Mrs. Darrow tossed her head disdainfully.

"Pretty, indeed! with that red hair and pasty complexion! It is extraordinary how you men like these unhealthy women." Then, after a pause, "But she doesn't like you!"

"H'm! who does?"

"I do"--this with a most fascinating smile. "I love you!"

"Ah!" Barton chuckled. "You are so tender-hearted. I tell you what, Julia, I am beginning to think I did very wrong to interfere with d.i.c.ky's education at all. As his mother you have more right to manage him than I. I've a good mind to send away Miss Crane, and you can engage a twenty-pound governess--to be paid out of your income."

"Oh no, don't send Miss Crane away. I really think, with a hint or two from me, she will do very well. But she is peculiar, to say the least of it. Tell me, uncle, who is Miss Crane?"

"She is Miss Crane, that is all I know."

"Has she a past?"

"Seeing that she is some twenty-five years of age, naturally."

"Yes, but----" Mrs. Darrow hesitated, not quite knowing how to put it.

"Well, as you seem to think, she is not bad-looking, and there is John, you know, and Gerald."

"Well?"

"They may fall in love with her."

"What--both of them? At all events they have not seen her yet, so suppose we postpone discussion of that contingency?"

"Well!" Mrs. Darrow's expression and gestures spoke volumes, "I warn you; don't say I haven't warned you. Mark me, there is something queer about Miss Crane. I am not a suspicious woman, and I like to think well of everybody; but Miss Crane--well, you take my word for it, she'll astonish us all some day! Queer, yes, I should think she _was_ queer!"

Barton shrugged his shoulders, and went off without making reply, and for the moment Mrs. Darrow was baffled. But she still continued to suspect Miriam--Heaven only knows of what--and to keep a close watch on her every action. It gave quite a new zest to her life, this new pursuit. And shortly all the parish, that is, the female portion of it, was in Mrs. Darrow's confidence; and Miriam was watched not alone by one, but by a hundred envious eyes, and debated about at a dozen tea-tables. But all this espionage resulted in nothing, and the suspect went serenely on her way, as did Una through the Forest of a Thousand Dangers. The toads spat venom, but the snakes could not bite.

"d.i.c.ky," said Miss Crane one warm and sunny morning, "I want you to put on your cap and take me up the village."

"No lessons this morning?" d.i.c.ky jumped up with joy, after the manner of boyhood.

"No lessons this morning," laughed Miriam, "some fresh air, dear, instead. I'm not going to have you grow up a pale-faced bookworm."

"I love my books," said d.i.c.ky, as they left the cottage, not without a disapproving word from Mrs. Darrow.

"I know you do, d.i.c.ky, almost too well. But you must get your health first, and then the rest can follow."

The boy understood. He was thoroughly in sympathy with Miriam. And without being aware of it, he was learning a great deal from her, apart altogether from his studies. She told him stories, interested him in the wonders of earth and sky--things which so frequently escape the careless--and taught him generally how to use his eyes. In the very hedges, d.i.c.ky found a new world of flower and berry, and tiny active insect life. She pointed out to him the fluttering dragon-flies, the beetle rolling his ball of mud; she revealed to him the miracle of a grain of wheat, showing him how it bears upon it the image of a man with folded arms. The boy had imagination, and did not need to be told twice.

Suggestion was everything to him. He was a dreamer--a poet in embryo.

Indeed, Miriam soon found that he had far too vivid an imagination, so much so that she felt obliged to discourage any extreme stimulation of it.

"Observe more, and think less, d.i.c.ky," she said. "I want you to notice lots of things that you see every day and don't notice now, perhaps because you do see them every day; there are lots of interesting things you know in the fields and the hedges--lots of little worlds and their inhabitants, all as busy as can be, and to be seen if we only look for them."

"I believe you lived in the country," said d.i.c.ky admiringly, "you know such a lot of jolly things, Miss Crane."

