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diff --git a/old/69611-0.txt b/old/69611-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1cf52df..0000000 --- a/old/69611-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7480 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Tower Rooms, by Mary Grant Bruce - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Tower Rooms - -Author: Mary Grant Bruce - -Release Date: December 23, 2022 [eBook #69611] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed - Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TOWER ROOMS *** - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - - ────────────────────────────────────────────────── - - SUCCESSFUL STORIES - by - MARY GRANT BRUCE - Published by - WARD, LOCK & CO., LTD. - - ────────────────────────────────────────────────── - “Mrs. Bruce has a story to tell and she sets - about doing it in her own straightforward way, - without resort to padding. Her style is never - laboured, it matches its subject in its natural- - ness. Smiles and tears, humour and pathos, - blend in her books as they do in life itself.” - —The Queen. - ────────────────────────────────────────────────── - - BILLABONG’S DAUGHTER - THE TWINS OF EMU PLAINS - BACK TO BILLABONG - DICK LESTER OF KURRAJONG - CAPTAIN JIM - DICK - ’POSSUM - JIM AND WALLY - A LITTLE BUSH MAID - MATES AT BILLABONG - TIMOTHY IN BUSHLAND - GLEN EYRE - NORAH OF BILLABONG - GRAY’S HOLLOW - FROM BILLABONG TO LONDON - THE HOUSES OF THE EAGLE - THE STONE AXE OF BURKAMUKK - (A volume of Australian legends) - - ────────────────────────────────────────────────── - - - - -[Illustration: “He put out a long arm and mysteriously produced some - jelly, with which he fed me.” (Page 240.) - _The Tower Rooms_] [_Frontispiece_] - - - - - THE - TOWER ROOMS - - - BY - MARY GRANT BRUCE - - W A R D , L O C K & C O . , L I M I T E D - LONDON AND MELBOURNE - 1926 - - - - - Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London - - - - - CONTENTS - - CHAP. PAGE - I I ANSWER AN ADVERTISEMENT. . . . 7 - II I BEGIN MY ADVENTURE. . . . . 18 - III I MAKE A FRIEND. . . . . . . 29 - IV I DISCOVER MANY THINGS. . . . . 40 - V I WALK ABROAD AT NIGHT. . . . . 60 - VI I MEET GOOD FORTUNE. . . . . . 72 - VII I FIND SHEPHERD’S ISLAND. . . . 92 - VIII I HEAR STRANGE THINGS. . . . . 113 - IX I BECOME A MEMBER OF THE BAND. . 129 - X I HEAR OF ROBBERS. . . . . . 140 - XI I SEE DOUBLE. . . . . . . . 151 - XII I HEAR STRANGE CONFIDENCES. . . 168 - XIII I GO ADVENTURING. . . . . . . 178 - XIV I FIND MYSELF A CONSPIRATOR. . . 188 - XV I SAIL WITH MY BAND. . . . . . 202 - XVI I FIND A LUCKY SIXPENCE. . . . 217 - XVII I USE A POKER. . . . . . . . 231 - XVIII I LOSE MY SITUATION. . . . . . 239 - - - - - THE TOWER ROOMS - - - - - CHAPTER I - I ANSWER AN ADVERTISEMENT - - -NATURALLY it was not news to me when old Dr. Grayson told me I was -tired. There are some things one knows without assistance: and for two -months I had suspected that I was getting near the end of my tether. The -twelve-year-olds I taught at school had become stupider and more -stupid—or possibly I had; and Madame Carr—there was no real reason why -she should be called “Madame,” but that she thought it sounded better -than plain “Mrs.”—had grown stricter and more difficult to please. She -had developed a habit of telling me, each afternoon, when school had -been dismissed, what a low standard of deportment I exacted from my -form. This also I knew; twelve-year-olds are not usually models of -deportment, and I suppose I was not very awe-inspiring. But the daily -information got on my nerves. - -Then the examinations had been a nightmare. I used to wonder how the -girls who grumbled at the questions would have liked the task of -correcting the papers—taking bundles home at night and working at them -after I had cooked the dinner and helped Colin to wash up. I made -several mistakes, too; and of course Madame found them out. One is not -at one’s best, mentally, after a long day in school, and the little flat -in Prahran was horribly hot and stuffy. Colin had wanted to help me, but -of course I could not let him; the poor old boy used to work at his -medical books every evening, in a wild hope that something might yet -turn up to enable him to take his degree. I did my best at the wretched -papers, but after an hour or so my head would ache until it really did -not matter to me if I met the information that Dublin was situated on -the Ganges. There had been a hideous interview with Madame after the -breaking-up, in which she hinted, in an elephantine fashion, that unless -my services were shown to be of more value she would hardly be justified -in paying me as well as letting Madge have her education free. - -It was scarcely a surprise, but, all the same, it staggered me. -Housekeeping, since Father died, had not been an easy matter. Colin was -just the best brother that ever lived, and when we found how little -money there was for us, he had promptly left the University—he was in -his fifth year, too, my poor boy. And how he loved the work! Father’s -practice brought something that we invested, and Colin got a position in -an office. His salary was not much; he helped it out by working overtime -whenever he could get the chance, and he had two pupils whom he coached -for their second year. The big thing was that nothing must interfere -with Madge’s work. - -Madge, you see, was the really brilliant one of the family: if we could -keep her at school for another two years, she had a very good chance of -a scholarship that would take her on to the University; and she had -passed so many music exams that it would have been a tragedy not to have -kept that up, too. I was not at all brilliant, and it seemed wonderful -luck when Madame Carr offered me a minor post, at a small salary, with -Madge’s education thrown in. Of course, we knew that Madge was likely to -be a very good advertisement for the school; still, it might not have -happened, and that tiny salary of mine made all the difference in our -finances. We managed, somehow—Colin and I; Madge could not be allowed -to do any of the housework, for she was only fifteen, and she was -working furiously. She fought us very hard about it, especially when we -insisted that she should stay in bed to breakfast on Sunday mornings, -but we were firm: so at last she gave in, more or less gracefully. And -then I would find her sitting up in bed, darning my stockings. As I told -her, it gave me quite a lot of extra work on Saturday night, hiding away -everything she might possibly find to mend. - -There never was anyone like Colin. He used to get up at some unearthly -hour and do all the dirty work until it was time for him to rush to the -office: and at night he helped just as cheerfully again. He was always -cheerful; to see him washing-up you would have thought it was the thing -he loved best on earth. I hated to see him scrubbing and polishing, with -the long, slender hands that were just made for a doctor’s. Nobody could -imagine how good he was to me; and we managed as I said, somehow. But as -I looked at Madame Carr’s hard face I did not know how we could possibly -manage without my little salary. - -She relented a little towards the end of that unpleasant interview, and -said she would think it over, and give me another chance; and she -advised me to have a good rest, eat nourishing food, and take a few -weeks in the hills. I suppose I must have looked pretty white, and she -didn’t want me to be ill there; at any rate, she said good-bye in a -hurry, wished me a Merry Christmas, and hustled me off. I have no very -clear memory of how I got down the hill to my train. But when I reached -home I was idiotic enough to faint right off, which frightened poor -Madge horribly, and sent her tearing to the nearest telephone for old -Dr. Grayson, who had known us all our lives. - -Dr. Grayson came, and was very kind, though his remarks were curiously -like Madame’s. He sounded me thoroughly, asked me innumerable questions, -and finally told me there was nothing organically wrong—I was just -tired, and needed rest and change. “Country air,” he said cheerfully. -“You won’t get well in a back street in Prahran. Get away for a -month—it’s lucky that it is holiday time!” And he went off, airily -oblivious of the fact that he might just as well have ordered me a trip -to Mars. - -It did not worry me much, although the bare idea of the country made me -homesick. One expects doctors to say things, but it is not necessary to -acquaint one’s brother with all they say. Unfortunately, however, the -old man met Colin on the doorstep, and must needs say it all over again -to him; and Colin came in with the old worry-look in his eyes that I -hated more than anything. I could hear him and Madge consulting in -stage-whispers, in the kitchenette—they might have known that no -variety of whisper can fail to be heard in a flat the size of ours, the -four rooms of which would easily have fitted into our old dining-room at -home. One could almost hear them adjusting the cheerful looks with which -they presently came in. - -They wouldn’t let me do anything but lie on the sofa. Madge cooked the -chops in a determined fashion that made the whole flat smell of burned -fat; and Colin did everything else. After dinner was over—it was a -gruesome meal, at which Colin was laboriously funny all the time—I was -graciously allowed to sit in the kitchenette while they washed up, and -we held a council of war. - -All the talking in the world could not alter the main fact. There were -no funds to pay for country holidays. Our friends—they were not so many -as in the old days—were all in Melbourne: our only relations were -distant ones, distant in every sense of the word, for they lived in -Queensland, and might as well have been in Timbuctoo, Madge sourly -remarked, for all the practical use they were. Discuss it as we might, -there was no earthly chance of following my prescription. - -Poor old Colin looked more like thirty-three than twenty-three as he -scrubbed the gridiron with sand-soap. - -“You needn’t worry yourselves a bit,” I told them. “All I need is to be -away from that horrid old school and Madame Carr, and I’ve got two whole -beautiful months. Doctors don’t know everything. I’ll go and sit in -Fawkner Park every day and look at the cows, and imagine I’m in -Gippsland!” - -Colin groaned. - -“I don’t see why we haven’t a country uncle or something,” said Madge -vaguely: “a red-faced old darling with a loving heart, and a red-roofed -farm, and a beautiful herd of cows—Wyandottes, don’t you call them? If -we were girls in books we’d have one, and we’d go and stay with him and -get hideously fat, and Doris would marry the nearest squatter!” She -heaved a sigh. - -“Hang the squatter!” Colin remarked; “but I’d give something to see -either of you fat. I’m afraid you’re a vain dreamer, Madge. Put down -that dish-cloth and let me finish: I’m not going to have you showing up -at a music-lesson with hands like a charlady’s.” - -Madge gave up the dish-cloth with reluctance. She was silent for quite -three minutes—an unusual thing for Madge. - -“Look here,” she said at length, with a funny little air of -determination. “There’s one thing a whole lot more important than music, -and that’s Doris’s health. I wonder we didn’t think of it before!” - -“Well, I’d hate to contradict you,” Colin answered, slightly puzzled. -“But I don’t see that this highly-original discovery of yours makes it -any the more necessary for you to scour saucepans while I’m about.” - -“Oh, bother the saucepans!” said Madge impatiently. “I didn’t mean -that—though it’s more my work than yours to wash them, anyhow. -Washing-up isn’t a man’s job.” - -“There isn’t any man-and-woman business about this establishment,” said -Colin firmly, “except that I’m boss. Just get that clearly in your young -mind. And what did you mean, if you meant anything?” - -“Why, it’s as clear as daylight,” Madge announced. “Doris’s health is -more important than music: you admitted that yourself. Well, then, let’s -sell the piano!” - -We looked at each other in blank amazement. Sell the piano! Madge’s -adored piano, Father’s last gift to her. Beneath her fingers it was a -very wonder-chest of magic and delight: all the fairies of laughter, all -the melody of rippling water, all the dearest dreams come true were -there when Madge played. Already old Ferrari, her Italian music-master, -talked to us of triumphs ahead—triumphs in a wider field than -Australia. And she sat on the kitchen table, swinging her legs, and -talked of selling her Bechstein! No wonder we gasped. - -“Talk sense!” growled Colin, when his breath came back. - -“It _is_ sense,” Madge retorted. “It’s worth ever so much money: a -cheaper piano would do me just as well to practise on. Even if I gave up -music altogether it would be worth it to give Doris a rest. She can’t go -on as she is—you can see that for yourself, Colin Earle!” - -“I certainly can’t go on hearing you rave!” I said. “Why, when you’re a -second Paderewski you have got to be the prop of our declining years. It -would be just about the finish for Colin and me if your music were -interfered with, and——” at which point I suddenly found something hard -in my throat. I suppose it was because I was a bit tired, for we aren’t -a weepy family, but I just howled. - -It alarmed Colin and Madge very badly. They patted me on the back and -assured me I shouldn’t be bothered in any way, and begged me to drink -some water: and when I managed to get hold of my voice again I seized -the opportunity to make Madge promise that she wouldn’t mention the word -“selling” in connection with the Bechstein again, unless we were really -at our last gasp. This accomplished, we dispatched her to practice, and -Colin returned to the washing-up. - -Madge went, rather reluctantly, and Colin rubbed away at the saucepans, -with the furrow deepening between his brows. I was in the midst of -explaining clearly to him that I did not need a change, quite conscious -the while of my utter failure to convince him, when there was a clatter -in the passage, and Madge burst in, waving a newspaper, and incoherent -with excitement. - -“What on earth is the matter with the kid?” Colin asked, a little -wearily. “Do go easy, Madge, and say what you want to, when you have -finished brandishing that paper in your lily hand. Meanwhile, get off my -sand-soap.” He rescued it, and turned a critical eye on the bottom of a -saucepan. We were more or less used to Madge’s outbreaks, but to-night -they seemed to be taking an acute form. - -“It’s the very thing!” she cried, the words tumbling over each other. -“Just what we want, and it’s in this morning’s paper, so I don’t suppose -anyone has got it yet, and now she’ll really get fat, and you needn’t be -scornful, Colin, so there!” - -“I’m not,” said Colin. “But I’d love to know what it’s all about.” - -“Why, this advertisement,” said Madge excitedly. “Listen, you two: - - Lady requiring rest and change offered pleasant country home, - few weeks, return light services. Teacher preferred. References - exchanged.” - -There followed an address in the south-west of Victoria. - -“Oh, get out!” Colin said. “Doris doesn’t want to leave off work to -carry bricks!” - -“But it says ‘light services,’ don’t you see?” protested Madge. “There -might not be much to do at all—not more than enough to keep her from -‘broodin’ on bein’ a dorg’! And she’d get rest and change. It says so. -And ‘references exchanged’—it’s so beautifully circumspect.” Our -youngest put on a quaint little air of being at least seventy-five. -“Personally, I think it was made for Doris!” - -“You always had a sanguine mind,” was Colin’s comment on this attitude. -“What does the patient think about it?” - -“I’m not a patient,” I contradicted. “But—I don’t know—it sounds as if -it might be all right, Colin. The ‘pleasant country home’ sounds -attractive. I wouldn’t mind any ordinary housework, if they were nice -people.” - -“But they might be beasts,” said my brother pithily. “I don’t feel like -letting you risk it.” He paused, frowning. “Wish I knew which might be -the greater risk. There’s no doubt that you ought to get away from -here.” - -“Well, write for particulars—and references,” suggested Madge. “No harm -in that, at all events.” - -Colin pondered heavily. - -“I believe the kid has made an illuminating remark,” he said at length. -“You don’t commit yourself by writing: perhaps it would be as well to -give it a trial. Though I wouldn’t dream of it for a moment if I saw the -remotest chance of sending you out of Melbourne in any other way, old -white-face!” He put his arm round my shoulders as we went into the -dining-room—which was very unusual for Colin, and affected me greatly. -I began to wonder was I consumptive or something, but cheered up on -remembering that the doctor had said I was “organically sound.” - -I wrote my letter, enclosing a testimonial from Dr. Grayson, as to my -general worth; he was very kind, and drew so touching a picture of my -character and capabilities that I was quite certain in my own mind I -could never live up to it. I told him so, after he made me read it, but -he would not alter it, and threatened me with all kinds of pains and -penalties if I failed to prove every word he had said about me. After -that, it seemed scarcely prudent to ask Madame Carr for a letter—the -difference between my two “references” might have been too marked. Much -to Madge’s disgust, I insisted on telling my prospective employer that I -was only eighteen. This excited the gloomiest forebodings in my sister. - -“You’ll queer your pitch altogether,” she said. “Eighteen’s awfully -young; ten to one she wants an old frump of thirty!” - -“Well, if she does, she had better not have me,” said I. “I don’t want -her to expect some one old and staid, and then have heart-failure when -she sees my extreme youth.” - -“Perhaps not,” Madge agreed reluctantly. “Everything depends on first -impressions, and I suppose heart-failure wouldn’t be the best possible -beginning. Anyhow, you might say that you’re five feet eight and not -shingled. That would give her a vision of some one impressive and -dignified.” - -“Then she might get a different kind of shock,” I said. “But I don’t -think we need worry; you may be certain that she’ll have dozens and -dozens of applications, and it isn’t a bit likely that she will want me. -I’m going to forget all about it, as soon as the letter has gone—and -you can look out for other advertisements. It’s foolish to expect to -catch your fish the moment you throw in the first bait.” - -“I’m not at all certain that I want to catch her,” said Colin gloomily. -“It’s not much fun to catch your fish and find you’ve hooked a shark!” - - - - - CHAPTER II - I BEGIN MY ADVENTURE - - -THE letter went, and we waited for a reply: Madge feverishly, I -apathetically, and Colin with a good deal of unhappy anticipation: he -hated the whole business. I know the poor boy made frantic efforts -during those days to earn some extra money, and he did manage to secure -some overtime from a fellow-clerk who did not want it. But of course it -was very little. - -“If I could only rake up enough to send you for a fortnight to -Frankston!” he said one evening. “That would be absolute rest for you; -far better than slogging at alleged ‘light duties’ in some strange -house. I can’t stick the idea of your going away to work, Dor.” - -“But I’m quite able to work—truly, old boy,” I told him. “It was only -the long hours in school that knocked me up, and the rush every -morning.” - -“And that will be just the same after the holidays,” he growled. It was -quite amazing to hear Colin growl: he had always been so cheery over our -misfortunes, and had never once shown that he minded his own bitter -disappointment. “If only I could earn enough to keep you at home! I -believe it would be more sensible if I worked as a dock labourer: I’d -make more money then, and my own expenses would be hardly anything.” - -“Yes, and then a strike would come along, and you would go out with your -Union, and we should be worse off than ever,” I said practically. “I -wish you wouldn’t talk such absolute nonsense. I only needed a rest, -which I’m getting now. Don’t I look ever so much fitter already?” - -“You do look a bit less like a scarecrow,” he admitted. “But I know that -you’re not getting the nourishing things the doctor ordered, and you -ought to be right away from Melbourne. January in Prahran isn’t going to -be any sort of a picnic for you.” - -“When I have finished that bottle of Burgundy you brought home yesterday -you won’t know me,” I said. “Just you wait, and don’t worry. Something -may turn up at any time; and meanwhile, I’m going to spend every day in -the Gardens or on the beach. Isn’t it lucky that it costs so little to -get to them?” But all my well-meant efforts failed to cheer him much. He -got into a way of looking at me, with his forehead all wrinkled with -worry, that made me positively ache for a favourable answer from the -advertisement lady. Without telling him or Madge, I went into Melbourne -and spent a weary afternoon going round the registry-offices in search -of a holiday job in the country. But no one seemed to have the least -desire for my services except as a “general.” There, indeed, I could -have had my pick of hungry employers, only I didn’t dare to meet -them—with the prospect of facing Colin afterwards. - -Christmas came and went, and we gave up all idea of getting any answer -to my letter. It was a very small Christmas we had—just sandwiches and -a thermos of coffee in a quiet corner of the Botanical Gardens, watching -the dabchicks in the lake, and building all sorts of castles for the -future. We made a solemn compact that no one should worry during the -day, and Colin kept to it nobly and played the fool all the time. So it -was really a very jolly Christmas, and we all felt better for it. - -On Boxing Day Colin wanted to spring-clean the flat; but at that point -Madge and I felt we must put our collective feet down, and we did. So we -packed the basket again, and went to one of the nearer beaches—one -where it is still possible to find quiet corners in the scrub: and we -bathed and picknicked, and enjoyed watching Colin smoke the cigarettes -we had given him for Christmas—after Father died he had given up -smoking, declaring that it made his head ache. It was beautiful to see -how peaceful he looked. Altogether, the Earle family agreed that it was -probable that a good many people had not enjoyed the holidays as much as -we did. - -And the next day came the answer to my letter—just as we had given up -all hope. - -It arrived by the evening post, which was late. Colin had come home, and -we knew what it was by the way Madge came clattering along the corridor -and burst into the flat. She waved a thick white envelope round her -head. - -“It’s her!” she shouted. “I know it is!” - -“I wish Madame could hear you,” I said. “Is it for me?” - -“Of course it is. Doesn’t it look opulent and splendid! Hurry up and -open it, Doris, or I’ll explode!” - -My fingers were a little shaky as I tore open the envelope and read the -letter aloud: - - “DEAR MISS EARLE,— - - “I have received several letters in answer to my advertisement, - but, after consideration, yours seems the most suitable. I - require a lady in my home for a few weeks, to take off my hands - some of the duties of caring for a house-party, and to assist in - looking after my younger children during the absence of their - governess, who is away on holiday. As the employment is light, I - offer a salary of £1 per week, and would pay your travelling - expenses to and from Melbourne. - - “I have hesitated in accepting your application because you are - very young.” - -“I _told_ you so!” breathed Madge disgustedly. - - “However, your testimonial is excellent; and the teaching - experience to which it alludes should enable you to control the - children. I trust that you are firm and tactful.” - -“Firm and tactful!—I like that!” uttered Colin. “Will she let you -control the little beasts with a stick?” - - “Be quiet—there’s more yet. ‘My house is large, and I keep - three maids. A dinner-dress is advisable, should you have one. - If you decide to come to me, I should like you to leave - Melbourne on the second of January.’” And she was mine - faithfully, Marie McNab. - -“Born—or christened, rather—plain Mary, I’ll bet,” was Colin’s -comment. “What’s the enclosure?” - -The enclosure was the “references exchanged”: a vague sort of assurance -from the clergyman in Wootong that Mrs. McNab of “The Towers” was all -that she ought to be. Colin remarked that it seemed to deal more with -her religious beliefs than her ideas on feeding-up tired assistants, -which latter was the point on which he was more curious; but he supposed -it was all right. And then he and Madge sat and looked at me, waiting -for me to speak. - -“I think I’ll go,” I said, when the silence was becoming oppressive. -“There can be no harm in trying—and, thank goodness, it doesn’t cost -anything.” - -“The old cat might have offered you a bit more screw,” said Madge, with -that extreme elegance of diction which marks the college girl. -“Apparently she’s wading in wealth—three maids, and lives in Towers, -and has a crest as big as your head on her notepaper. Flamboyant -display, I call it. How about striking for more pay after you get -there?” - -“Not done,” said Colin. “Doris doesn’t belong to a Union. I say, Dor, -have you got enough clothes for living in Towers?” - -“Oh, they’ll do, I think,” I answered; “there’s some advantage of being -in half-mourning. I shall have to fix up a few little things, but not -much. Shoes are the worst; I do need a new pair. My brown ones are put -away; old Hoxon can stain them black for me.” - -Madge sighed. - -“I hate blacked-up brown,” she said. “And they were such pretty shoes, -Dor.” - -“I can get new ones when you are a learned professor,” I told her, -laughing. “And you’ll be that in a year or two, if you leave off slang. -Gloves are an item—thank goodness we take the same size, and I can -borrow from you!” - -Madge echoed my gratitude. She hated gloves. - -“And you may have my big hat,” she said—“it’s just the sort of hat you -may need in the country. And my dressing-jacket; I’ll bet that will -impress the three maids!” - -“My dear, I’m not going to rob you in that wholesale fashion,” I said. -“Also, I don’t contemplate parading before the staff in my -dressing-jacket—in the servants’ hall, I suppose. Possibly there is a -chauffeur, too!” - -“Well, he’d love it,” Madge grinned. “All chauffeurs have an eye for -clothes; and it’s such a pretty blue. I wish you could wear it in to -dinner. What _will_ you wear for dinner, by the way, my child?” - -“I’ll have to get out my old lace frock. It’s quite good, and I can make -it look all right with a little touching-up. Then there’s my black -_crêpe de Chine_: so suitable and dowagerish. Mrs. McNab will approve of -it, I’m sure. I know I could control the children well in black _crêpe -de Chine_!” - -In which I spoke without knowing the Towers children. The words were to -come back to me later. - -“What a mercy we’ve got decent luggage!” said Madge. “I’d hate you to -face battlemented Towers and proud chauffeurs with shabby suitcases.” - -I echoed her thankfulness. Father had brought us up to think that there -was nothing like leather; our trunks, even as the Bechstein piano, were -among the few relics of a past in which money had never seemed to be a -consideration. It was comforting to think that one need not face the -unknown McNabs with a dress-basket. - -Then Colin spoke. - -“You’ve made up your mind to go, then, Doris?” - -I looked at him. I knew how he hated it all. - -“Don’t you think it is best, old boy?” - -“Oh, I suppose so,” he said half savagely. He got up, looking for his -hat. Presently the door of the flat banged behind him. - -I was glad when the next few days were over. They went with a rush, for -I was terribly busy: even if you are in half-mourning, and you think -your clothes are pretty well in order, you are sure to find heaps to do -when it comes to going away. Madge helped me like an angel; worked early -and late, took all the housekeeping off my shoulders, and found time to -do ever so many bits of mending. Between us, we just managed enough -clothes; as Madge said, it was very fortunate that her only wish was to -live the simple life during the holidays; but I felt horribly mean to -take her things. Still, I did not see what else to do. One must be clad. - -We puzzled a good deal over what I should and should not take. Music had -not been mentioned by Mrs. McNab, but it seemed as well to put in a -little; and I found corners for a few of my best-beloved books, in case -the Towers should be barren in that respect. I looked longingly at my -golf-clubs, not used for eighteen months, with all their lovely heads -tied up in oily flannel. But I decided they were not in keeping with my -situation. I had an instinctive belief that my light duties would not -include golf. My tennis racket went in—but well at the bottom of my -trunk, where I thought it highly probable it would remain throughout my -stay at The Towers. - -I packed on New Year’s night, with Colin and Madge both sitting on my -bed, offering flippant advice. Colin had spoken very little since Mrs. -McNab’s letter had come, and I knew he was making a violent effort to -“buck up.” Not that he had not always been a dear; but he could not bear -the idea of my going to strangers in such a way. He had come home on New -Year’s Eve with the loveliest pair of shoes for me. I don’t know how he -had managed to buy them—and they were such good ones, too, the very -sort my soul loved. I nearly cried when he gave them to me; and he -patted me on the back, very hard. He made me go to bed as soon as the -packing was over, and Madge brewed cocoa and made toast, with a -spendthrift lavishness of butter. We all had a midnight supper on my -bed. I often thought of that light-hearted supper in the days that -followed. It was very cheerful, and we drank the health of everybody, -including Mrs. McNab and the cat. - -It was all a rush next morning. The carrier came very early for my -trunk, and I rushed round making final preparations and packing my -little suit-case. There seemed ever so much to say at the last moment. -Madge was quite cross with me because I stopped when I was putting on my -hat to tell her how to thicken soup. Just as I was ready to make a dash -for the train, to my joy Colin appeared—he had got an hour off from the -office, and had raced home to carry my things for me and save me any -trouble. They put me into the train at Spencer Street, and Colin -recklessly flung magazines and sweets into my lap. I have always said -that few could