QUEENIE'S WHIM

Queenie gave a little start and cry of suppressed pleasure, and then the color rushed over her face. With sudden impulse, as involuntary as it was graceful, she held out her hand to Garth.

"Oh, Mr. Clayton! how kind you are to me! Once or twice I was half afraid you had forgotten; and all the time you were quietly arranging it."

Garth was quite equal to the occasion. He looked down at the girl's radiant face, so expressive of joy and gratitude, with warm kindliness shining in his eyes. When the slim hand was stretched out to him he held it for a moment as though it had been Cathy's. "Oh, if he were only my brother!" sighed the girl to herself, with a little outburst of natural yearning as she felt the strong clasp.

Garth's handsome face looked almost as bright as hers. His position contented him; it was novel as well as interesting. It pleased him to throw the shield of his protection and tenderness round these young strangers, who had, in a way, appealed to his generosity. If Queenie had been old and plain he would have been just as gentle and chivalrous in his manner to her. No woman would ever have had a rough word from Garth; but a little of the zest and flavor would have been wanting.

To read gratitude in a pair of wonderful brown eyes, that seem to have no bottom to their depth, and to feel a soft, girlish hand touch his own timidly, were new revelations to the young man, who was a philosopher, but no stoic. He remembered their expression long afterwards, and the peculiar feel of the fluttering fingers, with an odd sensation that tingled through him. "What a contrast she is to Dora!" he thought again.

"You are very, very good to me," continued Queenie; but he interrupted her.

"I don't deserve half these thanks; I have done very little, after all. So you thought I had forgotten you? When you know me better," went on Garth with good-humored reproach, "you will find out that I am a man of my word. When I say I will do a thing you may be sure that if it be in my power it will be done."

"I was not so unjust as to doubt you," returned Queenie, humbly, "only as the days went on I lost hope. I thought you had failed in persuading Mr. Logan, and did not like to tell me."

"I hope I never shrink from any duty, however unpleasant; procrastination is only for cowards. I should certainly have told you at once, Miss Marriott. But now for these miserable details," continued Garth, changing his grave tone into a lighter one. "So you will persist in thinking it a matter of congratulation that you are to be our future school-mistress?"

"Certainly."

"It is not a very desirable post; indeed, it is quite beneath your acceptance. You cannot think how strongly Mr. Logan and I feel on that point. As the Vicar's churchwarden I had a right to take my own ground in the matter, and we have arranged that your future stipend shall be fifty pounds a-year. More than this is out of our power," continued Garth, stammering a little, and for the first time becoming slightly embarrassed. "There is not even a dwelling-house or lodging attached to the salary; but the Vicar wishes, that is—" corrected Garth, feeling himself on the edge of a very decided fib, and slightly daunted by the look in Queenie's eyes.

"You are not going to offer me more than my fair salary?" returned the girl, drawing up her head with a sudden gesture of pride he had never seen in her before, and her voice sounded clear and decided. "You told Mr. Logan, of course, that this was impossible? I will work; but I will not be beholden to him or any other man for a penny more than I have honestly earned. Forty, not fifty, pounds was the sum you named to me in the quarry."

"Don't be contumacious, Miss Marriott," returned Garth, with an amused look; but on the whole he rather liked the girl's independence than otherwise; it accorded with his own notions. He had held these sentiments all his life, and it was his chief pride that he had never been beholden to his fellows for anything that he could not justly claim. "Pride, independence, were necessary adjuncts to manhood," so Garth thought; "but in a woman, perhaps, they might be made to yield under the pressure of emergency."

"I will only take what belongs to me," she continued obstinately.

"Then that will be fifty pounds a-year. Listen to me, please," as she again attempted to speak. "I am the Vicar's warden, and have a right to use my authority in this affair. I have always considered that our mistresses are underpaid; I intend to fix the salary from this time at the sum I named. Mr. Logan and Captain Fawcett, our remaining trustee, agree to this; so," finished Garth, with a persuasive smile, "it is signed, sealed, and delivered, and only wants your consent."

Queenie bowed her head gravely, and with a little dignity. She was sharp-witted enough to see that Garth had not said all he intended, that something perilous to her pride lay folded on the edge of that fib; something that, with the kindest intentions in the world, would have wounded her susceptibility and hurt her.

"Then there is nothing more to say?" rather stiffly.

"Do these details weary you! They are very necessary," he returned, with a frank kindness that disarmed her at once. "If you fill this position it is better to understand everything thoroughly. You still think that, with the little you have, and the chance of giving lessons in the evening, you will be able to live upon the proceeds of so small a salary? There is your little sister remember, Miss Marriott."

"We have learned to do without things, and to be content with very little; it will be enough, thank you," returned the girl, quietly.

"Then in that case I can only wish you success on your undertaking. Your duties will not be so very arduous. The hours are from nine to twelve in the morning, and from two to four in the afternoon. The school-house is a miserable sort of place, a compromise between a barn and a small dissenting chapel. You are not so fortunate as Mr. Miles; the boys' school-house is a much handsomer and more commodious building."

"I have seen him, have I not?" asked Queenie, somewhat curiously.

"Perhaps, but it is holiday time, and he always goes down to his brother in Wales. He is a very pleasant sort of fellow, though rather an oddity; is slightly lame, plays on the violin, and is an inveterate smoker. He is a man of good education, and has been usher in two or three first-class schools. He had fair hopes of rising in the world until he met with his accident. For the misanthrope he professes to be he is one of the cheeriest sort possible. He lodges over the postoffice; Mrs. Dawes thinks a great deal of him."

"Have you no doctor here?" inquired Queenie, with a sudden remembrance of Miss Charity.

Garth shook his head gravely. "Ah! poor Dr. Morgan is dead; he died the week before you came. He is a loss to us all, poor old fellow! He lived in the corner house, next Mrs. Morris; and," with a smile breaking round the corners of his mouth, "remained a bachelor all his life in spite of her. But a truce to this sort of gossip; that would just suit Cathy. I have spoken to Captain Fawcett about letting Briarwood Cottage to you, and he is perfectly willing to do so. The rent is fifteen pounds a-year; but, as he justly says, it is quite unfit for human habitation at the present—the floors want mending, and there is some papering and whitewashing to be done."

"The cottage is really to be mine?" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"It is yours from this present moment if you like, though you will not enter into legal possession for six weeks. You must put up with our society for that time. I shall take the liberty of sending Nathan over to trim the grass and weeds, unless you are particularly partial to docks, Miss Marriott."

"Thank you, you are very good; but," hesitating, and looking up in his face in some perplexity, "I shall have to go over to Carlisle, I must speak to Mr. Runciman, about the furniture, you know; we shall want very little, Emmie and I, at least, only a few chairs and a table. Do you think ten pounds will go far? one must buy a few things, but I am so ignorant of prices," cried poor Queenie, feeling all at once very helpless and womanish, and hoping that he would not laugh at her ignorance.

Garth could not help feeling amused at the girl's naïveté, but he was quite ready for the emergency, having already settled it all with Langley. "If she be very independent we can manage it best in this way," he had said to his sister.

"One must have chairs and tables; well, and a few other things. There must be blankets for winter, and cooking utensils," continued Garth, with charming frankness. "Langley knows better than I about such matters, and by-and-bye we will get her to draw up a list. Langley has a splendid head for details. There is a second-hand lot of things going off in a few days' time; you can leave Langley and me to manage it."

"Yes; but the money; there will only be about ten or twelve pounds that Miss Titheridge sent me back at the last. She said she owed it to us, but it was only her conscience that pricked her, I know."

