"And supposing a rich old lady came one day--very, very rich, Robbie-- with houses, and gardens, and carriages, and horses, and ponies-- beautiful little, long-tailed ponies, and she said, 'Come and live with me, Robbie, and be my own little boy?' What would you say? Would you go away and leave poor Mother all alone?"

"No--ow--ow! Don't wants no old ladies! Kick a nasty old pony over the wall!"

The more his mother wept, the louder Robbie roared. They clung together sobbing and crying until the sound penetrated to the lower regions, and the maid-of-all-work crept up the uncarpeted stair and listened, agape with horror.

Then suddenly Mrs Moore shook Robbie off, bounded out of the room, and called to the servant to run down the road to summon Mrs Ross to come at once--at once, and to bring pencil and paper, so that she might write down the words of a letter to be dictated from an upper window.

It was easy to see from whom Mildred had inherited her impetuosity.

Poor Mrs Ross was bewildered by the torrent of words which were hurled at her head the moment she arrived. She was obliged to write four separate letters before Mrs Moore was satisfied that she had said the right thing in the right way.

The letter seemed fated to cause excitement from beginning to end. When it arrived at The Deanery, Lady Sarah put up her eye-gla.s.ses to read it, only to drop them a moment later with a cry of astonishment. She gasped, and panted, and gasped, and panted again, while the other occupants of the room stared aghast, not knowing what to make of such behaviour.

"M-M-Mildred!" she cried, and when the girl advanced to her side, she clasped her in a pa.s.sionate embrace. "Mildred, Mildred, do you know who you are? My own little niece--my grand-niece,--Mary's child! I knew there was something familiar about you--I felt it! I have said so over and over again, and now Mary writes,--poor Mary! You always spoke of me as 'Lady Sarah', and she never dreamt that it was I. She has been living in the depths of the country and has never heard of my husband's honours. She was unmarried when I saw her last--"

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" cried Mildred shrilly, clasping her hands together in excitement, "It was you! You were the rich aunt! Oh, how dreadfully romantic! Then you are my aunt, too. 'Aunt Sarah!' Goodness me, who would ever have dreamt of such a thing! And Mother says,--what does Mother say?"

"She seems afraid, poor thing, that I shall try to take you from her, as I wished to separate her from her parents long ago; but be satisfied, Mildred, I have learned a lesson since those days. I shall not try to take you from your mother!"

"I am glad of that, because it would be such a waste of time," said Mildred promptly. "Besides, you must come and see Mother yourself, and get to know the whole family. You can never call yourself lonely again, Lady Sarah, for you will have a niece, and five grand-nieces, and a grand-nephew. The grand-nephew is more important than all the rest put together. Oh-h!" she gazed round the room with big, bewildered eyes, "I can't believe it. My aunt! Your niece! If someone doesn't pinch me this moment, I shall believe I am asleep and dreaming. Mrs Faucit,-- Bertha,--Lois,--do you believe it? Do I look at all altered? Lady Sarah's niece! I--I suppose it doesn't make any difference in my name, does it? If I have come into a t.i.tle, break it to me gently, please! I can't bear much more excitement!"

"Oh, Mildred!" cried the twins in chorus. Mrs Faucit laughed merrily, and Lady Sarah looked round with an air of triumph.

"Ah, my dear, you may take after your father in appearance, but you are your grandmother over again in disposition! My sister Edyth--the brightest, merriest girl! She was my friend and companion; no one knew what I suffered when she went away and left us. Your mother is like her, Mildred--small and dark. It was the resemblance which drew me to her, but she refused to leave home, and I went off to China and we lost sight of each other. I was too proud to inquire what had become of her when I came home, but I have often thought of her. Blood is thicker than water, and I have longed for some of my own kith and kin to be near me in my old age. She is poor, you say, Mildred? Well, well!" Lady Sarah nodded her head in a mysterious fashion, which seemed to argue a hundred delightful possibilities.

So it came to pa.s.s that Mildred went to Scotland with Lady Sarah, and when Robbie was out of quarantine, returned home in company with the old lady, who was almost as much excited at the meeting with Mrs Moore as the girl was herself. Aunt and niece had many consultations together, the result of which was that Mrs Moore and her children bade farewell to their cottage home, and went to live in a pretty house situated just outside the gates of Lady Sarah's country seat. Here they were near enough to be a comfort and cheer to the old lady during her last days, and not too near to become a burden, or to allow the children to disturb her rest.

Lady Sarah took a great interest in her grand-nephew, and in every one of the five grand-nieces, and treated them all with equal generosity, but Mildred was her darling and chosen companion.

The girl spent the greater part of every day up at the big house, and though many people shook their heads, and argued ill of such a friendship, it endured unbroken to the end. By this it is not meant to imply that their lives flow on evenly, without discord or misunderstanding. Quite the contrary. Neither aunt nor niece changed their disposition in a moment; Lady Sarah's fretfulness often proved very trying to Mildred's temper, just as the old lady in her turn was overpowered by the girl's impetuous ways. Old age and youth cannot live together without such trials as these, but they had one grand point in common which never failed to bring them together--they loved each other, and love is the sweetest of peacemakers. Lady Sarah would remember her own youth, and check the hasty words on her lip. Mildred, fretting and fuming, would suddenly bethink herself how sad it must be to be always tired and ailing, and struggle hard for patience. A glance on one side, a word on the other, and the disagreement would be over, while each peacemaking taught a new lesson, and left more strength for the future.

Mrs Moore and her children had much cause to bless the day when Lady Sarah became their friend, but when at last death took her away from their side, none of the good things which she inherited could console Mildred for the loss of the dear, cross, old lady whom she had grown to love so truly.

The End.