adorn riches better than Colin—his ideas are so -comfortable. - -Then they hugged me vigorously, and the guard shouted “Stand clear!” and -the train started. - -Colin ran alongside the window as long as he could. - -“Mind—you’re to come back at once if it isn’t all right,” he said -authoritatively. “You understand, Doris?” I nodded—I couldn’t speak. -Then the porter yelled angrily at Colin, and he dropped back. I leaned -out until the train went round the curve, while he and Madge stood -waving on the platform. - -I cried a little at first—I couldn’t help it. I had never been away by -myself before; it was so suddenly lonely, and they had been such dears -to me. It was not pleasant, either, to picture little Madge going back -to the flat by herself, to tidy up; then to spend all the afternoon, -until Colin came home, over dull old lesson-books. And I knew Colin -would miss me: we were such chums. I was missing him horribly already. - -After awhile I cheered up. The thing had to be, and I might as well make -the best of it, and remember that my whole duty in life, according to -Madge, was to get fat. The country was pretty, too: it had been a wet -season, and all the paddocks were green and fresh, and the cattle and -sheep looked beautiful. Fate had made Father a doctor, but he had always -said that his heart lay in farming, and I had inherited his tastes. To -Colin and Madge a bullock was merely something that produced steak, but -to me it was a thing of beauty. It was so long since I had been for any -kind of a journey that the mere travelling was a pleasure. Mrs. McNab -had sent money for a first-class fare, which we all thought very decent -of her: she had explained in a stiff little note that she did not -approve of young girls travelling alone second-class. Colin had snorted, -remarking that he had never had the slightest intention of letting me do -so: but it was decent, all the same. I sent her a brainwave of thanks as -I leaned back in comfort, glad to rest after the racket of the last few -days. I did not even want to read my magazines, though a new magazine -was unfamiliar enough to us, nowadays, to be a treat. It was delightful -to watch the country, to do nothing, to enjoy the luxury of having the -compartment to myself. - -That lasted for nearly half the journey. Then, just as the engine -whistled and the train began to move slowly out of a little station, a -porter flung open the door hurriedly, and some one dashed in, stumbling -over my feet, and distributing golf-clubs, fishing-rods, and other loose -impedimenta about the carriage. The porter hurled through the window -other articles—a stick, a kit-bag, an overcoat; and the new-comer, -leaning out, tossed him something that rattled loudly on the platform. -Then he sat down and panted. - - - - - CHAPTER III - I MAKE A FRIEND - - -‟I BEG your pardon for tumbling over you in such a way,” he said. -“Awfully rude of me—but I hadn’t time to think. The car went wrong, and -I never thought we’d catch the train—had to sprint the last two hundred -yards. I do hope I didn’t hurt you?” - -He was a tall young man with the nicest ugly face I had ever seen. His -hair was red, and he was liberally freckled: he had a nondescript nose, -a mouth of large proportions, and quite good blue eyes. He seemed to -hang together loosely. There was something so friendly about his face -that I found myself answering his smile almost as if he were Colin. - -“No, you didn’t hurt me,” I told him. “I would have moved out of the way -if I hadn’t been dreaming—but I had no time.” - -“I should think you hadn’t!” he said, laughing. “It was the most -spectacular entry I ever made. But I’d have hated to miss the train.” - -I murmured something vaguely polite, and relapsed into silence, bearing -in mind the fact that well-brought-up young persons do not talk in -railway carriages to strange men, even if the said men have fallen -violently over their feet. My fellow-traveller became silent, too, -though I felt him glance at me occasionally. The placid content which -had seemed to fill the carriage was gone, and I began to feel tired. I -read a magazine, wishing the journey would end. - -Presently we stopped in a large station, and the red-haired man -disappeared. He was back in a few moments, looking a little sheepish, as -one who is afraid of his reception. - -“I’ve brought you a cup of tea,” he said—“please don’t mind. You look -awfully tired, and you’ve a long way to go yet. I read the address on -your suit-case.” He cast a glance towards the rack, and held out the cup -meekly. - -My training in etiquette had not covered this emergency, and I -hesitated. But he was so boyish and friendly—just as Colin would have -been—and so evidently afraid of being snubbed, that I couldn’t hurt -him; and also I wanted the tea very badly. It was quite good tea, too, -and the scone that accompanied it was a really superior one. - -I felt much better when I had finished, and my fellow-traveller came -back for my cup, which he presented to a porter, for the train was about -to start. - -“Girls are so various,” said he, sitting down opposite me, with his -friendly smile. “Some would hate you to offer them tea, and some would -hate you not to, and some would be just nice about it. I felt certain -you belonged to the third lot! It’s such a beastly long way to Wootong, -too: I’m going there myself, so I suppose that might be considered a -sort of introduction. And you looked just about knocked-up. Know Wootong -well?” - -“I’ve never been there,” I said. “I’m going to a place called The -Towers.” - -“What!—the McNabs?” exclaimed my companion. “But how ripping!—I’m -going there myself. I’m Dick Atherton; Harry McNab and I share rooms at -Trinity. I don’t think I’ve met you there before, have I? No, of course, -what an ass I am: you said it was your first visit.” - -“I’m hardly a visitor,” I said. It wasn’t easy, but I thought it best to -have things on a straight footing. “I’m . . .” It came to me suddenly -that I hardly knew _what_ I was. “I’m—a sort of governess, I suppose. -I’m going up, just for the holidays, to help Mrs. McNab.” - -“What a shame!” said Mr. Atherton promptly—apparently, before taking -thought. He pulled himself up, reddening. “At least—you know what I -mean. Those kids ought to have some one about six feet, and weighing -quite twelve stone, to keep them in order. They’re outlaws. Anyway, I’m -sure to see an awful lot of you, if you’ll let me. Won’t you tell me -what to call you?” - -I told him, and we chatted on cheerfully. He was the most transparent -person possible, and though I am not considered astute—by Colin and -Madge, who should know—it was quite easy to find out from him a good -deal about my new post. I inferred that my appearance might be a shock -to Mrs. McNab, whose previous assistants had been more of the type -graphically depicted by Mr. Atherton—he referred to them simply as “the -cats.” Also, the children seemed to be something of a handful. There -were two, a boy and a girl, besides the brother at Trinity—and a -grown-up sister. It was only when I angled for information on the -subject of Mrs. McNab that my companion evaded the hook. - -“She writes, you know,” he said, vaguely. I said I hadn’t known, and -looked for further particulars. - -“’Fraid I haven’t read any of her books,” said the boy. “I suppose I -should, as I go to stay there: but I’m not much of a chap for reading, -unless it’s American yarns—you know, cowboy stuff. I can tackle those: -but Mrs. McNab’s would be a bit beyond me. I tried an article of hers -once, in a magazine my sister had, but even a wet towel round my head -couldn’t make it anything but Greek to me. And the Prof. could tell you -how much good I am at Greek!” - -“She writes real books, then?” I asked, greatly thrilled. I had never -met anyone who actually wrote books, and in my innocence it seemed to me -that authors must be wholly wonderful. - -“Oh, rather! She’s ‘Julia Smale,’ you see. Ever heard of her?” - -I had—in a vague way: had even encountered a book by “Julia Smale,” -lent me by a fellow-teacher at Madame Carr’s, who had passed it on to me -with the remark that if I could make head or tail of it, it was more -than she had been able to do. I had found it a novel of the severe type, -full of reflections that were far too deep for me. With a sigh for -having wasted an opportunity that might be useful, I remembered that I -had not finished it. How I wished that I had done so! It would have been -such an excellent introduction to my employer, I thought, if I could -have lightly led the conversation to this masterpiece in the first -half-hour at The Towers. Now, I could only hope that she would never -mention it. - -Mr. Atherton nodded sympathetically as I confided this to him. - -“I’m blessed if I know anyone who does read them,” he said. “They may be -the sort of thing the Americans like: she publishes in America, you -know. Curious people, the Yanks: you wouldn’t think that the nation that -can produce a real good yarn like ‘The Six-Gun Tenderfoot’ would open -its heart to ‘Julia Smale.’ I’m quite sure Harry and Beryl—that’s her -daughter—don’t read her works. Certainly, I’ll say for her she doesn’t -seem to expect anyone to. She locks herself up alone to write, and -nobody dares to disturb her, but she doesn’t talk much about the work. -Not like a Johnny I knew who wrote a book; he used to wander down -Collins Street with it in his hand, and asked every soul he knew if -they’d read it. Very trying, because it was awful bosh, and nobody had. -Mrs. McNab isn’t like that, thank goodness!” - -“And Mr. McNab?” I asked. - -“Oh, he’s a nice old chap. Not so old, either, when I come to think of -it: I believe they were married very young. A bit hard, they say, but a -good sort. He’s away: sailed for England last month, on a year’s trip.” - -I did not like to ask any more questions, so the conversation switched -on to something else, and the time went by quite quickly. The train was -a slow one, crawling along in a leisurely fashion and stopping for -lengthy periods at all the little stations; it would have been a dull -journey alone, and I was glad of my cheery red-haired companion. By the -time we reached Wootong we were quite old friends; and any feeling that -I might have had about the informality of our introduction to each other -was completely dissolved by the discovery that he had a wholesome -reverence for Colin’s reputation in athletics, which was apparently a -sort of College tradition. When Mr. Atherton found that I was “the” -Earle’s sister he gazed at me with a reverence which I fear had never -been excited by Mrs. McNab, even in her most literary moments. It was -almost embarrassing, but not unpleasing: and we talked of Colin and his -school and college record until we felt that we had known each other for -years. I didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry when, after a long run, -the train slackened speed, and Mr. Atherton began hurriedly to collect -our luggage, remarking, “By George, we’re nearly in!” And a moment later -I was standing, a little forlornly, on the Wootong platform. - -Two girls were waiting, both plump and pretty, and very smart—perhaps a -shade too smart for the occasion, but very well turned-out. They greeted -my companion joyfully, and there was a little babel of chatter, while I -stood apart, hardly knowing what to do. Then I heard one of the girls -break off suddenly. - -“We’ve got to collect one of Mother’s cats,” she said, not lowering her -voice at all. “Seen anything of her, Dicky? She was to come on this -train.” - -Mr. Atherton turned as red as his hair. I had already done so. - -“S-sh!” he said. “Steady, Beryl—she’ll hear you.” Apparently he thought -I should not hear him, but there wasn’t any escaping his voice. He came -over to me, and conducted me across the platform. “This is Miss Earle, -whom you are to collect,” he told her. “Miss Beryl McNab, Miss -Earle—and Miss Guest.” - -Neither girl proffered a hand, and I was wildly thankful for the impulse -that had kept mine by my side. Instead, there was blank amazement on -their faces. - -“Then you’ve known each other before?” Beryl McNab said. - -“No—I introduced myself on the way down,” explained Mr. Atherton -hurriedly. “Tumbled into Miss Earle’s compartment, and fell violently -over her; and then I found she was coming here. It was great luck for -me.” - -“Quite so,” said the elder girl; and there was something in her tone -that made me shrivel. “I needn’t ask if you had a pleasant journey, Miss -Earle. If you’re ready, we can start: the cart will bring your luggage.” -We all went out to a big blue motor, manned by a chauffeur who came up -to all Madge’s forecasts; and whisked away along a winding road fringed -with poplar-trees and hawthorn hedges. - -Mr. Atherton made gallant attempts to include me in the conversation, -but there was a weight on my spirits, and I gave him back monosyllables: -I hope they were polite ones. The girls did not worry about me at all. -They chatted in a disjointed fashion, but I was quite ignored. This, I -realized, was the proper status of “a cat” at The Towers; probably a -shade more marked in my case, because I was a young cat, and had sinned. -Deeply did I regret that a friend of the family should have hurtled into -my carriage: bitterly I repented that welcome cup of tea. It seemed -ages, though it was really less than ten minutes, before we turned into -a big paddock, where, half a mile ahead, a grey house showed among the -box-trees fringing a hill. - -We skimmed up a long drive, skirted a wide lawn where several people -were having tea under a big oak, and stopped before the hall-door. A -short, thick-set youth in a Trinity blazer, who was tormenting a -fox-terrier on the veranda, uttered a shout of welcome and precipitated -himself upon Mr. Atherton, who thumped him affectionately on the back. -Then there came racing through the hall a boy and girl of twelve and -fourteen, ridiculously alike; and beneath their joyful onslaught the -guest was temporarily submerged. Nobody took the slightest notice of me -until a tall angular woman in a tailor-made frock came striding along -the veranda, and, after greeting her son’s friend, glanced inquiringly -in my direction. - -“Oh—this is Miss Earle, Mother,” Beryl McNab said. “She and Dicky came -down together.” - -There was evident surprise in my employer’s face as she looked me over. -She gave me a limp hand. - -“Then you and Mr. Atherton have met before?” she asked. - -Dicky Atherton rushed into his explanation, which sounded, I must admit, -fairly unconvincing. I was conscious of a distinct drop in the -temperature: certainly Mrs. McNab’s voice had frozen perceptibly when -she spoke again. - -“How curious!” she said: I had not imagined that two words could make -one feel so small and young. “You have met my daughter, of course: this -is my eldest son, and Judith and Jack are your especial charges.” - -The college youth favoured me with a long stare, and the boy and girl -with a short one. Then Judith smiled with exceeding sweetness and put -out her hand. - -“I wish you luck!” she said solemnly. - -There was a general ripple of laughter. - -“Miss Earle will need all the luck she can get if she’s to manage you -two imps,” said Harry McNab, shaking hands. “You might as well realize, -Miss Earle, that it can’t be done: at least no one has succeeded yet in -making them decent members of