"You must keep that for present expenses, as you cannot draw your salary beforehand," he returned promptly. "I will tell you what we will do: Langley shall invest in these few articles for you,—we shall pick them up cheaply, you know,—and you shall repay her by instalments, just a small sum quarterly as you can spare it. Langley shall have a regular debtor and creditor account. Nothing need offend your independence, Miss Marriott."

"No; but it is too kind, much, much too kind," she returned, hesitating. "And how do I know when I may be able to repay it?"

"In two years' time at the farthest," he returned cheerfully. "I only look upon it as a safe investment for Langley's money."

"Owe no man anything, but to love one another," suddenly came into Queenie's mind. Was she fastening a load of debt round her neck? would she ever be able to pay it back? was not this another kindly ruse to afford her help?

She looked up quickly, almost suspiciously, but the grey eyes that watched her were honest and straightforward. He would not press benefits on her that he felt would be repugnant. No; she was sure of that.

Garth answered her unspoken thought, flushing slightly, as though her mute appeal touched him.

"I am sure you will be able to repay us; we will do all in our power to help you to do so." Then, after a moment's hesitation: "I feel just as you do about these sort of things. I like to help myself, and not to be dependent on other people. Believe me, Miss Marriott, I think far too highly of your independence, and respect you too much to offer you any help that you could not accept."

"Then I will trust you," returned Queenie in a low tone. She spoke upon impulse. It cost her a momentary pang, as though she felt some cold weight suddenly settling down on her; and after all, what could she do? Caleb could not help them, at least not much. Emmie and she could not dwell between four bare walls. What was there for her but to accept the kindly advance so gracefully hidden under Langley's name—Langley and Cathy, who had not a six-pence of their own, as Cathy once somewhat triumphantly informed her? "It is Garth who buys everything for us, dear old fellow, and pays all our bills, after grumbling over them," she said once.

"I assure you, you will never repent the trust," he answered, so gravely that Queenie feared he was hurt by her reluctance, until the old bright smile came back to re-assure her. "Then this grand matter is settled, and we will go and talk to Langley."

Emmie was almost wild with joy when she heard the news. The sensitive little creature burst into a perfect passion of tears, as she clung to her sister's neck, trembling with such excitement that Queenie was frightened.

"Oh, Queenie, is it really, really true that we are going to live in that little cottage, you and I together, like the sisters in story books?" she exclaimed over and over again.

"Yes, yes; once upon a time there were two sisters—one of them was handsome and the other ugly," interrupted Cathy briskly.

"The handsome one was my Queen then, she drops diamonds and roses every time she speaks; I am the little ugly duckling they called me at Miss Titheridge's."

"Nonsense," returned Cathy abruptly, kissing the little pale face, as she spoke somewhat hurriedly. There was still a weird, unchildlike look about Emmie—the blue eyes were still too bright and large, the cheeks too thin and hollow, but the little rings of yellow hair were beginning to curl prettily over the temples. "Remember the ugly duckling turned into the beautiful swan at last."

"Oh, I don't want beauty; Queenie is welcome to it all. I shall have it some day in heaven, there is no ugliness there you know," moralized the child in her strange old-fashioned way. A sudden mist rose to her sister's eyes as she spoke, the graceful fancies of the old fairy tale dissolved, and in its place came an overwhelming vision of a white-robed multitude, beatific with youth, and endowed with angelic beauty.

There is no ugliness there; no, little Emmie, no ugliness because no sin, no weariness of a diseased and worn-out body, no gloom of an over-tempted and troubled mind; for in the new heavens and the new earth God will see that everything there also is good.

They were sitting together on the low window-seat of the room that the sisters occupied; and Cathy had come in, with her long black hair floating over her shoulders, to chat over her friend's new prospect. It was one of those quiet, calm summer nights, when a "peace be still" seems whispered to God's universe; a white crescent moon hung in the dark blue sky, bright facets of gold glimmered here and there, the dark sycamores hardly stirred in the faint breeze, the tombstones shone in the pure white light; below them the church stood in dark shadow.

"I like this better than our old garret," whispered Emmie. "I am so fond of that churchyard, Cathy; I like it better than Mrs. Fawcett's garden. I like to lie in bed and think of the real people who are buried there, and wonder what they were like when they walked and talked as we are doing. The world seems so full of dead and living people somehow."

"Talking of churchyards always makes me shiver," returned Cathy, exchanging a meaning glance with her friend. Emmie was not always quite canny, she thought. "I would rather talk about Queenie's new cottage, and all the fun we mean to have there. I shall come to tea nearly every night, and in the winter you and I will toast muffins, Emmie, and roast chestnuts. I think I must give you one of my Persian kittens, since you have left yours at Carlisle; no cottage is complete without a cat on the hearth."

"But, Cathy," remonstrated her friend, "I am afraid there will be little time for fun of any sort. There will be French lessons to give on two or three evenings in the week; and by-and-bye there will be Emmie to teach, and our clothes to mend, and then, as we can only afford a girl to clean up and do the rough work, I shall have to teach myself cooking. And, oh dear, the day will never be long enough for all I shall have to do," sighed poor Queenie, all at once oppressed by a sense of her future work.

"Do you suppose that I shall sit down with folded hands and see you slave yourself to death in that fashion?" returned Cathy in an aggrieved voice, "is that your notion of friendship, you disagreeable old Queen? You will have teaching enough with the village children and Mrs. Morris's seven little hopes; you may make up your mind just to leave Emmie to me."

"But that is nonsense. What would Langley say to such a proposal?"

"Langley is charmed at the notion; we settled it between us this morning. Emmie is to come and do her lessons with me every morning, and her music with Langley. I shall make a first-rate governess, my dear Madam Dignity; and," mimicking Langley's soft serious voice, "think what a grand thing it will be not to let my acquirements rust, but to turn them to solid account!" Then with a burst of her old vivacity, "think what a blessing you and Emmie will be to me! you will give me occupation, and prevent my dying of ennui in this mill-pond of existence, as Ted calls it."

Queenie's eyes looked unutterable things, but she only said, "Oh Cathy, Cathy, how can I ever repay all your goodness?"

"Goodness to myself, you mean. I will tell you what we will do, Queen: we will coax Langley to let us go into the kitchen and take regular lessons from Susan; it will be rather hot work this weather, but we will go through the furnace of affliction together. You are beginning house-keeping on rather a small scale, my poor dear; but to live we must eat, and to eat I fear we require a certain amount of ingredients, concerning the price and the cooking of which I fear we are profoundly ignorant."

"Yes, indeed," returned her friend ruefully, "This must be rectified at once. What a blessing you are to me. I was sighing for new worlds to conquer, and now frying-pans and mending open a new scope for my feminine talents. How I used to envy those Israelitish women when I was at school."

"You used to be very cross on darning afternoons," put in Emmie.

"I am afraid I was. Think of one's clothes never wearing out for forty years! it was enough to reconcile them to the wilderness. I should not be surprised if I rather liked it now. Suppose we take lessons in patching from Miss Faith?"

"I must help too," broke in the child eagerly. "I can mend quite neatly now, Cathy; and I will weed the garden, and grow radishes, and mustard, and cress, and sweep up the hearth, and put on the kettle for Queenie when she comes home tired. Oh I wish Caleb and Molly would come and live with us, and that we could all be happy together."

"Caleb would not like to leave Carlisle, or Molly either; you must be content with me, and only me."

"My dears," interrupted Langley's quiet voice from the door, "it is past eleven, and these night dews are not wholesome for the child; let me beg you to close the window, and leave off talking;" and thus admonished, the little party broke up somewhat hurriedly.

Queenie had interviews with Mr. Logan and Captain Fawcett the next day.

