Can you manage with the things you have till your trunk comes this evening?'

'Oh, yes,' said Kathleen. 'My frock did not get wet at all. It's only rather crushed. And I brought my house shoes in my hand-bag. Philippa made me; she said it was such a good plan.'

'She must be a very sensible little girl,' said Miss Clotilda.

'She's a dear little girl every way,' said Kathie. 'I'm sure you'd like her _dreadfully_, aunty.'

She was feeling very cordial to Philippa this morning, thinking how much the little girl had tried to influence her to come to Ty-gwyn.

'But for her,' thought Kathleen, 'I'm not at all sure that I would have come. I was so sure I shouldn't like Aunt Clotilda.'

As soon as she was dressed she ran off in search of Neville, who was 'somewhere about,' old Martha told her. She found him in the garden, and together they began their explorings. By daylight the White House was far from the desolate-looking place they had fancied it the night before. It was a long house, built half-way up a gentle slope, and the entrance was, so to speak, at the back. You did not see anything of the pretty view on which looked out the princ.i.p.al rooms till you had crossed the large, dark-wainscoted hall, and made your way down the long corridor from whence opened the drawing-room, and library and dining-room, all large and pleasant rooms, with old-fashioned furniture, and everywhere the same faint scent, which Kathleen had noticed more strongly up-stairs, of lavender and dried rose-leaves. This part of the house was more modern than the hall and kitchens, and two other rooms, in the very old days the 'parlours,' no doubt--now called the study and the office. For the house had been added to by a Mr. Wynne, the late owner's father, a grand-uncle to David and Clotilda Powys.

'Then the old part is very old indeed, I suppose?' said Neville to his aunt, who by this time had joined them.

'Very old indeed,' she said. 'And up-stairs it seems very rambling, for there are good rooms built over the pantry and dairy and the other offices, all of which are very large. I had it all planned in my head,'

she went on, 'and even Mrs. Wynne herself used often to talk of what rooms would suit you all best when it came to be your father's. Up this little stair'--for by this time they were on the first floor again--'there are two rooms which would have made such nice nurseries for little Vida, and the "office," as we call it, could easily have been turned into a very pleasant schoolroom.'

The children were delighted with it all. Up-stairs, indeed, it was precisely the sort of house to captivate young people. It was so full of mysterious pa.s.sages and unexpected staircases, and corner windows and queer doors, and steps up and steps down, that it seemed larger than it really was, and of course the usual praise was p.r.o.nounced upon it, that it would be 'just the place for a game at hide-and-seek.'

Then when the house had been seen, Miss Clotilda sent them out, with directions not to wander too far, as they must be home for dinner at two o'clock.

'You cannot lose your way,' she said, 'if you take a good view all round. The sea is only a mile off on two sides--west and south--and this house therefore faces the sea, though the little hill in front hides it.'

'The sea!' exclaimed Kathie. 'Why, aunty, if I had known we were so near the sea, I should have been in such a hurry to see it, I wouldn't have slept all night. Did you know, Neville?'

'I didn't know it was _so_ near,' said Neville.

'Go up the little hill, and then you will understand where you are,'

said Miss Clotilda. 'There is the old church, too, and the ruins of the abbey beside it. You will find there is plenty to see at Hafod.'

'I don't care much for churches,' said Kathie, 'but I'd like to see the ruins.'

'Then set off at once; it is fine and sunny just now, but I don't think the weather is very settled. Near the sea we have to expect sudden changes,' said Miss Clotilda.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The children eagerly followed her advice. They climbed up the hill, which they reached by a path through the garden, and then they were well rewarded for their trouble. The view before them was a beautiful and uncommon one. At their feet, so to speak, lay the wide-stretching ocean, sparkling and gleaming in the sunshine, and further inland stood the grand old church and ruins, with the white cottages of the scattered village dotted about in various directions.

'How queer it is to see that great church in such a little place!' said Kathleen. 'It doesn't seem to belong to it, and yet it looks grander than if it was in the middle of a town; doesn't it, Neville?'