society.” - -Mrs. McNab interposed. - -“Don’t talk nonsense, Harry,” she said, severely. “If you will come with -me, Miss Earle, I will show you your room.” She led the way into the -house, and I followed meekly, my heart in my shoes. - -A huge square hall, furnished as a sitting-room, opened at one end into -a conservatory. From one corner ascended a splendidly-carved staircase, -with wide, shallow steps, which formed, above, a gallery that ran round -two sides of the hall. Up this I trailed at my employer’s heels, and, -passing down a softly-carpeted passage, found myself in a room at the -end; small, but pleasant enough, with a large window overlooking the -back premises and part of the garden. Beyond the back yard came a -stretch of lightly-timbered paddock, which ended abruptly in what, I -found later on, was a steep descent to the beach. The shore itself was -hidden from the house by the edge of the cliff: but further out showed -the deep-blue line of the sea, broken by curving headlands that formed -the bay near which The Towers stood. It was all beautiful; in any other -circumstances I should have been wildly happy to be in such a place. But -as it was, I longed for the little back street in Prahran! - -Mrs. McNab was speaking in her cool, hard voice. - -“This is your room, Miss Earle. Judith’s is next door, and Jack’s just -across the passage. Judith will show you the schoolroom, which will be -your sitting-room, later on. You will generally have your evening meal -there with the children. To-morrow I will take you over the house and -explain your duties to you. You are probably tired after your journey; I -will send you up some tea, and then you had better rest until the -evening.” - -The words were kind enough, but the voice would have chilled anyone. I -stammered out something in the way of thanks, and Mrs. McNab went out, -her firm tread sounding briskly along the passage. Presently a neat maid -brought in a tray and put it down with a long stare at me—a stare -compounded equally of superciliousness and curiosity; and I was left -alone in my new home. - - - - -[Illustration: “‘I’ve brought you a cup of tea,’ he said— - ‘please don’t mind. You look awfully tired.’” - _The Tower Rooms_] [_Page 30_] - - - - - CHAPTER IV - I DISCOVER MANY THINGS - - -TWO days later I had settled down fairly well to life at The Towers. - -My responsibilities were varied. It was mine to superintend the early -toilet of Judith and Jack: mine to keep a watchful eye on the vagaries -of the parlourmaid, who was given to dreaming when laying the table, and -possessed a disregard, curious in one of her calling, for the placing of -correct spoons and forks. She admitted her limitations, but nevertheless -deeply resented my existence. I arranged flowers in all the -sitting-rooms, gave out linen, prepared picnic luncheons and teas, cut -sandwiches, helped to pick fruit, saw that trains were met whenever -necessary, wrote letters for Mrs. McNab, played accompaniments or -dance-music when desired, did odd jobs of mending, and, in short, was -required to be always on hand and never in evidence. Incidentally and -invariably, there were Judith and Jack. - -They were a curious pair, alike in appearance and character; untamed -young savages in many ways, but with a kind of rough honesty that did -much to redeem their pranks. I used to wonder what was their attitude -towards their father; it would have been a comfort to think that they -paid him any reverence, for it was a quality conspicuously lacking in -their dealings with anyone else. Their mother made spasmodic efforts to -control them, generally ending with a resigned shrug and a sigh. For the -greater part of each day they pursued their own sweet will, unchecked. -Never had I met two youngsters so urgently needing the common sense -discipline of a good boarding-school, and it rejoiced me to learn that -after the holidays this was to be their portion; since their governess, -after leaving for her holidays, had decided that she was not equal to -the task of facing them again, and had written to resign her position. -Judy and Jack rejoiced openly. I inferred, indeed, that they had -deliberately laboured towards this end. - -That the pair had a reputation for evil ways, and were determined to -uphold it, was plain to me from my first evening in the house. They -regarded every one as fair game: but the “holiday governess” was their -especial prey, and, so far as I could gather, their treatment of the -species partook of the nature of vivisection. Ostensibly, we were -supposed to be a good deal together, for I found that I was invariably -expected to know where they were; but as my duties kept me busy for the -greater part of the day, and the children were wont to follow their own -devices, we seldom foregathered much before afternoon tea, for which -function I wildly endeavoured to produce them seemly clad. We dined -together in the schoolroom at night, and afterwards descended decorously -to the drawing-room for an hour—if they did not give me the slip; and -Mrs. McNab had conveyed to me that there was no need for me to sit up -after their bed-time. It was this considerate hint that made me realize -what my employer meant by “rest and change.” - -On that first evening I had my introduction to the merry characteristics -of Judy and Jack. Mrs. McNab had excused us from attendance in the -drawing-room, at which they had uttered yells of joy, forthwith racing -down the kitchen stairs to parts unknown. It did not seem worth while to -follow them, so I sat in the schoolroom, writing a letter to Colin and -Madge. I spread myself on description in that letter: Madge told me -later on that my eye for scenery had amazed them both. I hoped the -letter sounded more cheerful than I felt. But the writing of it made me -more homesick than ever, and when I had finished there seemed nothing -worth doing except to go to bed. - -The sight of my room brought me up all standing. My luggage had come up -too late for me to do more than begin unpacking: and Judy and Jack had -been before me to complete the task. The engaging pair had literally -“made hay” of my possessions. My trunk stood empty, its contents -littering the floor; the bedposts were dressed in my raiment and crowned -with my hats, my shoes were knotted and buckled together in a wild heap -on the bed. On the table stood my three photographs—Father, Colin, and -Madge; each turned upside down in its frame. There was no actual damage: -merely everything that an impish ingenuity could suggest. It was -apparent that they had enjoyed themselves very much. - -I was very tired, and my first impulse was of wild wrath, followed -swiftly by an almost uncontrollable desire to cry. Happily, I had -sufficient backbone left to check myself. I walked across the room, -rescued a petticoat which fluttered, flag-wise, from the window, -attached to my umbrella, and began to reverse the photographs. As I did -so, I heard a low giggle at the door. - -“Come in,” I said politely. “Don’t be frightened.” - -There was a moment’s pause, a whispered colloquy, and two flushed faces -appeared. - -“We’re not frightened,” said Judy defiantly. - -“So glad—why should you be?” I asked cheerfully. “Sit down, won’t -you?—if you can find a space.” I took up Colin’s outraged photograph -and adjusted it with fingers that itched for a cane, and for power to -use it. - -“That your young man, Miss Earle?” Jack asked, nudging Judy. - -“That is my brother,” I said. - -“Oh! What does he do?” - -“He does a good many things,” I answered. “He used to be pretty good at -athletics at school and Trinity.” - -“I say!—was your brother at Trinity? Why, Harry’s there!” - -“He was,” I said. “He was a medical student when this was taken.” - -Sudden comprehension lit Judy’s face. - -“Not Earle who was captain of the university football team?” - -“Yes.” - -“By Jupiter!” Jack uttered. “Why, I’ve read about him—he’s the chap -they call ‘the record-breaker.’ My word, I’d like to know him!” - -“Would you?” I remarked pleasantly, polishing Colin’s photograph -diligently with my handkerchief. “Perhaps you and he wouldn’t agree very -well if you did meet; there are some things my brother would call -‘beastly bad form.’ He is rather particular.” - -There was dead silence, and my visitors turned very red. Then Jack -mumbled something about helping me to tidy up, and the pair fell upon my -property. Jack disentangled my shoes while Judy unclothed the bedposts: -together they crawled upon the floor picking up stockings and -handkerchiefs, and laying them in seemly piles; and I sat in the one -chair the room boasted and polished Colin’s photograph. It was -excessively bright when my pupils said good night shamefacedly, and -departed, leaving order where there had been chaos. So I kissed it, and -went to bed. We met next morning as though nothing had occurred. - -I scored again the following evening, through sheer luck, which sent me -before bed-time to my room, in search of a handkerchief. It was only -chance that showed me the pillow looking suspiciously dark as I turned -off the electric light. I switched it back, and held an inspection. -Pepper. - -I knew a little more of my pupils now, and realized that ordinary -methods did not prevail with them. Jack’s room was across the passage: I -carried the peppered pillow there, and carefully shook its load upon the -one destined to receive his innocent head. Then I went downstairs and -played accompaniments for Harry McNab, who had less voice than anyone I -ever met. - -The subsequent developments were all that I could have wished. The -children hurried to bed, so that they might listen happily to what might -follow; and the extinguishing of Jack’s light was succeeded by -protracted and agonized sneezing, interspersed by anxious questioning -from Judy, who dashed, pyjama-clad, to investigate her ally’s distress. -Some of the pepper appeared to come her way as well, for presently she -joined uncontrollably in the sneezing exercise. It was pleasant hearing. -When it abated, smothered sounds of laughter followed. - -The pair were good sportsmen. They greeted me at breakfast next day with -a distinct twinkle, and—especially on Jack’s part—with an access of -respect that was highly gratifying. We went for a walk that day, and I -improved their young minds with an eloquent discourse on the early trade -from the Spice Islands. They received it meekly. - -As for The Towers, in any other circumstances, to be in such a place -would have been a sheer delight. The house itself was square and -massive, with two jutting wings. It was built of grey stone, and crowned -by a square tower, round the upper part of which ran a small balcony. -Originally, I learned, the name had been The Tower House, but local -usage had shortened it to The Towers, in defiance of facts. All the -rooms were large and lofty, and there were wide corridors, while a very -broad veranda ran round three sides of the building. It stood in a -glorious garden, with two tennis-courts, beyond which stretched a deep -belt of shrubbery. Then came a tree-dotted paddock, half a mile wide -between the Wootong road and the house; while at the back there was but -three minutes’ walk to the sea. - -Such a coast! Porpoise Bay, which appeared to be the special property of -the McNabs, was a smooth stretch of blue water, shut in by curving -headlands: wide enough for boating and sailing, but scarcely ever rough. -The shore sloped gently down from low hummocks near the house, making -bathing both safe and perfect. A stoutly-built jetty ran out into the -water, ending in a diving-board; and there were a dressing-shed, -subdivided into half a dozen cubicles, and a boat-house with room for a -powerful motor-launch and a twenty-foot yacht, besides several -rowing-boats. - -The McNabs were as nearly amphibious as a family could be. All, even -Mrs. McNab, swam and dived like the porpoises that gave their bay its -name. I was thankful that Father and Colin had seen to it that I was -fairly useful in the water, but I wasn’t in the same class with the -McNabs. It seemed to be a family tradition that each child was cast into -the sea as soon as it could walk, and after that, took care of itself. -Weather made no difference to them; be the morning never so rough and -cold they all might be seen careering over the paddock towards the sea, -clad in bathing-suits. Mrs. McNab was the only one who troubled to add -to this attire, and on hot mornings she usually carried her Turkish -towelling dressing-gown, a confection of striped purple-and-white, over -her arm. My employer was, in the main, a severe lady; to see her long, -thin legs twinkling across the back paddock filled me with mingled -emotions. - -Not alone in the early mornings did the McNabs bathe: at all times of -the day, and even late at night, they seemed to feel the sea calling -them, and forthwith fled to the shore. Visitors accompanied them or not, -as they chose. I realized, early in my stay, that to shirk bathing would -be a sure passport to the contempt of Judy and Jack, and accordingly I -swam with a fervour little short of theirs, though I realized that I -could never attain to their finished perfection in the water. They were -indeed sea-urchins. - -Mrs. McNab took me over most of the house on the morning after my -arrival, and explained, in a vague way, what my duties were to be. - -“You may have heard,” she remarked, “that I am a writer.” - -I admitted that this was not news to me—wildly hoping that she would -not cross-question me as to my acquaintance with her works. Fortunately, -this did not seem to occur to her. Probably she thought—rightly—that I -should not understand them. - -“My work means a great deal to me,” she went on. “Not from the point of -money-making: I write for the few. Australia does not understand me; in -America, where I hope to go next year, when Judith and Jack are at -school, I have my own following. That matters little: but what I wish -you to realize, Miss Earle, is, that when I am writing I must not be -disturbed.” - -“Of course,” I murmured, much awed. - -“Quiet—absolute quiet—is essential to me,” she went on. “My thoughts -go to the winds if I am rudely interrupted by household matters. Rarely -do my servants comprehend this. I had a cook who would break in upon me -at critical moments to inform me that the fish had not come, or to -demand whether I would have colly or cabbage prepared for dinner. Such -brutal intrusions may easily destroy the effects of hours of thought.” - -I made sympathetic noises. - -“Colly—or cabbage!” she murmured. Her hard face was suddenly dreamy. -“Just as the fleeting inspiration allowed itself to be almost captured! -Even the voices of my children may be destructive to my finest efforts: -the ringing of a telephone bell, the sound of visitors arriving, the -impact of tennis-balls against rackets—all the noises of the outer -world torture my nerves in those hours when my work claims me. And yet, -one cannot expect one’s young people to be subdued and gentle. That -would not be either right or natural. I realized long ago that the only -thing for me was to withdraw.” - -“Yes?” I murmured. - -“In most houses, to withdraw oneself is not easy,” said Mrs. McNab. -“Here, however, the architecture of the house has lent itself to my aid. -I will show you my sanctum: the part of The Towers in which I have my -real being.” - -We had been exploring the linen-press and