"Well, Miss Marriott, so you are to be my tenant for Briarwood cottage," he said, stopping to speak to her, as they encountered each other in the lane. "My wife was so glad to get the little lassie for a neighbor, that you might almost have made your own terms with us."

"You are very kind not to put difficulties in my way. The rent is so small that I thought we could afford it. It will be quieter than lodgings, and more to ourselves; but it sounds rather ambitious, a home of our own," returned the girl, with a little thrill of excitement. Poor as it was it would be home.

"Suppose we go and have a look at it," proposed Captain Fawcett in his curt, business-like way. "It is in miserable need of repairs, I know; that last tenant of mine let it go to rack and ruin. I will go over to Hargrave's and get the key. Oh, there's the Vicar crossing over to speak to you; I can safely leave him with you a minute."

"I must shake hands with my new school-mistress," said Mr. Logan, beaming on her through his spectacles. "So you have talked us all over, and got your own way; well, well, everything is for the best, of course; but to have a young lady, a clergyman's daughter too, teaching in that crazy little building yonder is a strange sight to me."

"I shall not be above my work; you will have no reason to repent your decision," returned the girl firmly, but modestly.

"Well said, my dear young lady, 'who sweeps a room.' You know what our excellent Herbert says, 'It is the motive that ennobles the work.' I am glad to see you remember that."

"I mean my work to ennoble me," replied Queenie, her face glowing with the thought. "It does not matter that the building is poor, and the children some of them rough and uncultivated; it is a grand work to teach young minds, and to watch their progress, and get interested in their lives. It may tire one a little at times," she continued candidly, "but it is not mere drudgery and nothing else. Oh, Mr. Logan, say you are pleased to have me; it will give me heart and courage to hear you say so."

"Pleased! I am more glad than I can say," returned the Vicar, with a look that Queenie did not quite read, but which touched her greatly, it was at once so keen and gentle. "God bless both the work and worker. Oh, here comes the Captain; perhaps when you have looked over your new abode you may like to see the inside of the school-house?"

"We will all walk down together," interposed the Captain. "Come along, Miss Marriott; don't keep the Vicar waiting."

Queenie followed the two gentlemen silently. A strange sensation woke in her as she crossed the threshold. She had closed the first chapter of her existence. Here was a new life waiting for her to take up; it would be lived out underneath this humble roof. The past lay shrouded away, hidden like a dead hand out of sight. What would the future hold for her and Emmie?

She followed them silently from room to room, as Captain Fawcett made his brief, business-like comments. The damp oozed from the corners, long lengths of soiled paper trailed from the walls, the boards creaked under their foot-fall, the scurry of tiny feet and the squeak of mice sounded behind the wainscot, docks and nettles peeped in at the begrimed windows. Queenie shivered slightly.

"We will alter all this," exclaimed Captain Fawcett, turning briskly round on her, and pulling at his grey moustache. "This damp mouldiness is enough to make any one shiver; a little paint and a few coats of white-wash, and a fresh paper or two, will make a different thing of it."

"I was not thinking of the damp," returned Queenie in a low voice; and then she went and stood by herself at the window, looking up the ridge of ragged grass that lay like a steep little wilderness behind the house. It was the newness and the strangeness of her surroundings that oppressed her. "To have a house of one's own, that is the strangest part of all," she thought.

She was still silent as she walked down the village street. One or two of the women at the cottage doors stood and looked after them curiously; but at the sight of the quaint edifice, with its half-moon windows, Queenie's youthful energy revived.

She walked in, head erect, as the gentlemen made way for her, and stood before the old wooden desks, and looked at the half-dozen forms before her. It was a small square room, well, but not cheerfully, lighted; the windows set so high in the walls that no signs of the outer world could distract the attention of the little students.

"This small inner room is for the infants," explained Mr. Logan, coming round to her side; "it is a very humble affair, you see."

"Yes; but it is my work," returned Queenie, facing round on them with a quiver of excitement. "My work, and my life, and no other's, and I mean to do the best with both of them that I can."

Some one stooping his high head at the door cried softly "Amen" to himself.

It was Garth Clayton.

CHAPTER II.
DORA.

"Woman-kind,
Whom all men ought, both young and old, defend with all their
might;
Considering what they do deserve of every living wight."
More.

The next week or two passed pleasantly and quickly. The girls adhered rigidly to their course of self-improvement, despite the temptation afforded by summer days. During the fresh morning hours they remained closely shut up in kitchen or pantry, busied in all sorts of mysteries connected with the culinary art, appearing at the early dinner with flushed tired faces and slightly dishevelled hair. All sorts of telegraphic communications passed between them and Langley. Garth, who was not in the secret, and who was a somewhat fastidious as well as abstemious man, was a little perplexed by Susan's vagaries, as he termed them.

"What has come to the woman, Langley?" he would say. "She has always been the best bread-maker in Hepshaw, but this last batch is almost uneatable, it is so heavy and sad. Her pies last night were disgraceful, and now this joint is under-done."

"I will speak to her," Langley would answer, quietly, while the girls interchanged looks of confusion and dismay. Queenie's discomfiture and disappointment were too obvious one day to escape notice. Garth, who was really annoyed, and had been complaining in no very measured terms, caught sight of the girl's crimsoned face, and at once held his peace. But the next day he marched into the kitchen, and found Susan and her coadjutors at work.

It was really a picturesque sight. The girls had rolled up their sleeves in imitation of Susan, and the round dimpled arms were very white and pretty; the coarse bib-aprons could not disguise the slim figures. Cathy had tied a handkerchief over her dark hair; she looked like a young Zingara as she walked across the kitchen, flourishing her basting-ladle; she was stirring some savory mess in a great iron pot. "Far over hill and dale freely we roam," sang Cathy. "Queen, I am sure this will be a success, it smells so good."

"Hush! here comes your brother," ejaculated Queenie. The smooth rolling-pin slipped out of her hand; the sunshine streamed through the window on the red brick floor, and the white table heaped up with ripe fruit, with great golden plums and clusters of red cherries. One level beam had touched the girl's brown hair with gold; her coarse apron enveloped her. She looked like Cinderella before her pumpkin chariot arrived.

"So I have two new cooks, have I?" laughed Garth, as he lounged against the doorway. What a pretty picture it was—the low dark kitchen never looked so inviting before. He made Cathy bring him some cider, and then helped himself to some of Queenie's fruit. Queenie picked him out the juiciest plums with her long white fingers; they had quite a little feast together, the girls waiting on him. Before he went away Queenie had finished rolling out her dough; the tarts were all in the oven before Susan's testy hints were taken, and she had her kitchen to herself.

In the afternoons they sat over their work with Langley in some shady corner of the garden. Sometimes, but not often, Miss Faith joined them.

"Cara does not want me, and so I have come up for an hour," she would say. Her quiet eyes would brighten, and a tinge of color would come into her face, at the sight of the little party gathered on the lawn. Sometimes Garth would be there, stretched on the crisp short grass at Langley's feet, with his paper or his book beside him. He always started up, well-pleased, at the sight of his favorite.

"Miss Charity cannot always have you; other people want you too," he would say, as he brought out another low basket-work chair, and gathered her a rose or two, for Miss Faith had a passion for flowers. Garth dealt in these chivalrous little attentions; it pleased him to tender these sort of offerings to the women he delighted to honor. "You are my patron saint," he would say to her, as he laid the flowers beside her. "Faith is very necessary to us all, but you never seem to remember that," with almost an affectionate intonation in his voice.

