'Oh yes; he loves them too,' burying her face in the delicious blossoms--'roses especially; they are his favourite flowers. But, of course, no one thinks of sending them to Kester; he is only a boy.'

'And I daresay you like them, too?'

Mollie vehemently nodded a.s.sent.

'Well, then, I shall bring you and Kester some next time. You are right in thinking those are for your mother. May I go in and speak to her?--for we have to be very busy, you know.'

'Mamma is not up yet,' returned Mollie; and as Audrey looked surprised, she added quickly: 'She and Cyril sat up so late last night. She was wanting to hear all about his evening, and it was such a lovely night that they were in the garden until nearly twelve o'clock, and so, of course, she is tired this morning.'

Audrey made no reply to this. Mrs. Blake was charming, but she was certainly a little erratic in her habits. No wonder there was so little comfort in the house when the mistress disliked early rising.

Mollie seemed to take it as a matter of course; besides, she was too much absorbed in the flowers to notice Miss Ross's reproving silence.

She rushed off to find a jug of water, and Audrey turned into the dining-room, which presented the same aspect of confusion that it had worn yesterday. Kester was on his knees trying to unpack a hamper of books. It cost him a painful effort to rise, and he looked so pale and exhausted that Audrey at once took him in hand.

'My dear boy,' she said kindly, as she helped him to the sofa, 'how very imprudent! You have no right to try your strength in that way. How could Mollie let you touch those books!'

'She has everything to do, and I wished to help her,' he returned, panting with the exertion. 'Cyril wants his books so badly, and he has put up the bookcase, you see. He did that this morning--he had scarcely time to eat his breakfast--and then he asked Mollie if she would unpack the books.'

'I will help Mollie,' returned Audrey, laying aside her hat. 'Now, Kester, I want to ask you a favour. You will only be in our way here.

Will you please take possession of that nice hammock-chair that someone has put outside the window? and we will just fly round, as the Yankee domestics say.'

Audrey spoke with such good-natured decision, with such a.s.surance of being obeyed, that Kester did not even venture on a grumbling remonstrance--the poor fellow was too much accustomed to be set on one side, and to be told that he was no use. But Audrey had no intention of leaving him in idleness.

'By and by, when the room is a little clearer, you can be of the greatest help to us; for you can sit at the table and dust the books in readiness for us to arrange.' And Kester's face brightened up at that.

Audrey was quite in her element. As she often told her mother, she was robust enough for a housemaid. The well-ordered establishment at Woodcote, with its staff of trained domestics and its excellent matron, afforded little scope for her youthful activities. Mrs. Ross was her own housekeeper, and though she had contentedly relinquished her duties to Geraldine for the last few years, she had not yet offered to transfer them to Audrey.

Audrey pretended to be a little hurt at this arrangement, but in reality she was secretly relieved. Her tastes were not sufficiently domestic.

She liked better to supplement her mother's duties than to take the entire lead. In her way she was extremely useful. She wrote a great many of the business letters, undertook all the London shopping, and a.s.sisted Mrs. Ross in entertaining her numerous visitors, many of whom were the boys' mothers; and though Mrs. Ross still regretted the loss of her elder daughter, and complained that no one could replace Geraldine, she was fully sensible of Audrey's efficiency and good-humoured and ready help.

'Audrey is as good as gold, and does all I want her to do,' she said to Geraldine, when the latter had questioned her very closely on the subject.

It was no trouble to Audrey to dash off half a dozen letters before post-time, or to drive into Sittingbourne to meet a batch of boys'

relatives. She was naturally active, and hated an idle moment; but no work suited her so well as this Herculean task of evoking order out of the Blake chaos. Molly was so charmed with her energy, so fired by her example, that she worked like a dozen Mollies. The books were soon unpacked and on the table; then Biddy was called in to clear away the straw and hampers, and to have a grand sweep. Nothing more could be done until this had been carried out, so they left Biddy to revel in dust and tea-leaves, while they turned out another hamper or two in the kitchen; for in the course of their labours Mollie had confided to Audrey that certain indispensable articles were still missing.

'The best thing would be to get rid of as many of the hampers as possible,' replied Audrey; 'they are only in the way; let us pack them up in the yard, and then one can have room to move.'

When Biddy had finished her labours and all the dirt had been removed, Kester hobbled in willingly to dust the books, and Audrey and Mollie arranged them on the shelves. There were not so very many, but they were all well and carefully chosen--Greek and Latin authors, all Carlyle's and Emerson's works, a few books of history and philosophy, the princ.i.p.al poets, and some standard works of fiction: d.i.c.kens, Thackeray, and Sir Walter Scott--the latter bound very handsomely. Audrey felt sure, as she placed the books on the shelves, that this little library was collected by a great deal of self-denial and effort. The young student had probably little money to spare. With the exception of Sir Walter Scott and Thackeray, none of the books were handsomely bound; that they were well read was obvious, for a volume of Browning's poems happening to fall from her hand, Audrey could see profuse pencil-marks, and one philosophical book had copious notes on the margin.