"I did live in the country once, d.i.c.ky," Miriam sighed. "But that was long, long ago. I lived by the sea at one time--there are wonderful things in the sea, dear."

"I've read 'Midshipman Easy,' and I should like awfully to be a sailor."

Miriam laughed.

"That is not exactly what I meant. Never mind, come along, there's the church; I want to walk across the meadow to it."

"Oh, that's jolly, I want to see the bull."

"What bull, d.i.c.ky?"

"Oh, an awful bull--he gores people."

"Oh, d.i.c.ky"--Miriam looked apprehensive--"perhaps we had better go round by the road. Don't, d.i.c.ky, don't."

The boy had jumped over the stile into the meadow.

"I only want to see if he's there," he cried, and scampered over the gra.s.s--a little grey figure with a red scarf. Suddenly he stopped short and looked down the meadow. Miriam looked also, to see the bull dashing along towards the boy, who was too terrified to move. Reproaching herself for not having prevented his bolting away from her, she jumped into the meadow herself and ran to the rescue, and managed to reach him before the bull did, for on seeing another figure the animal stopped short with a comical air of surprise, and pawing the ground began to bellow loudly. With a white face but a courageous heart Miriam caught d.i.c.ky to her breast, and began slowly to retreat towards the hedge, still facing the beast. By this time the frail little lad was sobbing hysterically. The bull tossed his head and came nearer--so near that Miriam could have screamed. Putting down the child for a moment, she opened her parasol, and ran straight at the animal. Aghast and disconcerted he turned, whereupon she picked up d.i.c.ky and raced for the stile--fatal mistake! As soon as he saw her flying, the bull followed fast. She was nearing the hedge, but the animal was close behind her, and she screamed aloud, giving herself up for lost.

"Hullo!" cried a fresh young voice, "run hard--hard--for your life!"

A man jumped over the hedge, and flourishing a stick, got between the pursuer and pursued. As he pa.s.sed Miriam, he tore the loose cape she wore from her shoulders, and threw it at the infuriated animal as he came lunging along head downward. It caught on his horns, fell over his eyes, and the next moment, quite blinded, he stumbled on his knees. The man caught up with Miriam, and putting his arm round her, half pushed, half carried her to the stile. In a minute the three were over it and in safety, while the bull, having freed his head from the shawl, stood looking at his escaped victims and bellowing his disappointment. It was a dishevelled trio which dropped down on the gra.s.s beside the stile, out of breath, and with violently beating hearts.

"Thank G.o.d!" gasped Miriam, taking d.i.c.ky on her lap to soothe him.

"You have lost your cape though," said their preserver.

"Better than losing my life. I have to thank you for that. Hush, d.i.c.ky,"

and she calmed the nervous child.

"I think you did most of the saving," said the young man admiringly. "I came in at the finish, so I must decline the glory. I never saw a neater and pluckier thing."

"Oh, Cousin Gerald," sobbed d.i.c.ky, "I'm glad the bull didn't gore you.

You were just like a torry-door of Spain. I've seen them in pictures."

"Am I to take that as a compliment, d.i.c.ky? What do you say, Miss Crane?"

"Oh, I think it is a very great compliment, Mr. Arkel."

The young man--he was a handsome, fair-haired young fellow in a grey tweed suit--looked at her with a quizzical expression.

"You know my name, and I know yours. I think we can dispense with further formalities under the circ.u.mstances--or perhaps you will look after the social observances, d.i.c.ky, and introduce me to this lady."

d.i.c.ky did so most gravely.

"Miss Crane, this is Uncle Barton's nephew, Cousin Gerald; Cousin Gerald, this is my new governess, Miss Crane."

Gerald Arkel jumped up, swung off his cap, and made a bow. There was a very keen admiration in his eye as he looked at Miriam. Indeed, so marked was his stare that she became a trifle uneasy, the more so when he observed that her face was familiar.