"I am only necessary to Cara," she would answer sadly. She took Garth's little speeches, his flowers, his kind looks, as simply as they were offered. To the quiet woman of thirty-five, who had no life of her own to live, and who had laid her own shadowy hopes, her unspoken desires, on the shrine of stern duty, there was nothing suspicious or incongruous in Garth's devotion; he liked her, and she was fond of him. Any other thought would have been impossible to either of them.

Cathy once hinted at this.

"Garth cares for Miss Faith more than for any other woman; he always has," she said once to Queenie. "I used to wonder, long ago, whether anything else would ever come of it. Men do care for women who are older than themselves sometimes, and though she was never pretty she has such a dear face; but I see now that such a thought would never occur to either of them."

"Of course not," interrupted her friend, indignantly. "Miss Faith is very nice, but she is old for her age. You see, youth has been crushed out of her. She would make a nice Sister of Charity; the dress would just suit her. I like her pale creamy complexion; but she is far, far too old for your brother," finished Queenie, to whom the idea was somehow repugnant. Miss Faith, with her soft plaintive voice and little close bonnet, beside the strong vigorous man, still in the glory of his youth! Queenie's ideas were very vague on the subject, but she thought the woman that Garth Clayton honored with his preference ought to be very nice indeed.

"Are you nearly through D'Aubigné's 'Reformation,' Miss Faith?" Cathy would ask her, a little wickedly, on these occasions. Miss Faith would answer her quite seriously; she did not perfectly comprehend a joke. Poor woman, the little pleasantries of life, the fun and drollery of young wits, were almost unknown to her.

"We are still in the third volume," she would sigh; "it is hard reading for summer days, but it suits Cara. Hope quite enjoys it too, but it is a treat to sit out here and listen to the birds, and do nothing but work and talk. I think I almost dislike books, though I should not like Cara to hear me; but then I never was clever."

"I think you would like the interesting sort," returned Langley simply. "Do you remember how much you cared for the volume of Jean Ingelow's poems that I lent you? you told me you cried over the 'Song of Seven.'"

"Oh yes, I love poetry," brightening visibly; "but I could not make Cara interested in it in the least; she calls it moonshine and milk and water."

"That comes of having a strong-minded woman for a sister," interrupted Cathy, who never liked to be long silent.

"My dear, Cara is very strong-minded; she is always talking about my having no mental backbone. She says if we do not exercise our mind, drill it thoroughly, and put it through a course of mental calisthenics, that we shall never keep it in a healthy condition. She thinks it a waste of time to read novels, unless they are Sir Walter Scott's or Miss Austin's. I know it is very bad taste, but I never could admire Miss Austin."

"But you enjoyed 'Dombey and Son,'" interposed Garth, who abhorred strong-minded women, and could not tolerate Miss Charity; hearing her opinions quoted even upset his equanimity. "Never mind what Cara likes; we are each bound to have our own individual taste. If Langley likes pickles better than strawberry jam she has no right to prevent Cathy from feasting on the latter dainty. I hate rules and regulations for grown-up people; it is just as though we want to bring back the swaddling clothes of infancy."

"I am afraid I am not fond of rules, and I do like poetry and novels," returned Miss Faith timidly. Here amongst these young people she felt a different creature; their ideas were as fresh and sweet to her as Garth's roses that she had fastened in her belt. "I must go now; but you have done me so much good, you always do," she said presently as she rose. Garth pleaded hard that she would stay, but she only shook her head at him wistfully.

"No, don't tempt me; Cara would be disappointed when she woke up from her afternoon nap if she found I had not returned; it is not nice to disappoint people, and then her pain might come on again."

"At least you might promise to drive over with us to Crossgill to-morrow; we are going to introduce Miss Marriott to the Cunninghams. Langley cannot go, and there will be a spare place in the waggonette." But Miss Faith would not promise. Two afternoons of pleasure would be unheard-of dissipation; she would never hear the last of it; and what would Cara do without her reading?

"As though we cared about that," muttered Garth, sotto voce; and then, as he returned from unlatching the little side gate, he paused a moment by Queenie. "There goes one of life's unsolved enigmas—a good woman thrown away on a selfish one. I know you agree with me, Miss Marriott; I can read it in your face."

Queenie gave him a bright, understanding smile. She had just finished a most artistic-looking patch in an old frock of Emmie's, and held it up in critical approval. "When people are so good they can hardly fail to be happy," she said with slightly qualified assent. Somehow she did not pity Miss Faith quite so much this afternoon; it was a little contrary of her perhaps, but then, had she not gone away with Garth's roses in her belt? and had he not called her his patron saint, and hinted that she was necessary to him, to them all? Queenie felt that even Miss Faith's life was not quite devoid of all sweetness when such speeches as these were made to her. Garth had not sufficient vanity to guess at these thoughts, but he seemed quite disposed to linger by Queenie's side and argue out the matter. He had been quite absorbed by Miss Faith's conversation while she remained; and now it would be refreshing to turn to Queenie. It did not occur to him to pick roses for her, but he stood beside her, and watched her deft fingers move swiftly over her work, with a lazy sort of pleasure.

"No one could doubt her goodness," he went on, taking up the thread of his argument; "the question is, is she quite right to give up her own will so entirely to her sister? One may be good and self-sacrificing, and yet preserve one's individuality."

"I think she is not quite sufficiently strong-minded."

"Don't; if you knew how I hate that word! it is Miss Charity's war-cry. Women do not need to be strong-minded, they ought to be pliant, yielding, ready to take impressions; a woman with an inflexible will is a man in disguise. If Miss Charity had married—poor thing, she might have done so once, and have rued taking the step to her dying day—she would have ruled her husband with a rod of iron, much as she rules Miss Faith."

"I suppose she is fond of her," doubtfully.

"Oh yes; tyranny does not exclude affection, at least among women," was the grim answer. "Miss Charity is only forming her sister's education, moulding her taste, in fact; she little knows how all the maxims slide off her like the rain off a duck's back. Away from her sister she is a different creature—dares to hold her own opinions, and to own to her own modest tastes. I call Miss Faith, exquisitely feminine; don't you think that is the word for her, Miss Marriott?"

"Yes," replied Queenie hesitating. It was very pleasant to have Garth there beside her, talking on any subject; but she almost wished that he would praise Miss Faith a little less. How did she know, Cathy might be wrong after all; Miss Faith was only seven years his senior, and there were so few people in Hepshaw. Queenie was still too young to know how silent a man generally is on the merits of a woman he actually loves.

"I mean her to go over to Crossgill with us to-morrow," he said presently, returning to the charge. "If I have to beard the lion in his den, and Miss Charity on her couch, I intend to have my way. I know what I will do, Langley shall go over there after tea, she has great influence with the dominant cardinal virtue. Willing or unwilling, Miss Faith goes with us to-morrow." And Garth, as usual, had his way.

It would be hard to tell whether Queenie or Miss Faith enjoyed the drive and the lovely scenery most. Cathy was on the box beside her brother, and had the reins more than once in her hands, and only Emmie remained with them.

Miss Faith was a quiet companion, and at first Queenie missed her friend's lively tongue; but by-and-bye they fell into a pleasant channel of talk, which proved so interesting that they were both surprised when Garth told them that they were within sight of Crossgill, and that in another five minutes they would be at the Vicarage.

They were descending a steep winding road as he spoke, and in another moment they entered the village. Queenie always spoke of it afterwards as one of the prettiest villages she had ever seen. A little stream flowed down the middle of the road, the cottages looked picturesque and in good condition; a fine old church seemed to tower in symbolic majesty over the whole place. Emmie and she uttered a simultaneous cry of admiration when they first caught sight of Crossgill Vicarage. It was the ideal Vicarage; the neatly-kept gravelled paths, the exquisitely trimmed lawn, the flower-beds masses of variegated colors, the rare shrubs and plants, all spoke of the owner's cultivated taste; the house itself, with its quaint casements and low bay-windows, was almost embosomed in creepers and climbing roses; the porch was full of flowers. As the door opened they found themselves in a little square hall, wainscoted in oak, with an oak staircase and low gallery running across it.

