"I suppose I'm a selfish beast!" she said to herself. "The next time Daphne's going out to tea anywhere I'll sit in her bedroom while she dresses and hold hairpins for her, or anything else she wants. The worst of it is, though, she doesn't always want me! Just at present I believe she'd any time rather have Jimmy!"

Jimmy was Daphne's little fox terrier. That is to say, he was hers temporarily, for he really belonged to Captain Harper. She had mentioned one day that she would like a small dog of her very own, and the young officer had looked thoughtful. The next week he had turned up, accompanied by Jimmy.

"I wish you'd accept him!" he said. "He's my dog, but I can't keep him at the Camp. I've had him boarded out in Starbury since I've been stationed here, and yesterday I went over and fetched him."

"I'll have him as a loan and take care of him till you want him again,"

agreed Daphne, "but I won't take him right away from you. It wouldn't be fair."

"Yes, it would, if I wanted to give him. He's the best little chap out.

You'll find him a kind of epitome of the Catechism combined with all the cardinal virtues. Jimmy, make your bow!"

The little fox terrier, which sat up and saluted at its master's word of command, seemed a sharp and intelligent specimen of the canine race, and when it snuggled its nose in Daphne's hand it completely conquered her heart.

"Won't he want to run back to his master?" she asked.

"No, he has his orders and understands perfectly. I've explained the situation to him, and you'll find he won't attempt to leave you. He's prepared to carry a stick or an umbrella, mount guard over coats, bark at tramps, worry rats, or demolish burglars."

Jimmy's subsequent behaviour certainly justified the character Captain Harper had given him. Having been solemnly made over by his master, he seemed to realize his responsibilities, and attached himself to Daphne with all the strength of his doggy nature. His manners were excellent.

He would lie curled up on the rug at meal-times, and did not beg until he had received express permission, only winking an occasional pathetic eye in the direction of the table.

"I'm sure he understands every single word I say to him," said Daphne, who idolized her new possession. "I don't know how I should get along without him now."

"What will you do if you have to give him back?" asked Avelyn.

"It hasn't come to giving him back yet," evaded Daphne.

But on the very Sat.u.r.day after the Surprise Tree party the question cropped up. Captain Harper had come over to Walden to fulfil a promise of making a fresh door for one of the chicken coops. He had taken possession of the carpentry room in the cottage, and was working away at the joiner's bench. Daphne held the wire steady, and Avelyn--with a strong sense that she was not wanted--handed the nails. Jimmy lay at his ease upon the shavings and yawned. His att.i.tude of complete comfort attracted attention.

"If you're really sent back to Starbury next month you'll have to take him with you," commented Daphne.

"I never take back a present I've once given," answered the Captain firmly. "We've argued that out before."

"But for Jimmy's sake? He loves you far the best still. I'm only a makeshift."

"I a.s.sure you he doesn't."

"Then how can we tell his preference?"

"Let him decide for himself. You stand over there and I'll stand here, and we'll both call him at once and see which he runs to."

Poor Jimmy, a much-perplexed and agitated dog, rose from his bed of shavings and remained in the middle of the floor, whimpering and looking with indecision towards the master who had brought him up from puppyhood, and the sweet young mistress who had won his heart. Then he made a rush towards the former, and, seizing him by the trouser, hauled him across the room in the direction of Daphne.

"Jimmy has solved the matter!" said Captain Harper. "He wants us both to own him!"

And at that point Avelyn felt that her presence grew so very _de trop_, that she murmured some excuse about finishing her lessons, and made her exit from the cottage, leaving her sister and Captain Harper to settle the disputed question of ownership in their own fashion.

"I suppose this is growing up," ruminated Avelyn, as she crossed the yard and went into the orchard. "Daphne seems to enjoy it, and I'll give her her innings by all manner of means. How funny it would be to have a brother-in-law! It'll come to that some day if I'm not mistaken.

No, thanks! I don't want to grow up just yet myself. Perhaps I'll change my mind later on, but at the present time I'd ever so much rather be a schoolgirl!"

CHAPTER XX

Pamela's Secret

In her love-making with the Lavender Lady Avelyn had, truth to tell, rather neglected Pamela. Their friendship had always been more or less of a spasmodic character. They often met on the road on Monday mornings, and travelled in the same compartment of the train, and they would return from Harlingden together on Friday afternoons. Generally they talked the ordinary schoolgirl chatter about Silverside doings. Pamela rarely mentioned her own concerns. Very occasionally she would make some reference to past adventures in America, but about her present home she was extremely reserved. She seemed to shut up and freeze at once at the slightest allusion to Moss Cottage.

Though she had accepted several invitations to Walden, she had never asked Avelyn to tea for a return visit. There was an air of mystery about her that increased rather than diminished with their further acquaintance. To Avelyn she always seemed like a disinherited princess.

