"Oh, Fan, dear--not with the lips, of course; but the eyes have spoken volumes. Now, I think they are great fun; they're so uncommon."

"I have never said I didn't like them," repeated f.a.n.n.y, "and you will never get me to say it. They are my cousins, and of course I'll have to look after them a bit; but I think before they are a month at the school you will agree with me in my opinion with regard to them."

"How can we agree in an opinion we know nothing about?" said Margaret Grant.

f.a.n.n.y looked at her, and f.a.n.n.y's eyes could flash in a very significant manner at times.

"Let's come out!" exclaimed Susie Rushworth. "The girls will follow us."

This, however, turned out not to be the case. Susie, the Bertrams, Margaret Grant, Olive Repton, waited for the Vivians in every imaginable spot where they it likely the newcomers would be.

As a matter of fact, the very instant the young Vivians had left the sitting-room, Betty whispered in an eager tone, first to one sister and then to the other, "We surely needn't stay any longer with f.a.n.n.y and those other horrid girls. Never mind your hats and gloves. Did we ever wear hats and gloves when we were out on the moors at Craigie Muir?

There's an open door. Let's get away quite by ourselves."

The Vivians managed this quite easily. They raced down a side-walk until they came to an overhanging oak tree of enormous dimensions. Into this tree they climbed, getting up higher and higher until they were lost to view in the topmost branches. Here they contrived to make a cozy nest for themselves, where they sat very close together, not talking much, although Betty now and then said calmly, "I like Mrs. Haddo; she is the only one in the whole school I can tolerate."

"Fan's worse than ever!" exclaimed Sylvia.

"Oh, don't let's talk of her!" said Betty.

"It will be rather fun going to London to-morrow," said Hester.

"Fun!" exclaimed Betty. "I suppose we shall be put into odious fashionable dresses, like those stuck-up dolls the other girls. But I don't think, try as they will, they'll ever turn _me_ into a fashionable lady. How I do hate that sort!"

"Yes, and so do I," said Sylvia; while Hetty, who always echoed her sisters' sentiments, said ditto.

"Mrs. Haddo was kind about d.i.c.kie," said Betty after a thoughtful pause.

"And it is nice," added Sylvia, "to have the Vivian attic."

"Oh, dear!" said Hester; "I wish all those girls would keep out of sight, for then I'd dash back to the house and bring out the pieces of heather and plant them right away. They ought not to be long out of the ground."

"You had best go at once," said Betty, giving Hester a somewhat vigorous push, which very nearly upset the little girl's balance. "Go boldly back to the house; don't be afraid of any one; don't speak to any one unless it happens to be Mrs. Haddo. Be sure you are polite to her, for she is a lady. Go up to the Vivian attic and bring down the clumps of heather, and the little spade we brought with us in the very bottom of the fifth trunk."

"Oh, and there's the watering-can; don't forget that!" cried Sylvia.

"Yes, bring the watering-can, too. You had best find a pump, or a well, or something, so that you can fill it up to the brim. Bring them all along; and then just whistle 'Robin Adair' at the foot of this tree, and we two will come swarming down. Now, off with you; there's no time to lose!"

Hester descended without a word. She was certainly born without a sc.r.a.p of fear of any kind, and adventure appealed to her plucky little spirit.

Betty settled herself back comfortably against one of the forked branches of the tree where she had made her nest.

"If we are careful, Sylvia, we can come up here to hide as often as we like. I rather fancy from the shape of those other girls that they're not specially good at climbing trees."

"What do you mean by their shape?" asked Sylvia.

"Oh, they're so squeezed in and pushed out; I don't know how to explain it. Now, _we_ have the use of all our limbs; and I say, you silly little Sylvia, won't we use them just!"

"I always love you, Betty, when you call me 'silly little Sylvia,' for I know you are in a good humor and not inclined to howl. But, before Hetty comes back, I want to say something."

"How mysterious you look, Sylvia! What can you have to say that poor Hetty's not to hear? I am not going to have secrets that are not shared among us three, I can tell you. We share and share alike--we three. We are just desolate orphans, alone in the world; but at least we share and share alike."

"Of course, of course," said Sylvia; "but I saw--and I don't think Hetty did----"

"And what did you see?"

"I saw Fan looking at us; and then she came rather close. It was that time when we were all stifling in that odious sitting-room; Fan came and sat very close to you, and I saw her put her hand down to feel your dress. I know she felt that flat pocket where the little sealed packet is."

Betty's face grew red and then white.

"And don't you remember," continued Sylvia, "that Fan was with us on the very, very day when darling auntie told us about the packet--the day when you came out of her room with your eyes as red as a ferret's; and don't you remember how you couldn't help howling that day, and how far off we had to go for fear darlingest auntie would hear you? And can't you recall that Fan crept after us, just like the horrid sneak that she is? And I know she heard you say, 'That packet is mine; it belongs to all of us, and I--I _will_ keep it, whatever happens.'"

"She may do sneaky things of that sort every hour of every day that she likes," was Betty's cool rejoinder. "Now, don't get into a fright, silly little Sylvia. Oh, I say, hark! that's Hester's note. She is whistling 'Robin Adair'!"