pantry before the opening of -this solemn subject; I had listened with a mind already striving to -recollect the differences between the piles of best and second-best -sheets. Now my employer turned and led the way up a narrow winding -staircase that led from the kitchen regions to the upper floor. Here it -grew even narrower, I followed her as it curved upward, and presently it -ended on a small landing from which one door opened, screened by a heavy -green curtain. - -“These are the Tower rooms,” Mrs. McNab said. “No one enters this door -without my permission; no one, except on some very urgent matter, -ascends to this landing. Here, and nowhere else, I can have the quiet -which is necessary to my work.” - -She opened the door, using a latch-key, and waved me into a room about -twelve feet square. It was thickly carpeted and very simply furnished; -there were a small heavy table, a chesterfield couch and a big -easy-chair, and, in a corner, a big roll-top writing desk. Low, -well-filled book-cases ran round the walls, which were broken on all -four sides by long and narrow windows. In another corner a tiny -staircase, little more than a ladder, gave access to the upper part of -the tower. - -“Sit down,” said Mrs. McNab. “This is the sanctum, Miss Earle, and here -I am supposed to be proof against all invasion. My husband had these -rooms fitted up just as I desired them: my study as you see it, and -above, a tiny bedroom and a bathroom. The balcony opens from the -bedroom, and on hot nights I can work there if I choose. Sometimes I -retire here for days together, the housemaid placing meals at stated -intervals upon the table on the landing. In hot-water plates.” - -“It’s a lovely place,” I said. “I don’t wonder you love to be here -alone, Mrs. McNab. It must help work wonderfully.” - -She gave me a smile that was almost genial. - -“I see you have comprehension,” she said approvingly. “But only a writer -could fully understand how dear, how precious is my solitude. It is your -chief duty, Miss Earle, to see that that solitude is not invaded.” - -“I’ll do my very best,” I said. I didn’t know much about writing books, -but any girl who had ever swotted for a Senior Public exam. could -realize the peace and bliss of that silent room. There was nothing fussy -in it: nothing to distract the eye. The walls, bare save for the low -bookshelves, were tinted a deep cream that showed spotless against the -glowing brown of the woodwork; the deep recesses of the four windows -were guiltless of curtains; there were no photographs, no ornaments, no -draperies. The table bore a cigarette-box of dull oak, and a bronze -ash-tray, plain, like a man’s: the chair before the desk was a man’s -heavy office-chair, made to revolve. I pictured Mrs. McNab twirling -slowly in it, in search of inspiration, and I found my heart warming to -her. She looked rather like a man herself as she stood by the window, -tall and straight in her grey gown. - -“Now and then, when I have not the wish to work, I let the housemaid -come up, to clean and polish,” she went on. “At all other times I keep -the rooms in order myself. A little cupboard on the balcony holds brooms -and mops—all my housekeeping implements. The exercise is good for me, -and, as you see, there is not much to dust and arrange; my little -bedroom is even more bare. A housemaid, coming daily with her battery of -weapons, would be as disturbing as the cook with her ill-timed questions -about vegetables for dinner. So I keep my little retreat to myself, and -my work can go on unchecked.” - -I listened sympathetically, but more than a little afraid. It would be -rather terrible if my employer went into retreat for a week or so before -I knew my way about the house. The little I had seen of Beryl McNab did -not make me feel inclined to turn to her for instructions. But Mrs. -McNab’s next words were comforting. - -“Just at present I am doing only light work,” she said. “A few hours -each day: more, perhaps, during the night. With so many in the house I -can scarcely seclude myself altogether. But I do not want to be -continually troubled with household matters. I shall, of course, -interview the cook each morning, to arrange the daily menu. Otherwise, -Miss Earle, I shall be glad if you will endeavour to act as my buffer.” - -I was not very certain that I had been trained as a buffer. How did one -“buff,” I wondered? I tried not to look as idiotic as I felt. - -“If I can, I shall be very glad to help,” I mumbled. “You must tell me -what to do.” - -She sighed. - -“Ah, that is where your extreme youth will be a handicap, I fear,” she -said. “I should have preferred an energetic woman of about forty: and -yet, Judith and Jack have such an aversion to what they call ‘old -frumps,’ and have contrived to cause several to resign. And I liked your -letter: you write a legible hand, for one thing—a rare accomplishment -nowadays. I can only hope that things will go smoothly. Just try to see -that the house runs as it should, and that the children do nothing -especially desperate. You will need to be tactful with the servants; -they resent interference, and yet, if left to themselves, everything -goes wrong. Should emergencies arise, try to cope with them without -disturbing me. I want my elder son and daughter to enjoy their visitors; -fortunately, their main source of delight seems to be an extraordinary -liking for picnics, and the basis of a successful picnic would appear to -be plenty to eat. Try to get on good terms with Mrs. Winter, the cook; -her last employer told me that she possessed a heart of gold, and you -may be able to find it. Tact does wonders, Miss Earle.” - -As she delivered this encouraging address her gaze had been wandering -about: now raised to the ceiling, now dwelling on the roll-top -writing-desk. Towards the latter she began to edge almost as if she -could not help it. - -“And now, I begin to feel the desire for work,” she said. “It comes upon -me like a wave. Just run away, Miss Earle, and do your best. It is -possible that I may not be down for luncheon.” And the next moment I -found myself on the landing, and heard the click of the Yale latch -behind me. - -I went downstairs torn between panic and a wild desire to laugh. It -seemed to me that my employer was a little mad—or it might merely be a -bad case of artistic temperament, a disease of which I had read, but had -never before encountered in the flesh. In any case my job was likely to -be no easy one. I was only eighteen; and my very soul quailed before the -task of unearthing the golden heart of the cook. - -In my bedroom I found Julia, the housemaid, flicking energetically with -a duster. She was an Irish girl, with a broad, good-natured face. I -decided that I might do worse than try to enlist her as an ally. But I -was not quite sure how to begin. - -I looked out of the window, seeking inspiration. - -“It’s pretty country, Julia,” I said affably. - -“For thim as likes it,” said Julia. She continued to flick. - -It was not encouraging. I sought in my mind for another opening, and -failed to find one. So I returned to my first line of attack. - -“Don’t you care for the country, Julia?” - -“I do not,” said Julia, flicking. - -“Did you come from a town?” I laboured. - -“I did.” - -My brain felt like dough. Still, I liked Julia’s face, sullen as it -undoubtedly was at the moment. Her eyes looked as though, given the -opportunity, they might twinkle. - -“Mrs. McNab told me you came from Ireland,” I ventured. “I’ve always -heard it’s such a lovely country.” - -“It is, then,” said Julia. “Better than these big yalla paddocks.” - -“Don’t you have big paddocks there?” - -“Is it paddocks? Sure, we don’t have them at all. Little green fields we -do be having—always green.” - -“It must look different from Australia—in summer, at all events,” I -said. “I’d like to see it, Julia.” - -She glanced at me, for the first time. - -“Would you, now? There’s not many Australians says that: they do be -pokin’ fun at a person’s country, as often as not. Maybe ’tis yourself -is pokin’ fun too?” - -“Indeed, I’m not,” I said hastily. “My grandmother was Irish, and though -she died when I was a little girl, I can remember ever so many things -that she used to tell us about Ireland. My father said she was always -homesick for it.” - -“And you’d be that all your life, till you got back there,” said Julia. -She looked full at me now, and I could see the home-sickness in her -eyes. - -“Well, I’m homesick myself, Julia, so I can imagine how you feel,” I -said. She wasn’t much older than I—and just then I felt very young. “My -home is only a little flat in a Melbourne suburb, but it seems millions -of miles away!” - -“Yerra, then, I suppose it might,” said Julia, half under her breath. -“An’ you only a shlip of a gerrl, f’r all you’re that tall!” - -“And I’m scared of my job, Julia,” I said desperately. “I think it’s a -bit too big for me.” - -She looked at me keenly. - -“Bella’s afther sayin’ you’re only here to spy on us and interfere with -us,” she said. “But I dunno, now, is she right, at all?” - -“Indeed, I’m not,” I said hastily. “I’d simply hate to interfere. But -Mrs. McNab says I am to see that the house runs smoothly, because of -course she can’t be disturbed when she’s at work: and that is what she -is paying me to do. I say, Julia—I do hope you’ll help me!” - -The twinkle of which I had suspected the existence came into the Irish -girl’s eyes. - -“Indeed, then, I’ve been lookin’ on you as me natural enemy, miss!” she -said. “Quare ould stories of the other lady-companions Mrs. Winter and -Bella do be havin’. Thim was the ones ’ud be pokin’ their noses into -everything, an’ carryin’ on as if they were the misthress of all the -house.” - -“I won’t do that!” I said, laughing. “I’m far too frightened.” - -“A rough spin was what we’d been preparin’ for you,” Julia said. “The -lasht was a holy terror: she’d ate the face off Mrs. Winter if the -grocer’s order was a bit bigger than usual—an’ you can’t run a house -like this without you’d have plenty of stores. Mrs. Winter’s afther -sayin’ she’d not stand it again, not if she tramped the roads lookin’ -for work.” - -“But doesn’t Mrs. McNab do the housekeeping?” I inquired. - -“Her!” said Julia with a sniff. “Wance she gets up in them quare little -rooms of hers, you’d think she was dead, if it wasn’t for the amount -she’d be atin’. There’s the great appetite for you, miss! Me heart’s -broke with all the food I have to be carryin’ up them stairs! She’s the -quare woman, entirely.” She dropped her voice mysteriously. “Comin’ an’ -goin’ like a shadow she do be, at all hours of the day an’ night, an’ -never speakin’. I dunno, now, if people must write books, why couldn’t -they be like other people with it all? An’ the house must go like -clockwork, an’ no one bother her about annything! Them that wants to -live in spacheless solitude has no right to get married an’ have -childer. ’Tis no wonder Miss Judy an’ Master Jack ’ud be like wild asses -of the desert!” - -I had a guilty certainty that I should not be listening to these -pleasant confidences. But I was learning much that would be as well for -me to know, and I hadn’t the heart to check Julia just as she showed -signs of friendliness. So far, Dicky Atherton was the only friend I had -in the house, and it was probable that Julia would be far more useful to -me than he could ever be. So I murmured something encouraging, and Julia -unfolded herself yet further. - -“’Tis a quare house altogether. None of them cares much for the others, -only Miss Judy for Master Jack, an’ he for her. Swimmin’ an’ divin’ they -do be, at all times, an’ sailin’ in the sea, an’ gettin’ upset, an’ -comin’ in streelin’ through the house drippin’ wet. An’ there’s -misfortunate sorts of sounds in the night: if ’twas in Ireland I’d say -there was a ghost in it, but sure, there’s no house in this country with -pedigree enough to own a ghost!” - -“No—we haven’t many ghosts in Australia, Julia,” I said, laughing. “I -expect you hear the trees creaking.” - -Julia sniffed. - -“’Tis an unnatural creak they have, then. I don’t get me sleep well, on -account of me hollow tooth, an’ I hear quare sounds. If it wasn’t for -the money I can send home to me ould mother I’d not stay in it—but the -wages is good, an’ they treat you well on the whole. It’s no right thing -when the misthress is no real misthress, but more like a shadow you’d be -meetin’ on the stairs. But I oughtn’t to be puttin’ you against it, -miss, when you’ve your livin’ to make, same as meself. It’s terrible -young you are, to be out in the worrld.” - -“I’m feeling awfully young for this job, Julia,” I said. “And I’m scared -enough without thinking of queer sounds, so I hope they won’t come in my -way. But I do want you and Bella and Mrs. Winter to believe that I’m not -an interfering person, and that I shall do my work without getting in -your way any more than I can help.” - -“Sure, I’m ready enough to believe that same, now that I’ve had a quiet -chat with you,” replied Julia. “You’ve your juty to do, miss, same as -meself, an’ I’ll help you as far as I can. Bella’s not the aisiest -person in the worrld to get on with: she’s a trifle haughty, ’specially -since she got her head shingled along of the barber in Wootong: but Mrs. -Winter’s all right, wance you get on the good side of her. And Bence, -that’s the chauffeur, is a decent quiet boy. Sure, there’s none of us -’ud do annything but help to make things aisy for you, if you do the -same by us.” - -She had gathered up her brooms and dustpan, and prepared to go. At the -door she hesitated. - -“And don’t you be down-trodden by Miss Beryl, miss,” she said. “That -one’s the proud girl: there’s more human nature in Miss Judy’s little -finger than in her whole body.” - -“Oh, I don’t think we’ll quarrel, Julia,” I said. “I can only do my -best. At any rate, I’m very glad to think I can count on you.” - -She beamed on me. - -“That you can, miss. An’ if there’s much mendin’, an’ I’ve a spare hour -or two, just you hand some of it over to me: I’m not too bad with me -needle. Sure, I knew Bella had made a mistake about you the minute I -seen your room, left all tidy an’ the bed made. I’ll be off now, an’ -I’ll tell me fine Bella that I know a lady when I see one. Anyone that’s -reared in the County Cork can tell when she meets wan of the ould -stock!” - -Father’s picture seemed to smile at me as she tramped away. I think he -was glad he had given me an Irish grandmother. - - - - - CHAPTER V - I WALK ABROAD AT NIGHT - - -HAPPILY for me, the spirit of work did not claim Mrs. McNab very -violently during my first week at The Towers. There were occasional -periods during which she remained in seclusion, and from the window of -my room, which commanded a view of her eyrie, I sometimes saw her light -burning far into the night; certainly she used to look pale and -heavy-eyed in the morning. But for the greater part of each day she -mingled with her family, and showed less vagueness in letting me know -what were my duties. I was kept pretty busy, but there was nothing -especially difficult. Already the seabathing and the country air were -telling upon me: I lost my headaches, and began to sleep better, and it -was glorious to feel energy coming back to me. I had visions of -returning to Colin and Madge fattened out of all recognition. - -Julia had evidently paved the way for me with Mrs. Winter, the cook. I -found