An old servant with a wrinkled face, evidently about eighty years old, welcomed Cathy and Garth with beaming smiles. Garth shook hands with her.

"Well, Nurse, I have brought visitors to see your young lady. Oh, there is Miss Dora," as a slight girlish figure crossed the gallery, and came rapidly down the broad low staircase towards them.

What a picturesque little figure it was. Picturesque—that was just the word for her. No one in their senses could have called Dora Cunningham pretty, but taken altogether she was simply charming.

She was dressed so quaintly too; the shady coarse straw hat, with the wreath of wild convolvoli, just suited the pale piquante face; and over her dark blue cambric she wore a long narrow holland apron, laced across the bodice in old-century fashion, and bordered with antique silken flowers. A kitten's soft head and innocent blue eyes peeped out of one of the pockets. "You have come at last," she said with just a slight accent of reproach, and a little satirical elevation of the eyebrows. "I have been looking for you for weeks past. Where is Langley? and why has not Ted been to see me lately?"

"I have brought Miss Faith and our guest, Miss Marriott, instead," returned Garth. "This is her little sister Emmie. Are you going to give us some tea, Miss Dora? Where is your father? Shall I go and look for him while you show these ladies your pretty drawing-room and conservatory?"

"Nurse, will you send papa to us, please. No, Mr. Clayton, I am not going to let you escape like that; you owe me some apology first for your long absence. What have you been doing? What have you all been doing? Come in here; I mean to catechise you."

Miss Cunningham spoke in a brisk, pleasant voice, though it had a sharp, decided note or two in it. She marshalled her guests with perfect ease and self-possession into the long bay-windowed drawing-room. A white-haired, aristocratic-looking man in an old gardening coat came out of the conservatory with a watering-pot in his hand.

"Papa, you must come and talk to Miss Marriott and Miss Palmer, please. Let me take that watering-pot away, it is trickling all over the carpet, and your coat is covered with lime. Do you like a low chair, Miss Marriott? If you sit there you can see the flowers in the conservatory, and just a pretty peep of the garden. I hope you will talk to papa, he is so fond of talking to strangers. Miss Palmer, you know papa, of course?"

"Miss Faith and I are old friends, my dear," interposed Mr. Cunningham.

"Yes, I know; it is Miss Marriott who is the only stranger," returned Dora calmly, untying her hat. She had white dimpled hands, rather like a baby's. "Now, Mr. Clayton, please tell me what you have been doing with yourself all this time?"

Mr. Cunningham proved himself a most genial host. He took Miss Faith and Queenie into the conservatory, and gathered some of his choicest flowers for them. A little summer shower had just commenced; the light patter of drops on the glass roof blended unceasingly with the voices. Dora's canaries were singing loudly; a small blue-black Skye terrier scampered over the wet lawn. Miss Faith seemed rapt in quiet happiness; Queenie was just a trifle absent and distracted.

Through the conservatory door she could catch sight of a pretty group. Dora sat in her little low chair, and Cathy had ensconced herself on the rug at her feet. Garth stood with his broad shoulders propped against the wooden mantel-piece, looking at them both. His face wore an amused expression; evidently he was well entertained.

"Do you think her pretty?" whispered Emmie, coming round to her sister's side. "She is like a picture, somehow; but I like your face best, Queenie, there is more in it." Queenie could not understand why the child's remark jarred on her. She colored hastily and turned away.

But she told herself afterwards that Emmie was right on one point. Dora Cunningham was certainly not pretty: her teeth were a little too prominent, her nose was somewhat blunt and unformed, and her eyes were blue and still, and had no special depth in them. Her fair hair was her chief beauty; it was very abundant, and she wore it gracefully, just simply turned off from her face and knotted carelessly behind.

At this early stage of their acquaintance Queenie hardly knew whether she was attracted or repulsed by the young mistress of Crossgill Vicarage. Her perfect self-possession, her absence of all consciousness, her cool, business-like comments on things in general, her faith in her own management and powers of observation, astonished Queenie not a little.

From the first she had taken possession of Garth, quite frankly and openly.

"I always leave the ladies to papa," she said to Queenie, as she led the way by-and-bye into the hall, where tea had been prepared for them. "Papa is such a lady's man. I always get on best with gentlemen, at least if they are like Mr. Clayton. Girls are all very well in their way, but men are so much more amusing. I dare say you think the same?"

"I have never thought about it; I have seen so few gentlemen in my life," answered Queenie, a little confused by the question. The music and drawing-masters at Granite Lodge and Caleb Runciman were about the only specimens of manhood with whom she had been acquainted, until her arrival at Church-Stile House. She was afraid, too, that Garth had overheard Miss Cunningham's frank speech; if he had, he took no notice. He placed himself at the little oval table beside his young hostess, and looked at the plump childish hands, busy amongst the old china cups and saucers.

The old nurse stood behind her mistress's chair, and joined in the conversation. She and Garth seemed great friends.

"Well, Nurse, how are Miss Beatrix and Miss Florence?"

"Well, very well, bless their dear hearts. Miss Beatrix is taller than Miss Dora even, and is growing prettier than ever. We want them back, Mr. Clayton, sir."

"Now, Nurse, that's nonsense," interposed Dora, briskly. "Remember they are gone for their good, not ours. Beatrix must finish her education before she comes home; you know papa and I have settled that."

"I don't think the poor young ladies like foreign parts so well as home," sighed the old woman, plaintively. "Miss Flo writes beautiful letters, to be sure; but she says she is home-sick sometimes."

"Have you sisters?" enquired Queenie, with a little surprise. She thought Dora was the only inhabitant of the vicarage.

Dora nodded. "Yes; there are the girls. Nurse is talking about them now; she is always talking about them. They are at school in Brussels. They are very well, of course, for girls, only I have never forgiven them for not being boys. I have always so longed for a brother—a great big brother—to take me about when papa is lazy or tired," appealing to Garth with candid blue eyes, not unlike the kitten's.

"What a pity we can't make you a present of Ted," returned Garth coolly; but Nurse interposed again with the garrulity of age.

"Miss Dora, dear, I can't bear to hear you talk so; it doesn't seem right, does it, sir? with those sweet young ladies for sisters, adoring her and spoiling her as they do. Why one of these days, my darling, you will have a husband to take you about; that will be better than a brother, won't it, Mr. Clayton, sir?"

"I suppose I shall have a husband some day, but there is no need for you to drag him in before-hand, Nurse;" returned Dora with perfect composure, as she tied on her broad-brimmed hat again. The allusion in Garth's presence did not disturb her equanimity in the least; she took it quite as a matter of course. "It is only Nurse's nonsense," she said, turning calmly to Queenie; "if she talked so to the girls it would be different, but nothing matters to me," with a little curl of her lip and a shrug.

"I think you must miss your sisters, living here alone?" observed Queenie, by way of changing the subject.

"Oh, as to that, papa and I miss them, of course. They are well enough for girls, only they are just at the gauche age, you know; when they are older I shall know better what to do with them."

"Then are you never dull?" asked Garth. "I should have thought Flo especially would have left a void in the house, she was so bright and full of fun."

"I should have called Flo noisy," exclaimed Dora quietly. "Busy people are never dull; I should have thought you would have found that out by this time."

