
arrived at home just after mother heard of his death, and I am sure
that is why she does not like to have them knocked about."

"But we need not knock them about, need we?" asked Fred, again
seeking to obtain a hearing.

"If you mean that you wish me to ask mother for them again, I'm going
to do no such thing," Maurice answered, with scarcely the amount of
politeness in his tone due to one's guest, and especially as Fred
fancied he heard him add in a lower tone, "least of all for you."

"I am sure I don't care whether you do or not," replied Fred in
sudden heat at the tone and words of his cousin.  "I dare say I have
seen finer chess-men than any you could show me, so you need not
trouble yourself to be any ruder than you are by nature."

Maurice merely turned round and stared Fred full in the face with an
expression of contempt and unbelief which did not tend to allay the
rising fire in his cousin's breast, and, without addressing another
word to him, he moved nearer to Harry, who had been standing by, an
unhappy spectator of the scene.

"Come along and let's begin our game," he said, "or we shall only
have got well into the heat of it all when it will be time to stop.
Come along, I say;" and Maurice, taking Harry under his arm without
casting another glance in Fred's direction, walked off with him
towards the Hall, and through the oak doorway into the house.

Fred remained seated outside for a considerable time longer, and the
reverie which he fell into in his solitude was of no very amiable
kind.

"What on earth does the fellow mean by treating me in that way?" he
growled angrily as the two figures disappeared in the doorway; "he
has as much manners as a bear.  I'll soon let Aunt Marian hear, if he
goes on with any more of his cocksputtiness.  It was not to have us
spoken to and stared at as if we were a set of Yahoos, that she
invited us here.  No, no; my fine Master Maurice, I'll not stand such
humbug from any one, least of all from you; so you'd better not try
it on with me again, that's all."  And while Fred vented his anger in
such-like idle threats, he raked the path to and fro with his
walking-cane, until he had scarred the evenly strewed gravel with
unseemly lines and bars.

Nor when luncheon time arrived, and all the party assembled once more
in the dining-room, did matters seem more agreeable or promising for
Fred.  Aunt Marian, who, as usual, presided at the head of the table,
seemed preoccupied and out of spirits.  Now and then, when Fred
looked furtively up, he fancied her eyes were fixed uneasily on him;
but the instant their looks met she started, blushed, and turned her
head another way.  Could it be that the affair about the chess-box
was weighing on her mind, or what?  But why then need she look so
anxiously at him?  And Fred tried, as he could not reason the matter
out, to push it from his mind altogether, and determined not to look
again in her direction.

After luncheon Aunt Marian made a decided effort to brighten up, and,
calling all her guests together, she invited them to follow her to
the store-room, that she might give them directions where the various
jams were to be stored away; and also, she wished to show them some
curiosities which she had packed away down there for greater safety,
until a wonderful Chinese cabinet which she was expecting from London
should arrive to hold them.

All those who did not know the downstairs region of the left wing of
the Hall, were enchanted and surprised with the immense rows of
dungeon-like rooms which branched off in all directions from the
landing under Lady Brinsley's boudoir; and much interest was excited
when she came to a full stop opposite a door at the foot of, or
rather underneath the flight of stairs which led from the underground
region to the upper world.

"I have had my store-room built here purposely," she said putting a
large key into the key-hole; "because the flue of the kitchen chimney
runs parallel to the shelves along the wall, and thus everything on
them is kept dry and free from must.  You must not all crowd into the
store-room at once, but come in six or seven at a time, and I will
show you whatever there is worth seeing; and I must only trust to the
honour of the company at large, that, when I am no longer here to
superintend the proceedings, anything any of you wish to see you will
look at with your eyes, and not with your fingers; for some of my
curiosities are of a very fragile kind, and a rough touch or an
awkward hand might entirely destroy them.  You will be careful all of
you, won't you?" she said looking around; "and you, Maurice, and you,
Harry Malcomson, I leave you both as my aides-de-camp to see that
nothing on my curiosity-shelf is touched or meddled with."

There was a general clamour of assent to Lady Brinsley's wishes, and
loud assurances were given by those gathered round her that nothing
should be stirred or injured in any way; and then the key was turned
in the door, and as many as the room could hold were admitted.

Once inside, what a delicious odour there was of good
things,--oranges, figs, raisins, biscuits, gingerbread, plum-cake;
and how the dishes and open boxes of preserved fruits glanced from
out the darker corners of the shelves!

The stairs overhead were so broad that the store-room was an
unusually wide one, and by degrees, most of the party squeezed in so
as to be able to catch a view of the case which Lady Brinsley had
just lifted from the shelf overhead, and which Maurice, in a voice of
superior knowledge, declared to be the gem of the peep-show.

And a most curious and wonderful affair it was when it was placed on
the shelf in the window, and the light from the passage outside fell
full upon it.

"This," said Aunt Marian, as she took a gold key from her watch-chain
and placed it in the lock of the outside case, "this is a Japanese
miniature barrel organ, and when I lift off this cover you will see
what a strange piece of mechanism it is.  Here, Maurice, give me a
helping hand," and, assisted by her son, Lady Brinsley removed the
outside sandalwood box, and revealed a most perfect and beautiful
representation of a mimic stage, on the boards of which several
figures in Japanese costume were standing, while a wonderfully
painted and enamelled woodland scene at the back made everything
appear strangely real and life-like.

Lady Brinsley, having given all the children time to see the stage
and its occupants, pushed back a round silver peg at the side of the
box, and at once, to the sound of a curious tinkling and somewhat
unmusical music, the figures began moving about the stage, extending
their arms in entreaty, throwing back their heads in haughty
attitudes of refusal or pride, and, in fact, imitating in excellent
style the effects of an operatic scene.

Fred pressed forward and gazed with a rapt eagerness at the toy.  It
was a thing after his own heart, and all troubles and doubts were for
the moment forgotten, as he sought to puzzle out the mechanism of the
wonderful Japanese automaton.

When every one had been given a full view of the theatre, it was
packed up in its box and replaced with some difficulty by Maurice on
an upper shelf.  Fred followed it with longing eyes as it was
returned to the safe keeping of the store-room and its surroundings;
and as he did so his glance chanced to fall on another and smaller
case close beside it, on which he could see painted in black letters
the word "fragile."

"What is in that other box?" he asked curiously; "may we have a look
at it also?"

"No, dear; I never open that box," replied Lady Brinsley, in a
nervous and somewhat hesitating voice; "its contents are very
brittle, and, besides, I have other reasons."

"But what are the contents?" cried Fred, so anxious to satisfy his
curiosity, that his aunt's hesitation and distress did not affect him
as it would otherwise probably have done.

"Chess-men," she answered shortly, "ivory chess-men.

"Oh!" sighed Fred, "these are the men I suppose Maurice wanted so
much to show Harry.  Might we not even take one look into the box? we
were all so much disappointed."

"Speak for yourself, please," cried Maurice angrily; "neither Harry
nor I care a straw whether we see them or not."

"You said you did care very much this morning," retorted Fred, in
newly kindled wrath at Maurice's words and manner.  "You were quite
vexed that you had not been allowed to have them, and you grumbled
precious loud about it."

"Shut up, will you.  If you had the tact or the good taste of a
hen-sparrow, you would know when to leave off a disagreeable subject."

"Maurice, Maurice," said Lady Brinsley reprovingly.--"Suppose now,
you all set about the jam and its arrangement," she added cheerfully.
"You will find a little wooden ladder in the passage by the pantry
which will enable you to pack away a good deal on the high shelves."

Thus the subject of the chess-men dropped for the present; but Fred
and Maurice regarded each other with no friendly eyes, and Harry was
consequently uneasy and distressed.  He felt inclined to take his
brother's side in this argument, for he thought Maurice had spoken
very roughly to Fred before such a large company, and yet he could
not but fear it was his own insinuations on the occasion of the jam
covering that had set Maurice so much against Fred.  However, in the
general laughter, and fun, and jollity which went on, the carrying
down the trays of jam, and arranging them in order on the shelves,
Harry soon forgot his trouble, and amused himself in playing off a
series of his own peculiar style of practical jokes, which were of a
very harmless nature, and seldom were pushed sufficiently far to give
occasion for offence or anger.

Fred was so absorbed in gazing at the varied contents of the
store-room, that he gave but small assistance in the labours of the
afternoon; the dark nooks of this mysterious apartment, running, as
they did, far up beneath the stairs, had a charm for his inquisitive
nature which the more playful of his companions could scarcely have
understood.  And besides all this, Fred had a longing, amounting
almost to misery, to raise the lid of the white box labelled
"fragile," and take one glimpse at the rare carving of the Chinese
chess-men; and, like a true descendant of our first parents, the more
he was hindered from prying, the more intense grew the desire for the
forbidden pleasure.

But Maurice seemed to have an inkling of this weakness of Fred, and
kept constantly within the sombre precincts of the store-room.  He
sent the others for the jam and remained himself perched on the
ladder, the top of which was propped against the very shelf on which
stood the box containing the chess-men; and while Maurice kept firm
to his post, Fred had but small chance of the much longed-for peep.

"Why aren't you trying for the prize this afternoon, eh? you are so
lucky at winning prizes," asked Maurice of his cousin, in a tone
which savoured only too little of politeness; "or perhaps you intend
to try your old dodge of making a rush for it in the end, and winning
in a hand gallop."

"It's a pity," replied Fred, from some dark corner of the store-room,
"that twopence was not charged at your school for good manners; but,
I suppose, because you're king of your own castle, you may cheek a
fellow as much as you like."

"Humph! 'king of my own castle.'  Your head seems to be running very
much this morning on the chess-line; you'd give a good deal, I dare
say, to get one squint inside of this box;" and Maurice laid his
great schoolboy hand on the lid of the white case and smiled, it must
be confessed in no very pleasant way, at his cousin.

Maurice had such a loathing for a mean or ungenerous action, he could
not conceal his contempt for the boy whose conduct circumstances had
led him to distrust; and being the eldest son, and having been, in
consequence of his father's death, placed in an unusually prominent
position, he had not, perhaps, learned to exercise as much
self-control on certain occasions as would have been more fitting and
becoming at his age; and he saw the red fire leap into his cousin's
eye in the gloom of the dark corner where he stood, though it did not
make him desist from his uncourteous conduct.

Fred was an eldest son also, and a somewhat spoiled and petted boy,
and he was as little prepared to bear with Maurice's contemptuous
treatment as Maurice was to bear with him; so words waxed high
between them, and the other guests, abashed and frightened, stood
aloof from the scene of action and listened with awe not unmixed with
dismay to the passionate tones rising higher and higher within the
citadel whose closely barred window showed only the shadowy outlines
of the combatants within.

Harry alone ventured to draw near enough to the scene of action to
catch some of the voluble words of anger and reproach which passed
from the lips of both the boys, and his heart burned with a sudden
flame of passion when he heard the words "sneak, cheat, robber,"
hurled at his brother's head by Maurice, who, still standing on the
ladder, kept guard over the box marked "fragile."

"Fred, come out; don't listen to him," cried Harry, driven by the
force of his feelings to mingle in the fray; "a fellow who calls
another a cheat and a sneak, is no gentleman, I don't care who he is."

"I repeat it," cried Maurice.  "I say he is a vile, dastardly sneak,
and a liar into the bargain; and no one knows it better than
yourself."

At these words there was a crash.  Impelled at the same moment by an
uncontrollable burst of anger, both brothers had rushed upon the
occupant of the ladder, and, pushing it violently aside, had sent
Maurice head foremost into a trayful of jam pots, and finally
sprawling on the floor.

But a couple of sacks broke Maurice's fall, and he only rose with
redoubled fury to continue the fray.  Harry he merely thrust out into
the passage with one lurch of his great strong arm; but Fred he sent
whirling back into the darkness with a blow planted right in the
middle of his chest, and an accompanying kick which raised him for a
moment from the ground only to fall the more heavily on his back,
which struck against something sharp protruding from the wall, and he
finally rested upon a shelf raised about a foot or so from the
ground, and which extended far back to the very end of the store-room
floor, and which was, in fact, only a kind of low platform at the
further end of the room.

At this moment there was a cry raised somewhere that Lady Brinsley
was coming; and Maurice, ashamed and confused, picked up the ladder,
and having placed it against the shelf, began arranging the jam pots,
in a somewhat irregular manner, it must be confessed, but still it
helped to carry off what would have been otherwise a very unpleasant
position.

Fred, meantime, who was smarting all over from the fall, and whose
shoulder-blade was cruelly bruised by the blow he had received in his
descent, sat down moodily on the shelf or step on which he had
fallen, and sulkily awaited the issue of his aunt's arrival.

But Lady Brinsley had no wish just now to enter into this embroilment
between her son and her nephew, for, to tell the truth, she would
have been sorely puzzled what to say; so she merely looked in at the
store-room door for a moment and murmured anxiously, "Maurice, dear,
do not let there be such a noise downstairs any more.  You know I
don't dislike a pleasant row, but the sounds which I heard just now
were anything but that.  Do try to remember that it is our business
to make our guests happy, no matter how they have behaved, and even
though Fred has--"

"Fred is here to answer for himself," cried Maurice hastily; for he
guessed the gloom of the room had concealed his cousin's presence,
and he had no wish to mix up his mother unpleasantly in the business.

"What is all this about, Fred?" asked Lady Brinsley, peering
anxiously through the darkness for the figure crouched on the step.

"I am sure I don't know," replied Fred in a sullen tone.

"It's all about this confounded--;" Maurice stopped a moment and then
continued nervously, "it's all about this unfortunate chess-box,
which Fred is determined to have a look at, and which he says as sure
as he's alive he'll see some way or other,--and I'm just as
determined that he shan't.  I wish you would take it upstairs,
mother, and lock it up somewhere; for he's such a fellow he would
manage to sneak in through a mouse-hole to gain his purpose."

"Maurice, Maurice, indeed I cannot allow you to speak so," said his
mother gravely.  "You know well I would far rather, whatever pain it
might have cost me, have taken down the box and shown it to Fred,
than have had this most unpleasant discussion."

"I don't want to see it," said Fred proudly; "only I won't be bullied
by him."

"You swore a moment ago you'd see it if you tore the whole window out
of its socket," cried Maurice, growing hot and indignant at Fred's
denial.

"And so I would, if you tried to stop me from seeing it."

"Then all I can say is, I'll stop you as long as I have hands on my
arms or feet on my legs, and not the most distant vision of one of
the men shall you ever see,--at least while you are in this house;
unless, indeed, mother chooses to show them to you, and that's no
business of mine."

"Maurice, let there be an end of this at once," cried Lady Brinsley,
in a tone which her son never dared to oppose.  "Whatever else you
may be doing, you are not behaving like a gentleman, nor will you by
your example be likely to influence your cousin for good.  If this
most unseemly noise continues, I will just lock the store-room door
and break up the whole afternoon, which, I think, would be scarcely
fair to our other guests."

"All serene," cried Maurice hoarsely; he was not accustomed to being
reproved so sharply by his mother, and before Fred, too.  "I'll not
say another word," he added in a lower voice; "but I'll balk his
sneaking tricks for all that."




CHAPTER X.

A DISCOVERY.

Maurice was as good as his word.  He never uttered another syllable
to Fred, nor did he relax his guard over the shelf where stood the
coveted box, but still kept his position on the ladder, arranging in
order the various trays of jams, carried down by the others; and
after a time, as Fred also remained perfectly silent and inactive in
the corner, the "row" was partially forgotten, and jokes and laughter
began again to be heard in the halls and passages.

Meantime Fred, who had sat in a kind of gloomy abstraction for nearly
half an hour, only showing that he was not asleep by the occasional
red gleam from his eyes which shone strangely out of the sombre
obscurity of his retreat, suddenly awoke to a strange and thrilling
discovery which made his heart beat quick and loud against his side,
and which almost tempted him to doubt the evidence of his senses.

And this discovery was brought about in the following manner:--His
shoulder, which had been so sorely bruised in the fall, ached
terribly for a long time after the other effects of his misfortunes
had passed away, till at length, in a vexed and sullen spirit, he
searched about and around the place to see against what sharp thing
he could have struck when falling, or what accident could have caused
the wound which kept on aching so wearily.

