thehorses were in another direction, and formed another object for Edgar'sdrives; for though he could never mount one of them, the love ofhorseflesh was in his nature, and he liked to have them led out for hisinspection, and had always plenty to say about their condition andmanagement. To-day the little party crossed over the open turf of thepark to a large pond, where Edgar cultivated varieties of aquatic birds.He was very proud of the black swans and the beautiful Muscovy ducks,the teal and the widgeon, which he had induced to breed among the reeds,rushes, and tangled grass that clothed its banks. Geraldine stood atthe pony's head, while Wyn plunged into the rushes, waded and scrambledtill he had driven the little flock of tiny dark ducklings into hismaster's range of vision.
Edgar was pleased; but his attention was less free than usual, andpresently he said abruptly to Wyn:
"So you've got a cousin come to stay with you?"
"Yes, sir. Mother's got her to see what she's made of, and get hersuited with a place."
"What's her name? Where does she come from?"
"Florence Whittaker--leastways, she says it's Maud Florence Nellie,which is a many names, sir, for one girl, don't you think?"
"Will she come to the Sunday school?" asked Geraldine.
"I don't know, ma'am. Shall I say as you desire her to come, MissGeraldine?"
"Yes, do. There are never any new girls in Ashcroft. She isn't tooold, is she?"
"She's only going in her fifteen, ma'am, but she's very big."
"Oh, well, Bessie Lee and Grace Elton are sixteen, quite. Yes, tell herto come."
"Thank you, ma'am, I will," said Wyn. "Do you want to go home, sir?"
"Yes, I'm tired this morning. Go straight back. I don't want to goround the wood."
He fell into silence. Geraldine played with her puppy, and Wyn trudgedcheerily at the pony's head, thinking of an expedition he wanted topropose some day when Mr Edgar was very well and fresh, and there wasno one to interfere with them. Mr Edgar had been so weak all thespring, and had had so many headaches and fits of palpitation--once hehad even fainted after an attempt to walk a few steps farther thanusual--so that he and Wyn had not been trusted to make long excursionsalone together.
But now that he was better again, and the weather was so fine, Wynlonged to take Dobbles to a certain spot recently laid open to hisapproach. He had been thoroughly imbued with his young master's tastes,knew the haunts of every bird and beast in the wood, every hollow in theold ash-trees where owls or squirrels could nest and haunt. He watchedthe growth of all the wild flowers, and at the autumn cottage showintended to win the first prize for a collection of them--a new idea inAshcroft which had been recently suggested by a lady whose husband, SirPhilip Carleton, had just taken Ravenshurst for the shooting.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
SUNDAY SCHOOL.
Entirely unfamiliar surroundings will exercise a subduing effect on themost daring nature; and Florence Whittaker for the first few days of herstay at Ashcroft felt quite meek and bewildered. She really had nothingto say. She was quite unused to so small and quiet a family. Theeldest son, Ned Warren, had recently married, and did not live at home,Bessie was away at her school until the harvest holidays, and Wyn wasbusy all day and had lessons to do in the evening. She had never seenso civil and well-mannered a little boy; while Mr Warren was a greatbig man over six feet high, with an immense red beard, very silent andgrave, and good manners gained from the gentlemen with whom heassociated. Her Aunt Charlotte, as she was directed to call MrsWarren, was very kind to her, and never aggravated her, a fact whichupset Florence's previous ideas of aunts. There really was noopportunity of distinguishing herself by "answering back," for MrsWarren never said anything that gave her a chance. As she was neitheridle nor unhandy, she acquitted herself well in all the little tasks heraunt set her; but she was dull enough to look favourably on the idea ofthe Sunday school.
"Miss Geraldine's been inquiring about you, Florence," said Wyn when hecame in to dinner.
"She says she wishes you to come down to Sunday school with GracieElton."
"I don't mind if I do," said Florence, "but I attend a Bible class athome."
