"Why Bessie?"

"I knew she would do something dreadful if she didn't stop growing. And Robert is so short. It must all mean something. He held the teapot while Bessie put in the poison. Nasty bitter stuff it was too! I suppose I must forgive them, though I don't like doing it. Where is George?"

"He is packing. He's going away tomorrow."

"But he must stay for the funeral!"

"There's not going to be a funeral. You know Mr. George must leave us; he has told you so lots of times."

"Tell him to come here. I must give him a present. Look in the cupboard and find me something to give George. And pack up all my clothes, for I shan't want them again. Send them to that Bishop who wrote and said he hadn't got any."

"I don't think, really, your clothes are suitable for the ladies of the Lonesome Islands," said Nellie.

"You must keep the best things. I want you to have my black silk dress and the coat trimmed with jet ornaments. They will come in nicely for your wedding. Perhaps George would like a brooch. Tell Bessie and Robert to come here at five o'clock to be forgiven--but I won't promise. You must write to Percy, and tell him I was so sorry not to be able to say good-bye, but the end came suddenly, though I was quite prepared for it.

Why aren't you packing my clothes--or did you say George was doing it?"

"I'll call him. And if you worry me much more I shall swear," said Nellie.

George came and mourned over his aunt because the time of separation was at hand. Miss Yard agreed, but almost forgot her own impending departure when George explained he was referring to himself.

"Oh, but you are not going to die yet. I'm sure that isn't necessary.

Besides, you are looking so well," she said earnestly.

"He is not looking a bit better than you are," cried Nellie.

"I am about to start on a long journey, Aunt," said George piteously.

"Oh, yes! I remember now about the island in the Pacific where the tomatoes grow."

"I have been working rather too much lately, and need a rest," he explained; "but directly you want me back you have only to send an invitation."

"I shall be left all alone--oh, but I forgot," said Miss Yard, interrupting herself in a shocked voice. "You must stay, George, to do me a great favour. I want you to bury me in Westminster Abbey in the next grave to Queen Elizabeth."

"My dear Miss Sophy!" exclaimed Nellie.

"Don't listen to that child. She is in a nasty cross mood--and somebody has been teaching her to swear. I took a fancy to Westminster Abbey when I was quite young, and, even if it is rather expensive, I should like to treat myself to a grave there."

"I'll see to it," George promised.

"You shouldn't say such a wicked thing," cried Nellie.

"Are you suffering at all, Aunt?" he inquired, anxious to change the subject.

"I don't think so," said Miss Yard. "It's all going to be wonderfully peaceful. I'm so thankful!"

"Shall I ask the vicar to call?" George whispered.

"Of course not," said Nellie fretfully. "She would think he had come to prepare her. I am very sorry you sent for the doctor. Here's another beastly wasp! Do kill it."

"Is she packing my clothes?" whispered Miss Yard, peering over the bedspread.

"No, and I'm not going to," replied the young rebel.

George struck out manfully at the living wasp, knocked it down somewhere, and began to search for the body which was still buzzing.

"Oh dear!" cried Miss Yard. "There's such a dreadful pain in my hand."

"I knocked it on the bed. She really is stung this time!" George shouted, seizing the insect in his handkerchief and destroying it; while Nellie fled for the restoratives which were necessary at last.

It was the best thing that could have happened, for immediately her hand was bandaged, Miss Yard's interest became centred in that, and she forgot there was anything else to worry about. When the doctor called next day, he was advised to say nothing about affairs internally, but to concentrate all his ability, and his bedside manner, upon the outward and manifest sting; with the result that Miss Yard was p.r.o.nounced out of danger within forty-eight hours; by which time George had vacated the premises and made room for Percy.

Hardly had he driven away when there came a knock upon the back door, and when Kezia went to answer it, she found the Wallower in Wealth standing there, with twenty-five shillings in his hand and a bargaining expression on his face. Having inquired after the well-being of every one in the house, and made a few remarks upon the climate, he stated that he had lately enjoyed a conversation with the blacksmith, who had declared there never was a machine he couldn't mend and, if the musical box were brought to his forge, he would speedily compel it to play all kinds of music.

"What's it all about?" asked Kezia; and, as she put the question, Bessie crossed the road. Upon those rare occasions when she happened to be at home, there was nothing going on in the house opposite which Bessie did not contemplate from her upstairs window.

"Mr. Drake promised me the musical box," explained the visitor, who had watched the departure of George before setting out on his expedition.

"It ain't his, and he knows it. And you knows it too," said Kezia warmly, "else you wouldn't ha' waited till he'd gone away."

"Gone away, has he!" exclaimed the Wallower in Wealth. "You give me his address and I'll send the money on to him."

"That musical box belongs to me," said Kezia.

This was a critical moment in Bessie's career; to have yielded then would have meant the complete abandonment of all her rights in furnishings. She did not hesitate in declaring war upon her ancient ally with two steely words:

"'Tis mine!"

"I'm surprised to hear you say such a thing, Bessie Mudge; and Miss Sophy lying ill in bed too," replied Kezia.

"Mrs. Drake left me the musical box, and I ha' got writing to prove it, and me and Robert are only waiting vor Miss Sophy's funeral to take it."

"Mrs. Drake said I wur to have all the furniture in the house."

"I wouldn't like to have to call you anything," said Bessie.

"And I'd be cruel sorry to fancy you craved to hear the like," retorted Kezia.

Then they paused to think out new ideas, and to place their arms in more aggressive att.i.tudes.

"When furniture be left to more than one person simultaneous, 'tis usual to divide it," explained the Wallower of Wealth.

"Half a musical box b'ain't of no use to me."

"Nor me."

"You sell me the box, and I'll give you twelve shillings, and twelve shillings to Mrs. Mudge, and I'll get it put right at my own expense,"

said the Wallower in Wealth, seeking to introduce the peaceful principle of compromise.

"I wouldn't take twelve pounds. The Captain told me there warn't another box like that in this world," said Kezia.