For a long time he could see nothing; for the corner where he sat was
so dark that objects only revealed themselves slowly to his sight,
and it was not for many minutes after he had sat down that he even
found out that the platform on which he was seated was used evidently
for drying candles and soap, as many squares of the latter were
spread out on it, and bundles of candles in orderly rows side by side
were also arranged with the same neatness and method; and the roof of
the store-room being formed by the stairs overhead it was of
necessity a sloping one, and over the shelf on which Fred sat it came
slanting down so low as almost to touch his head, so that to rise
upright would have been impossible.  At some distance behind him the
room ended in a dark angle where nothing taller than a cat or a rat
could creep along, and as well as Fred's eye could discern, this low
nook was used only as a receptacle for old sacks, files of bills,
mouse traps and so forth.  But so great was Fred's natural curiosity
that he longed to pry into its depths, and had he been alone he would
certainly have crept on hands and knees along the platform and
examined minutely all there was to be seen there; but as it was, he
had a character for proud indifference to keep up just now, so he
found sufficient interest in searching for the origin of his present
suffering, wondering vaguely how it could have been caused.

At length his shoulder became so painful and his back ached so badly,
he shoved himself along the wooden platform on which he was seated to
the nearest wall of the store-room, so that he might lean his side
against it for support, and it was then he awoke suddenly to the
discovery which caused him so much surprise and excitement; for as he
pressed his head forward toward the wall he again came in contact
with something hard and cold protruding from the wooden partition
which formed one side of the store-room, and the blow which it gave
him, coming, as it did, on the side of his head, caused him almost to
cry aloud from pain.

Fred rubbed his wounded ear for a moment or so with his finger and
muttered angrily to himself; then, feeling all up the wall with the
palm of his hand, he sought to discover the knob or nail which had,
as it seemed to him, purposely wounded him.

And he was not long in coming on it.  It was an iron knob protruding
from the wall, very hard and cold and round, and evidently fastened
to the wooden panelling by screws or clamps of some kind or other.
Fred turned and fixed his eyes narrowly on the spot; his curiosity
was fully aroused, and he determined to get at the root of the
matter.  As he gazed, it seemed to him as if a silver rod ran down
the whole length of the wall beside him, shining quite brightly, and
almost glowing in the surrounding darkness.

Fred now ran his fingers down this rod, but found to his surprise
that it was nothing tangible; only a long seam of light, which,
entering by a crack or fissure in the panels of the wall, gave the
appearance of a metal bar; for when some one passed by outside in the
passage, the silver bar disappeared, but again returned when the
obstruction had moved on.

Once more he ran his fingers up the crack, to ascertain its width,
and this time his knuckles came in contact with another knob similar
in shape and size to the one he had discovered below, only so high
was it placed as to be but an inch or so below the slanting roof of
the store-room.

Fred paused for a moment, and with his eyes still eagerly peering
into the darkness, drew a long breath.  It was just then his heart
gave the first great throb, and that the blood tingled so curiously
down to his finger-tips.

"Could it be?" he murmured, almost aloud; and then he took a furtive
glance towards the stalwart figure of Maurice, who stood with his
back turned, and perched on the top of the ladder.  He ran his
fingers no longer up the wall, but across it; and then he paused
again, while the throbbing at his heart became more violent and
uncomfortable.  "Yes, it was what he suspected it to be."  Quite far
back he could feel hinges, one above and one below, corresponding
exactly to the knobs on the opposite side of the panel.  And these
knobs, what were they? what could they be?  Why, bolts of course;
which, closing tightly on the silvery bar of light, kept this hidden
egress from the room safe from the visits of intruders.

This was a discovery; as great and significant at the moment to Fred
as if he had stumbled on a treasure of pure gold hidden away in some
nook or cranny of the wall.

Then came the next question,--could the bolts move, or had long
disuse rendered them stiff, and cramped, and useless?  That they had
not been opened for a long time, the cobwebs which stuck closely over
them could testify; sticky gray cobwebs which clung to Fred's fingers
and the knees of his trousers, and made him feel as if spiders were
running down the back of his neck.

He must try whether the bolts would stir at his bidding or not; but
oh! how cautiously must this essay be made, lest Maurice, ever on the
alert, should look round and catch him in the act.  Fred leaned his
head once more in an attitude of weariness against the wall, and with
one hand and arm thrust behind him, took the knob in his fingers and
pressed, first gently, then a little harder; but no, it would not
move, he must push more strongly still.  But supposing it were to fly
suddenly back, the door might leap open--oh! what a triumph for
Maurice, what bitterness of defeat for him.

So Fred continued to push, ever so gently and gingerly, yet at the
same time firmly, till at last there was a sharp creak and a grating
squeak which could be heard all over the store-room.

Maurice turned hastily round and peered into the darkness; but there
was Fred still sitting disconsolately on the step with his head
against the wall.  Maurice knew nothing of this secret door, so he
only remarked, as if in answer to his own thoughts, "Rats," and
turned away again carelessly to resume his work.

[Illustration: "Another pot of strawberry, if you please."]

Meanwhile, Fred's eye had become riveted on a dish, on which lay
heaped one on the top of the other sundry pounds of butter, evidently
fresh from the churn.  It had been placed on the same shelf where he
sat, only at a safe distance from the aroma of the soap and candles;
but a quick movement, now that Maurice's back was turned, would
easily reach it; and Fred, stretching out his hand, like a flash of
lightning removed a small piece from off the nearest roll, and
conveying it to his other fingers, cautiously rubbed the rusty lock
with the oily but most opportune "find."

This operation was decidedly successful; the next time he tried the
bolt it moved, and no creak followed to betray him.  The upper lock
was greased in the same way, and it also moved, though a slight groan
issued from its iron-moulded joints, which caused Maurice once again
to turn his head, and murmur "Rats," while he wondered vaguely how
such a cowardly fellow as Fred could be content to sit quietly over
there in the dark, in such close proximity to rats and other vermin.
Perhaps it was the weary dejected position in which Fred sat, with
his head resting against the wall, that caused a momentary gleam of
contrition and remorse in Maurice's bosom; for presently, in a voice
which betrayed an evident struggle between pride and pity, he said,
turning towards his cousin,--

"I advise you strongly not to take up your position in that corner,
Fred; for the place is alive with cockroaches, and they will be
crawling up your leg if you don't take care."

"I have not seen one," replied Fred shortly and sullenly.

"They are there for all that: it was only a few nights ago, when I
came down here to fetch up some night-lights for mother, that I came
on one as large as a cow, with horns that could have tossed me into
the middle of next week.  I never saw such a brute; he was more like
an old stag cantering along the wall than a human being."

"I never knew cockroaches were human beings before," laughed one of
Maurice's sisters, who was standing patiently at the foot of the
table with a heavy load of jam in her extended arms, waiting for her
brother to arrange them on the shelf above.

"My dear child, who ever supposed you did?  But for all that I'm not
so far out, for all men are animals, ain't they?  and if a cockroach
is not an ugly beast of an animal, what else is it? therefore _a
fortiori_ it follows, that if both are animals, there is no
difference between them."

"All men are animals, but all animals are not men," replied Alice
Brinsley, quoting somewhat sententiously from one of her well-read
lesson books.

"And all girls are donkeys, though all donkeys aren't girls.  I
declare, Alice, I think you are the most assified old cockroach in
the whole place; for a fellow can't make the most simple and natural
observation in the world, but you thrust out your horns and pin him
to the wall, while every scrap of knowledge that you have in your
shallow pate could be found bound up between the two covers of
Mangnall's Questions, beginning at the date when William the
Conqueror threw the famous bucket of cold water over his brother
Robert le Diable, down to the chap who found out how to square the
circle, and make lemon pudding out of pigs' whiskers.  There take
that;" and Maurice concluded his exordium by seizing a large ball of
cord from the shelf beside him, and flinging it right at his sister's
uplifted nose, from which it sprang aside and rolled into the dark
corner where Fred still sat with his head against the wall,
apparently gloomy and abstracted.

But oh! how his face and attitude belied his real feelings,
especially now he beheld the ball of cord, which for the last ten
minutes he had been gazing at with covetous eyes, actually rolling
forward to his very feet.  Surely Maurice must have read his
thoughts, and fathomed the scheme by which his cousin hoped to
retrieve his vantage ground, and make good his angry boast.  He must
have caught a glimpse of the hungry eyes fixed on the coil of cord
above his head, and putting two and two together, must have resolved
to aid and abet his enemy, by conniving at his plans, and only
planning the more completely and fatally to overthrow and destroy him.

These doubts made Fred hesitate for some minutes whether to avail
himself of the unlooked-for assistance, during which time he watched
his cousin closely, and narrowly scanned the fluctuating expression
of his face; an expression all the more difficult to decipher, as
Maurice, having lighted on a jar of French plums, had crammed about a
dozen of them into his mouth at one time, and was now making the most
frightful grimaces, struggling to eat them without choking or
swallowing any of the stones.

But Maurice was perfectly innocent of any plan or plot being laid to
undermine his pride; and as soon as he could find room to move his
tongue, he again resumed his attack upon his sister, whose arms ached
from the weight of the jam pots she still held in her hands, and from
which he seemed in no hurry to relieve her.

"Here, Alice, are some rare seeds for you; or as Mangnall would call
them, umbelliferous stones," cried Maurice, removing some of the
kernels from his mouth, and placing them on the tray before her; "if
you plant them in some good farinaceous kind of earth, and water them
four times an hour, for fifteen minutes at a go, you'll have in the
course of time a magnificent French-plum forest, similar in size and
appearance to the famous forest of Ardennes, where Henry the Eighth
killed the horrible wild boar, and was afterwards horribly bored to
death himself by, I forget how many wives, with patent reversible
heads, which could be taken off and on without any trouble; and
which, according to Mangnall, was the origin of the penny stamp
movement, which was called ever after Anne Boleyn's tragic end, a
Queen's head.--Another pot of strawberry, if you please, and then the
upper row will be quite full; and give us another handful of French
plummers at the same time, that's a good girl, and then I shall be
quite full also."

"My dear Maurice, you will really make yourself ill; and besides, you
will certainly swallow some of the stones."

"And if I do, what harm? for if you have studied page 40 of
Mangnall's 'Internal Economy,' you will find that a stone or apple
allowed to fall inside a given circle, proves the gravitation of the
Earth.  But, good gracious, did you hear those rats again?  I say,
Fred, have you cheese-parings or what in your pockets, that you seem
to be tempting them out of their holes at this time of day?"

To this Fred did not deign a reply, or, if he spoke, the answer was
uttered in such a low voice that no one heard him; and Maurice, with
a nod of his head, indicative of careless contempt, turned away for
good from his cousin, and made no further effort to draw him into
conversation.

Fred, meantime, had not been idle; he had, with his penknife, cut off
two pieces of cord from the ball which lay, apparently still
untouched, at his feet.  At the end of each piece of cord he had made
a running knot, and this knot he had skilfully placed like a noose
over the neck of each bolt, and then drawn the knot tightly with his
hands; but the greatest difficulty remained still unsurmounted.  The
bolts could, of course, be easily withdrawn by any one within the
store-room, even without the aid of the cord; but the point which
Fred was now eagerly debating in his mind was, how to get the ends of
the cord on the other side of the panel, and thus give the power to
an outsider to enter at any time he pleased.

The bolts, he had definitely discovered, were screwed to the door,
and shot into iron clamps on the wall; so, in order to draw them back
from the outside, the ends of the string would have to be passed
through some aperture behind the head of the bolt; and how to make
this opening without exciting suspicion, was the present
stumbling-block in Fred's path.  But as he moved himself a little
further back on the shelf to get a clearer view of the door, he
observed that just beneath the hinges there was also a faint glimmer
of daylight, and this discovery solved the problem so satisfactorily,
that in a few moments, with the aid of his penknife, he had thrust
the end of the cord nearest to him out through the chink into the
passage beyond, and he had only to wait patiently for a favourable
opportunity to secure the other in the like manner.

Nor had he to wait long, as Maurice had begun to grow tired of his
elevated position, and presently, coming down off the ladder, he
began arranging the jam on some of the lower shelves, and in this
work became so occupied and interested, that he temporarily forgot
Fred and his corner, and only paused in his work to make some absurd
remarks to his friends.

Fred seized a favourable opportunity when Maurice's back was turned,
and no one else was in the store-room, to rise slightly from the
shelf, and thrust the second piece of cord through the upper hinge;
which effort was so successful, that he felt quite elated, and sat
down quietly for a few moments to think out the probable result of
his plot.

That he could enter the store-room secretly at some future time, and
there and then make good his boast to Maurice, there seemed now no
doubt, and Fred glanced up triumphantly at the two pieces of cord
securely fastened to the knobs or handles of the bolt and stretching
out to the hinges; but how, when he had got in, he was to get out
again, without the open door betraying his ingress and egress, was
the subject now uppermost in his mind.  Was there no plan by which he
could shut the door as well as open it?  He almost thought there must
be; and in order to consider this point thoroughly, he leaned his
elbows on his knees, and his head on his hands, and to a speculative
eye looked, if possible, even more disconsolate and inscrutable than
ever.

Maurice gave one or two side glances towards his cousin, but thought
it wiser not to break the unpleasant silence, but to allow Fred's
sulky mood to pass over without remark, as all interference seemed
only to increase his gloom and reticence; but he determined, at the
same time, that when once it had passed over, it would not be his
fault if he quarrelled with Fred again, or allowed any guest in his
house to feel as uncomfortable and depressed as he had caused Fred to
be all the afternoon.  And as Maurice made these good resolutions, he
whistled softly to himself; and a better and much pleasanter light
came into his eyes, as he put aside a box of candied fruit with a
beautiful picture on the top of it, as a peace-offering for his
cousin, whenever the favourable moment for presenting it should
arrive.  Little he knew what burning thoughts were passing through
Fred's mind, or what a fire of revengeful feelings was smouldering
under the quiet attitude and dispirited appearance of his cousin.

Fred meanwhile had not only thought out his new plan, but had
actually begun to carry it into execution.  Once more, unseen, he had
picked up the ball of cord, and cut two pieces from it; and now he
was busy, while Maurice's back was turned, making slip knots on these
also.  And when Maurice leaned across the shelf to take down the
prettiest box of preserved fruits for the proposed gift, Fred quickly
drew these second loops over the two bolts, and with the ends hanging
down beside him, only waited for a further opportunity of pushing
them through the hinge of the large door which stood conveniently
near its neighbour, and on the very side which would enable him to
draw the bolts of the latter securely back into their places.

The gong sounding for dressing soon afforded him the desired moment
for action, and when the store-room was nearly full of the guests
assembling around Maurice, preparatory to their departure upstairs,
Fred stood up, and drawing into the shadow of the large door, which
opened inwardly, he thrust the cords carefully through the slit
beneath the hinges, and then passing out almost unobserved into the
passage, he delayed just sufficiently long to see that they were all
well out, and ready for action, and also to assure himself that they
would be quite invisible to the eye of a passer-by, as the light
painting of the wood corresponded so nearly in shade to the colour of
the cord, that unless a person had intentionally sought for the
strings, they would never have their attention drawn to the spot.

At any rate, Fred reasoned with himself, the afternoon was already
fast closing in, and every moment the hall and staircase would be
growing darker; the gas jet in the passage was purposely fixed so as
to throw its light in through the window of the store-room, and thus
the outside walls lay in comparative shadow; and there was no need to
think of to-morrow, for what could be done at once without danger
ought not to be deferred until suspicion might be aroused; and Fred,
full of a deep and earnest purpose, walked slowly up to his own room
and began to dress for dinner.




CHAPTER XI.

WATCHING HIS OPPORTUNITY.