"The girls in the first class here are quite as old as you," said MrsWarren, "but I dare say you are accustomed to a much larger number."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Florence, with cheerful condescension. "Ourteacher says we ought not to be stuck up, so, though we're nearly allbusiness young ladies, we ain't exclusive. There's two _generals_attend the class, and I think it's a shame to make them sit bythemselves, don't you?"
"I think it would be very ill-mannered," said Mrs Warren quietly, "ifyou did. I dare say you are very fond of the lady who teaches you?"
"Oh, she's as good as another--better than some. She knows us, you see,and don't expect too much of us. But there, last spring, when she wentaway and Miss Bates took us, we weren't going to go to _her_. Why, shegave us bad marks for talking, when she'd only just come. She hadn'tany call to find fault with us; she were just there to keep us togethertill teacher came back."
"Well, I suppose, as she was kind enough to teach you, you were carefulnot to give any trouble to a stranger," said Mrs Warren, "because thatwould have been rude."
"We ain't so rude as the Saint Jude's girls," said Florence virtuously."_They_ locked the door and kept their teacher waiting, and pretendedthey'd lost the key. That's going _too_ far, _I_ say. If ever I'm ateacher I'll not put up with such as that."
"Could you be a teacher?" said Wyn, who had listened open-mouthed.
"Well," said Florence, "they'll always give little ones to the Bibleclass if we apply, and I'd keep 'em strict if I had 'em. But I don'tthink as I'm religious enough."
"Yes," said Mrs Warren, "my Bessie says that we never feel our owndefects so much as when we come to think of teaching others."
"I ain't confirmed yet," said Florence, "but I mean to go up nextspring. I say our church is good enough for anyone but George; he don'tthink nothing of us. His place is a deal higher; he says we're asold-fashioned as old-fashioned can be."
Here Florence entered on a lively description of the ritual practised atthe different churches of Rapley, showing considerable acquaintance withtheir external distinctions, while Wyn, who had never thought the Churchservices concerned him in any way except to behave properly at them,stared in amazement. Neither he nor his young master knew much aboutChurch matters outside of Ashcroft.
Mrs Warren listened and pondered, and for the time being said nothing.Silence was a weapon with which Florrie's chatter had never yet beenencountered.
She resolved to make a good impression at the Sunday school, and showthese ignorant rustics a little of what a young lady attending a Bibleclass was accustomed to. Indeed, as she stood by herself on the Sundaymorning under the great overarching trees of the silent summer wood,something not very unlike a feeling of affection came into her heart forgrave Miss Morel aunt and the dusty classroom and the gay girls sittinground the table.
"They _will_ be quiet without me," she thought and with more eagernessthan the writer expected she began to read a letter from Matty which shehad just received. After a little information as to the home news theletter went on:--"Dear Florrie you are not a little girl now, and I amgoing to write to you about something that I shouldn't like mentioned tofather or Aunt Stroud. I am sure you must remember poor Harry, as usedto jump you up and down when you were little. You know he ran away, andI am afraid he did something very wicked; but only father knows what itwas. But he went away from Ashcroft, and, dear Florrie, do rememberabout it, for everyone says it was a daring spirit led to his ruin, sodo be a good girl, and mind what Mrs Warren say; for think of Harry,wandering in a cruel world."
Florence only remembered a little and knew nothing of her eldestbrother. She had no fear of touching on a tender subject, and thoughtthat the simplest plan was to ask for an explanation; so as she and Wynwalked down to the Sunday school together that afternoon--they did notgo in the morning--she broache
d the subject before they reached thegardener's cottage, where Grace Elton was to join them.
"I say, Wyn, do you remember my brother Harry?"
Wyn coloured up and answered shyly, "We don't ever talk about _him_."
"No more do we. Why," said Florence, staring at him with her greatround eyes, "where is he?"
"I don't know," said Wyn.
"Who does?"
"Maybe the master do."
"Mr Cunningham? What did Harry