'They are all Cyril's books,' observed Mollie, unconsciously answering Audrey's thought. 'Poor Cyril! it is such a trouble to him that he cannot afford to buy more books. When he was at Oxford he used to go without things to get them; he said he would sooner starve than be without books. Is it not sad to be so dreadfully poor, Miss Ross? But I suppose you don't know how it feels. Mamma bought him that lovely edition of Thackeray--oh, and Sir Walter Scott's novels too. Don't you like that binding? it is very expensive. Cyril was so vexed at mamma's spending all that money on him when Kester wanted things, I am afraid he hardly thanked her, and mamma cried about it.'

Mollie was chattering on without thinking until a bell made her start and hurry away. She did not come back for some time, and Audrey finished her task alone.

'I have been making mamma some coffee,' she said gravely; 'she had one of her headaches. She has sent you a message, Miss Ross; she is so delighted with the flowers. She wanted to get up at once and thank you, and then she thought she had better lie still until her headache was better; but she will be down presently.'

'Then we must make haste and finish the room before she comes. Mollie, I can do nothing with those pictures; we will put them up against the wall until your brother can hang them. Let me see; that corner behind the writing-table--no one can see them there. Quick! hand me another. Is this a portrait of your father?' stopping to regard a half-length figure of a fine-looking man in naval uniform.

'No, that is only an uncle of mamma's; I forget his name. Do you remember it, Kester? Papa was a merchant--at least, I think so.'

'Has he been long dead?'

'Oh yes; he died abroad when Kester and I were quite little; that is why we are so poor. Mamma has often told us that it is her money we are living on. I don't know how she managed to send Cyril to Oxford; but we had no house all that time, only poky little lodgings. Are we going to arrange the furniture now, Miss Ross? Oh, how comfortable the room begins to look, and how delighted Cyril will be when he comes home this afternoon! He says that Dr. Ross wants him after school, so he will not run home before dinner. How glad I am that Cyril will always have a nice dinner now! He does so hate Biddy's cooking; he declares everything tastes alike. You say so, too, don't you, Kester?'

Kester's answer was a shrug of the shoulders; he seemed more reserved than Mollie, who was chattering to her new friend with all the frankness and thoughtlessness of a very young girl.

'Mamma never minds what sort of dinner Biddy sends up, if only Cyril does not find fault. I think she would live on tea and dry bread all the year round if only Cyril could have nice things.'

Cyril--always Cyril! Audrey turned the subject by asking Mollie if she would like the couch in the window. Mollie clapped her hands delightedly at the effect.

'It looks beautiful; don't you think so, Kester? And how funny! Miss Ross has put your own particular little table beside it, just as though she guessed that it was to hold your desk and your books. There is Kester's little box of books, but he will unpack them himself by and by.'

'Mollie, have you ordered the dinner?' interrupted Kester a little anxiously--and poor Mollie's face fell.

'Oh dear, I am so sorry, but I have forgotten all about it; the butcher has not called, and there are only those potatoes and bread and cheese.

Mamma is right when she says my head is like a sieve.'

'Why don't you send Biddy for some chops, my dear?' remarked Audrey very sensibly.

Kester had spoken in a loud whisper, but she had overheard every word.

Mollie started off with a look of relief to hunt up the old woman, and when Audrey found herself alone with Kester she could not help saying to him:

'Mollie is a very young housekeeper--girls of fourteen are liable to forget sometimes;' but to her surprise he fired up at once:

'They all expect too much of her; I hate to see her slave as she does: it is not right, it is not fair--I tell Cyril so. She has no time to herself; all her lessons are neglected. If only mother would send Biddy away and get another servant!'

'Who teaches Mollie, then?' she asked, a little curiously.

'Oh, mother gives her lessons sometimes, but they are not very regular, and I help her with arithmetic and Latin. Cyril always gives me an hour or two in the evening, when his work is done, but of course Mollie does not care to learn Greek.'

'Do you mean that your brother gives you lessons when he has been teaching all day?'

'Yes, and he is awfully tired sometimes; but he never likes me to be disappointed. Mother often tries to make him take a walk instead; but Cyril is such a brick: he never will listen to her.'

Audrey felt a little glow of satisfaction as she heard this. What a kind brother Mr. Blake seemed to be--how truly estimable! she would never judge hastily of anyone again. Just then the clock struck one, and she told Kester that she must hurry away. She was disappointed that Mrs.

Blake had not yet appeared--she wanted to see the face that had haunted her so persistently; but the bewitching widow had not shown herself.

'I am afraid I must go, or I shall be late for luncheon,' she said hurriedly.

'I will tell Mollie,' returned the boy; and then he said a little awkwardly: 'You have been awfully good to us, Miss Ross; I don't know how Mollie and I are to thank you. You must be quite tired out.'

Audrey laughed.

'I am not so easily tired, Kester, and I am rather fond of this sort of work. Do you think your mother would mind if I were to look in to-morrow afternoon and help a little with the drawing-room? Mollie said something about it just now, and I half promised--she is to help Biddy put up the plates and dishes this afternoon; that will be as much as she can do.'

'I am sure mother will be only too delighted,' replied Kester gratefully; and then Audrey went in search of Mollie, and found her occupied with the chops, while Biddy cleaned the knives. Mollie turned a scorched cheek to her.

'Dear Miss Ross, thank you ever so much,' she said fervently as Audrey repeated her promise of looking in the next afternoon.