"'Whatever is inside that basket I'm sure to want,' I said, going out to my odd little visitor; 'but I don't quite know why you are so kind as to bring me things. I'm afraid there's some mistake; I shall be so disappointed if there is.'

"The blue eyes that looked up into mine began to smile.

"'Shall you really? There can't be any mistake, because last night, as Nurse wheeled me out of church, I heard daddy talking to Mrs.

Macdonald; and she said she'd got the new squire at home, but he'd a dreadful headache and couldn't come.'

"I could scarcely help laughing; I certainly had not intended my words to be accepted so literally.

"'Who are you?' I asked, 'and what's in that basket? It wouldn't be manners to peep inside, would it?'

"'Oh yes, it would,' with a delighted giggle. 'I'm Kitty--Kitty Curzon,--and daddy says it's my work to look after any one who is not well; and I'm to think what they will like, and take it to them. So, when I heard you had such a bad headache, I got Nurse to gather my last red gooseberries--they are _very, very_ ripe,--and I've brought them for you; and can I have the basket, please?'

"'Well, I can't accept them on the plea of headache: it's gone, you see; but perhaps you will be so kind as to leave them all the same, for if there is one thing I like more than another----"

"'It's gooseberries,' interposed Kitty, eagerly; and I nodded a.s.sent.

"The child shot a triumphant glance at Nurse.

"'She said you would not want them, and I'd better ask daddy; but he likes me to think of things by myself. And then at the end of the day I tell him where I've been; and he'll be so surprised to-night, for he didn't know I'd heard about you.'

"I carried off the basket, and brought it back, presently, empty.

"'I have not half thanked you, Kitty; but I am most grateful. How old are you, I wonder?'

"There was a moment's hesitation. 'I'm not young at all; I'm nine, although you'd never think it, because I'm so small. Daddy says running about makes you grow, and I can't run.'

"'Her back is not strong, sir,' said Nurse, hurriedly; and as I looked at the rec.u.mbent figure, I saw that the poor little child was deformed.

It seemed a terrible pity, for the face and head are singularly pretty.

"'That's why daddy says I must think of all the ill ones, because Nurse and he think so much about me.'

"'Very well. I shall be sure and send for you directly there is anything the matter. I fancy you would do me more good than a doctor.

And I've a sister coming, before long, and she will want companions.

You will have to come to tea.'

"'Is she as old as I am?'

"'A little older, I think.'

"'I'll come if daddy will let me; but Nurse must come too.'

"'By all means, and if you have any little brothers or sisters----'

"'I have not any. There's only me,' interposed Kitty, shaking her head.

"'I wonder what her name is?'

"'My sister's, do you mean? Sally. Rather a nice name, isn't it?'

"Evidently Kitty did not like it much, for she said she must be going; and went on her way, kissing her hand graciously, so I took off my hat and waved it.

"From Mrs. Macdonald I gather that my first visitor is Mr. Curzon's only child. He is a widower, it seems, and Kitty is the cause of his holding a country living. By my landlady's account he is simply wrapped up in her. I have been the round of the village to-day, making acquaintance with one and another as occasion offered. As I conjectured there seems plenty to be done; and it must be some months before I can stir hand or foot, before I can get things even into my own hands--not that the people here realize this in the very least.

Indeed they are intellectually dead; they seem to possess no ambition of any sort.

"I went into the parish church on my way home. It is an interesting one, built about the end of the thirteenth century, with a magnificent tower that one can see for miles round. I found a great many monuments to the Lessings--a very virtuous lot, if their memorial tablets are to be trusted. The church has been carefully restored--quite recently, I fancy, by the look of it. Then I went into the churchyard, where a newly-filled-in grave showed me where my poor G.o.dfather had been laid.

The sacristan, a very old, infirm man was putting it tidy; and to my astonishment I saw a low vase of white flowers placed in the very centre of the grave.

"'I suppose I am not mistaken,' I said. 'This must be Major Lessing's grave?'

"'Yes, sir.'

"'And who put the flowers?'

"'Miss Kitty, the little maid at the rectory. She said she'd thought he'd be lonely without any;' and the sacristan straightened his back with a little smile.

"'I hope you don't mind,' said a voice behind me. 'I've a notion your relative did not like flowers at a funeral, but I could not upset Kitty's conviction that he did.'

"It was the rector who had come upon me unawares, and he did not pretend not to know me.

"'What can it matter now?' I answered. 'He'll know nothing of it.'

"But I must stop, I've no time to describe the good man. Come and see him for yourself.

"Ever yours,

"PAUL LESSING."

CHAPTER IV.

OPPOSING VIEWS.

The man who some centuries earlier had built Rudham Court, had been wiser than the generation in which he lived in his choice of a site.

Instead of a valley he had chosen the side of a hill, and the sloping foreground had been levelled into a succession of terraces, giving the impression of an almost mountainous ascent to the house from the road which lay beneath. The house, not beautiful in itself, was softened by the hand of time into a dull red that contrasted harmoniously with the group of trees behind it, and the gravelled terrace in front with its box-bordered beds was a blaze of colour in the brilliant sunshine of the August morning. It was bordered by a low stone wall along which two peac.o.c.ks strutted with almost ridiculous self-consciousness of their beauty. In the very centre was a flight of steps which descended to the bowling-green beneath, where the yew hedge which grew round it had been fantastically cut into the shape of an embattlemented parapet, framing the distant view into a series of charming little pictures: here a glimpse of the river, there a delightful vignette of the church.

Across the velvety turf of the green tripped Rose Lancaster, dangling a basket from her arm, a picture herself in her pink cambric frock and befrilled ap.r.o.n, a little French cap set upon her head which enhanced the beauty of the golden hair. Her skin was of the delicate colouring that so often accompanies fair hair, the mouth generally wore a smile displaying Rose's pretty dimples, and the great blue eyes were half concealed by the long lashes. She made her way to the wicket-gate at the far end of the green, to a winding path through a wood which led to the rose-garden below, and gave a start of pretended surprise when Tom Burney broke off from his task of mowing the gra.s.s paths which separated the beds, with an exclamation of delight.

"You here!" said Rose, who had watched the direction of his steps from a window above. "I've come after some roses, if I can find any.

Nothing satisfies Miss Webster but roses on the mantel-shelf of her sitting-room, and it does not matter to her whether they are in season or out. Roses she must have. Are there any coming on, Tom?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I've come after some roses."]

"Bother the roses!" said Tom, impatiently. "You've been back nearly a fortnight, and have not spoken a word to me yet."

"That's ungrateful. I walked to church with you on Sunday evening, and I told you lots of things I did when we were away."