'I suppose there was a great monastery, or something like that, here once,' said Neville; 'perhaps before there was any village at all. I think I have read something about it. We must ask Aunt Clotilda. Isn't it a beautiful place, Kathleen? Oh, don't you wish dreadfully it was going to be our home?'

Kathleen sighed. She had not before understood _how_ much she should wish it.

'Look there, Neville,' she said, pointing to a white thread which wound over the hills, sometimes hidden for a little, then emerging again, 'that must be the road from Frewern Bay that we came along last night.

Don't we seem far away from London and from everywhere? Do you like the feeling? I think I rather do, except for poor old Phil.'

But Neville did not at once answer her. He was standing with his eyes fixed on the sea.

'I don't feel so far from papa and mamma here as in London,' he said; 'I like it for that.'

Kathleen's gaze followed his.

'Poor papa and mamma!' she said. 'Oh, Neville, _how_ I wish we could find the will!'

They spent the rest of the morning, greatly to their own satisfaction, in visiting the ruins, and, as by a fortunate chance the door was open, the church also. It was so unlike anything they had ever seen, that even Kathie was full of admiration, and determined to learn all she could of its history.

'We must ask Aunt Clotilda to tell us all about it,' she said. 'I daresay she has books where we can read about it, too. Papa and mamma would be pleased if we--oh dear! there it comes in about that will to spoil things again! I suppose it's best not to write much about things here to them; it would only make it seem worse to them.'

'Perhaps it would,' said Neville; 'but we can say lots about Aunt Clotilda, and that will please papa and mamma. Oh, Kathie, _don't_ you like her?'

Kathie grew rather red.

'Yes,' she said, 'I do. I like her awfully. I _love_ her, Neville, and--and--I'm very sorry I called her stupid, and all that.'

'Dear Kathie,' said Neville, 'you didn't know her.'

'Well, no more did you,' said Kathleen; 'but you're much better than me, Neville. So is Philippa.'

'Dear Kathie,' said Neville again, 'it's only that you've not had mamma with you, or anybody like that. I was older than you, you know, when they left us. And Philippa's always had her mother. But now you have aunty.'

'Yes,' said Kathleen; but she sighed as she said it.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

They turned to go home again, for they had not yet half explored the garden, which bid fair to be quite as delightful as the house. A little door in the wall was standing half open, and peeping in, they saw that it led by a footpath to the front door. There Miss Clotilda was standing talking to a funny-looking old man with a canvas bag slung over his back. Miss Clotilda seemed rather annoyed, and was speaking very earnestly.

'You are sure, then, John Parry, quite sure, you have not dropped or left it at the wrong house, or anything like that?'

The old man only smiled amiably in a sort of superior way.

'Sure, miss? To be sure I am. You'll see miss, the letter has never been posted. Good-day to you, miss. Indeed, I am glad the young gentleman and lady's got safe here;' and he trotted off.

'It's about your letter, Neville,' said his aunt. 'I was certain it would turn up this morning. But it has not come, and it makes me uneasy.

Just think, if one of your dear papa's letters was to be lost. I have got fidgety about letters and papers, I suppose.'

'It's very queer,' said Neville. 'All our other letters have come quite rightly.'

'Yes,' said Miss Clotilda. 'However, my dears, as I've got you safe here I must not grumble.'

She went back into the house to fetch her garden-hat, in which, Kathie could not help whispering to Neville, she _did_ look a funny old dear.

For the hat was about the size of a small clothes-basket, and Miss Clotilda despised all such invisible modes of fastening as elastic and hat-pins. She secured her head-dress with a good honest pair of black ribbon strings, firmly tied, for Ty-gwyn was a blowy place, as might have been expected from its nearness to the sea.

The three spent the rest of the morning most happily in the garden, visiting, too, the now disused dairy, and the poultry-yard, where Miss Clotilda's c.o.c.ks and hens, in blissful ignorance of the fate before them, were clucking and pecking about.

'I must fatten and kill them all off before the autumn,' she said; 'at least, nearly all. I could not have the heart to kill my special pets. I will give some to the neighbours.'

'Aunty,' said Kathleen, as they were returning to the house, 'there is something I wanted to ask you, and I can't remember what it is.'