For a long time Fred debated with himself whether to make Harry a
confederate in his scheme or not.  He knew that Harry's affectionate
spirit had been sorely ruffled and tried that afternoon by Maurice's
conduct towards him; and he knew also he had only to show the large
purple bruise on his shoulder to call forth a burst of bitter anger
in his brother's breast.  Harry, too, had a keen enjoyment in
following up any scheme which savoured of danger and mystery; and
there would be something almost too seductive in the thought of
outwitting Maurice, with all his pride and hauteur, for Harry to be
able to refuse his aid.

And, after all, what harm was there in the whole affair?  He was not
going to steal or even touch anything in the store-room, except to
raise the lid of the box marked "Fragile," and take one glimpse at
the carved ivory men; just sufficient to be able to describe them
faithfully to Maurice, and leave him in all the perplexity of a
secret and undiscoverable defeat.

It was only a fair revenge for the uucourteous conduct of his
cousin,--the epithets hurled on him in the presence of all the
guests, and the cruel blow which had sent him reeling back into the
darkness of the store-room.  "At least I can sound Harry on the
subject, and see how he likes the look of it.  If he jumps at the
fly, all serene; if not, then mum's the word, and all the danger and
glory will be my own."  So thought Fred as he slowly walked up the
stairs leading to the landing where their room was situated, and his
face was grave and abstracted when he opened the door and walked in.

"Well, Fred, old man," cried Harry's sympathizing voice as he
entered, "I hope you are not much hurt.  I was just saying to
Kathleen, as you came in, what a shame it was of Maurice to turn on
you the way he did, and to knock you down and call you names before
every one!"

"Yes, you may say so; and if you only saw the bruise on my
shoulder-blade, you'd open your eyes a bit.  I am sure it's as large
as a plate this moment, and as black and blue as your shoe; and all
for what, I'd like to know.  Nothing but his confounded pride and
ill-temper."

"I can't think why he should have grown so suddenly cold to you,"
said Harry uneasily.  "Sometimes I think perhaps it is all my fault."

"Your fault!  Rubbish! how could it be?"

"Well, because I know I said something to him yesterday about the
stones you had put in your can, and he flared up at once, and said if
you had done it, it was a howling shame, and all that kind of thing.
But, somehow or other, I think," pleaded Harry humbly, "something
more must have happened to vex him, or he could not be so frightfully
waxy."

"I'll wax him before I've done with him," said Fred angrily.
"Whether I put the stones in the can or not, what business is it to
him?  He has no right to set himself up for a judge and put me in
Coventry before all the others.  However, he'll be sorry for it
before all's over.  I'll promise you that much for your consolation."

The consolation appeared scarcely to affect Harry as much as might
have been anticipated; he glanced nervously towards his brother, and
ended a rumination of full five minutes' length with a prolonged sigh.

"Heigh ho, I wish we had never left home.  I know I, for one, shall
never be in a hurry to leave it again."

"Nor I either," cried Fred, with a certain hoarse sound in his voice
which betrayed no small amount of emotion.  "However, in for a penny,
in for a pound, is my maxim; and I'd rather stick here all my life
than leave the place without giving Maurice a Roland for his Oliver."

"You'll never be able to do it.  Remember he is in his own house, and
we are only visitors."

"All the same, I will do it; and what's more, the trap is set and the
hook baited, and I'll be even with him before this time to-morrow,
you'll see."

"Why, what are you going to do?"

"If you had the spirit of a mouse I'd tell you; but I know once you
heard the whole scheme, you'd never stop till you'd put your foot in
it somehow."

"Fred!"

"Oh yes, it's all very well.  I know you'd stand by me, and have
stood by me in lots of things; but this is a plan which will require
the coolness of a cucumber and the courage and calmness of--well,
anything you like, to carry it out; and one of your unhandy scruples
would just put me off the whole thing, and make me far too nervous to
succeed."

"But what do you want to do?"

"I want to outwit Maurice."

"In what way?"

"Well, I'll just tell you this much.  Maurice has as good as sworn
that he won't let me get a glimpse of those wonderful chess-men he's
so ridiculously proud of, and I'm determined that I will see them;
and there is the long and the short of the whole thing."

"But--"

"Never mind 'buts;' there are no 'buts' in the affair at all.  I'm
going to do it, and that's all."

"But, Fred, if they are locked up in Aunt Marian's store-room, how
can you?"

"Ay, there's the rub; but since you know so much, I may as well just
tell you I can get in and out of that store-room as easily as I could
get in and out of Kathleen's room over there."

At this moment Kathleen opened the very door towards which Fred was
pointing and walked in.  "Were you calling me?" she asked.

"No, no; go back into your own room and dress for dinner.  I was only
talking to Harry."

"But I am dressed for dinner and you are not, and the gong is just
going to sound."

"You don't say so," cried Harry.--"Look at your watch, Fred, and see."

Fred drew out his watch, and found it wanted but six minutes of the
dinner-hour; so further conversation had to be indefinitely
postponed, and it was with great difficulty the boys accomplished
their feat of dressing in six minutes so as to be down in the
drawing-room with the rest of the guests before the gong actually
sounded.

Fred usually took his place at the end of the dining-room table close
to Maurice, who sat at the foot and carved; but to-night the
brothers, by a kind of intuition, exchanged places, and Harry took
the vacant chair beside his cousin, while Fred sat high up, and
comparatively close to his aunt.

Lady Brinsley noticed, with considerable anxiety of mind, the extreme
pallor of Fred's face, and the nervous distress which seemed to
overpower him so that he ate almost nothing of the various viands
which were offered him, and addressed scarcely a word to those around
him.  However wrong Fred had been, and however dishonourable his
conduct might appear, Maurice, she felt, had no right to behave in
the way he had done, and to treat his cousin with such harshness; and
Lady Brinsley, whose heart was peculiarly susceptible towards boys of
Fred's age, felt once again a strong pity rise in her heart for the
lad whose unhappiness was too plainly pictured on his face.  But as
the dinner-time wore on Fred's demeanour changed curiously; and by
the time the meal was over, Lady Brinsley observed with surprise a
certain look almost of triumph which glowed in Fred's eye, especially
when he turned it in Maurice's direction.  Nor was the tone of
defiance lost upon her when Fred was suddenly called upon to answer
some question addressed to him by his cousin, and to which he replied
with a confidence and a sangfroid which were in strong contrast with
his former nervousness of manner.

The fact was that Lady Brinsley had proposed that the remainder of
the evening, which was deliciously soft and balmy, should be devoted
to a grand game of "I Spy," among the laurels and thick-growing
shrubs of the pleasure-ground; and that the whole party should
adjourn outside the Hall after dinner, and have their tea spread
afterwards in the tent on the archery ground, with strawberries and
cream to refresh themselves after their races and fatigue.

This idea was hailed with unmixed delight by all the party, and by no
one with more zeal than Fred, who saw in this suggestion a grand
opportunity for carrying out his scheme; for as all the party would
be busily employed outside, he could easily seize on a moment to slip
away downstairs and invade undisturbed the sacred precincts of the
store-room.

But matters did not turn out so propitiously as Fred had imagined.
Lady Brinsley, who felt uneasy and restless in her mind both about
the boy and the results which might be anticipated from his wounded
pride, made it her special charge to look after him, and to see that
he was not left out of the game or otherwise coldly treated by
Maurice.  So Fred, though he watched eagerly for an auspicious moment
for flight, had to wait long before the favourable opportunity
presented itself.

At last there did come a time when Fred thought he could slip away
without notice.  Two of the party had gone off to hide as hares in
the cover of the far-off evergreens; and Maurice and his mother had
gone down to the archery ground to look after the fixing of some pole
in the tent, which the butler had brought them word was in rather a
shaky condition, and required looking after before the rush of hungry
hares into its recesses might bring the whole affair tumbling down
about their heads.

Fred now watched his opportunity, and seeing the coast clear, edged
slowly off from the group of hounds, which were gathered under a
large beech tree, awaiting the shrill whistle from the plantation
which would announce that the hares were in safe hiding, and convey
also some slight notion as to their whereabouts.

"Where are you going?  You are not allowed to leave bounds until the
hares are hid," cried several voices as Fred moved out of their ranks.

"Humbug! what harm can I do out here?  I can't catch a glimpse of the
hiding-ground from this place, and I'm sick of sticking all in a lump
under this tree like a swarm of bees."

"It is not fair, for all that," cried the same voices again; "we said
we would not go further than this tree."

"I said nothing of the kind; besides, I am tired of the game, and I
am going to take a stroll until supper is ready."

"Fred, you are not going really to leave the game?" cried Harry,
coming up to him anxiously from under the shadow of the tree.  "Do
come back,--there's a good fellow; it will be no fun without you."
And as Harry spoke he eagerly sought to scan his brother's face, half
suspecting he had something more weighty on his mind than a mere
stroll about the place.

"Bosh! you'll do twice as well without me," cried Fred, attempting a
laugh.  But seeing the look in Harry's eyes, he changed his mind, and
added in a low voice, "Cannot you take a hint and keep them all quiet
there for a few minutes, and draw their attention off me, for I've
been watching for this opportunity the whole evening."

"What for?" gasped Harry.

"Why, what I told you before."

"But you did not tell me."

"Well, never mind; the whole thing won't take five minutes, and I'll
come back and tell you then."

"O Fred!  I know you will get yourself into some awful scrape.
Please don't go and do anything rash."

"I tell you I'm in for it now, and, scrape or no scrape, I'll carry
it through."

"Would there be less danger if I were to help you?"

"No, no; there is the whistle: if we both went off together, we
should only draw suspicion on ourselves.  Go, go, I tell you, and
hunt with the others; this is the moment of all others for me."  And
Harry, sorely against his will, went off to search among the
evergreens and under the low-growing shrubs for the missing hares,
while Fred turned his steps with apparent nonchalance towards the
house.

But the moment for success which he had so confidently looked for had
not yet come.  Just as Fred turned through a low gate in the
pleasure-ground leading by a shrubbery walk towards the Hall, he saw
Maurice coming round from an opposite path, and also making his way
in the direction of the house.

Both the boys caught sight of each other at the same moment, and both
paused for an instant, hesitating what course to pursue.  Fred was
the first to act.  He turned deliberately on his heel, and retraced
his steps through the dark shrubbery walk; and then Maurice's
resolution seemed also taken, for Fred heard hasty steps behind him
and some one calling him by his name.

"Fred, Fred! turn back and listen; I want to say something to you."

Fred walked on, his head held proudly in the air, and his ears
apparently deaf to Maurice's words.

"Fred, listen to me,--stop; I want awfully to have a few words with
you.  Don't go on to where the others are, or I can't say them."

But Fred still walked on till he reached the small iron gate, having
passed which, he swung it back resolutely in his cousin's face,
almost snapping it on his extended hand.  Then Maurice halted in his
pursuit with a muttered growl of anger and disappointment, and
turning also on his heel, he walked gloomily towards the Hall.




CHAPTER XII.

AT DEAD OF NIGHT.

Great was Harry's amazement, when rushing in hot pursuit after the
discovered hare, to meet Fred walking leisurely back towards the
play-ground.  He stopped breathless from his chase, and looked with
the most painful suspense into his brother's eyes.

"For goodness' sake," cried Fred angrily, "don't stare at me in that
horrid way!  With your great fishy eyes you look exactly like a
boiled haddock."

"But, Fred, have you done it?"

"Of course I knew you were going to ask me that ganderish question.
One would think I was a centipede, to be able to reach the house and
be back again here in less than five minutes.  Don't be a tomfool."

Harry saw the angry light in Fred's eye, and though he sorely longed
to know the cause of his brother's speedy return, he feared to ask
any further questions; and when Fred turned away a moment afterwards,
and made a sudden short cut down one of the terraces towards the
archery-ground, Harry gave up all idea of following him or hearing
his news, and repaired again to the beech tree on the
pleasure-ground, under which the hounds and hares had once more
assembled preparatory to a fresh start.

The supper in the tent was, however, announced to be ready, and both
parties gave up the chase, and repaired harmoniously together to feed
under the same canvas roof.

The table was quite a sight, it was so beautifully and tastefully
decorated with fruits, flowers, and variegated leaves.  Lady Brinsley
and her daughter made the art of table decoration almost a study; and
the effects they produced were generally considered to be perfect.

The tempting odour of the ripe fruit lavishly heaped in dishes around
the table was most agreeable to the noses of the hounds, who crowded
pell-mell into the tent; and as each plate and chair was labelled
with the name of its owner, there was no difficulty or confusion in
finding room at the table.  Fred was surprised, on taking his seat,
to find not only his plate labelled with his own name, but also a
very pretty French bon-bon box, beneath whose fretted paper coverings
could be seen peeping out the most delicious preserved fruits and
sweetmeats.

He looked hastily up at his aunt, and scanned her face curiously, to
see if this unexpected gift had come from her.  But no: when their
eyes met, it there was any peculiar expression visible there, it was
one of grave, almost distressed anxiety; and Fred relapsed into a
miserable state of mind, which had of late become a constant habit
with him.

Once he glanced at Maurice, as a quick, uneasy question, flashed
through his mind; but the moment Maurice met his gaze, his cheek
flushed, and his eyes hastily sought his plate: so Fred, whose heart
was just now wound up to the pitch when tears were very close, sought
no further to disentangle the riddle.  But his pride would not permit
him to appropriate the gift; and when supper was over, he rose from
the table with a swelling heart, and, with his head still held
proudly in the air, he left the tent, and wandered about the grounds
until the gong sounded for evening prayers, after which all the
guests dispersed to their respective apartments.

Harry, however, had watched Fred's exit from the tent with anxious
eyes: for he knew well, from the compressed muscles of his mouth, the
effort made to hide the tell-tale quivering of the lips, and the
fixed, stony look in the eye which held back the rising tears; and,
had he dared, he would have followed his brother out into the shadows
of the sycamore alley, and away down the darker paths of the pine
plantation, where once before Fred had sobbed out the burden of his
guilt; but he knew that to follow Fred in his present mood could only
serve to aggravate his temper, so he waited patiently for his return,
hoping that in the solitude of his ramble his vexation might have
time to cool down, and his project, whatever it might have been,
might be temporarily relinquished.

When they all assembled in the Hall for prayers, Fred made his
appearance in the house, and took his usual seat; but his face was
perfectly impassive, and, save for the extreme pallor of his cheeks
and the red circles round his eyes, Harry could not have suspected
that any unusual disturbance had been at work within him.

When they went up to bed, Harry made one or two feeble efforts to
draw the conversation into the channels of thought which were
occupying his own attention so much.  But Fred was moody and
reserved, and only answered in monosyllables, not vouchsafing even a
hint whether he had relinquished his project or was still intent on
carrying it into execution.

So Harry was fain to relapse into silence also; and being very tired
from all the racing after the hares and all the previous anxiety of
the day, he was glad to hurry into bed and try to forget in sleep all
the anxieties and worries which were oppressing him.

He had scarcely placed his head on the pillow ere the sleep he had so
eagerly sought began to overpower him; and his mind had already
wandered off into a strange dreamland, when some one shook him rather
roughly by the shoulder, and Fred in a hoarse whisper exclaimed,
"Harry, confound you, can't you wake up?  What on earth have you done
with the matches?  I have been hunting for them all over the room,
and can't find them."

"Matches!  Why--why--oh yes; of course they are hiding behind the
bee-hives," gasped Harry, whose imagination was once more busily
engaged in chasing the hares.

"Behind the bee-hives!  What on earth are you talking about, you
gabby?"

"I--I'm positive I saw them there."

"Where, you jackass?"

"In between the garden wall and the water-butt."

"For goodness' sake wake up, Harry, and tell me where are the
matches!"

"The matches!  Why, what do you want them for?" and Harry, sitting up
in his bed, rubbed his eyes furiously, and then stared in blank
wonder at his brother, who, with a lighted candle in his hand, stood
by the bedside, still dressed in his evening clothes, and with a face
as white as the white paper on the wall behind him.

"Fred, why on earth aren't you in bed?  What is it you want?"

"The matches, you ass."

"Matches!  I don't think there are any in the room; I used the last
one in the box this morning."

"What on earth did you do that for?"

"To seal up a parcel of garden seeds for mother."