Quick as thought, the girls climbed down from the great tree and stood under it. Hester was panting a little, for she had run fast and her arms were very full.

"I saw a lot of _them_ scattered everywhere!" she exclaimed; "but I don't _think_ they saw me, but of course I couldn't be sure. Here's the heather; its darling little bells are beginning to droop, poor sweet pets! And here's the spade; and here's the watering-can, brimful of water, too, for I saw a gardener as I was coming along, and I asked him to fill it for me, and he did so at once. Now let's go to our gardens and let's plant. We've just got a nice sod of heather each--one for each garden. Oh, do let's be quick, or those dreadful girls will see us!"

"There's no need to hurry," said Betty. "I rather think I can take care of myself. Give me the watering-can. Sylvia, take the heather; and, Hetty--your face is perfectly scarlet, you have run so fast--you follow after with the spade."

The little plots of ground which had been given over to the Vivian girls had been chosen by Mrs. Haddo on the edge of a wild, uncultivated piece of ground. The girls of Haddo Court were proud of this piece of land, which some of them--Margaret Grant, in particular--were fond of calling the "forest primeval." But the Vivians, fresh from the wild Scotch moors, thought but poorly of the few acres of spa.r.s.e gra.s.s and tangled weed and low under-growth. It was, however, on the very edge of this piece of land that the three little gardens were situated. Mrs. Haddo did nothing by halves; and already--wonderful to relate--the gardens had been marked out with stakes and pieces of stout string, and there was a small post planted at the edge of the center garden containing the words in white paint: THE VIVIANS' PRIVATE GARDENS.

Even Betty laughed. "This is good!" she said. "Girls, that is quite a nice woman."

The twins naturally acknowledged as very nice indeed any one whom Betty admired.

Betty here gave a profound sigh. "Come along; let's be quick," she said.

"We'll plant our heather in the very center of each plot. I'll have the middle plot, of course, being the eldest. You, silly Sylvia, shall have the one on the left-hand side; and you, Het, the one on the right-hand side. I will plant my heather first."

The others watched while Betty dug vigorously, and had soon made a hole large enough and soft enough to inclose the roots of the wild Scotch heather. She then gave her spade to Sylvia, who did likewise; then Hetty, in her turn, also planted a clump of heather. The contents of the watering-can was presently dispersed among the three clumps, and the girls turned back in the direction of the house.

"She _is_ nice!" said Betty. "I will bring her here the first day she has a minute to spare and show her the heather. She said she knew all about Scotch heather, and loved it very much. I shouldn't greatly mind, for my part, letting her know about the packet."

"Oh, better not!" said Hester in a frightened tone. "Remember, she is not the only one in that huge prison of a house." Here she pointed to the great mansion which const.i.tuted the vast edifice, Haddo Court. "She is by no means the only one," continued Hester. "If she were, I could be happy here."

"You are right, Het; you are quite a wise, small girl," said Betty. "Oh, dear," she added, "how I hate those monstrous houses! What would not I give to be back in the little, white stone house at Craigie Muir!"

"And with darling Jean and dearest old Donald!" exclaimed Sylvia.

"Yes, and the dogs," said Hester. "Oh, Andrew! oh, Fritz! are you missing us as much as we miss you? And, David, you darling! are you p.r.i.c.king up your ears, expecting us to come round to you with some carrots?"

"We'd best not begin too much of this sort of talk," said Betty. "We've got to make up our minds to be cheerful--that is, if we wish to please Mrs. Haddo."

The thought of Mrs. Haddo was certainly having a remarkable effect on Betty; and there is no saying how soon she might, in consequence, have been reconciled to her school-life but for an incident which took place that very evening. For f.a.n.n.y Crawford, who would not tell a tale against another for the world, had been much troubled since she heard of her cousins' arrival. Her conscientious little mind had told her that they were the last sort of girls suitable to be in such a school as Haddo Court. She had found out something about them. She had not meant to spy on them during her brief visit to Craigie Muir, but she had certainly overheard some of Betty's pa.s.sionate words about the little packet; and that very evening, curled up on the sofa in the tiny sitting-room at Craigie Muir Cottage, she had seen Betty--although Betty had not seen her--creep into the room in the semi-darkness and remove a little sealed packet from one of Miss Vivian's drawers. As f.a.n.n.y expressed it afterwards, she felt at the moment as though her tongue would cleave to the roof of her mouth. She had tried to utter some sound, but none would come. She had never mentioned the incident to any one; and as she scarcely expected to see anything more of her cousins in the future, she tried to dismiss it from her thoughts. But as soon as ever she was told in confidence by Miss Symes that the Vivian girls were coming to Haddo Court, she recalled the incident of what she was pleased to regard as the stolen packet. It had haunted her while she was at Craigie Muir; it had even horrified her. Her whole nature recoiled against what she considered clandestine and underhand dealings. Nevertheless she could not, she would not, tell. But she had very nearly made up her mind to say something to the girls themselves--to ask Betty why she had taken the packet, and what she had done with it. But even on this course she was not fully decided.

On the morning of that very day, however, just before f.a.n.n.y bade her father good-bye, he had said to her, "Fan, my dear, there's a trifle worrying me, although I don't suppose for a single moment you can help me in the matter."

"What is it, father?" asked the girl.