her a somewhat dour person, but by no means terrifying; she unbent -considerably when she found that I did not leave the kitchen in a mess -when I cut sandwiches. The last holder of my office, she told me, had -always made her domain into “a dirty uproar.” We exchanged notes on -cookery; she taught me much about making soup, and was graciously -pleased to approve of a recipe for salad that was new to her. - -Bella was a harder nut to crack. She was a thoroughly up-to-date young -person with an excellent opinion of herself and a firm belief that I was -her natural enemy. Also, she was “work-shy,” and did just as little as -was possible, with a fixed determination to do nothing whatever that did -not fall within the prescribed duties of a parlourmaid. We clashed -occasionally: that was inevitable, though I tried hard to let the -clashing be all on her side. I recalled Mrs. McNab’s advice as to tact, -and struggled to cultivate that excellent commodity. But I don’t believe -that anyone of eighteen has much tact in dealing with a bad-tempered -parlourmaid of five-and-twenty. I did my best, but there were moments -when I ached to throw aside tact and use more direct measures. - -The house-party increased rapidly, friends of Beryl and Harry McNab -arriving almost every day, until there was not a room to spare. They -were a cheery, good-hearted crowd, making their own amusements, for the -most part: they bathed, fished, yachted, played tennis and picnicked, -and there was dancing every night, interspersed by much singing. Madge -was the musical genius of our family, but I could play accompaniments -rather decently, and for that reason I was constantly in request. I -refused, at first, to dance, for it was quite evident that Beryl McNab -preferred me to remain in the background; but there were more men than -girls, and occasionally they made it impossible for me to refuse. I -protested to Harry McNab, who was one of the chief offenders, but my -remarks had not the slightest weight with him. - -“Oh, rubbish!” he said. “Why on earth shouldn’t you dance? No one -expects you to work all day and all night, too—and you dance better -than nearly any girl here! Don’t tell me you don’t like it!” - -“Of course I like it,” I said, with some irritation. “But I’m not here -to dance, Mr. McNab, and you know that very well. Ask your sister, if -you have any doubt on the matter.” - -“Oh—Beryl!” he said with a shrug. “Who cares what she thinks? She’s not -your boss, Miss Earle.” - -“She’s the daughter of the house,” I answered firmly. “And I think you -would find that your mother thinks as she does.” - -“We’ll ask her,” he said. He dragged me up the long room to where his -mother was sitting. Mrs. McNab never stayed downstairs for long in the -evening; soon after the music was at its height she would slip away -quietly to the Tower rooms and be seen no more until the morning. She -greeted him with a smile that lit her rather grim face curiously. -Affection was not a leading characteristic among the McNabs, but Harry -was certainly first in his mother’s favour. - -“Miss Earle says she won’t dance, Mother! Tell her it’s -ridiculous—three of us are standing out because we haven’t got -partners.” - -“Possibly Miss Earle does not care for dancing?” - -“Yes, she does, though. Only she’s got a stupid idea that you don’t want -her to.” - -“I have no objection,” said his mother. “Still I do not think it would -be wise for you to tire yourself, Miss Earle.” - -“Oh, we won’t let her do that. But I’m hanged if you’re going to act -Cinderella all the time, Miss Earle,” said Harry. “Come along—we’ve -wasted too much of this already.” He swept me out into the crowd, and I -gave in more or less meekly: it wasn’t difficult when every nerve in me -was already beating time to the music. And Harry danced so very much -better than he sang! - -All the same, I never remained downstairs long after Mrs. McNab had -disappeared. I had next day to consider, and my days began pretty early: -besides which, I couldn’t help feeling an ugly duckling amongst the -other girls. My two dinner dresses were by no means up to date; I was -fully aware of their deficiencies beside the dainty, exquisite frocks of -which Beryl McNab and her friends seemed to have an unlimited supply. I -used to breathe a sigh of relief when I escaped from the drawing-room, -racing up the stairs until I gained the shelter of my own little room. - -Judy and Jack were supposed to be in bed by nine o’clock. It was one of -the few rules that they did not scorn, since their days were strenuous -enough to make them feel sleepy early, and they had few evening -occupations. They loathed dancing, and neither was ever known to read a -book if it could possibly be avoided. The crowded state of the house had -made it necessary for them to give up their rooms to guests: they slept -on the balcony, and Judy used my room to dress, while Jack made his -toilet in a bathroom. Judy was a restless sleeper, and I had formed the -habit of going out to tuck her in before I went to bed. - -I slipped away from the drawing-room one hot night when the dancing was -fast and furious. A little breeze from the sea was beginning to blow in -at my window, and I leaned out, enjoying its freshness and wondering if -Colin and Madge were grilling very unpleasantly in the stuffy Prahran -flat. Above my head a faint glimmer from the Tower rooms showed that -Mrs. McNab was at work—one never imagined her as doing anything but -writing steadily, once she had vanished to her sanctum. Sometimes she -wrote on her little balcony, which was fitted with electric light: the -scent of the cigarettes she continually smoked would drift down to my -window on still nights. - -The lower balcony that ran partly round the house ended before it -reached my room, so that I had a clear view of part of the garden as -well as of the track across the paddock to the sea. As I leaned out a -faint sound came to me from below. Then two slight figures crossed the -strip of moonlit garden, running quietly and quickly, and disappeared in -the direction of the back of the house. I had been dreaming, but I came -to attention with a jerk. Unquestionably, they were Judy and Jack. - -I looked at my watch. Ten o’clock: and the precious pair should have -been in bed an hour ago. I went down the passage and out upon the -balcony to where their beds stood peacefully side by side. At first -glance they appeared to be occupied by slumbrous forms; but a moment’s -investigation showed that a skilful arrangement of coats and pillows, -humped beneath the sheets, took the places of the rightful occupants. -Clearly, my charges were out upon the warpath. - -I felt horribly responsible. Lawless as the two were, they were supposed -to be in my care, and it seemed to my town-bred mind an unthinkable -thing that two such urchins should be careering about in the dead of -night. Their elaborate precautions against discovery showed that it was -no excursion of a few moments. The direction of their flight was towards -the sea. Possibly the McNab urge for bathing had seized them; or they -would be quite equal to taking out a boat for a moonlight row. Whatever -their fell designs might be, it seemed to me that I should follow them. -I could not calmly go to bed, knowing that they were out of the house. - -I was in anything but a gentle frame of mind while I hurriedly changed -my evening frock for something more serviceable and donned a pair of -tennis-shoes. Bed seemed to me a very pleasant place as I switched off -my light and stole quietly down the kitchen stairs, hearing the -gramophone grinding out a fox-trot in the drawing-room. I could only -hope that I would find the truants soon; and that, when found, they -would allow themselves to be gathered in peaceably. But I knew already -that it was no easy matter to turn Judy and Jack from any set purpose. - -I am a good deal of a coward in the dark; the night seemed full of -ghostly sounds as I hunted up and down the dim shrubbery, hoping to find -my quarry near the house. But there was no sign of them: nothing living -could be seen except an old owl that flew out of a bush with a whir of -wings that sent my heart into my mouth. So I set off across the paddock -towards the shore. - -The hummocks were fringed with low scrub, through which a dozen paths -wandered. I chose one at random, following its windings until it ended -in a deep, stony cleft, down which it would not be easy to scramble in -the moonlight. I was about to retrace my steps, to look for an easier -path to the beach, when a low giggle fell upon my ears, and looking -closely, I saw Judy and Jack crouched behind a boulder below me. They -had not heard me; that was clear: all their attention was focused on -something beyond them. As I watched, a tall figure came from the shadow -of the boat-house. I heard the scratch of a match being struck, and saw -the glow as the new-comer lit a cigarette. Then the figure strolled -slowly across the moonlit sand by the water, and I saw, with a start of -astonishment, that it was Mrs. McNab. - -She paced backwards and forwards, with her head bent, her face shadowed -by one of the soft hats she always wore. She had changed her evening -dress for a dark gown in which she moved like a shadow, the dull glow of -her cigarette-tip the most living thing about her. There was something -eerie and ghost-like in the dim form, drifting with silent steps by the -gently heaving sea. I had an uneasy feeling that I was spying: that I -had no right to be there. Clearly, too, it was unnecessary for me to -shepherd Judy and Jack when their own mother was about. I was turning to -go quietly home when another giggle came from the pair just below me, -and I heard Judy’s voice, discreetly lowered. - -“Rotten luck!” she whispered. “No earthly chance of getting a boat out, -with Mother there. Why on earth can’t she stay in the Tower, without -spoiling sport!” - -“Let’s go and give her a fright,” Jack suggested. “P’raps she’ll think -it’s one of the ghosts Julia’s always talking about, and clear out!” - -“Don’t be an ass,” counselled his sister. “She’d be awfully wild.” But -her words were wasted. Jack was already making his way softly down the -gully. - -He went more quietly than I should have imagined was possible in that -cleft of shifting stones. Bending low, so that his head should not show -above the edge, in case his mother glanced upwards, he crept down, and -gained the beach unseen. - -Mrs. McNab heard nothing. She had turned away, and was standing still, -looking out to sea—doubtless seeking inspiration from the softly -rippling water. I wondered would she come back presently, back to the -Tower room, to write through the night; or would dawn find her still -pacing by the sea. Nothing, I thought, would surprise me about my -eccentric employer. - -And yet, she was to surprise me—and not me alone—very much indeed. - -Jack came out of the protecting gloom and stole noiselessly across the -sand until he was only a dozen yards from the still figure. Then he -suddenly gave a long eldritch shriek—it made even Judy jump—danced -impishly for a moment, flinging about his arms and legs, and fled -towards the hummocks. - -Quick as he was, his mother was quicker. At his wild cry she swung -round, her cigarette dropping from her fingers. She stood as if -petrified for a moment. Then she gave chase. Her long legs carried her -across the sand with amazing swiftness. Just as the boy gained the edge -of the gully her hand fell on his shoulder and held him fast. - -“You would dare to spy on me!” I heard her say, in a choked voice. - -She reversed Jack with a swift movement, and then, as if he were a tiny -child, she spanked him thoroughly. Jack was a strong boy and a sturdy -one, and he did not take the proceeding meekly. He kicked and fought and -struggled; but the grip in which he was held never slackened, and the -avenging hand rose and fell with a regularity astonishing to behold. -Never had I beheld a more competent spanker than Mrs. McNab. I had no -special sympathy in general with Jack, but I almost ached for him. - -Her arm must have been tired when the resounding blows ceased and she -pitched him contemptuously on the sand. Then, without waiting to read -the lecture that usually accompanies a punishment, she plunged swiftly -up the gully. It is possible that she thought so thorough a spanking -spoke for itself: possible, also, that she had no breath left. In any -case, she did not speak. She went swiftly past me, her face lowering and -angry, and her swift steps died away across the grass. - -Judy had crouched low under a bush while her mother passed her. Once the -avenging figure was out of sight, she sped downwards to her brother. - -“My word, you caught it! I’ll bet it hurt!” - -“Hurt!” said Jack. He had picked himself up, and was rubbing his -injuries with a comical air of bewilderment. “I’ll tell the world it -hurt! I’m all on fire! Great Scott! she did lay it on!” His voice took -on an unwonted note of reverence. “Judy, would you have thought she had -it in her?” - -“I would not,” said Judy. “And goodness knows, you kicked like a steer!” - -“Well, I bet I don’t run up against Mother again, if I can help it,” -Jack uttered. “I don’t want another licking like that. I don’t believe -I’ll be able to ride for a week! Judy, I tell you she held me as if I -was a bit of a kitten! I’m sore, but I tell you, I’m jolly proud of -Mother!” - -“Well, it’s a good thing that’s the way it makes you feel,” said Judy, -regarding him with some amazement. “How about getting out that boat now? -She won’t come back again. She’s up in the Tower room now, I bet, -writing an article for the Americans on ‘How I Brought Up My Sons.’ Say -we get the boat?” - -“You don’t catch me sitting in any boat to-night,” returned her brother, -still rubbing. “It’s light walking exercise for me for a bit, and just -now I think I’ll take it to bed. Come along home: it must be awfully -late, and there’s always the chance that she might come back. I say, -Judy, wasn’t my yell a beauty!” - -“It was,” agreed his sister. “But it was a mistaken yell.” - -Jack nodded agreement. - -“Well, you don’t catch me trying to attract Mother’s attention again,” -he said. “She leaves her mark when you do attract it. Come along, Ju: -I’m off to bed.” - -There seemed no reason for me to show myself, when Mrs. McNab had dealt -with the situation so thoroughly: I remained in my hiding-place while -they clambered up the gully, a proceeding clearly fraught with pain in -the case of Jack. Quite near me he paused. - -“I say,” he said, “we’ve been pretty average annoying, a good many -times. I wonder why she never did that before?” - -“Don’t know,” said Judy. “If I had a gift like that I guess I’d use it!” - -“Well, I hope she won’t get the habit, that’s all,” said Jack. They went -slowly across the paddock, and I followed at a discreet distance. The -light burned brightly in the Tower room as I crossed the yard. Up there -Mrs. McNab would write and smoke throughout the night. For once I wanted -to read the result of that particular evening’s inspiration. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - I MEET GOOD FORTUNE - - -‟WE want to get up a big boating picnic, Mother,” Beryl McNab said one -morning at breakfast. “Everybody is coming: the crowds from Willow Park -and Karinyah, and a few people from Wootong. We’re going to make a very -early start, sail round some of the islands, bathe in the big -diving-pools on Rocky Spit and land on Shepherd’s Island for lunch. -After that we’ll do whatever the spirit moves us.” - -“Or whatever we have any energy left to do,” Dicky Atherton said. -“Personally, I shall lie flat on a hot patch of sand and sleep all the -afternoon.” - -“Then you’ll certainly find yourself marooned,” remarked Harry. -“However, if you fly a towel as a signal of distress some one will -probably pick you up within a few days. And the fishing’s pretty good -from Shepherd’s Island.” - -“One might be worse off,” Mr. Atherton rejoined placidly. “I’m beginning -to need a rest-cure, thanks to the life you people lead down here.” - -“We want to go on Thursday,” said Beryl. “Can we have an extra-special -lunch, Mother?” - -“I suppose so,” Mrs. McNab answered vaguely. She had been deep in -thought, and it seemed an effort for her to rouse herself. It was -understood in the house that the spirit of work was harassing her; she -had spent most of the two previous days in the Tower rooms, and one -gathered that at any moment she might be expected to go into retreat -altogether. “Miss Earle, will you consult with Mrs. Winter about it? -Just tell Miss Earle if there is anything in particular that you would -like, Beryl.” - -“We’re going, too!” chorused Judy and Jack. - -“Oh, we don’t want kids!” Beryl said. “You two are a perfect nuisance on -a picnic.” - -“Oh, rubbish, Beryl!” Harry said. “The kids from Willow Park are coming, -and they’ll want mates.” - -Beryl shrugged her shoulders. - -“Well, you can be responsible for them,” she said. “But you know -perfectly well, Harry, that no one ever can tell what Judy and Jack will -do.” - -“Oh, they’ll behave—won’t you, kids?” said Harry easily. “I’ll hammer -you both if you don’t. I say, Mother, I don’t see how we can possibly -expect Miss Earle to have a big lunch ready as early as we want to -start. Why shouldn’t she come too? If she had the lunch down at the -boat-house about half-past twelve some of us could easily run across in -the launch and pick her up.” - -“Good-oh!” said Jack. “I’ll come back for you, Miss Earle. I can run the -launch all right.” - -“Not by yourself, young man, thank you,” said his brother. “But it would -be quite easy to arrange. How about it, Mother?” - -“Certainly, if Miss Earle would like to go,” said Mrs. McNab, a little -less dreamily. “It would be good for her. Bence could carry the baskets -to the beach. You would care for the outing, Miss Earle?” - -“I should like it very much, thank you,” I answered, trying to keep any -eagerness out of my voice. Except for bathing, I had scarcely been out -of the house for some days, and the prospect of a boating picnic was -alluring. Beryl had carefully refrained from making any comment, but -this time it didn’t worry me. There would be so many people at the -picnic that it would not be difficult to keep out of her way. I heaved -an inward sigh of thankfulness at the recollection of a white linen -frock that would be just right, and registered a vow to find time to -wash and iron it next day. - -“Then that’s all settled,” said Harry gleefully. “I’ll telephone to the -other people. And just you youngsters make up your minds to behave as -decently as you know how. I don’t say that’s much, but it may carry you -through the day.” - -I spent a hectic day in the kitchen on Wednesday. Mrs. Winter was -fighting a bad cold, and chose to resent the list of extra delicacies -which Beryl had airily handed in. “One ’ud think it was a ball supper at -Govinment House, instead of a picnic on a sandy island,” she grumbled, -and made a hundred difficulties. Beryl had disappeared; as a matter of -fact, she had never appeared at all, but had sent her list by Julia; and -Mrs. McNab was vaguer than ever, and had a kind of worried look that I -put down to trouble over her writing. Whatever delight her work might -give her when once she was shut up in her sanctum, the period while it -was hatching in her brain seemed to be something like what one endures -in cutting a wisdom-tooth. I felt sorry for her as she went about with -her dreamy look—she was so far apart from all the cheery, -happy-go-lucky house-party. At any rate, it was my job, as I -recollected, to act as her buffer; and the end of it was I pretended -that I had an easy day, rolled up my sleeves, and went to help in the -cooking. - -That cheered Mrs. Winter a good deal. She was really very seedy, with -the kind of heavy head-cold that makes speech difficult and extra -brain-exertion a torment: she welcomed my cooperation even more than my -actual help in the work, and forgot a good many of her woes in the -course of the first hour. I made oyster-patties and charlotte russe and -fruit salad, and we thought out new ideas for sandwiches and cool -drinks. I even managed to enlist Judy and Jack, as the best means of -keeping them out of mischief; Mrs. Winter supplied them with aprons and -they beat up eggs and whipped cream, and became desperately interested -in my sponge-lilies and cheese-straws. “I’d be a cook myself, if I could -always make things like these,” Judy averred, as she sat on the table, -delicately licking the cream from a sponge-lily, with a red tongue that -seemed as long as an ant-eater’s. “How ever do you go on cooking things -like boiled mutton and steak-and-onions, Mrs. Winter, when you might -make gorgeous experiments all the time?” - -Mrs. Winter sniffed. - -“If you had to eat theb thigs for a week, Biss Judy, you’d be botherig -roud the kitched for good boiled buttod and sdeak-ad-odiods,” she said -severely—at which afflicted utterance the pair yelled with joy, and -spent much time in devising questions that could only be answered in -words containing letters impossible at the moment to the poor woman. By -four o’clock we had made all the preparations that could be finished -that day, and had got the dinner well under way as well. Mrs. Winter -sighed with relief as I washed the kitchen table. - -“I thought this bordig I’d be id by bed before dight,” she said. “But -I’ve laughed at you three so buch by cold’s dearly god, I believe! Off -you go, Biss Earle—you bust be tired.” - -“No, I’m not,” I said. “I have a dress to iron yet: I’ll come back and -help you when I’ve done it. You’re not to get yourself all hot over -dishing-up.” - -“’Deed, an’ you’ve been enough in the kitchen for wan day,” said a new -voice; and Julia came in, with my rough-dry frock over her arm. “Let you -run off to your tay: I’m afther bringin’ this in from the line, and I’ll -have it ironed in two twos an’ be ready to do the dishin’-up meself. -Take her away, now, Miss Judy an’ Master Jack. An’ for pity’s sake wash -the two faces of ye before your Mother sees you, for there’s samples on -them of every blessed thing that’s been cooked to-day!” Whereat Judy and -Jack gripped each an arm and raced me off to my room. - -I saw that they were respectable, made a hasty toilet myself, and we -went out to the lawn, where afternoon tea was in full swing. A stranger -was there, sitting in a basket-chair by Mrs. McNab: a spare, elderly man -with keen blue eyes, at sight of whom my charges uttered a delighted -yelp. - -“Hallo, Dr. Firth! We’ve been cooking!” - -“Then I won’t stay to dinner, thank you,” replied the stranger promptly. -“Not that I believe you have; you’re far too clean!” - -“Oh, that’s thanks to Miss Earle—she’s awfully fussy about little -things like that,” said Judy, laughing. “This is Miss Earle, Dr. Firth. -She’s the worst we’ve had!” - -“Judith!” said her mother in a voice of ice. - -“I can well believe you think so, judging by your fine state of polish,” -said Dr. Firth, laughing. “You seem to have done wonders, Miss -Earle—congratulations.” He had risen to shake hands with me: I liked -his firm grip and his straight glance. “Now, where are you going to sit -while I get you some tea? Jack, my boy, there’s a chair over there”: and -Jack was off like a flash to fetch it. - -To be waited upon at The Towers was something new to me. I looked round -nervously. But some one else had claimed Mrs. McNab’s attention and -every one appeared to be already supplied with tea; there was nothing -for me but to do as I was bid and sit down. I did so thankfully, for I -was tired enough after my day in the kitchen. Jack and Judy, already -full-fed, had wandered away, and presently I was enjoying my tea, with -my new friend sitting near me—our two chairs somewhat apart from the -crowd. - -“Now you are not to move for twenty minutes,” he said, in a cool tone of -command. “Doctor’s orders, and therefore not to be disregarded. No, you -needn’t argue,” as I opened my mouth. His tone was so final that I -pretended that I had merely opened it to put cake into it, and he -laughed. - -“That’s better. There are plenty of young fellows here to hand round -teacups. And I want to talk to you. Mrs. McNab has been telling me that -you are a doctor’s daughter. Not Denis Earle’s daughter, by any chance?” - -“My father was Denis Earle,” I said, wondering—and wondered still more -at the change in his face. - -“If you knew how glad I am to find you!” he said. “I knew you when you -were a baby, my dear. Did Denis ever speak to you of Gerald Firth?” - -“Oh—often!” I cried. “But I thought you were in England. He—he just -loved you, you know!” I felt an ache in my throat; my eyes swam as I -looked at his kind face. - -He moved his chair so that he sheltered me from every one else. - -“Drink your tea,” he said quietly. “You’re tired, you poor child. And -I’ll do the talking.” He leaned forward, his voice low. - -“I was in England for fifteen years—until six months ago,” he said. -“Then I came out hurriedly, to attend to business; my elder brother had -died, leaving me his property near here. It was only just before I -sailed from England that I heard that my old friend had gone; we were -both bad correspondents, and not many letters passed between us. I did -make inquiries about his children in Melbourne, but I couldn’t get on -your track: I have been intending to go down and find you, but all my -brother’s affairs were very tangled, and I have only just succeeded in -straightening them out. It’s the queerest thing that I should come -across you here!” - -“Oh, I’m so glad,” I murmured. “It’s just lovely to find some one who -knew Father!” - -“He and I were friends as boys and at the University,” Dr. Firth said. -“We took our degrees in the same year. I owe more to him than to anyone -in the world—more than I could tell anyone except his own children. I -was a pretty wild youngster, and I got into a horrible mess in my -University days. It would have been the end of my career as a doctor, -but for Denis. His help and his cool judgment pulled me through, but he -went poor for three years because of it. I paid him back in money—hard -enough it was to get him to take it, too. But the biggest part of it, -that wasn’t money, I never could repay. I’ll be his debtor all my life.” - -He paused, and I could see that he was wrung with feeling. - -“I don’t know anything about it, of course,” I stammered. “But Father -would never have thought anything of it. You were his great friend. He -often talked to us about you, and told us what mates you had been.” I -hesitated. “Colin is named after you: Colin Gerald Earle.” - -“I know,” he said. “I’m rather proud of it. And where is Colin now? A -full-fledged doctor, I suppose? He was a great little boy.” - -“He is a great boy still,” I said. “He is just like Father. But he isn’t -a doctor, and he never will be, now. He is just a clerk in an insurance -office.” - -“A—clerk!” he uttered. “But Denis wrote me that his whole soul was in -medicine. He was to succeed your father in his practice. And you—why -are you here, bear-leading these youngsters? Surely there were no money -troubles?” - -I told him, briefly, just how things had been. He did not say much, but -it seemed to me that his face grew older. - -“If I had known!” he said, when I had finished. “Denis’s children! Well, -I can alter one thing, at any rate: you needn’t stay here as general -factotum a day longer. Come over to my place, and look after me, -instead: I’ve a huge house, and my old housekeeper will welcome you with -open arms. I won’t have you earning your living here.” - -I felt myself turn scarlet with astonishment. It was a wonderful -prospect. I couldn’t take it all in, but it flashed on me that it would -be very soothing to meet Beryl McNab on equal terms. Then I caught sight -of Mrs. McNab’s face as she moved slowly across the lawn with her head -bent and the look of worry plainly in her face, and I knew I couldn’t do -it. Father would have said it wasn’t the square thing. - -“It’s ever so good of you, Dr. Firth,” I told him, “and I’m very -grateful. Some other time it would be lovely. But I couldn’t throw over -my job here. I don’t think it would be fair to Mrs. McNab: her hands are -very full, and I do believe she is beginning to depend on me.” - -“She could get some one else to depend upon.” - -“Not in the middle of the holidays. She wouldn’t have taken me if she -could have found some one older and more experienced. And the children -are really pretty good with me—I think it’s because I am young enough -to play about with them now and then. They hate the elderly governess -type.” - -“Are you working too hard?” he asked doubtfully. “You are far too thin, -you know, young lady.” - -I told him I was by no means over-worked; there was plenty to do, but -nothing really difficult. He was not satisfied: that was clear. He asked -me a great many questions, and finally repeated that Mrs. McNab should -be asked to find some one to replace me. - -We were supposed to be an obstinate family, and I may have a certain -share of the quality. At any rate, I shook my head. - -“Please don’t ask me, Dr. Firth, for I hate saying ‘No’ to your -kindness. But I’ve undertaken a responsibility, and I don’t feel that I -can drop it. You know, Father always taught us that it was an -unpardonable thing to let anyone down.” - -He looked at me keenly. - -“Yes, you’re like Denis,” he said. “Well, I won’t try to persuade you -against your own judgment. But I warn you, I shall keep an eye upon you, -and if I see that you are getting fagged, I shall write to Colin and -take the law into my own hands. Give me his address, please”—he wrote -it down—“and promise that you will tell me if I can help you in any -difficulty. I know the McNabs pretty well.” - -I promised that readily enough. - -“But I don’t think there will be real difficulties,” I said. “I am -beginning to feel that I can hold down my job, and I like the children. -And it will all seem so different, now that I know I have a friend close -by. I shan’t be lonesome any more.” - -“I’m glad you feel like that about it,” he said. “And now, I suppose, I -had better find my hostess: every one seems to have gone over to the -tennis-courts.” He made me go with him, and we looked for Mrs. McNab, -who was sitting alone, knitting, under a big jacaranda. - -“You have had a long talk,” she said, her voice rather cold. - -“We have,” Dr. Firth said cheerfully. “I have found an old friend, Mrs. -McNab: I knew this young lady in her cradle. Her father was my greatest -friend. It has been a very great pleasure to discover one of his -children.” - -“That is very nice,” said Mrs. McNab absently. “Won’t you sit down? Dr. -Firth, have you heard anything of the robbery last night? Or is it only -a