"It's just like you.  Where is the box, and let me see if there ain't
another to be found in it?"

"The box is in the drawer of my washing-stand; but there is no use at
all looking into it; you'll find nothing there but a nice little toad
I picked up in a ditch this morning, and which I'm keeping to tease
Mother Duffy with."

"I never knew any one like you," grumbled Fred savagely as he turned
away from the bed; "as sure as ever a fellow wants a thing, you are
certain to have been beforehand with him; and if I make a mull of the
whole thing now, it will be your fault."

"Perhaps there are matches in Kathleen's room."

"Pooh, I've no notion of bringing the house down about my ears by
rousing up everybody in it.  Just you go to sleep and mind your own
business."

"I can't go to sleep when I know you are going to do some awfully
risky thing."

"Risky, my dear fellow! the only risk there can be about it, is the
danger of the candle going out.  If I were to stumble in the dark and
come a cropper on my head, ten to one but the house might be roused,
and then I might shut up shop, and no mistake."

"But what's the use of making such a dangerous experiment? what can
you gain even if you do succeed?"

"I can gain my point, and that's about as much to me just now as--as
anything you need care to mention.  But if you are so chicken-hearted
as not to take any interest in the matter, tuck your little head
under your little wing and go to sleep."

"Fred, you know it's only for your sake."

"Gammon,--my sake! go to sleep, I tell you."

"Remember if you do come to grief it's no fault of mine," cried
Harry, hoarsely, as he rolled himself round in the blankets, and
turned his face towards the wall.

"All serene; and if I don't come to grief, all the honour and glory
will be mine.  And now, as I said before, you'd better shut up and go
to sleep as fast as you can; for until I know that every living soul
in the house is as sound as a top, I'll not budge one foot from the
place."

So Harry, thus admonished, lay perfectly still; though had Fred
leaned over his brother's bed, he might have heard his teeth
chattering together in his head, and the loud throbbings of his
heart, which the dangerous project about to be carried out had
excited to no common degree.

But as it was, Fred's own heart beat so loud, and his teeth chattered
to such an unusual extent, it never occurred to him to think that
another person could be suffering the same pangs of uneasiness as
himself.  Once or twice he had almost relinquished his perilous
undertaking; for as the night wore on, and a great stillness took
possession of the Hall, familiar objects assumed such strange and
goblin-like shapes, that a more courageous nature than Fred's might
well have been deterred from venturing amongst them.  But Fred had a
curiously tenacious spirit, and a project once undertaken and thought
over, and, above all, boasted of to his friends, he would go through
fire and water to carry out; and his pride rose up stronger than all
the ghosts and goblins in the world, to strengthen him against
weakly, or at least as he thought weakly, yielding to the promptings
of a childish and puerile fear.

As the clock therefore struck one, and perfect silence reigned, Fred
opened his door and stole quietly out on the broad landing.  The
hall, which lay beneath, and into which he could peer by leaning over
the banisters, was perhaps the most ghostly spot in the whole place
to visit at such a time: for as Fred held the light of his one
solitary candle over the dark gulf beneath, shadowy figures, draped
in white, seemed to be gathered in the space below; some robed in
sheets, with drooping heads and disconsolate figures; and others with
white arms stretched imploringly out into the surrounding gloom.
These figures gave a terribly spectral appearance to the hall, and
sent another thrill of uncertainty and irresolution through the brain
of our unfortunate hero.

"Pooh, what folly; had not he often walked about in that very hall,
and touched those very statues with his hands, which now looked so
unearthly and goblin like?  There was no real difference between
walking among them in the night or the day; and if he gave way to
such humbugging fancies, he might as well give up the whole plan."

Thus Fred reasoned with himself, and did battle with his fears, just
as if they were the voices of opposing friends who sought to put him
off from his project; and in his vexation with himself, he almost
spoke aloud, and gripped the top of the banisters defiantly, as if
they too had tried to balk his fancy.

"If only he had some matches,"--this was the great weight on his
mind; for if the candle went out in some unexpected draught from some
dark and winding passage, what was he to do?  While he deliberated
thus, he remembered having seen, in the inside hall, a box fixed
against the wall for the convenience of those who wished to light
their bed-candles downstairs: and this thought comforted him not a
little, and encouraged him at least to descend so far as the inner
room; for even were he to be discovered, no exception could be taken
to his making a raid from his own room in search of matches, none
being to be had upstairs.

So leaving the door of his own apartment slightly ajar, that he might
the more speedily and noiselessly re-enter it, he slowly and
cautiously crept down the first flight of stairs, having previously
taken off his slippers, that no sound of a footfall might rouse any
of the more wakeful inhabitants of the house.

As he placed his foot on the last step of the first flight, he heard
a sound as of some one stirring in the passage above, and with much
greater haste than he had hitherto used, he descended the remaining
flights, till he found himself at the foot of the main staircase of
the Hall, and in the immediate vicinity of two grim warriors in rusty
armour, who, each with a halberd in his gloved hand, kept watch at
either side of the ascent.  Indeed, so nervous was Fred that he
forgot the existence of these mail-clad giants altogether, and
turning hastily round the corner, he came against one of them with
such force that it swayed ominously to and fro on its wooden stand,
and finally dropped the halberd from its hand!  For one instant Fred
thought that all was lost; that the noise of the falling weapon
resounding through the hall must alarm the whole household; but
happily for him, instead of tumbling on the polished oaken floor of
the hall, it fell into the soft flaxen mat at the foot of the
staircase, and except for a slight clinking of metal, and a dull
sound just as it reached the floor, nothing followed to betray the
presence of a midnight intruder.

Had Fred raised his head at this moment and looked above him, to see
from whence the noise which had first startled him had proceeded, he
would indeed have seen a ghostly visage looking at him, with ashy
face and large eyes full of an almost unearthly anxiety; but as it
was, he hurried blindly on into the inner hall, that, if pursued, he
might be found in the vicinity of the match-box, whose contents, he
might truthfully say, he wished to rifle.

[Illustration: The flame of the candle flickered horribly.]

But no further sound as of pursuers reached his ears, and having
snatched a handful of matches out of the tin box as he passed on, he
proceeded with more courageous steps towards the back passages of the
house, from whence the staircase descended to the lower regions and
subterraneous quarters, in close contiguity to which stood the
store-room, within whose walls and upon whose shelves lay the box
marked "Fragile."




CHAPTER XIII.

FROM BAD TO WORSE.

The stillness of a large house at dead of night has something at all
times very oppressive in it, but more especially when the intruder on
this silence is in a highly wrought state of nerves, and acutely
watchful of any sound which may arise to alarm him, or interfere with
the project he has in hand.

Fred felt this oppression to a painful degree as he passed out of
ear-shot of the great pendulum in the main hall, whose loud ticking
might be heard over the greater part of the house; but the passages
into which he must turn his steps, in order to reach the store-room,
were in a wing all to themselves, and separated from the main
building by walls thick and massive enough to deaden even a more
penetrating sound than the metallic click, click of the old
time-piece.

Even the wind, which all night long had kept up a monotonous wail
round the Hall, did not seem to make itself heard in those dark and
out-of-the-way lobbies; and the chirp, chirp of the cricket, which
Fred detested so much to hear in his own home, would have been a
welcome intrusion now on the overpowering feeling of utter loneliness
and isolation.

Had Fred not made himself master of a whole handful of matches, his
fears at this moment would have been almost enough to have conquered
every other feeling; for at each turn of the way the flame of the
candle flickered horribly, sometimes dying out to a thin blue line
and then reviving again as the unseen draught was left behind, and
making Fred's heart suddenly leap up into his throat with each fresh
terror, leaving him more and more unfit to cope with the dangerous
task which he had undertaken.

It was a green baize door leading into the further-most passage of
all which first brought him to a complete standstill, and made him
actually shudder with disgust and horror at the thought of having to
pass through its tightly closed portals.

For as Fred stretched forth his hand to push it inwards on its
spring, and in so doing brought his candle close to its nail-dotted
covering, he beheld the whole surface of the baize one moving mass of
black and horny animals; some creeping rapidly to and fro with
shining spiky legs; and others, with huge demon-like horns and
palpitating antennae, slowly and leisurely inspecting the green
woollen fabric on which they had taken up a temporary position.

"What diabolical monsters!  how on earth can anybody face such a host
of dirty black brutes!" muttered Fred between his teeth, as he
lowered the candle sufficiently to see that the whole ground at his
feet was in possession of the same uncanny creatures, and that one
monster with great stag-like horns was already in occupation of the
toe part of his stocking.

Fred uttered a faint scream, and shook his foot to and fro, hoping to
dislodge the enemy, but all in vain; its black claws were fastened
firmly into the wool, and until he struck it two or three times with
the edge of the silver candlestick, he did not succeed in ridding
himself of his enemy.

In despair he now pushed his way through the door, only to find the
passage beyond in possession of the same hideous invaders; so he
determinedly closed his eyes and hurried forward, every now and then
shuddering from head to foot as he felt himself crushing down some
horny and unpleasant substance.  Nor did he venture to look around
him until he had arrived at the head of the private flight of stairs
leading immediately from his aunt's own boudoir to the store-room
beneath; but at the foot of which also lay certain ghostly
subterranean passages with their iron-clamped doors, and dark and
dismal surroundings.

This was the moment which, from the beginning, Fred had dreaded the
most: for even in the daylight he had felt a certain amount of
nervousness in penetrating any distance into these underground
places, and especially since one of the grooms had told him of a
white figure which might be seen there occasionally at night time,
wandering about dim and ghostly, with its right hand mournfully
extended as if in search of some one or something it had lost; and an
access of almost childish terror overpowered Fred as he felt he must
now either encounter these supernatural horrors quite alone and
unprotected, or retire from a certain victory just at the moment when
its fulfilment was actually within his reach.

But at this juncture the mocking face and voice of Maurice came so
vividly before his mind, that he felt quite a new and sudden rush of
courage; and the desire to be equal with the boy who had kicked him
so ignominiously aside in the store-room beneath, made for the moment
every other feeling but that of revenge sink into utter nothingness;
and shading the flame of the candle carefully with his hand so as to
secure its light in this most dreary and darksome region, he
descended cautiously step by step until he stood at the foot of the
stone flight, within a few paces of which was the goal of all his
hopes.

He resolutely determined not to look around him until he should reach
the door of the store-room, so as not to conjure up imaginary
terrors; and turning round at the foot of the stairs, in another
moment he stood in front of the panelling, from which, in the bright
light of the candle, he could already see the ends of the cord
depending through the slits in the store-room wall.

At first, in his nervous haste, Fred tugged at the wrong strings, and
thus only succeeded in riveting the bolts tighter, and for a few
minutes his distress of mind and disappointment were so great, that
beads of perspiration started out upon his forehead, and his knees
bent and trembled beneath him.

Almost in despair, and without realizing that his failure was all
owing to his own mistake, Fred seized one of the other cords and
chucked it violently, the result of which proved almost as terrifying
in its own way; for the bolt, thus suddenly appealed to, started back
from its socket with such a noisy screech that Fred leaped back
against the wall and thrust his fingers into his ears, with some
foolish thought that, in doing this, he would deaden the ears of the
rest of the world as well.  For a few minutes he waited and watched
anxiously to see if any one had been roused by the noise, holding the
flame of the candle close to his lips, so as to blow it out at a
moment's warning, and so shroud himself in the security of darkness;
but no movement or stir of any kind followed, and, somewhat
reassured, Fred set to work with more caution to loosen the companion
bolt at the foot of the secret door.

Fortunately for him it glided from its socket freely, without even
the grating sound which might have been anticipated, for the grease
which had been applied in the afternoon had done its work most
effectually; and Fred, with a joy not unmixed with fear, saw the slit
in the panel open yawningly before him, revealing sundry ghostly
shapes within, the exact outlines of which it was impossible for him
as yet to distinguish by the one dim and flickering light which
trembled in his guilty hand.

To enter by this secret door, Fred had to stand on a low broad step
in the passage outside; a fact which he had not noticed in the haste
and flurry of the previous evening, and on which if he had paused now
to reason, he might have saved himself from the disaster which almost
immediately followed.

But full of eagerness to gain his object, and yet more desirous of
regaining the peace and security of his own room, Fred stooped low
down, and holding the light in front of him, entered in a cat-like,
stealthy manner, by the half open door.

His first sensation, which, unhappily for him, was of short duration,
was that of treading on some soft and peculiarly yielding substance,
first with one foot and then with the other; and a most unpleasant
sensation it was, as of something adhesive and horribly clammy
sticking to the soles of his stockings, and he hastened to extricate
himself from his position as quickly as he could, to do which he
stepped forward boldly with the lighted candle in his hand.

Too boldly, alas, for him, as, forgetful that the inner step or shelf
on which he had entered was higher by many inches than the ground, he
fell headlong on the floor, extinguishing the candle in his fall and
scattering the matches in hopeless confusion over jars, and shelves,
and jam-pots, emitting at the same time a loud yell of terror, enough
in itself to alarm all the people both within and without the
building, and to apprise them of his whereabouts.

For a few moments all was darkness, confusion, and misery; and Fred,
in a wild kind of hopelessness, tried to force himself to believe
that it was all a dream of horror, from which he would awake
presently, and rejoice in the knowledge of his safety.  But no such
relief came to him; and presently, with a sinking heart, he began to
free himself from the cramped position in which he lay, when, to his
inexpressible disgust, he found it was a dish of honey into which he
had stepped a moment before, for his stockings and the legs of his
trousers were sticky and clammy to a pitiable degree.  And to add to
his discomfiture, as he stood in the dark, and strove to wipe off
with his handkerchief some of the adhesive stuff, a half-dead bee
(the honey having been taken from the hive only that afternoon) stung
him in the arm, and forced him to stamp on the floor with rage and
vexation.

Fred's one idea now was to find a match somewhere, and strike a
light; the darkness in itself was intolerable.  What if he were to
see the figure, clothed all in ghostly white, come down the passage
now in search of its lost companion!  A shudder passed over him at
the bare idea.

It would be too disappointing if he had to return without having
gained the object for which he had risked so much.  His scream had,
fortunately, not aroused any of the inmates of the house: it would be
well to make one last and decisive effort to carry out his scheme;
and Fred, rubbing his elbows, which had suffered severely in the
fall, searched over the ground for the candlestick, which had fallen
from his hand.

But the candlestick had rolled off behind a chest of tea; and when at
length, after much stooping and groping, he had found it, the candle
itself was missing, having been jerked forward in quite an opposite
direction.

This new search lasted fully five minutes, for the candle had got
wedged between a box of raisins and the back of a shelf; and when at
last he actually had it in his hand, it was broken quite in two, and
refused to sit up straight in the candlestick.

But the greatest disappointment was yet to come; for now that the
candle was found, and so little remained between him and the
accomplishment of his object, the matches, dozens of which he
discovered lying upon the floor at his feet, all positively refused
to light!  He struck them against the wall, the door, the shelves;
all in vain.  He stamped on them, he kicked them, he called them by
every bad name in his calendar of epithets; but in vain.  The matches
only lighted on their own box; and Fred, forgetful once more of the
dish of honey, actually sat down on the step in the store-room and
cried--cried with sheer mortification and disappointment--while in
the pauses of his grief he still hurled at Messrs. Bryant and May all
the furious expletives of which he was master.  How was he ever to
get back again to his own room!  It would be impossible without a
light to find his way through the intricate passages of the Hall, to
say nothing of the black and horny beasts which had possession of
those silent corridors.  There was, alas! no help, no refuge from
this misfortune; unless, indeed, he chose to wait patiently where he
was till the early morning light should come to his aid.  But oh what
an insufferable time to spend all alone in this dungeon of a
store-room! a place Fred now wished with all his heart he had never
seen or heard of.

His grief and utter misery became every moment more and more
overwhelming: the loneliness and silence of the place sent cold
shivers chasing each other down his back, while the hideous darkness
of all around and about him was almost beyond the strength of mind,
and endurance of body of a lad of his age.