"I know you emulate the busy bee, and improve each shining hour, Miss Dora; but still—"

"I suppose you mean to be satirical," with a little scorn. "You men think there is no work done but by yourselves."

"Oh, no; I am sure your list of duties must be very long," evidently teasing her, to her father's great delight.

"Quite long enough for a woman," she returned, pointedly. "I have my house-keeping, and my schools, and the mothers' meeting, and the penny club, and the coal and blanket fund, and the library, besides odds and ends of business, and all my visiting. Papa and I work together, and in the evening I read to him."

"Dora is my right hand," interposed Mr. Cunningham, looking at his girl fondly.

"After all men must have some one to help them," returned Dora loftily. She delivered herself of her little speech Parthian-wise, as she rose from the tea-table, turning her shoulder somewhat upon Garth as she did so.

"Are we such helpless creatures then?" he asked in a low voice, following her.

"Most of you are," she replied calmly. "Miss Marriott, the rain is over, shall we take a turn in the garden?"

CHAPTER III.
TANGLED.

"Women do not like a man the worse for having many favorites, if he desert them all for her. She fancies that she herself has the power of fixing the wanderer; that other women conquer like the Parthians, but that she herself, like the Romans, can not only make conquests, but retain them."—Colton.

The conversation had now become more general; but towards the close of the visit Queenie found herself alone with Miss Cunningham. They were standing in the porch together. Garth had gone round to the stables to see after the waggonette, and the others were in the Vicar's study, turning over a portfolio of old engravings. Queenie had been more than half disposed to follow them, but Miss Cunningham had detained her.

"You will find this pleasanter than papa's dark little study; besides, he does not want us now he has Miss Faith Palmer. Why do men like talking to her so much?" she continued in a perplexed voice. "She is not a bit clever, or what one would call attractive, and yet Mr. Clayton and papa are always lauding her to the skies."

"She is very good," returned Queenie. After what had passed between herself and Garth she was disposed to hold her peace on the subject of Miss Faith's merits. Some hours had passed since her arrival at Crossgill Vicarage, but, strange to say, she was less than ever inclined to be communicative to Miss Cunningham.

"So are you and I good, at least I hope so," answered Dora promptly, "though we do not dress in grey, and wear a close bonnet like a Quaker. I am a foe to that sort of goodness that must cloak itself in a peculiar garb. By-the-bye, how do you get on with Langley Clayton? she is one of the good sort too."

"I think she is one of the best women I ever met," was the enthusiastic reply; "she is almost perfection, so unselfish and so unobtrusive in everything she does."

"Yes; Langley is Langley; but she is a trifle too melancholy for my taste. I don't like people to go through life in a sort of 'patience on a monument' attitude. One suspects all manner of strange back-grounds, and then it is so provoking. Langley is Langley, of course, but I like Cathy best."

"Have you known them long, Miss Cunningham?"

"Ever since I was so high," putting her hand about three feet from the ground. "I used to call Mr. Clayton Garth once, till he got so big and grand that he used to frighten me; not that I am at all frightened of him or any other man now," she continued, with a curl of her lip, "one sees their weaknesses too plainly for that. How long are you going to stay at Church-stile House, Miss Marriott?"

"About three weeks, I believe, that is, until the cottage is ready for us. You know, I suppose, that we remain in Hepshaw. I am the new school-mistress. Mr. Clayton and Mr. Logan have elected me," explained Queenie simply; but, nevertheless, making the statement with some reluctance. She had a notion that Miss Cunningham would think it strange.

Dora absolutely started, and then bit her lip.

"You! Why you must be joking!"

"No indeed, Miss Cunningham."

"Why did they not tell me? It is Cathy's doing, I suppose, to keep you near her, you are great friends I hear; but I am surprised Mr. Clayton allowed it for a moment. You,—excuse me, Miss Marriott, but I cannot get over my surprise,—you look so unlike a school-mistress. Did you ever see your predecessor, Miss Drake?"

Queenie shook her head. She felt a little discomposed; the cool scrutiny of the blue eyes did not please her. Dora's searching glance took in every detail—the well-gloved hands, the dainty French tie, the little brown hat with its pheasant's wing, all the finish and detail that marks the gentlewoman's taste.

"No, you are not much like Miss Drake," she replied coldly; and a little cloud of dissatisfaction and perplexity knitted her brow.

They both seemed relieved when Garth made his appearance with the waggonette. Dora at once went in search of the rest of the party. Miss Faith and Emmie joined them instantly, but Cathy still lingered.

"Come, Catherine, come, it is getting late," exclaimed her brother impatiently; "you and Miss Dora have gossiped enough by this time." Cathy gave him a laughing look as she jumped into the waggonette, and ensconced herself cosily by Queenie.

"Don't be cross, Garth. No one calls me Catherine but Mr. Logan and Miss Cosie. I have only been mystifying Dora on the subject of our young friend here. She seems 'struck all of a heap'—to use an elegant but most expressive phrase—at the notion of her turning school-mistress. What business of hers is it, I should like to know? Let her mind her own parish."

"Hush, Cathy, be quiet; she will hear you," interposed Garth sharply, as he turned round to wave an adieu to the little figure in the porch. Dora stood with her hand shading her eyes, watching them until they were out of sight. She looked still more like a picture framed in roses, her straw hat hanging on her arm, and the sunset shining on her fair hair.

Garth turned round more than once, and then he resumed the subject somewhat irritably.

"What has Dora got in her head, I should like to know? she looks as if something does not please her. What nonsense have you been talking, Cathy?"

"Plaze your honor, no nonsense at all, at all," began Cathy mischievously, but a glance at her brother's side face, which looked unusually grave, sobered her in time. "Garth, don't be such a griffin, or I will never take you out to tea again. Dora chose to cross-examine me as to Miss Marriott's motives in taking so singular a step as becoming our school-mistress, and I thought her curiosity somewhat impertinent, and so took a delight in baffling it."

"I think it was you who were impertinent, Cathy," returned Garth, still displeased. "Surely such an old friend as Dora has a right to interest herself in our affairs if she likes."

"Not at all," returned his sister haughtily; "besides, this is not our affair at all, it is Queenie's. What right has any one to poke and pry into her motives? Of course you always take Dora's part, you and Langley are alike in that; but she got nothing out of me."

"My dear Cathy, Miss Cunningham is perfectly welcome to know everything, as far as I am concerned," interrupted Queenie, somewhat distressed at this argument. These slight diversities of opinion were not unusual between Cathy and her brother; but Queenie had never before heard him express himself so strongly.

"I am glad you take such a sensible view of it," returned Garth, mollified in an instant. "Cathy is thoughtless with her tongue sometimes, and hurts people. Miss Cunningham always takes a lively interest in all that concerns Hepshaw; you see, their own parish is managed so admirably, Crossgill is quite a model village in every way, that she feels she has some authority in speaking."

"All meddlers have authority, self-imposed, of course," observed Cathy, sotto voce. Nevertheless, the remark reached Garth's ears.

"What makes you so hard on Dora this evening?" he asked, good-humoredly. "She deserves a good scolding, does she not, Miss Faith? You are generally such good friends; something has gone wrong to-night, eh, little one?"

He spoke coaxingly, but Cathy would not be induced to answer. "She was sick of Dora; she would have Dora on the brain if they did not change the subject," was her pettish reply, and, seeing her in this humor, Garth, like a wise man, dropped the subject. But the conversation made a painful impression on Queenie; in her heart she sided with Cathy. She thought Miss Cunningham's curiosity unjustifiable in the last degree. "What is it to her how long I remain in Church-Stile House and in Hepshaw?" she said proudly to herself.

