I myself once kept a private school for boys. A precarious venture always, and it required no Education Act to wreck mine."

"Indeed?" Miss d.i.c.kinson raised her eyebrows in faint surprise, and anon contracted them. "Had I known that you belonged to the scholastic profession--" she began, but leaving the sentence unfinished, appeared to relapse into thought.

"Believe me, ma'am," put in Brother Copas, "I mentioned it casually, not as hinting at any remission of your fees."

"No, no. But I was thinking that it might considerably soften the--er--objection. You are not the child's parent, you say?

Nor grandparent?"

"Her G.o.dparent only, and that by adoption. In so much as I make myself responsible for her school fees, you may consider me her guardian. Her father, Brother Bonaday, is a decayed gentleman, sometime of independent means, who married late in life, and, on top of this, was indiscreet enough to confide his affairs to a trusted family solicitor."

"Dear, dear! Why did you not tell me all this to begin with?"

demanded Miss d.i.c.kinson, rising. "Shall we consider it agreed, then?--the child to come to me as soon as you wish."

"I think we must first discover if she's willing," answered Brother Copas, rubbing his chin.

"We will go to her."

They found Corona at the window of the boudoir. As the door opened she turned, ran to Brother Copas, and clung to him.

"Take me home! Oh, please take me home!"

"Hey?" Brother Copas soothed her, patting the back of her head.

"Why, what is the matter, little maid? Who has been frightening you?"

"She turns them all into canaries--I know she does!" the child a.s.serted, still shaking pitiably, but facing Miss d.i.c.kinson with accusation in her eyes. "You can tell it by her nose and chin.

I--I thought you had gone away and left me with her."

"You did not tell me she was hysterical," said Miss d.i.c.kinson.

"It's news to me, ma'am. I'd best get her out into the fresh air at once."

Without waiting for permission, he swept Corona out into the pa.s.sage, and forth into the street. It is a question which felt the happier when they gained it, and stood drawing long breaths; but, of course, Brother Copas had to put on a severe face.

"All very well, little maid!"

"Oh, I know you're disappointed with me," gasped Corona. "I'm disappointed with myself. But it was all just like _Jorinda and Jorindel_; and if she's not a witch, and doesn't turn them into canaries, why does she keep all those cages?" She halted suddenly.

"I hate to be a coward," she said. "If you'll come with me, Uncle Copas, I'll start back right here, and we'll go in and rescue them.

It was the waiting I couldn't stand."

"Canaries?" Brother Copas stood and looked down on her.

Some apprehension of the absurd fancy broke on him, and he chuckled.

"Now you come to mention it, I dare say she _does_ turn 'em into canaries."

"Then we ought to go straight back and set them free," insisted Corona. "If only we had the magic flower!"

"I think I know who has it. . . . Yes, you may take it from me, little one, that there's someone charged to put an end to Miss d.i.c.kinson's enchantments, and we may safely leave it to him."

"Who is he?"

"The deliverer's name is County Council. . . . But look here, child-- if you make a fuss like this whenever I try to find a school for you--"

"I won't make a fuss. And I _do_ want to go to school," interrupted Corona. "I want to go to the Greycoats."

"The Greycoats?" This was an ancient foundation in the city, in origin a charity-school, but now distinguished from the ordinary Elementary Schools in that its pupils paid twopence a week, and wore a grey uniform provided _per contra_ from the funds of the charity.

"The Greycoats?" repeated Brother Copas. "But I had a mind for you to fly higher, if you understand--"

Corona nodded.

"And so I shall; that is, uncle, if you'll teach me Latin, as you promised."

She was easy in mind, since Miss d.i.c.kinson's canaries would be delivered. The name "County Council" meant nothing to her, but it had affinity with other names and t.i.tles of romance--Captain Judgment, for instance, in _The Holy War_, and County Guy in the poetry book--

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh--

Since Uncle Copas had said it, Miss d.i.c.kinson's hour was a.s.suredly nigh.

"This is not the way, though," Corona protested. "We are walking right away from the Greycoats!"

Brother Copas halted.

"I supposed that I was taking you back to St. Hospital."

"But you came out to put me to school, and I want to go to the Greycoats."

He pondered a moment.

"Ah, well, have it your own way!"

They turned back toward the city. The Greycoats inhabited a long, single-storeyed building on the eastern boundary of the Cathedral Close, the boys and girls in separate schools under the same high-pitched roof. As our two friends came in sight of it, Corona-- who had been running ahead in her impatience--hesitated of a sudden and turned about.

"Uncle Copas, before we go in I want to tell you something. . . .

I was really frightened--yes, really--in that wicked house.

But I wanted to be a Greycoat all the time. I want to wear a cloak that means I belong to Merchester, same as you and daddy."

"Lord forgive me, she's proud of us!" murmured Brother Copas.

"And I set out this morning to get her taught to despise us!"

CHAPTER XVI.

THE SECOND LETTER.

Meanwhile certain small events not unconnected with this history were happening at St. Hospital.

At ten o'clock punctually Mr. Colt waited on the Master. This was a part of the daily routine, but ninety-nine times in a hundred the Chaplain's report resolved itself into a chat on the weather, the Master's roses, some recent article in the _Church Times_ or the _Guardian_. The talk was never very strenuous; for whereas Mr. Colt could never learn to distinguish one rose from another, on Church affairs or on politics the Master was hopelessly tolerant, antiquated, incurious even. What could one do with a dear old gentleman who, when informed of the latest, most dangerous promotion to a bishopric, but responded with "Eh? 'So-and-so,' did you say?

. . . Yes, yes. I knew his father . . . an excellent fellow!"