At length he was driven most unwillingly to the conclusion that his
only chance of safety or success lay in patiently abiding in this den
of horrors until the first gray of the dawning should yield him
sufficient light to effect his escape; and having thus decided, Fred,
still unconsciously seated on a dish of honey, closed his eyes
tightly, and thrust his fingers into his ears, that no ghostly
apparition might startle him, nor sounds of supernatural footsteps
moving about and around him might rob him of the small stock of
self-command and courage which still existed within his breast.

How long he sat thus he did not know, or whether kindly sleep came to
his aid for a few minutes; but when next he uncovered his eyes,
although at first all seemed as dark as ever, he gradually became
aware that dawn was on the approach, for the closely-barred grating
which looked out on the passage began to make itself visible, though
after a horribly dread and mysterious fashion, giving to the newly
awakened eyes within the impression of some dim.  far-off dungeon
window, and raising a thousand new and strange thoughts within the
over-tired and over-excited brain of the unfortunate self-made
prisoner.

Slowly, very slowly, however, other objects began to shape themselves
out of the darkness--the shelves, the sacks, the chests, the white
jam-pots.  Fred gazed and gazed, till, with the very force of gazing,
he conjured up strange shapes out of the surrounding gloom.  But what
was that tall object standing by the back row of shelves?  Fred
leaned forward and looked so intently that small sparks of fire
seemed to pass over the surface of his eyeballs.  It was horribly
like the height and figure of a man--the figure of some one dressed
in white, and standing in silent guard beside the long row of shelves!

Fred actually felt his hair rise up on end on his head, and, with one
hand pressed on the step on which he sat, he rose to fly--ay,
cowardly as the act might appear, Fred's one thought now was of
flight.  But to effect his escape by the door, he must climb upon the
step where he had been seated; and this was awkward, for the ceiling
was low, and in order to mount he must move a step or so nearer the
white and motionless figure which so filled his heart with fear.

He stealthily stretched out one foot, and then cautiously advanced
the other; but with all his care he could not escape contact.  His
heel touched the draped outline of the figure, and as it did so, to
his intense horror and surprise the white robes in which it had been
enveloped instantly glided from the body and fell upon the floor.

Another piercing scream rang through the Hall, only to be cut short
by a quick gasp of relief, as Fred, with the cold sweat on his
forehead, recognized the skeleton form of the ladder on which his
cousin Maurice had remained perched for so many hours the day before;
while the white garments which had filled him with such awe were none
other than the folds of the long pantry-apron which Maurice had tied
round his neck whilst assisting in the store-room.

Fred did not know he had screamed.  The instantaneous change from
intense fear to a calm comprehension of his surroundings had so taken
up all his thoughts as to render him unaware that he had again risked
discovery; and now with the remembrance of Maurice had come back the
hot sting of anger and the desire for revenge.  Ay, and he would have
it too.  It was not for nothing he had gone through such a terrible
night; it was within his grasp now, and all the world should not
prevent him from tasting the pleasure of so complete a victory.

As these thoughts kindled furiously, and fanned themselves into a
blaze in Fred's mind, he actually made a movement forward, and laid
his hands on the still indistinct rungs of the ladder.  All was still
so dark and shadowy he could not distinguish the box which he had
sworn to rifle, or rather into whose depths he was determined to
investigate, and the word "Fragile" was as yet invisible to his eye:
but time was precious, and the servants in the Hall were early
risers; who could tell that, although so gloomy and obscure in these
underground regions, sunlight might not be shining in the windows
above, and that the house was already alive with busy workers.

These reflections decided Fred upon immediate action.  He did not
delay a moment, but laid a hand on each side of the ladder, which
tottered not a little as he moved it from its first position and
placed it more towards the centre of the wall, and pressing at the
same time its topmost rung against the highest range of shelves.

The ladder was by no means a very steady one, especially as its left
foot stood on the ball of string which had played such an important
part in the drama of the evening before; but Fred knew nothing of
this, and went very cautiously to work, so as not to overbalance
himself, and perhaps come to some fresh grief.

It was even yet so dark that though Fred knew he must be within a few
inches of the shelf on which the chess-box stood, he could not trace
the form nor even the faintest outline of any of the packages which
he remembered the night before to have noticed in close proximity to
the coveted case.  So, still poised on the top rung but one of the
ladder, Fred stared with all his might straight before him, hoping by
the dint of earnest looking to see the word "Fragile" rise up out of
the darkness and greet his eyes with the glad promise of success.

And suddenly, as if by magic, and almost as it seemed to him as if a
fairy's wand had touched the space before him, the shelf grew
curiously and unexpectedly luminous, and the long-watched-for
chess-box started out of the gloom actually in front of him, and
within a couple of inches of the place where his right hand was
resting!

A sudden shaft of daylight had found its way down the obscure
passage; at least so Fred surmised, for he dared not turn round on
the ladder to look, and now or never was the moment to carry out his
project.  He loosened his grip of the ladder, and stretched out his
right hand to the chest.  In order to secure it, he had to put his
arm quite round it and draw it nearer to him, for he durst not let go
of the ladder with his other hand lest he might fall headlong from
his perch.  But the box was much heavier than he had anticipated; and
having drawn it over towards the edge of the shelf, he leaned one
side of it against his chest, and still clasping it with his right
hand prepared for his descent; for it would be impossible to look
into its contents poised so insecurely on the ladder, and when once
carefully examined, in the security of the room beneath, he could
replace it in its original position.

But how was this?  The whole room was becoming strangely bright; even
the printed labels on the sauce bottles and mustard-tins on the
shelves in front of him were becoming startlingly visible; neither
could it be the pale gray of dawn which was creeping in through the
window, but a yellow, tremulous light.  He must turn his head a
little to see what it all could mean, and not allow a sudden and
terrible panic to overpower him and snatch away his victory just in
the moment of triumph.

And Fred did turn his head, while the blood rushed in a sickening
speed back upon his heart; for it was not daylight which was outside
yonder in the passage, but a flickering, advancing flame, which was
throwing shadows over the passage-wall, and casting into profound
darkness the nooks and angles where a faint dawn had only a moment
before been busy chasing the gloom away.

If only his heart would not thump so, then he could listen for
footsteps.  Hark! yes, there were footsteps, he could hear them now;
stealthy, creeping footsteps, drawing nearer and nearer.  If he could
only reach the bottom of the ladder and lie down on the ground, no
one could see him; but poised as he was in mid-air, the next turn of
the passage, and his figure must be revealed to the eyes of the
intruders outside.

Only for this miserable box marked "Fragile," he could slide down the
ladder in a trice; but now, unless he let it fall purposely from his
grasp, he must go down carefully and cautiously to the very ground.
If he could but know who and what they were that were approaching;
robbers perhaps, or some one startled by the noise of his fall, and
seeking through the Hall for its cause--or, or could it be--

The rungs of the ladder trembled under Fred's terrified steps, and
the wood creaked ominously.  "Hush! good heavens, what was that?"
Fred's eyeballs almost leaped from their sockets, and he grasped the
sides of the ladder more firmly as a flutter of some white drapery
showed itself for a moment in the passage beyond.

"It is the ghost," gasped Fred, while the suspense which had thrilled
every fibre of his body up till now turned to a cold and deadly
faintness.  "I--I saw--saw--"  Fred felt his hand relaxing on the
chest and the sudden sway of the ladder, and in the agony of this new
terror he gave a quick short cry of fear.

At this moment a white-clothed figure with a light in its hand
appeared distinctly at the end of the passage; and Fred, with a
consciousness that the ladder was swinging completely round, and that
the chest marked "Fragile" was gliding from his hand, felt or knew
nothing more, save one sharp sting of pain behind his ear, and then
all was darkness about and around him, without either the light of
dawn or of candle to break its obscurity and silence.




CHAPTER XIV.

GLOOMY FOREBODINGS.

When Fred came back to himself again after he had, as it seemed to
him, gone through ages of time, and lived in scenes and places
remotely apart from his present uncomfortable position, he found
himself lying on some cold flagging oil-cloth in a dimly lighted
passage, with his head supported on some one's knees, and two eager,
anxious eyes, glaring into his face with a scrutiny which, though it
was awestruck and terrified, yet had no threatening or sinister
expression.

"Fred, Fred, old fellow, are you better? do say you're better," cried
a voice whose anxious tones corresponded with the anxious gaze above
him; but the dizziness was so great and the faintness so oppressive,
Fred could not respond, and closed his eyes again with a shuddering
sigh.

"I do believe he's off again; what are we to do?  I say, Kathleen,
has that place stopped bleeding yet?"

"Not quite," replied a very sorrowful voice behind his head; and then
Fred felt that some one was stanching a wound behind his ear with a
handkerchief.

"If he does not come round soon, we must rouse up some one or other:
it's awful having him here, perhaps dying, all by ourselves in the
middle of the night;" and Fred heard distinctly the dry sob which
finished this hopeless remark.

"Wait a minute," he managed to say, while he tried to raise his head
a little from his sister's knee.  "If you give me time I shall be all
right."  A fearful remembrance was beginning to dawn on his mind, and
a rising sense of jeopardy and danger close at hand.  He moaned aloud.

"There, then, don't hurry, and you'll soon be all right, old man.
There is no good trying to sit up until you are able, so lie still a
bit longer."

"But we shall have the whole place about our ears if we don't hurry?"
and Fred looked up inquiringly at his brother.

"Not a fear of it; it is only four o'clock, and there won't be a soul
stirring for another hour and a half."

Then Fred drew a deep sigh and closed his eyes, lying back heavily on
his sister's arm till they thought he had almost fallen asleep; but
by-and-by he asked, in a tremulous, anxious voice, "Harry, I suppose
I made an awful smash of it."

"Of what?"

"Of the chess-box and everything."

"To tell you the truth I don't know, for I just hauled you out the
best way I could; and precious hard work it was too, to get you over
that brutal shelf, and the whole place a mess of honey and bees-wax."

"Did you close the door after you even?"

"How could I, when I had you in my arms?"

"And you left it standing wide open for every one to know what has
happened!" and Fred covered his face with his hands in the misery of
his recollections.

"It's not too late to shut it now, if that's all you want," said
Harry, leaping to his feet.

"And cut off the ends of the string while you are about it, like a
good fellow," moaned Fred.

"What string?"

"The string fastened to the bolts."

"I have not a notion what you mean; but I suppose I shall find out."
And Harry soon disappeared round the corner of the passage which led
to the store-room door.

He was a long time away, and when he came back Fred was sitting up
and watching for him anxiously.

"There!" he cried, tossing three or four ends of cord on his
brother's knees.  "It took me a good ten minutes to gnaw these
ruffians across.  If they were the ropes of a four-master, they could
not be tougher or harder to break."

"Did you chink the bolts back again into their place?" asked Fred
uneasily.

"Ay did I; and one fellow squeaked like blue murder.  But I say,
Fred, if you are all right now, we had better peg on, for I thought I
heard a stir in the lower regions, and the place will soon be alive
with housemaids and besoms."

Thus admonished, Fred rose from the ground, and with the assistance
of Harry and Kathleen stood straight up on his feet.

"How do you feel now?"

"Just a little shaky in the upper story.  But never mind; once I am
in bed I shall be all right."

Harry blew out his candle, as the dawn was now on the increase; and
the three slowly and cautiously made their way along passages and
through doorways, until at last they stood in the main hall, with its
statues and grim warriors keeping guard at the foot of the staircase.
Fred's knees were shaking beneath him, and his heart sickened at the
sight of the numerous steps before him.

"Gather up all your courage, and you'll be there before you know
where you are," whispered Harry, whose brotherly eyes read every
thought of Fred's heart.

"I know I wish I never had come down them," murmured Fred
despondingly; and, leaning heavily on the supporting arms held out to
him, he wearily plodded on to the top, when, with one more almost
despairing effort, he staggered forward to the door of his own room,
which Harry pushed open, and Fred, stretching out his hand in the
gloom of the closely darkened room, sank helplessly on the nearest
chair, with closed eyes and a gray pallor spreading over all his face.

"Safe at last!" gasped Harry, as he felt his way over to the window,
and turned back one leaf of the shutter to admit some light.  "But oh
what an awful night it has been!  I would not go through it again for
twenty pounds!"

"Yes; and what will happen to us to-morrow, when Aunt Marian finds it
all out?" continued Kathleen, in a dolorous whisper--

"For goodness' sake, do stop talking!" cried Fred piteously.  "Don't
you see how miserable I am already!  Could not you lend me an arm one
of you to help me into bed?"

Harry instantly came forward and gave his brother his arm, assisting
him across the room, and laying him down tenderly in the bed, where
he covered him up with the clothes; and having examined the wound
behind his ear, to see that it was no longer bleeding, he moved
quietly away.

"Kathleen, go to your bed now," he said, turning round to his sister,
who stood trembling in her night-dress and bare feet in the centre of
the room.  "I am afraid you will have caught your death of cold in
these passages.  Roll yourself up as warmly as you can in the
blankets, and the first person I hear stirring in the house I'll send
and get you a hot cup of tea."

Kathleen lingered, however, a few minutes, just to see that Fred was
all right, and settling comfortably for sleep; and as there was no
movement, and his breathing sounded tolerably easy and regular, she
presently turned away, and with a glance cast towards Harry,
expressive of the most gloomy forebodings, she opened the door of her
own room and retired to bed.

Harry, however, could not think of rest: he drew his chair over
beside the open shutter, and looked out over the parterre beneath,
with its still sleeping flowers, on to the gray and drowsy world
beyond.

Even the crows in the rookery were not stirring yet; only the
sentinels on the outermost branches gave an occasional "caw," and
flapped their black wings ominously.

But the daylight was close at hand, for all that; and he had not sat
there long before the sun rose up behind the hills, and with it the
whole face of nature grew bright and beautiful.  The birds began to
sing vigorously, and the gloom and mystery of the twilight
disappeared.

Yet somehow this glow and cheerful sunlight brought no comfort to
Harry's mind.  On the contrary, in exact proportion to the increased
glory and beauty of the outside world the darkness and despair of his
heart deepened, and the consequences of the last night's adventure
assumed every moment more terrible proportions.

Oh what a jolly time they might have had if things had not gone
wrong!  How beautiful and grand and splendid a place it was, with its
gardens, and fountains, and woods, and gymnasium, and every pleasure
that could be thought of!  And Harry's eyes roamed over all the
demesne with an overpowering melancholy, as he thought of the
leave-taking which his heart told him only too surely was close at
hand.

And how had all this misery come about, which for the last few days
had been hedging them in closer and closer, round and round, and
which now seemed to hide out all that was peaceful and bright.  It
was a subject for deep thought and consideration, and the
disentangling of all the wretchedness of the last few days was by no
means an agreeable or lively task; and Harry's sighs followed so
quickly and unconsciously one upon the other, that at length there
was a stir in the far-off bed, and Fred cried out in a voice of
anguish,--

"Harry, do stop groaning and sighing over there at the window!  If
you were as miserable as I am, you might sigh till your heart burst,
and it would do you no good in the end."

"You cannot be more miserable than I am," said Harry quickly, while
he bent his head down upon his folded arm on the window-sill.

"Why, what have _you_ to be unhappy about, I'd like to know?  _You_
have done nothing wrong: you have not got into a single row since you
came into the house, while I have been plunging out of one only to
fall into another twice as bad.  I'd give all I have in the world
this moment to be safe at home, and awake in the morning and find the
whole thing had been a beastly nightmare.  If mother had been here,
that's all: but there is no use in thinking of 'ifs;' only what a
difference it would have made!  And yet," added Fred; and then
followed a long pause, during which time his face grew unusually
grave and thoughtful, and undeniable tears came up into his eyes.