This feeling was not mollified when, two days afterwards, Cathy informed her that Miss Cunningham had driven over in her little basket-carriage, and was at that moment talking to Langley in the drawing-room.

Queenie changed color a little as she put down her book.

"So soon!" she ejaculated.

"Yes; she has come to return our call, and to see Langley," with a meaning look, that made Queenie feel still more uncomfortable. "No; we need not go to her just yet; Langley will bring her out to us by-and-bye. I think I shall tell Susan to let us have some tea, it is so delightfully cool and shady under these trees."

"Wait a moment, Cathy," catching hold of her dress, as she brushed past her, on hospitable thoughts intent. "Tell me why you do not like Miss Cunningham."

"But I do like her," returned Cathy, opening her eyes widely. "Who has said anything to the contrary? I think she is a dear little thing, and as good as gold. Why her father and sisters dote on her; only they have spoiled her between them."

"Then what put you out so the other night?" persisted Queenie.

"My dear, that is a complaint to which I am often subject. Many things put me out, you do sometimes, and so does Garth, dear, stupid, blundering old fellow that he is."

"Yes; but, Cathy, do be serious; you were as cross as possible that evening with Miss Cunningham, and would not say anything in her favor."

"Well, I believe I was cross," candidly. "If there be one thing I hate it is to be managed, and Dora will try to manage people. It is all very well in Crossgill, where every one worships the ground she treads on,—and of course she is very clever, and does no end of good,—but it is different when she tries to manage us here. It will be time enough for that when,—that is, if,—but I think I will leave that part of my sentence unfinished," continued Cathy, provokingly, and she ran away into the house, leaving Queenie still more mystified and uncomfortable.

Tea had long been set out on the low table under the plane-tree before Langley made her appearance with their visitor. The blue cambric and the broad-brimmed hat, wreathed with wild convolvoli, seemed quite familiar to Queenie. Dora held out her hand to her with perfect good humor; perhaps her manner was a trifle condescending.

"Well, I have come over to talk to you, and hear all about it," she said, taking possession of Garth's favorite basket-work chair, and unfastening her hat in her old fashion. "Papa says that I am too fond of interfering in every one's business, and that the world would go on just as well without me; but I can never believe that," with a low laugh, as though the idea amused her. "Fancy Crossgill and papa without me!" folding her dimpled hands complacently.

"I dare say they would do very well," interrupted Cathy, who was hovering near her with some rosebuds in her hands. Dora calmly helped herself to some, and went on talking.

"They will have to do without me some day, of course. It is a woman's duty to marry, and I suppose I must submit to my destiny. The girls will be sad managers; but no one could expect me to remain an old maid on their account. I have brought them up, and when I have introduced them into society I shall consider that I have done my duty."

"Hear, hear," interposed Garth from the back-ground, so suddenly that even Langley started. Queenie thought that now, at least, Miss Cunningham must look conscious and confused; but she did nothing of the kind; she only faced round coolly on the interloper, and asked what he meant by eaves-dropping in that fashion?

Garth laughed and made himself comfortable on his old grey plaid at her feet; but he looked a little mischievous.

"So there are limits to your sisterly self-sacrifice after all?" Dora gave a slight shrug.

"Self-sacrifice, without limits and without common-sense, remind one of the Suttee and the car of Juggernaut. When one is speaking generally it is a pity to particularize. At present I have too much on my hands to trouble about my future. There are the girls, and Flo is always in scrapes, and wanting me," finished Dora, in a quiet, matter-of-fact way.

"But Flo is nearly sixteen!"

"Yes, and Beatrix is seventeen. I mean Beatrix to remain at Brussels another year, in spite of papa and nurse; she is young for her age, and is far too shy and unformed to bring out at present; Flo has much more in her. But I did not come over here to talk about the girls and myself," continued Dora frankly; "they are good girls of course, but they are much more trouble than if they had been boys. I wanted a chat with Miss Marriott, and to hear all about this school business. I have had to do with schools all my life, you know," turning to Queenie; "and we have a charming place for our mistress at Crossgill. I have all sorts of ideas in my head, and shall be able to help you," ran on Dora, in a brisk, business-like way that almost took away Queenie's breath.

"You are very kind," she began, hesitatingly, and then she stopped. What business was it of Miss Cunningham's? why need she brook patronage from a girl so little older than herself, and a perfect stranger? But Dora misconstrued her momentary hesitation.

"Oh, you need not mind troubling me, I take interest in all sorts of people and things. Papa calls it interference, but I know better. Most people content themselves with their own little sphere of duty, and don't trouble themselves beyond it, but every one is welcome to my advice or assistance."

An inexplicable smile crossed Garth's face, but he made no remark. A close observer might have said that he was watching the two faces before him, with a view to comparison. Dora made a pretty picture as she leant back in her low basket-chair, with her sunny hair, and the roses fastened in her blue cambric. Queenie looked a little sombre and shadowy beside her in her brown dress. Her eyes were down-cast; she looked disturbed and ill-at-ease; she had lost something of the brightness and independence that were her chief charms.

"I don't like talking about myself and my own affairs," she said, with natural reserve; but somehow it sounded ungracious in her own ears. Miss Cunningham was an old friend of the family; perhaps she was wrong in treating her like a stranger; but Dora was not repulsed by her coldness.

"I dare say you feel a little proud about it; I should in your position," with a patronizing kindness that made Queenie's cheeks burn. "Miss Drake was such a very different person, quite common-place and ordinary. I think she was a small tradesman's daughter. It must be difficult to fit yourself to such a position, to come down to it with dignity." But Queenie would hear no more.

"You talk as though I were somebody, and not a poor governess, Miss Cunningham. I hope it is not beneath a clergyman's daughter to teach the children of honest people. It is not the work, it is the motive that ennobles the worker," cried the girl, turning on her young adviser with burning cheeks, and her eyes suddenly shining. "If I teach the children of the poor, I remember that I am poor myself. I shall not be ashamed of my position, or forget that my mother was a lady. I cannot forget what is due to myself or her, or to Emmie's mother, who brought me up, and made me what I am."

Dora raised her pretty eyebrows in some surprise; this little burst of sentiment perplexed her.

"I did not know you were such an impulsive character, Miss Marriott. You remind me of Flo a little, it is just her way of breaking out when she is lectured; not that I am presuming to lecture you," with an amused look; "I am only offering you advice and assistance. Miss Drake and I used to have long talks, did we not, Langley? and settle all sorts of things. She was a very ordinary person, and a little commonplace, I must confess, but she was always ready to take advice."

"I fear you will not find me quite so submissive as Miss Drake. I am only humble to those whom I know and love, and who love me!" replied Queenie, with a soft unsteady smile. "You are very good, Miss Cunningham; but I do not see how you can help me in this. I have Langley and Cathy, and they trust me a little," finished the girl, with a touching inflexion in her voice; "and for the rest, it is hard uphill work, and I must fight my way alone;" and then, as though to put a stop to the argument, she rose and placed herself by Langley's side.

"I don't understand. I hope she does not think me interfering. Perhaps she does not know that Hepshaw is a sort of second home to me!" returned Dora, in unfeigned perplexity, turning to Garth. Rebuffs were unknown to her; she was far too used to worship to take them kindly; her face changed and clouded a little. "I call it such a pity to show this sort of feeling in such a position. You have all of you made a mistake, Mr. Clayton; she is far above her work."

