When Kate had left the train, she was still two miles from St.

James's; and it was half-past three o'clock, so that she began to feel that she had run away without her dinner, and that the beatings of her heart made her knees ache, so that she had no strength to walk.

She thought her best measure would be to make her way to a pastry- cook's shop that looked straight down the street to the Grammar School, and where it was rather a habit of the family to meet Charlie when they had gone into the town on business, and wanted to walk out with him. He would be out at four o'clock, and there would not be long to wait. So, feeling shy, and even more guilty and frightened than on her first start, Kate threaded the streets she knew so well, and almost gasping with nervous alarm, popped up the steps into the shop, and began instantly eating a bun, and gazing along the street.

She really could not speak till she had swallowed a few mouthfuls; and then she looked up to the woman, and took courage to ask if the boys were out of school yet.

"Oh, no, Miss; not for a quarter of an hour yet."

"Do you know if--if Master Charles Wardour is there to-day?" added Kate, with a gulp.

"I don't, Miss." And the woman looked hard at her.

"Do you know if any of them--any of them from St. James's, are in to- day?"

"No, Miss; I have not seen any of them, but very likely they may be.

I saw Mr. Wardour go by yesterday morning."

So far they were all well, then; and Kate made her mind easier, and went on eating like a hungry child till the great clock struck four; when she hastily paid for her cakes and tarts, put on her gloves, and stood on the step, half in and half out of the shop, staring down the street. Out came the boys in a rush, making straight for the shop, and brushing past Kate; she, half alarmed, half affronted, descended from her post, still looking intently. Half a dozen more big fellows, eagerly talking, almost tumbled over her, and looked as if she had no business there; she seemed to be quite swept off the pavement into the street, and to be helpless in the midst of a mob, dashing around her. They might begin to tease her in a minute; and more terrified than at any moment of her journey, she was almost ready to cry, when the tones of a well-known voice came on her ear close to her--"I say, Will, you come and see my new terrier;" and before the words were uttered, with a cry of, "Charlie, Charlie!" she was clinging to a stout boy who had been pa.s.sing without looking at her.

"Let go, I say. Who are you?" was the first rough greeting.

"O Charlie, Charlie!" almost sobbing, and still grasping his arm tight.

"Oh, I say!" and he stood with open mouth staring at her.

"O Charlie! take me home!"

"Yes, yes; come along!--Get off with you, fellows!" he added--turning round upon the other boys, who were beginning to stare--and exclaimed, "It's nothing but our Kate!"

Oh! what a thrill there was in hearing those words; and the boys, who were well-behaved and gentlemanly, were not inclined to molest her.

So she hurried on, holding Charles's arm for several steps, till they were out of the hubbub, when he turned again and stared, and again exclaimed, "I say!" all that he could at present utter; and Kate looked at his ruddy face and curly head, and dusty coat and inky collar, as if she would eat him for very joy.

"I say!" and this time he really did say, "Where are the rest of them?"

"At home, aren't they?"

"What, didn't they bring you in?"

"Oh no!"

"Come, don't make a tomfoolery of it; that's enough. I shall have all the fellows at me for your coming up in that way, you know. Why couldn't you shake hands like anyone else?"

"O Charlie, I couldn't help it! Please let us go home!"

"Do you mean that you aren't come from there?"

"No," said Kate, half ashamed, but far more exultant, and hanging down her head; "I came from London--I came by myself. My aunt wanted me to tell a story, and--and I have run away. O Charlie! take me home!" and with a fresh access of alarm, she again threw her arms round him, as if to gain his protection from some enemy.

"Oh, I say!" again he cried, looking up the empty street and down again, partly for the enemy, partly to avoid eyes; but he only beheld three dirty children and an old woman, so he did not throw her off roughly. "Ran away!" and he gave a great whistle.

"Yes, yes. My aunt shut me up because I would not tell a story,"

said Kate, really believing it herself. "Oh, let us get home, Charlie, do."

"Very well, if you won't throttle a man; and let me get Tony in here," he added, going on a little way towards a small inn stable- yard.

"Oh, don't go," cried Kate, who, once more protected, could not bear to be left alone a moment; but Charlie plunged into the yard, and came back not only with the pony, but with a plaid, and presently managed to mount Kate upon the saddle, throwing the plaid round her so as to hide the short garments and long scarlet stockings, that were not adapted for riding, all with a boy's rough and tender care for the propriety of his sister's appearance.

"There, that will do," said he, holding the bridle. "So you found it poor fun being My Lady, and all that."

"Oh! it was awful, Charlie! You little know, in your peaceful retirement, what are the miseries of the great."

"Come, Kate, don't talk bosh out of your books. What did they do to you? They didn't lick you, did they?"

"No, no; nonsense," said Kate, rather affronted; "but they wanted to make me forget all that I cared for, and they really did shut me up because I said I would not write a falsehood to please them! They did, Charlie!" and her eyes shone.

"Well, I always knew they must be a couple of horrid old owls," began Charlie.

"Oh! I didn't mean Aunt Jane," said Kate, feeling a little compunction. "Ah!" with a start and scream, "who is coming?" as she heard steps behind them.

"You little donkey, you'll be off! Who should it be but Armyn?"

For Armyn generally overtook his brother on a Sat.u.r.day, and walked home with him for the Sunday.

Charles hailed him with a loud "Hollo, Armyn! What d'ye think I've got here?"

"Kate! Why, how d'ye do! Why, they never told me you were coming to see us."

"They didn't know," whispered Kate.

"She's run away, like a jolly brick!" said Charlie, patting the pony vehemently as he made this most inappropriate comparison.

"Run away! You don't mean it!" cried Armyn, standing still and aghast, so much shocked that her elevation turned into shame; and Charles answered for her -

"Yes, to be sure she did, when they locked her up because she wouldn't tell lies to please them. How did you get out, Kittens?

What jolly good fun it must have been!"

"Is this so, Kate?" said Armyn, laying his hand on the bridle; and his displeasure roused her spirit of self-defence, and likewise a sense of ill-usage.

"To be sure it is," she said, raising her head indignantly. "I would not be made to tell fashionable falsehoods; and so--and so I came home, for Papa to protect me:" and if she had not had to take care to steady herself on her saddle, she would have burst out sobbing with vexation at Armyn's manner.

"And no one knew you were coming?" said he.

"No, of course not; I slipped out while they were all in confabulation in Aunt Jane's room, and they were sure not to find me gone till dinner time, and if they are very cross, not then."

"You go on, Charlie," said Armyn, restoring the bridle to his brother; "I'll overtake you by the time you get home."

"What are you going to do?" cried boy and girl with one voice.