"And yet what?" asked Harry timidly, for Fred did not always like
having his thoughts "fished up into the light," as he called it; but
this time he only stretched out his arms kindly towards his brother,
and said in a softened voice:--

"I remember when I was first revelling in the thought of coming here
and staying with Aunt Marian, I thought nearly the best of the whole
thing, if not quite, was, that neither father nor mother would be
with us, and that we should be able to have everything and to do
everything just as we liked ourselves; and now I feel exactly the
opposite way.  If you only knew the longing I have this moment--the
actually cruel longing--for mother to come and sit beside my bed,
you'd pity me.  I fell asleep a moment ago, just for a second, and
dreamt she was going over my Delectus with me outside in the dear old
verandah at home; and when I awoke, and saw the corner of the wall
paper beside my bed, and knew I was here instead of with her, I
actually writhed under the clothes with misery and wretchedness."
And as he spoke, Fred threw himself suddenly back in the bed, and
covered up his head with the clothes, and Harry could see by the
heaving of the counterpane that once more his brother was seeking in
his despair to smother down the grief which oppressed him.

At length the time came when it was necessary to think of washing and
dressing.  The footman came in with hot water, and carried down their
clothes to be brushed; nor did Harry discover that he was still
partially dressed in his evening costume until John asked him
politely if he would not like his black trousers to be taken down to
be cleaned.  And then he remembered with a start of horror how he had
drawn on the first pair that came to his hand the night before; and
now, as he gave them up into the man's keeping, he felt convinced
that soon the whole affair would be known and talked of downstairs,
and that these very garments, which he so reluctantly yielded, would
become, as it were, proofs of his complicity.  It was impossible,
however, to defer the ordeal of breakfast and prayers; and he slowly
began to draw on his stockings and clothes, wondering all the time
whether he ought to rouse Fred, who seemed to have fallen asleep, or
at least to be in a more composed and tranquil frame of mind.

Fred, however, needed no reminder of the hour.  It was only a
question of sickness and faintness which had kept him so still and
silent; and now that this was beginning to pass off he slowly raised
himself up in his bed, and began with evident effort to look matters
in the face, and make up his mind what course of conduct he ought to
pursue.

"Harry, throw me over one of my suspenders,--there's a good fellow,"
he said presently.  "I must get up and dress and go down and face
them all, or they'd be suspecting something, and getting wind of the
whole affair before I've had time to think the matter out, and settle
what's best to be done.  My own idea is, that the moment breakfast is
over I'll just cut and run and make the best of my way home somehow.
I don't care how, so as I can bolt before the thing is discovered,
and my name turned into a laughing-stock for the amusement of the
company at large."

"Fred, you are only humbugging; you would not really do such a
cowardly thing."

"Cowardly! how do you mean?  It's not a bit cowardly.  I just ask
you, now, is a fellow supposed to sit down quietly on a barrel of
gunpowder and wait till it explodes?  Nonsense; of course not.  'He
who fights and runs away, will live to fight another day;' and on
that principle I shall certainly cut and run.  But oh, I say, Harry,
shove us over a chair; I'm so dead sick I cannot stand.  Ugh!" and
Fred sank down on the top of a portmanteau and closed his eyes, while
the deadly paleness crept again over his face.

At this moment there was a knock at the bedroom door, and Harry,
scarcely conscious of what he was saying or doing, so engrossed was
he by Fred's sudden faintness, cried out, "Come in."  The door
accordingly opened, and Maurice walked in.

"Well, Fred, old fellow," he cried heartily, "I just came to look
after you, as I heard from John you weren't quite the thing--but--;"
here Maurice stood quite still in the centre of the room, aghast at
the pallor of Fred's face, and the evident distress and anxiety
depicted in his cousin's countenance.  "Good gracious, Fred, what's
the matter with you? you do look ill, and no mistake."

"It's nothing, nothing in the least to signify," cried Fred
nervously, and waving back his cousin.  "I don't want anything, I
assure you: please go downstairs and never mind me; I'll follow
presently."

"Nonsense, man, you must not think of coming downstairs when you're
so ill; get back into bed, and I'll bring you up a cup of coffee.
Do, that's a good fellow; indeed, you are not well enough to be up
and going about."

"Yes, do go back to bed," urged Harry.  "You know you are as faint as
ever you can be; and even if you did make your way downstairs, you
would have to come up again."

Thus urged, and feeling himself too miserable to argue, Fred
consented to return to the bed; but he utterly refused to lean on
Maurice's extended arm, not through pride or vexation, but because he
feared Maurice might see the wound behind his ear, and question him
about it.

"I say, what a smell of honey there is everywhere," observed Maurice,
as he stood by the chair on which Fred had cast his socks.  "I have
noticed it over the whole place ever since I got up this morning."

No one replied to this remark.  Harry was assisting Fred into bed,
and pale as was Fred's face, it was well for him it was turned
towards the wall, or the shudder caused by a sudden renewal of his
fears must have been apparent even to his unsuspecting cousin.

The gong for prayers happily sounding at this moment came to the
relief of all parties, and Harry, with many promises of a speedy
return, left the room in company with Maurice, who, not understanding
the restraint and gravity of his cousin's manner, felt uneasy and
constrained.

As they went down the broad staircase, Maurice once more spoke about
the strong odour of honey through the hall and along the passages,
and expressed some curiosity and surprise about the matter; but even
these apparently innocent remarks seemed unfortunately chosen, for
Harry coloured crimson, and freeing his arm from his cousin, pushed
his way down the stairs in front of him.

Lady Brinsley greeted Harry very affectionately on his entrance; and
only thinking that Fred was a little late, made no remark on his
absence until prayers were finished, when Maurice having told her of
Fred's illness, she inquired most anxiously about him, and offered,
when breakfast was over, to go up and see him, and then, if
necessary, to send for advice to the neighbouring town.

Harry listened to her kind and thoughtful suggestions in almost total
silence; only a stray "Thank you," or, "I am sure you are very kind,
aunt," dropping from his lips like so many stones instead of words.
Not till Lady Brinsley paused and questioned him whether he was ill
himself did he rouse himself up sufficiently to give a definite
answer.

He assured her he was quite well; he had not slept much, that was
all, and that after breakfast they would both be as right as trivets.
And so anxious was he to take his place at the table, and thus avoid
further questioning, that he became entirely oblivious of Fred and
his breakfast, and unobservant of the fact that Maurice had already
poured out the coffee and carried the tray up to his cousin's room.




CHAPTER XV

A CONTRAST.

"Now, Fred, old fellow, open your eyes and turn round; here is your
breakfast for you," cried Maurice cheerily, as he laid the tray with
the smoking coffee and other viands on his cousin's bed.

Fred started round, and, quite unprepared for this act of kindness,
uttered some hasty but most confused words of thanks.

"I knew you preferred coffee to tea, and so I brought it up without
asking," continued Maurice in the same easy and genial voice.  "Sit
up and eat a little,--do; I am sure you will feel pounds better when
you have taken something."

"I cannot eat, I am too sick," said Fred dolorously.

"I wonder what on earth can have made you sick; did you eat anything
yesterday, or what?"

Fred shook his head, but made no reply.

"I should not be a bit surprised if it were the beastly smell of
honey which is all through the house that has knocked you up.  Some
people can't stand the smell of it, you know, and the whole place is
reeking like a bee-hive."

Again Fred was silent, at least his lips uttered no sound; but his
face, which a moment before was even a shade whiter than the pillow,
now crimsoned painfully, telling plainer than words that some painful
thoughts had possession of his mind.

"Fred," said Maurice, sitting down at the foot of the bed, and
keeping his eyes averted until the blush had cooled down from his
cousin's face, "Fred, listen to me, and tell me the truth; it was not
the blow I gave you yesterday in the store-room which has made you so
ill?  Do say 'No;' for ever since the thought first came into my head
I have been utterly miserable."

Fred shook his head, and with his knife sliced a hot roll in two, but
he durst not look up, or the tears which were in his eyes would
indubitably have rolled down his face.

"If I did hurt you I'm awfully sorry," continued Maurice humbly.

"It's nothing; I'm scarcely hurt at all," replied Fred, drawing his
hand suddenly across his eyes,--"but I'm such a fool;" and for
further refuge he bent his head over the coffee-cup and tried to
drink.

As he did so, Maurice uttered a kind of short cry and leaned forward.
"Fred, you are hurt, fearfully hurt.  I saw an awful cut behind your
ear that time you leaned forward; I am certain now I did do it, or
you would never try to hide it so."

"No, no, no, I--I--it's not really a bad hurt; please don't say
anything about it.  I shall be quite right very soon, I am almost
well now," gasped Fred pushing aside his almost untasted breakfast,
and leaning back on his pillow.  "It's only when I sit up I feel so
queer and donkeyish.  There, please go down and take your breakfast;
thinking about it at all makes me ten times as miserable."

"But please, Fred, before I go down do tell me, did you get that hurt
in the store-room?"

"I don't know how I got it,--at least not exactly," hesitated Fred,
in painful embarrassment.

"But was it in the store-room?  I cannot go away until I know."

"It was," said Fred, anxious at any cost to get rid of his
questioner; "and now you promised to go."

"O Fred, I am so awfully sorry!  How can I ever forgive myself?  But
I have always been the same passionate, headstrong bully, ever since
I can remember."

"You promised you would go down," urged Fred, "and now you are
sticking there still, and killing me with things you are saying.
Please go back to your breakfast; you'll know all about it soon
enough."

Maurice got up from the bed where he had been seated, and looking at
his cousin with remorseful eye, said gravely, "At least you'll
believe I never intended to hurt you so, Fred."

"I tell you you did not hurt me; I don't know how it happened myself.
If you only would do as you promised, and leave me alone.  Breakfast
will be over before you get back to them all."

Maurice was pained and puzzled by his cousin's manner and evident
anxiety to be rid of him, and yet he could not bear to leave him
without convincing him of his sorrow and concern.  He lifted the tray
from the bed and placed it on a table close by, and then he turned
once more to pour his regret into his cousin's ear; but Fred's eyes
were closed, and there was such an expression of pain upon his face
that he did not venture any further remonstrance, but left the room
sorrowfully, and went down to sit at the breakfast-table, though
certainly not to enjoy the meal.

It must have been evident to the rest of the assembled company that
something had gone very wrong in the house that morning.  Harry and
Kathleen sat like two ghosts at the table; Lady Brinsley appeared
unusually silent and grave; while Maurice was absent the greater part
of the meal, and even when he did return he said little and ate less.
It was quite a relief when the meal was over and they were all free
to go out into the open air to enjoy themselves as they liked; and as
no particular occupation or amusement had been proposed for the day,
the party broke up into groups of two and three, who sauntered about
through the pleasure-grounds and held secret council with one another
as to what mischance had occurred within doors, to give the air of
pre-occupation and distress which was so visible on the faces of
their hosts and their hosts' relations.

Harry and Kathleen also separated themselves from the rest of the
party, and wandered off arm-in-arm to hold council together over
their miserable plight, and to try to sketch out some plan of action
by which to shield Fred from the disgrace which only too plainly lay
before him.

"We must not stay too long away," whispered Kathleen, as her brother
drew her on into the shade of the sycamore walk, "for we cannot tell
how soon Aunt Marian will find everything out; and then if she goes
up to Fred and finds him all alone, it will be terrible."

"Terrible indeed!" groaned Harry.  "It certainly is the most awful
thing that has ever happened to us in our lives; and if Fred has
really smashed the chess-box, the harm done can never be undone.  O
Kathleen, if we were only safe at home with mother and father, what a
glorious thing it would be!"

"Yes," murmured Kathleen; "too glorious to think of."

Then they walked on for some time without speaking, each of their
minds being too full to speak, till presently Harry said, more to
himself than addressing any one, "He must confess--yes, he must
confess it all; there is nothing else for him."

"He will never do that," said Kathleen, hopelessly.

"We must try to make him.  It will be a tough job, but there is no
help for it.  If he does not confess now, he can never hold up his
head again."

"Yes; and only think what papa and mamma will say when they hear it
all."

"I have been tormenting myself with that thought all the morning, and
I am not sure whether I ought not to write to mother and tell her
all, before she hears it from any one else."

"Not without speaking to Fred first."

"Oh, of course not, though I am sure Fred would give his eyes to have
her here.  Just to think it is only four days since we left home so
jolly and in such wild spirits, with the whole midsummer holidays
stretched out before us; and we thought we were going to have no end
of fun and jollification;--and now here we are, breaking our hearts
with misery and dread, and only dead sick with the wish to be home
again.  Who ever could have guessed how it would all end?"

"Maurice seems very unhappy too this morning," said Kathleen,
thoughtfully.

"Yes; I cannot make him out at all.  I wonder what it was that set
him so dead against Fred all yesterday; and now he seems just as
anxious to make friends again with him.  But hush!  I hear some one
coming behind us.  Look back--look back and see who it can be,
Kathleen."

"It is Maurice."

"Maurice!"

"Yes; he is hurrying after us.  Perhaps all has been found out.  Let
us push on as hard as we can."

"No," cried Harry; "it's awfully cowardly to try to escape in that
way.  I will go back, for one."  And with a great effort over
himself, Harry turned round and came face to face with Maurice.

Maurice was quite out of breath, he had walked so quickly, and his
face was anxious and pale.

"Harry, I have been looking for you everywhere, and I only discovered
a moment ago where you had gone.  I wanted to say something to you."

"What?" asked Harry, with an awkward attempt to appear free from
embarrassment.

"I was upstairs with Fred and saw the great cut behind his ear, and
I'm in such an awful state at the thought that I did it, and the
brutal way I behaved to him yesterday.  I want mother to allow me to
ride over to your home and tell your mother all about it, for I shall
be perfectly miserable until she knows it."

Harry and Kathleen involuntarily looked at each other.  The contrast
between Fred's conduct and Maurice's could not but force itself upon
them, and neither of them knew what to reply.

"You see," continued Maurice, "I am so hasty and reckless a fellow, I
act almost without thinking; and just because Alice told me she
overheard you two talking something about Fred the other day in the
coal vault where she was hiding from one of the other girls for fun,
I took it into my head Fred had been behaving shabbily, and then
afterwards I got into a temper with him about the chess-men for no
earthly reason, and you know what a fool I made of myself in the
store-room afterwards; and now I am well punished for it all.  But I
only wanted to ask you whether you would have any objection to my
riding over to your place and perhaps bringing aunt back with me; for
I am afraid Fred is more hurt than any of us know."

"Oh, do bring mother back with you, if you can," cried Harry,
eagerly; "there would be some chance of things coming right if she
were here."

"Then you have no objection?"

"Objection!--if you only knew how Kathleen and I were longing to have
her here!  She is so awfully kind, and always knows what is best to
be done;" and the tears rose heavily in Harry's eyes as he spoke.

At these words Maurice coloured deeply, and a look of pain passed
over all his face.  "I am afraid I have proved but a bad host," he
said bitterly; "but all I can say is, both mother and I, and all of
us, wished more than I can tell to make you all happy; and only for
my unhappy temper--;" here Maurice stopped and turned away.

"Maurice, you must not say such things," cried Harry, interrupting
his cousin and catching him by the coat-sleeve.  "You don't
understand one single thing that has happened.  If you did, you would
see how different everything is from what you think."

"I understand quite enough," said Maurice, hoarsely.

"No, no, you don't, because you could not; heaps and lots of things
have happened since we came here; of which you know nothing at
all;--haven't there, Kathleen?"

"Yes," replied Kathleen, almost inaudibly, while she continued
feverishly tearing off some leaves from a young sycamore branch which
she held in her hand.

"What things?" asked Maurice incredulously.

"Don't ask me to tell you just now; wait till I go in and see Fred,
and then I will tell you everything--at least if he allows me.  I
will go in this moment and ask him, for I would like you to know
everything before you see poor mother;" and Harry, without venturing
to add another word, pushed past his cousin towards the Hall, while
Kathleen followed closely in his wake.




CHAPTER XVI.

FIGHTING WITH SELF.

Meantime Fred had remained upstairs in a state of as utter
restlessness as it was possible for any boy to be in.  Fear, remorse,
shame, pride, and even contrition, were at work within him, each
fighting their own fight, and loudly asserting their right to a first
place in his mind: but fear had the strongest position, for at any
moment, Fred knew, the door might open, and his accusers rush in; and
then what would be left for him but disgrace and punishment.

