"f.a.n.n.y is very much upset about her father's absence," was Miss Symes's unexpected answer.

Mrs. Haddo looked attentively at the English teacher. Their eyes met, but neither uttered a single word.

The next day, after school, f.a.n.n.y went up to Miss Symes. "I have been thinking over everything," she said, "and my conscience is not going to trouble me; for I know, or believe I know, a way by which I may help them all."

"It is a grand thing to help those who are in sorrow, f.a.n.n.y."

"I will do my best," said the girl.

That evening, to Miss Symes's great relief, she heard f.a.n.n.y's merry laugh in the school. The girls who formed the Specialities, as they were called, had met for a cheerful conference. Mary and Julia Bertram were in the highest spirits; and Margaret Grant, with her beautiful complexion and stately ways, had never been more agreeable. Olive Repton, the pet and darling of nearly the whole of the upper school, was making the others scream with laughter.

"There can be nothing very bad," thought Miss Symes to herself. "My dear friend will soon see that the charitable feeling which prompted her to receive those girls into the house was really but another sign of her true n.o.bility of character."

Meanwhile f.a.n.n.y, who was told not to keep the coming of the Vivians in any way a secret, was being eagerly questioned with regard to them.

"So you really saw them at their funny home, Craigie Muir?" exclaimed Olive.

"Yes; I spent a week there," said f.a.n.n.y.

"And had a jolly good time, I guess?" cried Julia Bertram.

"Not such a very good time," answered f.a.n.n.y, "for Miss Vivian was ill, and we had to be very quiet."

"Oh! don't let's bother about the time f.a.n.n.y spent in that remote part of Scotland," said Olive. "Do tell us about the girls themselves, Fan.

It's so unusual for any girls to come straight into the upper school, and also to put in an appearance in the middle of term. Are they very Scotch, to begin with?"

"No, hardly at all," replied f.a.n.n.y. "Miss Vivian only took the pretty little cottage in which they live a year ago."

"I am glad they are not too Scotch," remarked Susie; "they will get into our ways all the sooner if they are thoroughly English."

"I don't see that for a single moment," remarked Olive. "For my part, I love Scotch la.s.sies; and as to Irish colleens, they're simply adorable."

"Well, well, go on with your description, Fan," exclaimed Julia.

"I can tell you they are quite remarkable-looking," replied f.a.n.n.y.

"Betty is the eldest. She is a regular true sort of Betty, up to no end of larks and fun; but sometimes she gets very depressed. I think she is rather dark, but I am not quite sure; she is also somewhat tall; and, oh, she is wonderfully pretty! She can whistle the note of every bird that ever sang, and is devoted to wild creatures--the moor ponies and great Scotch collies and sheep-dogs. You'll be sure to like Betty Vivian."

"Your description does sound promising," remarked Susie; "but she will certainly have to give up her wild ways at Haddo Court."

"What about the others?" asked Olive.

"Sylvia and Hetty? I think they are two years younger than Betty. They are not a bit like her. They are rather heavy-looking girls, but still you would call them handsome. They are twins, and wonderfully like each other. Sylvia is very tender-hearted; but Hetty--I think Hetty has the most force of character. Now, really," continued f.a.n.n.y, rising from her low chair, where her chosen friends were surrounding her, "I can say nothing more about them until they come. You can't expect me, any of you, to overpraise my own relations, and, naturally, I shouldn't abuse them."

"Why, of course not, you dear old Fan!" exclaimed Olive.

"I must go and write a letter to father," said f.a.n.n.y; and she went across the room to where her own little desk stood in a distant corner.

After she had left them, Olive bent forward, looked with her merry, twinkling eyes full into Susie Rushworth's face, and said, "Is the dear Fan _altogether_ elated at the thought of her cousins' arrival? I put it to you, Susie, as the most observant of us all. Answer me truthfully, or for ever hold your peace."

"Then I will hold my peace," replied Susie, "for I cannot possibly say whether Fan is elated or not."

"Now, don't get notions in your head, Olive," said Mary Bertram. "That is one of your faults, you know. I expect those girls will be downright jolly; and, of course, being Fan's relations, they will become members of the Specialities. That goes without saying."

"It doesn't go without saying at all," remarked Olive. "The Specialities, as you know quite well, girls, have to stand certain tests."

"It is my opinion," said Susie, "that we are all getting too high and mighty for anything. Perhaps the Vivians will teach us to know our own places."

CHAPTER III

GOING SOUTH

It was a rough stone house, quite bare, only one story high, and without a tree growing anywhere near it. It stood on the edge of a vast Scotch moor, and looked over acres and acres of purple heather--acres so extensive that the whole country seemed at that time of year to be covered with a sort of mantle of pinky, pearly gold, something between the violet and the saffron tones of a summer sunset.

Three girls were seated on a little stone bench outside the lonely, neglected-looking house. They were roughly and plainly dressed. They wore frocks of the coa.r.s.est Scotch tweed; and Scotch tweed, when it is black, can look very coa.r.s.e, indeed. They clung close together--a desolate-looking group--Betty, the eldest, in the middle; Sylvia pressing up to her at one side; Hetty, with her small, cold hand locked in her sister's, on the other.

"I wonder when Uncle John will come," was Hetty's remark after a pause.

"Jean says we are on no account to travel alone; so, if he doesn't come to-night, we mayn't ever reach that fine school after all."

"I am not going to tell him about the packet. I have quite made up my mind on that point," said Betty, dropping her voice.

"Oh, Bet!" The other two looked up at their elder sister.

She turned and fixed her dark-gray eyes first on one face, then on the other. "Yes," she said, nodding emphatically; "the packet is sure to hold money, and it will be a safe-guard. If we find the school intolerable we'll have the wherewithal to run away."

"I've read in books that school life is very jolly sometimes," remarked Sylvia.

"Not _that_ school," was Betty's rejoinder.

"But why not that school, Betty?"

Betty shrugged her shoulders. "Haven't you heard that miserable creature, f.a.n.n.y Crawford, talk of it? I shouldn't greatly mind going anywhere else, for if there's a human being whom I cordially detest, it is my cousin, f.a.n.n.y Crawford."

"I hear the sound of wheels!" cried Sylvia, springing to her feet.

"Ah, and there's Donald coming back," said Betty; "and there is Uncle John! No chance of escape, girls! We have got to go through it. Poor old David!"--here she alluded to the horse who was tugging a roughly made dogcart up the very steep hill--"he'll miss us, perhaps; and so will Fritz and Andrew, the sheep-dogs. Heigh-ho! there's no good being too sorrowful. That money is a rare comfort!"

By this time the old white horse, and Donald, who was driving, and the gentleman who sat at the opposite side of the dogcart, drew up at the top of the great plateau. The gentleman alighted and walked swiftly towards the three girls. They rose simultaneously to meet him.

In London, and in any other part of the south of England, the weather was warm at this time of the year; but up on Craigie Muir it was cold, and the children looked desolate as they turned in their coa.r.s.e clothes to meet their guardian.

Sir John came up to them with a smile. "Now, my dears, here I am--Betty, how do you do? Kiss your uncle, child."

Betty raised her pretty lips and gave the weather-beaten cheek of Sir John Crawford an unwilling kiss. Sylvia and Hetty clasped each other's hands, clung a little more closely together, and remained mute.