She was sure that Pamela brooded over the fact that the Lyngates estate should have been hers. Her uncle's name was never mentioned between them.

Since the evening when he had tried to cut down the barrier over the brook at Walden, the Watsons had seen little of Mr. Hockheimer. He had not again attempted to interfere with their property. He seemed to spend a good deal of his time in London, but made flying visits every week to the Hall. People in the neighbourhood gave him the cold shoulder. Though he was generous in subscribing to local charities, he was certainly not popular. The general feeling was one of mistrust. Nothing certain had ever been brought against him, but the fact of his German nationality remained. It was whispered that but for influence in high quarters he would have been interned.

Whether Mr. Hockheimer was or was not aware of the rumours that were being circulated in his disfavour it was impossible to tell. He never came to church, seldom appeared in the village. He was more strict than ever against trespa.s.sing in his woods, though other landlords in the district had been lax in that respect since the beginning of the war.

The Watsons disliked him so much that they avoided him whenever possible; if they saw him walking along the village street they would dive down a side lane or run up into the churchyard. They thoroughly pitied Pamela for being dependent upon him.

Since the memorable morning when she had climbed over the palings into the garden, and had hidden inside the stable, Avelyn had never visited Moss Cottage. She was sure that she had then almost surprised some secret. Pamela, indeed, had been on the very verge of telling her. Her friend's confidential mood had pa.s.sed, however, and a wall of reserve had taken its place.

One Sat.u.r.day Avelyn, taking out her home work, made the horrible discovery that she had left her history in her locker at school. To go to Miss Thompson's cla.s.s with an unprepared lesson meant trouble. The only way out of the difficulty was to walk over and borrow from Pamela, who, though in a lower form, used the same textbook for history.

This time she did not venture to climb over the palings, but knocked at the door in orthodox fashion. It was opened by Pamela herself, who beamed a welcome.

"Come in! I'm all alone. Mother's gone to the station. I was just getting horribly tired of being by myself. It's perfectly lovely to see you! My history? Yes, you shall have it, certainly. I've learnt my lesson. But come in and have a chat. I was sitting in the garden. Shall we go out there?"

Avelyn much preferred the garden to the rather dark little sitting-room.

The girls went to a shady corner under a tree, where Pamela had spread a rug and cushions. They settled themselves down leisurely and began to talk.

"What's this you've got here?" asked Avelyn presently, taking up a Prayer Book that was lying on the rug, opened at the last page. "Are you studying the Table of Articles? You surely don't have to learn that in your Scripture lesson? We did the 'Book of Common Prayer' last term, but we didn't take the Articles."

"I'm not looking at those," said Pamela. "I'm looking at the Table of Kindred and Affinity. I want to find out whom a man may marry and whom he mayn't. He mustn't marry his wife's daughter's daughter, or his brother's son's wife, or his mother's brother's wife, but may he marry his deceased wife's deceased brother's wife?"

"Goodness, child, I'm sure I don't know! Why do you ask?"

Pamela shut the Prayer Book with a bang.

"It's Uncle!" she said vehemently. "He's behaving in such an extraordinary way! Oh, Ave! Do you know, I believe he's trying to make up to Mother! Don't look so incredulous! I mean it! I must tell somebody, or I shall burst! I've kept it all in long enough. Too long!

Ave, did the boys ever tell you about that letter they found inside the Latin dictionary? I can see by your face that they did. Well, I brought it home and laid it on the table, and, before Mother had time to look at it, it disappeared. Uncle had been here, and I _know_ he took it! He must certainly have done so."

"He did! I can tell you that," returned Avelyn, and she confided to her friend what her brothers had witnessed in the wood, how Mr. Hockheimer had been on the point of burning the paper when Spring-heeled Jack had appeared and run away with it. Pamela listened with intense eagerness.

"That explains so much!" she gasped. "I don't know what was in the letter, but I imagine it may have been my grandfather's will. If it was, and he left the estate to Daddy, no wonder Uncle Fritz tried to burn it.

He didn't quite succeed, and this bogy-spectre-highwayman, or whatever he is, has scooted off with it. Uncle knows it's still in existence, and that any day it might be produced, and he might be turned out of the Hall. He's trying to guard against that, and he's playing a very deep game. He thinks that if he were to marry Mother, as he married poor Aunt Dora, he'd secure the estate to himself a second time."

"Does your Mother like him?"

"Not really. I believe she's frightened of him. He makes her do anything he tells her. You don't know how dreadfully worried I am about it. If I had him for a stepfather I should run away. I'd rather join the gipsies than live with him. Oh, if we could only get on the track of that paper!

Has nothing more been heard of Spring-heeled Jack?"