A thousand times he turned his glances towards the doorway, while his
heart beat fast and furiously, thinking each step in the passage was
the footfall of an enemy or the advent of a foe; and when at length
he did hear his aunt's voice in the passage outside, and knew that
she was coming to see him, he feigned sleep, and that so
successfully, that she withdrew from the room with noiseless steps,
and closed the door softly behind her.

"If I had only had the courage to tell Maurice when he brought me up
my breakfast, I should be all right now, or rather the worst would
have been over; but I am the veriest coward living," he murmured to
himself reproachfully, as he tossed to and fro on his bed, his head
aching painfully at every turn.  "Why do not Harry and Kathleen come
up to see me; they must know what misery I am in.  I wonder whether
Harry would tell it all for me?  I will ask him when he comes in."
And Fred planned feverishly the words of confession which he would
dictate to his younger brother, so as to palliate his acts, and make
them appear as little criminal as possible.

But again better thoughts would have temporary sway, and then the
voice of conscience would whisper painfully into his ear, "You ought
to make this confession of your guilt yourself, with your own lips
and in your own words, and not lay the burden of your fault on the
shoulders of another."  And then he would writhe and groan under the
pressure of this warning voice; for he knew well whose voice it was
that pleaded with him thus, and that its words were the words of
truth, and ought not to be thrust aside.

While he thus argued, and murmured, and fretted, and feared, the door
opened again, and Harry, followed by Kathleen, came in, with heated
face, and anxious, eager manner.

"Well," cried Fred, starting up in his bed angrily, "so you have come
in at last, have you!  A precious long time you have left me by
myself, I must say!  But I suppose it was because you knew I was so
happy and comfortable up here that you stayed away so long."

"No indeed; we were walking outside, and thinking what was best to be
done; and afterwards we met Maurice, who was in an awful state about
you, and said all sorts of things.  And now we have come up to see if
we could persuade you, Fred, to tell him all; for it's not right that
he should think it was his fault, and blame himself so awfully."

"Why, what did he say?" asked Fred with an air of sullenness, which
even Harry could see was only put on to cover his painful anxiety and
fear.

"He said how it was all his bad temper, and the way he treated you,
which had made everything go wrong; and that he had wished, and so
had they all, to make us so awfully happy, and now he had only made
us miserable."

"And what did you say?" asked Fred with increasing uneasiness.

"I am sure I don't know what I said."

"Did you tell him anything,--did you even give him a hint?"

"No; I only said I would go up and see you, and ask you to explain
all to him, for there were heaps of things he did not know."

"You did?" gasped Fred.

"Yes."

"Then you have actually pinned me into confessing."

"No, not pinned you; for I do not think Maurice believes there is
anything to confess.  But surely, Fred, you would not like to be such
an utter coward; and, besides, in a little while he must find it all
out."

"I'd give all the world not to be such an utter coward, as you call
me!" cried Fred, dropping the mask completely from his feelings; "but
the fact is, I feel as if I could never make up my mind to confess.
I have been fighting with myself all this time up here, and I'm not a
bit nearer doing what's right than I was."

"Don't fight with yourself any longer, but do it."

"How should I begin to tell him, Harry?" asked Fred almost piteously.

[Illustration: "Fred, here is mother come to see you."]

"Oh, don't plan beforehand what you'll say.  When once you have
started off, you'll see the right words will come into your head.  I
know they will," said Harry earnestly.

"How can you know?  You have never been in such an awful fix as this."

"I have been in other fixes though, and I have got out of them--I
mean I have been helped to get out of them."

"Helped?" questioned Fred, opening his eyes wide, and staring at his
brother in amazement "Who helped you?  Was it mother?"

Harry shook his head, and remained silent, though sudden nervous
blushes covered his face.

"What does he mean?" cried Fred, looking at Kathleen for information,
whose corresponding nervousness showed she was a sharer in Harry's
confusion.

"I think he means that God helped him," she said in a very low voice,
while she tugged at the knots on Fred's counterpane with restless,
trembling fingers.

"Oh, was that it!  I could not think what he meant," said Fred, in a
strange, altered voice, while he turned his head away, and looked
vacantly out through the open window where the beech-trees were
glistening in the sunshine, with their branches full of song.  "I am
such an awfully queer kind of a fellow, I never think of these kind
of things;" and presently, in the same altered voice, he added, "and
that's, I suppose, why I am always getting into these scrapes."

"Nonsense!" cried Harry, with a rising lump in his throat.

"You say 'Nonsense,' but you know all the same it is perfectly true.
Mother always said so when we were at home.  Oh, what will poor
mother say when she hears it all!"  And Fred rocked himself to and
fro in the bed.

"If it were only for her sake, you ought to try to be brave," said
Harry sadly.

"If I do speak, to whom ought I to say it,--to Maurice, or to aunt?"
asked Fred after a pause, and with lips which were blanching already
at the thought of the dreaded confession.

"To either.  I don't think it matters to which."

"If I had only not smashed that precious chess-box, it would not seem
half so bad a thing to have to confess;--and they will think,
perhaps, I broke it on purpose, out of spite."

"Oh no; I'm sure they won't think that.  But listen!  I am almost
certain I hear Maurice coming up the stairs.  Shall we stay with you,
Fred, while you are telling him, or not?"

"Yes, yes, stay; or--no; I think I should get on better without you."

"But you'll tell him all, won't you--about the bow and everything?"

"I could not."

"Yes, yes, you must.  You will be twice as happy, once it is all off
your mind; and don't forget--"  But here Harry and his sister had to
make a sudden rush towards the door of Kathleen's room, as Maurice's
voice was heard outside in the passage, demanding, in a somewhat
excited voice, to be admitted.




CHAPTER XVII.

THE MISCHIEF DISCOVERED.

"Fred!" cried Maurice, in a voice of great excitement, as he hastily
pushed open the door of his cousin's room, and walked in--"Fred! what
do you think has happened?"

Fred had just lain down in the shade of the bed-curtains, with the
express desire of concealing the workings of his face while he made
his dreaded confession; but now, in the unexpected agony of the
moment, he sat hastily up, and looked full at Maurice, whose blanched
cheeks and agitated manner showed that some great thing had just
occurred to upset him.

"What is it, Maurice?" he inquired in a tone of no affected concern,
for his very heart was beating into his mouth; "nothing bad, I hope."

"Very bad, I am sorry to say; for there has been a general
destruction of all mother's most precious things in the store-room
downstairs."

"Oh, what--how?"

"Well, that's just what we can none of us exactly make out; only when
I went in just now with mother to get out the Japanese theatre dodge,
which mother had given me leave to make a present of to you, as I
knew you were fond of mechanical inventions--"

"Nonsense, Maurice; I could never have taken it from you."

"Why, then, we found, when we opened the door," continued Maurice,
heedless of Fred's interruption, "everything in the most awful state
of confusion you can imagine.  The theatre, which I was at the moment
in search of, was lying on the floor in the most terrible state of
smash--the lid of the case broken right off, and all the little men
and women thrown pell-mell about the place."

"My goodness, how dreadful!" responded Fred.

"Yes, poor mother is in a sad way about it, for father took such
delight in seeing the little puppets dancing, and thought it so
ingenious; and besides that, there was a lot more damage done, for
the ladder had fallen right across the room and smashed an entire set
of rare China plates and dishes in the corner under the window,
besides jam-pots to no end.  There was one good thing, however--"

"What?" asked Fred, drawing a quick, uneasy breath.

But Maurice paused before he replied, for a sudden consciousness had
come over him that he was about to touch on an unpleasant subject,
and he coloured painfully, and hesitated in momentary embarrassment.

"What?" asked Fred again, in an eager, hungry voice.  It was
something to know that there was even one good thing in so utterly
bad a transaction.

"Mother's precious chess-box was not broken."

"Thank God!" cried Fred earnestly.

Maurice looked at him for a moment in surprise, and then went on.
"You see, yesterday evening I was so thoroughly ashamed of myself for
my conduct to you, and the way I had knocked you about in the
afternoon, that I asked mother's leave to take the box out of the
store-room and have a game with you before tea."

"Well, and what did she say?"

"She was awfully kind, and told me I might have them certainly, if I
promised to take great care of them; but though I tried my best to
get hold of you afterwards, I could not succeed.  You remember when I
met you in the shrubbery walk, don't you?"

"I do," sighed Fred hopelessly.  "I was a brute, that was all."

"Now, Fred, if you say any of these kind of things again, I'll go out
of the room; for I was the one who was utterly in the wrong from
beginning to end,--even mother says I was."

"How so?" asked Fred.

"Oh nothing; that's to say it was only that time about the jam
picking, and I--or rather she--she thought just at first there had
been something wrong about the weighing of the cans; and, besides,
the girls overheard something or other which puzzled us a bit, and
which, I dare say, meant nothing; and I acted, as I always do, in a
headlong way.  However," continued Maurice, noticing the distress in
his cousin's face; "however--what was I saying, Fred?"

"I--I don't remember."

"Oh yes, now I have it; it was about the chess-men.  Well, as I was
telling you, I asked mother's leave to take the chess-men out of the
store-room to have a game with you; and then afterwards, when I could
not catch hold of you, I put them by in mother's room, so as we might
have a game this morning; which, as it turns out now, was a great
blessing, else they would have been destroyed to a certainty, for
they stood exactly on the spot where the Japanese theatre was knocked
down."

"A blessing, indeed," groaned Fred, whose confession seemed every
moment more and more impossible and imprudent.  "But I don't
understand, Maurice, how the Japanese box got upon the same shelf as
the chess-men; it was not there yesterday surely.  And is the word
'Fragile' printed on it also?"

"Of course it is.  And as to its being on the shelf why, I put it
there myself last night: for I was afraid, what with the weight of
all the new jam-pots and crowds of other dodge-my-eyes upon the shelf
where it stood, it might come to grief, and so, as I thought, I gave
it a much safer berth; but you can see for yourself I am always an
unlucky dog.  Though how it all happened is the marvel, for not a
living soul could have got into the place: the door was locked; and
the window, goodness knows, is sufficiently well barred to keep out a
host of robbers.  The only thing mother and I can think is, that when
the housekeeper went in late last night to lock up some honey, which,
by-the-by, was upset and smeared about the whole place--"  Here
Maurice paused for a moment, as if some sudden thought or suggestion
had passed like lightning through his brain, and in the pause Fred's
cheeks darkened to almost a purple colour, so vividly did the blush
of guilt deepen on his face.

Maurice could not but look at him and wonder, and in doing so he for
a moment lost the thread of his recital, and once again he had to
apply to his cousin for aid.  "What was I saying, Fred?"

"About the honey."

"Oh ay, about the honey.  Mother thinks that when the housekeeper
carried it in at night, the kitchen cat must have darted in after
her; for there are rats and mice in there, I believe.  You heard them
yesterday, didn't you?"

"I--I don't remember."

"That time I said you must have cheese-parings in your pocket."

"I was not listening much to what you were saying just then," replied
Fred hoarsely.

"I am not surprised at that; I only wonder you took it half so well.
But the point is, how, if it were the cat that did it, she managed to
get out again without either mother or my seeing her; for we both
went in at the same time, and she could scarcely have slipped through
our feet without one or other of us noticing it.  What do you think,
Fred?"

"I--I really don't know what to think."

"Mother is certain, at least as nearly certain as one can be in such
a matter, that it was the cat; so I suppose she must be right: but
it's a rum affair from beginning to end, ain't it now?"

"I suppose she must," murmured Fred, scarcely conscious of what he
was saying, for he was undergoing at that moment the most furious
assault of a new and unexpected temptation; a temptation which he
could not have foreseen, having hitherto deemed it impossible that
any valid excuse could be discovered which would screen him from the
consequences of hie but now his aunt had laid the blame of all the
sin,--mischief on shoulders which could bear no corresponding
punishment, and why, why need he thrust himself forward as the centre
point of guilt and shame?

"I am afraid I am worrying you with my talk.  I was forgetting about
your headache," said Maurice apologetically, as he noticed Fred's
absent manner.

"Oh, not in the least; I was only thinking."

"Thinking of what?"

"Not thinking, exactly; only wondering."

"Wondering! what do you mean?"

"I--I don't exactly know what I mean, except if it were the cat,
then,--then of course the cat could not have done it.

"My dear fellow, what do you mean?" and Maurice looked gravely into
his cousin's face, fearing that perhaps the sharp blow on the side of
his head had done him some serious injury.

The sudden cloud on his cousin's brow, and the intent anxious gaze
fixed on his own face, filled Fred with alarm; and under Maurice's
searching scrutiny all the blood rushed back upon Fred's heart,
leaving him ashy white and trembling.

"Fred," cried Maurice, leaning forward excitedly, "now I am certain--"

"Yes, yes, it is quite true; only don't, don't stare at me in that
awful way.  I--I could not help it."

"You could not help what?"

"Help it!  I didn't say that, did I?  I meant of course that--that
you--you drove me to it."

"Drove you," echoed Maurice, becoming every moment more terrified and
bewildered by his cousin's manner, "how did I drive you?  I don't
know what you are talking about, Fred."

"Nonsense, it was you yourself who said it first, and accused me of
it."

"Accused you of what?"

"Everything.  You knew quite well, when you came up here, all about
it; and you only wanted to try and wring it out of me, by fair means
or foul."  Here Fred, worn out by excitement and anxiety, burst into
a passionate fit of tears, and, leaning his face forward, buried it
completely in the counterpane of his bed.  When he looked up again a
moment afterwards, surprised at Maurice's silence, he found his
cousin gone and the room empty.

"Ah, no wonder he has left me," cried Fred bitterly; and then in his
despair he clasped his hands and lifted up his heart to God, asking
earnestly for the help he so sorely needed, and the forgiveness he
scarcely dared to crave.




CHAPTER XVIII.

A FULL CONFESSION.

He had scarcely unfolded his hands and laid his poor aching head back
on the pillow when the door was pushed open again, and Maurice,
followed by his mother, hastily re-entered the room.

"Fred, here is mother come to see you;" and Maurice's voice sounded
strangely reassuring and kind, considering the confession which he
had just heard, and which only a moment before had driven him from
the room.

"Well, Fred, my boy," said Lady Brinsley drawing quite close to his
bed, and laying her hand gently on his arm, "I am afraid you have
been exciting yourself too much, and making yourself quite ill.  You
ought to lie still after such a severe blow, and not speak at all."

"It was I, mother, who roused him up.  It was entirely my fault, but
I was so knocked on a heap about the store-room business, I rushed up
foolishly to tell him, and to ask him what he thought about it."

"Well, it was rather a pity to disturb him about such a matter,
especially as he could not possibly make a guess about it."

Fred listened in amazement.  Was it possible Maurice had not
understood what he had said, and must he make the dreaded confession
again?  He looked piteously into his aunt's face, and turned his face
quickly towards the wall.

"What is the matter, Fred dear? are you in pain?"

"Yes," moaned Fred.

"Is it your head that aches?"

"No, no; I am miserable and wretched, and I told Maurice all about
it, and he--he goes on as if I had said nothing."

"Why, what did you tell him? for I am certain if there is anything or
any way Maurice can help you, he will be only too glad to do it."

"No, no, I don't want help; at least I do, awfully, but--oh can't you
understand what I mean?"

Maurice glanced at his mother meaningly, and her face grew more
anxious as, stooping over the bed, she said kindly, "Fred, dear, do
not torment yourself about fancies and worries which are only coming
into your head because you are ill and tired.  Try and go to sleep,
and when you awake you will feel quite refreshed and comfortable."

"I cannot sleep, aunt, till I have told you all.  There is no use
trying," cried Fred excitedly.

"Told me what?" asked Lady Brinsley, inexpressibly pained by the
cruel distress visible on her nephew's face.

"That it was I who went into the store-room.  I told Maurice all
about it before, and he only stared at me, and then rushed out of the
room."

"You went into the store-room, Fred," cried both his aunt and his
cousin at the same moment; while Lady Brinsley added almost in a
whisper to her son, "It is quite impossible,--he only fancies it."