"There you are wrong," replied Garth warmly. Dora had risen, and he had followed her, and they were standing by the little gate looking down the plane-tree walk. Some children were planting flowers on a newly-made grave; some one was practising on the organ; through the open door they could hear snatches of Bach's Passion music. "Believe me, you are wrong; Miss Marriott's a fine creature. She thinks nothing beneath her, and would work herself to death for that little sister of hers. You are both good creatures; I wonder why you persist in misunderstanding each other?" he continued in an aggrieved voice, and with a man's usual blindness in such cases. "I am disappointed that you do not care more for Langley's protégée, Miss Dora."

"Oh, as to that, I like her well enough," she returned, a little coolly; "she is in good style and lady-like, only far too impulsive for my taste. She reminds me of Flo, and you know I always find Flo rather troublesome."

"I know your conduct to your sisters is perfectly admirable," was the answer. "You have been a mother to them in every sense of the word. Why Flo perfectly adores you, Dora."

"I am used to being adored," she returned quietly. It had not escaped her notice that he had gone back to his old habit, and called her Dora; she rather liked it than otherwise. It was very pleasant lingering by the little gate in the sunset. She was quite aware how pretty a picture she made, with her uncovered hair, and the roses in the blue cambric. Garth, tall and dark, and in his grey working suit, made a splendid foil to her.

"Shall we take a turn on the terrace?" he asked in a low voice, unlatching the little gate as he spoke; but Dora shook her head. It would be very pleasant wandering there in the sunset with Garth Clayton; but then there were the girls, and Flo not sixteen yet. Things were progressing certainly, but perhaps, under the circumstances, it would not be wise to expedite matters. Her sisters must be introduced into society, and Beatrix must be trained to take her position at Crossgill Vicarage before she could turn her attentions to such things. There must be no loitering in the sunset just now; men were impressionable, and well, perhaps Garth's manner was a little different to-day; he certainly looked a little disconsolate over her refusal.

"I shall gather you some roses before you go; you won't refuse them I hope, Dora," he returned, somewhat discontentedly.

"Yes, you may gather me some; but you must not call me Dora, please. It is a great pity, but we are not children now, and people will talk."

"Let them talk," returned Garth, now really provoked. He was very proud, and this repulse did not suit him. The sunset was inviting, and the shining little head beside him seemed to draw him with golden meshes. He was half serious and half jesting, but the mood and the hour had a certain sweetness not to be lightly lost; but if she chose to repulse him, well, it had not gone very far, and on the whole he preferred his freedom; but here Dora was looking at him pathetically with her blue eyes.

"Are you cross with me? one cannot always please one's self. Papa will want me; and one has so many duties," sighed the young diplomatist, "and cannot choose one's pleasures," looking at him slyly, but with a certain softness.

"No; you are very good. I suppose I am like other men, and want my own way. Do you think if you had more to do with me that you could cure me, Dora?"

"Hush, here comes Miss Marriott," she returned, laying her hand warningly on his arm. It was a very pretty hand, and showed well on the grey coat-sleeve. He had called her Dora again, but she did not again rebuke him; somehow his tenacity did not displease her. "He will be troublesome by-and-bye, but I think I shall be able to manage him," she thought, as she turned with a somewhat heightened color to the new-comer.

Queenie came between them as they fell apart; she was not thinking of them just now, but of something that she had schooled herself to say.

"I told Langley that I must come after you, and she said that I was right. I wanted to say, Miss Cunningham, that I was wrong just now. I ought to have thanked you more for your interest and what you said to me; you meant it kindly, very kindly, I am sure." Queenie spoke in rather a measured voice, as though she were repeating a lesson; but Dora received the apology very graciously.

"I thought you would think better of it, only you were so impulsive, and missed my meaning. People always take my advice in the end, they find it answers. They know that I take interest and want to help them."

"Yes; and I ought not to reject any well-meant kindness," returned Queenie, with still more effort, as she noticed Garth's keen survey of them both.

"I am glad that you have decided that we are to be friends and not enemies," replied Dora calmly, but half-amused by what she termed an exaggeration of feeling. "I know I shall get on with you better than with Miss Drake. She was such a very ordinary person, and dressed so very oddly."

"There is no comparison between Miss Marriott and Miss Drake," interposed Garth, a little sharply. "Let every one stand on their own merits."

"You are perfectly right," was the composed answer. "I am only glad that we all understand each other so well. I shall come and see you in your cottage, Miss Marriott, and then I am sure we shall become friends."

Queenie did not answer, but a rebellious flush rose to her cheek. She had come between them, and was still standing there on the little path. The children had planted their flowers and had gone home. The music had ceased, and the organist had closed the church. "Let us go back to the house and to Langley," observed Miss Cunningham a little impatiently, when the silence had lasted a moment. But as the girls walked back to the house side by side Garth did not accompany them. He was gathering roses.

CHAPTER IV.
THE KING OF KARLDALE.

"I ask thee for a thoughtful love,
Through constant watching wise,
To meet the glad with joyful smiles,
And wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize." L. Waring.

A few days after Miss Cunningham's visit Langley came into the room where the girls were sitting as usual, chatting merrily over their work.

"Cathy, do you think you could spare Queenie to us for a few hours?"

"That depends upon circumstances, my dear, was the cool response.

"Because Garth and I want her. I have just had a letter from Gertrude, and she and Harry wish us to go over there to-morrow; she is very unwell, I fear, and Garth thinks it would be such a good opportunity to show Queenie the beauties of Karlsmere."

"Why should we not all go? Do go and coax him, Langley."

"Indeed I cannot," replied Langley earnestly. "Gertrude is such an invalid that we cannot fatigue her with numbers. No, it is no use teasing him," as Cathy made an impetuous movement to the door; "he has quite decided that he will only take Queenie and me. I thought it was very nice of him proposing it," with a deprecating glance at her sister's disappointed face; "it will be a treat for Queenie; and you know in another week or so she will have to begin work in earnest."

"You and Garth never care for me to go over to Karldale," began Cathy a little crossly, but Langley stopped her rather hurriedly. She was a trifle moved from her ordinary composure; her face looked more worn and anxious than usual; a nervous flush glowed in her thin cheeks.

"My dear, you never will believe in Gertrude's ill-health. I am sadly troubled about her, and so is Garth."

"I have small sympathy for people who are always calling 'wolf,'" replied Cathy, taking up her work again. "I believe Gertrude's temper is most in fault."

"Then we will not argue about it," returned her sister, with a little sigh. She was very patient, but Cathy's mood evidently jarred on her. Cathy threw down her work again with such impatience that her needle broke as her sister left the room.

"Why will she give in to that woman's whims as she does! I can't understand it. Gertrude makes a perfect slave of her when she goes there, and actually Langley seems to like it. She is always going over there now; and she comes back tired out and fit for nothing."

"Do you know, I think it vexes Langley dreadfully when, you depreciate Mrs. Chester; I have noticed it more than once," observed Queenie, in her shrewd way.

"I know it does, and my wretched temper makes me do it all the more; but Langley is such a patient old dear that I hate to see her domineered over and victimized by a woman like Gertrude. When I see her with that worried look in her face I am always ten times more bitter; and then I am so fond of Harry, and Karlsmere would be so delicious this weather, and I own I was cross," continued Cathy, with the frankness that made her so lovable; "but of course you must go to please them, and Emmie and I will spend the day with Miss Cosie."

Queenie's whim, Volume 2 (of 3)

QUEENIE'S WHIM

CHAPTER I.THE NEW SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

CHAPTER II.DORA.

CHAPTER III.TANGLED.

CHAPTER IV.THE KING OF KARLDALE.

CHAPTER I.
THE NEW SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

CHAPTER II.
DORA.

CHAPTER III.
TANGLED.

CHAPTER IV.
THE KING OF KARLDALE.