"No, no, it is no fancy.  I went into it last night.  I got up on the
ladder in the dark, and then--then I saw a light coming round by the
passage-wall, and I--I fell somehow.  I don't know how it happened;
and Harry and Kathleen lifted me up and carried me outside into the
other passage, and then I came upstairs and went to bed, and was--oh,
so miserable, you can't think."

"And what did you go into the store-room for?" asked his aunt
quietly, while with a glance she checked the excited questions which
she saw ready to pour from her son's lips.

"I--I wanted to get the chess-box.  Maurice dared me to touch it, and
I was determined that I would."

"But how did you get in?" continued Lady Brinsley in the same subdued
voice.

"By the small door in the panels."

"But that was bolted on the inside also."

"There is no second door is there, mother?" asked Maurice, who could
not restrain his curiosity any longer.

"There is," replied Fred hastily.  "When you knocked me down in the
corner, I struck against the bolt and bruised my shoulder, and that
made me look round, and I saw the second door and the things that
fastened it."

"And you unbolted it then; was that it?"

"No, no; I tied pieces of cord round the bolts and drew the ends out
by the hinges; but I--I never meant to do all--all the terrible
mischief which I--I did do, or to break the theatre or anything.  I
am so awfully sorry, aunt.  I wish you would let me go home to-night,
I am so miserable."

Fred pressed his hot fingers round his aunt's hand, and looked up
imploringly into her face.

"It was all my fault," said Maurice humbly.  "I was the one who began
the quarrel,--I--I: mother, don't look at him so gravely; it was I
who set the whole mischief agoing, besides the horrid cut which I
gave him behind his ear."

"No, you have nothing to say to that; it was when I fell from the
ladder."

"I thought you told me that I had done it."

"No; at least you took up what I said wrongly, and I--I had not the
courage to explain."

"And what made you tell me all about it now, Fred?" asked his aunt in
a sad but not unkind voice.

"I don't know.  I thought, and Harry said I was a coward,--or no, he
said I should be a coward to hide it; and besides, he told me it was
awfully wrong, and that--that--but then Harry is quite different to
me; he never does sneaky things, and I am always doing them."

"Harry is a noble boy," said Lady Brinsley warmly.  "I have noticed
his honesty of character ever since he came into the house."

"Yes," cried Fred enthusiastically, "he is a regular brick.  Mother
always said she could trust him as well as her own self;" and Fred's
cheeks as he mentioned his mother's name burned with a sudden access
of shame and misery, and the tears which he had held back till now
rushed into his eyes.

"I am going to drive over to your own home this afternoon; do you
wish me to tell your mother all?"

[Illustration: Supper was laid in the bright parlour.]

"Oh yes, yes, do.  Tell her everything, please; and oh! ask her to
come and take me home.  I could never bear to stay on here after all
that has happened."

"Nonsense, Fred; of course you will stay here.  If you go home I
shall be perfectly wretched, for I--I am just as bad as you, and
worse;" and even Maurice's eyes clouded with tears at the misery
which had arisen so unexpectedly to darken his happy holidays.

"I think we must be guided by what Fred and his mother wish," said
Lady Brinsley kindly.  "I shall be truly grieved if our pleasant
party is broken up, and especially as the quarrel arose out of
Maurice's hasty temper."

"No, that is quite untrue, for--for--"  Fred paused, while a fresh
access of misery and shame seemed to overwhelm him.  "For, for,--oh,
aunt, I had forgotten to tell you all.  I did put the stones in the
can; and besides, I--I filled my can out of Harry's; and when he told
me to put back the bow, I--I found your note on the pincushion, and I
was ashamed, and then I kept it."

Lady Brinsley could not but look and feel sorrowful at the confession
of so much sin and the sight of the misery it was causing her nephew.

"I am sure you will be happier by-and-by; Fred, for having made up
your mind to tell me all," she said in a low voice full of
undisguised emotion; "and I am only very, very sorry that you had not
the courage at first to tell the whole truth, as it would have
averted all this trouble and saved both you and me the great pain
which we are each of us suffering.  If, at the very beginning of all
this trouble, you had asked God's help, He would have given you the
strength to make the necessary confession; and the remembrance of His
forgiveness and love would have shielded you from the fresh snares
into which you have now fallen."

"I wish I had," sobbed Fred.  "I know I never, never--"  But here a
knock at the bedroom door interrupted what he would have said, and
the footman appeared in the entrance with a serious and deprecating
air carrying some dark clothes in his hand.

"I came to tell Master Malcomson, my lady," he observed, bowing to
Lady Brinsley, "that I have tried in vain to clean his evening suit
of clothes.  When I took them down this morning to brush, I found
them all saturated with honey; and though I have done all in my
power, I cannot make them fit to wear."

"Thank you, John; you may put them away on the table over there,"
said Lady Brinsley quietly, ignoring the cause of the disaster.
"Master Fred is not well at present, and will not require to wear his
evening suit for some little time."

The footman laid the clothes on the table without another word, and
left the room silently.  He knew as well as Fred did how it had all
occurred: for the servants, when they heard of the catastrophe in the
store-room and the broken dish of honey, had not been long in putting
two and two together; and what with the sticky footprints leading
right up to Fred's door, and the fact of his remaining immured up in
his own room all the morning, they had come to no foolish conclusion,
that Fred had been at least a partner in the mysterious midnight raid
on the store-room, and that the cat was in no way to blame.

To Fred, too, it was a blessed relief to know that he had made his
confession before the guilt had been literally brought home to his
own door; and when at length Lady Brinsley and her son sorrowfully
left the room, he lay back on his pillow and thanked God with his
whole heart that He had answered his prayer and given him the
strength necessary to overcome his weakness and cowardice; and when
Maurice turned back from the door and whispered hurriedly into his
ear, "Fred, you'll forgive me, won't you?" he only replied with a
burst of sobs, "Yes, yes; but oh! I want so badly to be forgiven
myself."  And then turning suddenly round in the bed, he covered his
face with the clothes and was silent.




CHAPTER XIX.

HOME, SWEET HOME!

That evening Mrs. Malcomson arrived at Jubilee Hall.  Her sister,
Lady Brinsley, had driven over in the waggonette for her; and having
first, by Fred's express desire, told her everything which had
occurred since her son's arrival at the Hall, with a troubled and
sorrowful heart Mrs. Malcomson had taken leave of her husband,
promising to return on the following day.

Fred was asleep when his mother arrived, and he continued to sleep on
heavily for several hours.  When he did awake, the long summer
evening had slipped past, leaving only a gray twilight in his room,
while outside, in the still pale-green sky, a crescent moon was
shining softly.

Fred sighed heavily on first awaking, and finding himself alone in
the large and now sombre bedroom; and, as is often the ease, the
awaking from an afternoon sleep, instead of refreshing him, had
flushed and heated him; and his mind was no sooner aroused and aware
of the solitude and stillness of all about him, than it became filled
with dark and fanciful apprehensions, to which he could give no
definite shape or form.

One by one the guilty doings of the previous night passed before his
mind in a dreary procession of horror.  Once again the horny
cockroaches seemed clinging to his shoeless feet; and the cold gust
of wind, as he turned the lonely corners of the passages, seemed to
blow down his neck and shoulders.  Now the bolt creaked ominously in
the secret door; and the faint odour of honey, which still pervaded
the bedroom, became painfully overpowering and oppressive to his
senses.

The suspense and horror of darkness which had filled his mind in the
store-room the night before, as he waited the slow approach of
daylight, seemed lying on him now; and the shadows cast by the rising
moon on the furniture of his room gave them grotesque and unfamiliar
shapes.

The grave eyes of his aunt, as she heard his confession, seemed
gazing at him still through the gloomy air; so that he feared to turn
his head towards the spot where she had stood, lest he should have to
rehearse again the account of his crimes, and to meet her loving but
reproachful gaze.

But all at once, with a great cry, he sat bolt upright in his bed,
and called out eagerly, "Mother, mother!  Yes, mother was to be here
to-night!  O mother, dearest mother!  have you not come to see me and
to help me?"

Just then there was a rustle by the bedside, and a startled voice
which answered him out of the darkness: "Fred, my darling boy, I am
here beside you!  I thought you were asleep, or I would have spoken
before.  Here, dearest, turn towards me."

Poor Fred! he did turn in the direction of the voice, and as he
caught sight of the shadowy figure seated close by his bedside, he
flung his arms round it, and with a sob, born of the purest pleasure
and the keenest pain, he laid his head on his mother's shoulder, and
wept out the burden of his sorrow and care without a word; while in
the security of her presence the shadowy ghosts, which had haunted
the twilight, became comforting angels, and the whole room seemed
suddenly peopled with a happy crowd of familiar faces; while the
sprig of verbena in his mother's dress brought back the sunny
home-garden, with its rose-covered walls and its shady nooks.

"O mother!" he sighed presently, "why did I ever leave you?  Nothing
ever goes well with me when you are away.  I may go home with you
to-morrow, may I not?"

"Certainly, if you wish it."

"Wish it!  I am longing to be in the dear old place again."

"It is only four days since you left it."

"I know that, mother; and yet it seems like four years."

There was a long pause, Fred still leaning on his mother's shoulder,
so heavily that he could hear the rapid beating of her heart.

"Mother."

"Well, Fred?"

"Mother, you are terribly unhappy about me; I know you are."

No answer.

"Mother, have I vexed you so awfully that you will never be able to
love me any more?"

No answer.

"Mother, will you not speak to me?  Do, dearest mother, do.  What are
you thinking of now, that you will not answer me?"

"I am thinking, Fred, and wishing--oh, so earnestly!--that you would
love me less, or rather that you would love God more.  It is because
you lean so entirely on me when I am near you, that when I am absent
you always fall into trouble, and sorrow, and disgrace."

"But could not I love God and you too, mother?  I am sure I could.  I
will try---I will indeed--if you will help me."

"My help, dearest Fred, will be but a poor thing to lean on, compared
to the help you could gain elsewhere, if you would only ask God for
it, for Christ's sake."

"Will you ask Him for it for me, mother?" murmured Fred in a husky
whisper.  "Do, mother, now while you are here beside me;" and Fred,
raising his head from his mother's shoulder, took both her hands in
his, and drew her near him.

Then Mrs. Malcomson knelt down on the floor by her son's bedside, and
prayed with all her heart for the much-needed help; for the heart to
be made pure, for the good impressions to be made lasting, and for
the peace of God which passeth understanding to be granted to both
their souls, for Christ's sake.  And when she had finished praying,
they both sat hand in hand until the twilight had changed into
darkness, and the young moon had gone down for the night.  Then Harry
and Kathleen came up to bed; and after a long chat over home and home
doings, the party broke up, and Mrs. Malcomson retired to her own
room.

The next day Fred told his aunt of his earnest wish to return home,
and received from her the permission to do so.  The history of his
midnight raid on the store-room had, despite all Lady Brinsley's
efforts, become the talk of the whole house; and Fred could not
appear among his playmates and friends without running the risk of
hearing much that would have been both unpleasant and painful.  Nor
could Harry bear to hear the hints and innuendoes thrown out against
his brother by the less kind-hearted members of the company; so he
and Kathleen willingly agreed to give up the remainder of their
promised visit, and to share the banishment which Fred had incurred
by his deceitful and dishonest conduct.

But there was no great air of banishment about the sunny fields and
grassy meadows of The Cedars, as they turned in at its familiar
gates, and drove up through the sweet-scented lime avenue to the door
of their home.

"Oh, the dear old house, how did we ever care to leave it!" cried
Harry, as he leaped with one bound from the carriage to the steps of
the portico, and rushed inside for his father's sure greeting and
welcome.

Fred's joy was even more intense, though it was silent, at finding
himself once more within the shelter of his home; and he, too,
wondered with a silent pang of surprise and pain how he could ever
have felt such keen delight in leaving it as he had done only a few
mornings ago, when he had started in such rampant spirits for Jubilee
Hall.  But the pleasure of his return was damped not a little by the
anticipation of his father's displeasure, and the certainty of the
pain which he had caused him by his conduct during his absence from
home.

"Mother, will you go in and speak to him first?" pleaded Fred.  But
Mrs. Malcomson only answered by a look, which recalled with a strange
vividness their conversation of the night before; and Fred, gathering
up all his courage, walked bravely into the house to meet his father,
and to receive with humility the sorrowful reproaches which he could
not but feel he had most justly deserved.

Mr. Malcomson, however, said very little on the subject of his son's
faults, as he preferred speaking to him on such a grave matter in
private to rebuking him publicly before his younger brother and his
sister, and the meeting passed off with less pain on both sides than
could have been anticipated; for Mr. Malcomson could not but discern,
by the expression of Fred's face, that he was returning in a softened
and penitent mood, instead of being sullen and hardened.  And Fred
felt grateful for the consideration shown him by his father, and was,
consequently, more desirous to prove by his conduct his contrition
for his faults.

The supper was laid in the bright parlour, with its pretty low window
looking out upon the flowerbeds and trim yew hedges, while the scent
of the roses, hanging across the trellis-work of the verandah, came
in delicious gusts across the table.

There were strawberries and raspberries, and cakes steaming from the
oven, and jugs of rich cream fresh from the dairy, arranged in
tempting order on the clean white cloth.  And the room, though it
looked tiny after the lofty walls of Jubilee Hall, had an air of cosy
comfort, very cheering to those who now sat down with grateful hearts
to partake of the evening meal.

After supper Fred went out, leaning on his mother's arm, through the
verandah into the garden, and walked with her up and down its
well-known paths, and round its box-edged flower-beds.  They neither
of them said much, but they felt as if some new bond of love had
arisen between them, stronger than any they had known before.  It was
not until Fred was taking his last turn round by the grotto and the
little fern-grown well, that he spoke out what had been the real
burden of his thoughts all the evening,--

"Mother, there is no place, after all, so safe for a young fellow as
his own home.  I mean, of course, a really good home like ours."

"What makes you say so, Fred?"

"Because I feel it.  I thought, when I was leaving this place a few
days ago, I should be ten times as happy and jolly as I had ever been
before--I could then be my own master, and I could do just as I
liked: but instead of that, I never was so miserable or wretched; and
it was just the very freedom which I had longed for so much which
made everything go on so badly."

"I am sure you are quite right, Fred."

"I know I am, mother; and I should never care to go away from home
again without you and father.  It is so awfully jolly to be with you
both once more."

"Yes, ain't it just," cried Harry, who could no longer resist his
desire to join the two ramblers in the garden.  "Home is the most
golliferous place in the whole creation;--though, for all that, Aunt
Marian was awfully kind, and so was Maurice, and every one."

"Yes; it was not their fault that we were all so very unhappy while
we were there,--at least that I was," said Fred humbly: "for, after
all, it is not so much the place that makes one jolly or miserable.
but the things that happen in the place; and not having father and
the dear old mother herself with us, was the reason we all came to
grief: besides,--besides, of course, other things as well;" and Fred,
stooping down, picked up an unripe apple from the ground, and shied
it over the garden hedge; then, in a somewhat hoarse whisper, he
added, "We shall do better perhaps by-and-by, with God's help;
sha'n't we, mother?" and he leaned his curly head against her
shoulder, and pressed her hand nearer to his side.

"Yes, dearest Fred, with God's help we shall: and meantime, I think,
it has done us all no harm to find out what a pleasant and safe place
home is; and to discover for ourselves that the discipline of
home-life, though sometimes irksome and apparently vexatious in its
rules and obligations, is, after all, one of our greatest safeguards,
protecting us against the dangers and temptations of life, which, if
unopposed, would very quickly overcome us, and destroy all our peace
of mind and the innocent enjoyment of our lives."

"Which means," cried Harry, turning a somersault over the low yew
hedge beside the path, and seizing his mother's disengaged arm in an
enthusiastic embrace,--"which means, in other words, words composed
expressly for the occasion by the great poet Shakespeare, Milton,
Mrs. Browning, or whoever the individual may be or may have
been,--that

  ''Midst pleasures and palaces
    Though we may roam,
  Be it ever so humble,
    There's no place like home.'"



THE END.







*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78214 ***