rumour?” - -“No rumour, worse luck. Some mean scoundrel broke into the Parkers’ -cottage—you know, those two old maiden sisters who live on the -outskirts of Wootong: they used to keep a little fancy shop, but they -retired last year. Last night they went to choir-practice, leaving their -place locked up, as usual. Some one managed to open the kitchen window -and climb in, and when they came home they found their writing-table -ransacked.” - -Mrs. McNab leaned forward, looking anxious. - -“Did they—was there much taken?” - -“The thief was evidently looking for money only. Unfortunately, the old -ladies had money in the house: a foolish habit of theirs. The -writing-table drawers had flimsy modern locks, easily enough picked by -anyone with a little skill in that direction. The rascal got away with -five-and-twenty pounds.” - -“How dreadful!” Mrs. McNab said. “I am so sorry for them. And—the -police? are they looking for the thief?” - -Dr. Firth shrugged his shoulders. - -“Oh, of course. But the Wootong policemen aren’t a very brilliant pair, -and the man left no trace, they say. It is so easy, nowadays, to get -away with the proceeds of a robbery; a motorcar or motor-cycle lands a -thief forty miles away in an hour. And the Parkers’ cottage is on the -main road, where cars pass every few minutes. I don’t suppose the poor -old ladies have much chance of seeing their money again. It is a heavy -loss for them: they have very little to live on, and the elder sister is -not strong.” - -“Poor old things!” Mrs. McNab said, in a troubled tone. “It was a very -mean robbery.” - -“It was; and it looks as though the thief knew something of their -circumstances. One would not expect a little cottage like that to be -burgled; the ordinary thief would hardly expect to get enough to make -his risk and trouble worth while. Some people are saying that the -burglar is not far off. It appears that Henessy, of the hotel, lost some -money last week; some one had helped himself from the till. Henessy had -been in and out of the bar a good deal, and a great many people had been -there during the day; he felt that he had no clue, so he held his tongue -at the time. But he told the constable about it this morning.” - -“But that is very worrying to the whole neighbourhood,” said Mrs. McNab -anxiously. “You should be careful, Dr. Firth: your house is lonely, and -you have so many beautiful things in it.” - -“Oh, they’re well enough secured, I fancy,” he said. “My brother had -very special locks for all his cabinets of curiosities. All the same, I -admit that I think there is too much there for prudence. I have none of -the collector’s fever, as my brother had, and a good many of his -treasures mean very little to me, valuable as they are. They would not -be much use to the average burglar, either.” - -“Oh, but think!” Mrs. McNab urged, leaning forward. “The jewels set in -those barbaric ornaments—they would be easily removed. I don’t think -you should run the risk.” - -“Well, yes, I suppose the jewels would make decent plunder,” Dr. Firth -admitted. “To tell you the truth, Mrs. McNab, I don’t seem to have had -time to learn my brother’s collections yet: there are ever so many -things of which I have only a hazy notion. They are all listed, of -course, and I had an expert down to value them, in connection with -Michael’s estate; but since then they have been locked away.” He looked -almost apologetic as he spoke. “I’m pretty busy, you know: there has -been so much business to see to, and so much writing to England—I left -at a moment’s notice when the news of Michael’s death came. And the -local people won’t believe that I am not a practising physician: they -come to me whenever Dr. Harkness is not to be found in Wootong. I tell -them it’s their own risk, considering that I haven’t practised my -profession for fifteen years. But one can’t refuse them. So my time is -sadly cut to waste. But for that I should have found out Miss Earle and -her brother and sister long ago: and then, I doubt if you’d have had -Miss Earle here, for I should have wanted her myself.” - -To my astonishment, Mrs. McNab looked genuinely concerned. - -“You do not want to take her away, I hope?” - -I shot him a warning glance, and he laughed as he answered the quick -question. - -“I don’t imagine that she would come if I suggested it,” he said -lightly. “But don’t let her over-do it, Mrs. McNab: she is not as strong -as she might be. I mean to exercise my rights as an old family friend -and keep a sharp eye upon her.” - -“Oh!” said my employer. “Quite so. By all means, Dr. Firth. But I trust -that we are not overworking Miss Earle. Though indeed,” she added, -apparently recollecting something, “I was much horrified, on going to -the kitchen just now, to see how my cook is, to be shown all the cookery -you have done to-day. Piles of dainties. But quite unusual, I assure -you, Dr. Firth.” - -“Quite,” I said, laughing. “I haven’t gone in for such a baking orgy -since I left my cookery class. It was really great fun, Mrs. McNab, and -Judy and Jack enjoyed it, too. Please don’t worry about me. I am really -much stronger than when I first came here.” - -“I am very glad to hear you say so,” Mrs. McNab said. “Indeed, Dr. -Firth, I should be sadly lost without Miss Earle. For one so young she -has surprising tact in dealing with cooks and children!” At which I -turned a brilliant red, and Dr. Firth laughed and said good-bye. I -walked with him to the gate, where his car stood. Just as he started the -engine, Judy and Jack came tearing up. - -“When are we to come over to see you? You said we were to come one day -in the holidays!” - -“So you are. Miss Earle, too, if she will: I’ll telephone and fix a day. -And look here, you two: I knew Miss Earle when she was much younger than -either of you, and she is my charge. Just you behave decently to her, or -you needn’t expect to be friends with me.” He nodded over the wheel at -them, and was gone. - -Judy and Jack looked at each other. - -“Well, I like that!” uttered Jack. “He was about the only one in the -country that didn’t jaw at us, and now he’s begun!” - -“And there wasn’t any need to jaw, either,” added his sister. “For we do -treat you quite beautifully, don’t we, Miss Earle?” - -“Quite,” I told them. “We have established friendly relations.” - -“I’m hanged if I’m friendly with most of my relations,” said Jack. -“They’re a moulty lot: always on the jump for what a fellow’s going to -do next. But you’re sensible, Miss Earle.” - -“Yes,” said Judy. “You don’t expect us to behave like angels every bit -of our time.” - -“I do not—and isn’t it a good thing?” said I. “But I would be really -glad if you would try to check your queer desire to put things into -people’s beds. I really didn’t mind the Jew-lizard you put into mine, -because I have met Jew-lizards before, and also because I found him -before I got into bed. But Miss Vaughan was quite peevish about the frog -she found in hers last night.” - -“He was a gorgeous green one!” said Judy soulfully. “Do tell us what she -said, dear Miss Earle!” - -“I will not: there was too much of it for me to remember. But you might -bear in mind that I reap the harvest when you sow frogs. If Dr. Firth -heard——” - -“Oh, he mustn’t!” Judy cried. “Miss Earle, he’s got the jolliest place -ever. It belonged to old Mr. Michael Firth, who was a perfect Jew and -hated every one, so, of course, no one went there. Then he kindly died, -so this brother inherited it, and he’s a dear. The house is just full of -queer things that old Mr. Firth collected. He never would let anyone -look at them, except people as snuffy as himself, but Dr. Firth is going -to show us everything. I’m so glad he’s going to let you come too!” - -I went to my room that night, tired enough, but with a heart lighter -than it had been since my arrival at The Towers. Mrs. Winter had beamed -upon me after dinner, and had forbidden me to come near the kitchen next -morning, remarking that if she could not pack a few baskets her name was -not Susad Widter. Julia had left my white frock on a hanger in my -wardrobe, ironed to a glossy smoothness of perfection that was heartsome -to see; and even Bella had unbent from her haughty pedestal to hope that -the weather to-morrow might be fine. I had not again encountered Mrs. -McNab, who had disappeared directly after dinner into her upper -fastness: but her words in the garden with Dr. Firth had been -reassuring. Judy and Jack were friendly—even roughly affectionate. It -really seemed that my holiday job might be a success. - -And, best of all, I had found an old friend. A good many of our friends -had vanished after we fell on evil times. No one had been actively -unpleasant; we simply felt that we were outside the circle, and we had -made up our minds, rather bitterly, that money was the only thing that -counted. To meet Dr. Firth, with his warm memories of Father, had helped -me wonderfully, even though I had not felt able to do as he wished in -leaving The Towers. It was delightful to think that we were to have his -friendship after I had gone back to Prahran. Now—what a jolly letter I -could write to Colin and Madge! I could not wait a moment to begin: I -found writing materials hurriedly, and in a moment my pen was fairly -flying over the paper. - -It was late when I finished. My eyes were aching, and I switched off the -light and leaned out of the window. Every one seemed to have gone to -bed: the house was very still, and the scent of a great bush of -bouvardia under my window came up to me in a wave. I stayed there -dreaming, until I began to feel cold, and found myself yawning. - -Just as I turned to undress and go to bed a faint sound below caught my -ear. I held my breath to listen. Clearly there was some one below: the -muffled, stealthy steps were unmistakable. The memory of the Wootong -burglar flashed upon me. Was the thief about to try his luck at The -Towers? - -As I listened, the soft movements passed from the path beneath my -window, and seemed to come from the direction of the yard. I heard a -faint crunch that could only be the gravel at the back. There, I knew, -everything was locked up—Mrs. Winter had a pious horror of unfastened -doors and windows, and saw that all were secure every night before she -went to her room. I resolved to reconnoitre a little farther before -alarming the house. In a moment I was running softly down the back -staircase. - -Half-way down, a sudden sound brought me to a standstill, trembling. -Some one had come in and had closed a door, very gently. In a moment -stealthy steps were mounting the stairs towards me. - -There was no time to get back to my room: quiet as the steps were, they -were swift—whoever was coming was almost on me. The scream which all -proper young persons should be able to produce refused to come from my -lips; my feet would not move. I put out my hand to the wall to steady -myself, shrinking away, and my fingers encountered an electric light -switch. Almost without knowing what I did, I turned it on. - -The light, magically transforming the black darkness, shone full on Mrs. -McNab, coming up the stairs in her dark day gown and soft hat. She might -have been out for a morning walk. But the glimpse I had of her face -under the brim of the hat staggered me, so white was it and so haggard. - -“I beg your pardon, Mrs. McNab!” I stammered. “I thought you were a -burglar!” - -She had started violently when the light flashed out—started almost as -though she would run away. Then she came on swiftly, and brushed rudely -past me, without a word or glance. I stood staring after her, but she -did not turn. Her quick strides took her beyond the landing: I heard her -feet on the upper staircase, and then the click of her door as it shut. - -I made my way upstairs, still trembling. Within the shelter of my room I -collapsed on my bed, thankful for its support. - -“Well!” I uttered. “Literary genius may make you do queer things, Mrs. -McNab, but it needn’t give you the manners of a jungle pig!” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - I FIND SHEPHERD’S ISLAND - - -MY queer encounter with my employer did not, luckily, hinder my sleep: I -went to bed, and knew nothing more until Julia brought me a cup of tea -at seven o’clock. It was long after my usual time for rising, and I felt -almost panicky as I glanced at my watch. - -“Oh, Julia, I’m awfully late!” I said ruefully. “Why didn’t you call me -before?” - -“Is it me to be callin’ you?” was Julia’s inquiry. “Sure, it’s glad I am -to see you taking a bit of a rest. I dunno why would you always want to -be leppin’ from your bed before annywan in the house—you, that’s afther -tellin’ me you want to get fat!” - -“And so I do,” I said. “But it makes all the day easier if I have a good -start. Julia, this tea is heavenly!” - -“Drink it slow and aisy, then,” said Julia. “No need to gulp it as if -you were emptyin’ a cup for a wager. And you’ll do no more worrk than -you can’t help doin’ this fine day, miss: remember ’tis a picnic you -have before you, and the finest day ever I seen to enjoy it in. There’s -no sense in goin’ out worrn to the bone with slaving for them as doesn’t -notice it.” - -“Don’t you believe it, Julia,” I told her, laughing. “Mrs. McNab as good -as said yesterday that she couldn’t do without me!” - -“Yerra, I knew that,” said Julia with great calmness. “What I didn’t -know was that she’d woke up enough to find it out! Well, good luck to -the poor woman—it seems there’s sense comin’ to her in her ould age!” - -“Why, she isn’t old at all,” I said. “I don’t think she is much over -forty—she told me she had married when she was just out of the -schoolroom.” - -“That one’ll never see youth again, no matther how ould she may be,” -Julia said. “The only signs of youth ye’d see on her is when she do be -stridin’ across the paddock in her bathin’ clothes; all other times she -looks as ould as McFadden’s pig, with the look of trouble she have on -her. I dunno why wouldn’t she take life aisy instead of writin’ all day -an’ all night as well: an’ they say there’s no end to her riches. -’Tisn’t meself ’ud worrk if I had them.” - -“How is Mrs. Winter?” I asked, to change the subject. I knew I should -not listen to Julia’s opinions of her mistress, but I had a guilty joy -in doing so, nevertheless. - -“Her spache is no aisier to the poor woman, but her spirits is good. I -rubbed her shesht for her last night till I nearly brought the blood, -an’ then I gave her a good hot glass of lemon an’ other things to -comfort her—roarin’ at me she was to stop long before I’d finished. She -have flannin on it to-day, she’s afther tellin’ me, with oil on it, to -soothe the rawness. There’s nothin’ like a good rub to get rid of a cold -an’ keep it from settlin’ on the shesht. Don’t be worryin’ yourself -about her; she told me to tell you she felt gay as a lark!” - -“She has great endurance,” I said solemnly. - -Julia twinkled. - -“I dunno would you have said so if you’d heard her last night,” she said -with a grin. “‘Lave me,’ says she, ‘while I have anny skin left on me -body!’ ‘I will not lave you,’ I says, ’till I have you in a nice, -plisant glow!’ ’Tis the grand muscle I have for rubbin’, along of -polishin’ the floors, an’ I med good use of it on her. She’ll be the -betther of it this manny a day.” - -“Will you rub me, Julia, if I get a cold?” I asked, as well as I could -for laughter. - -“I will that same.” - -“Then I won’t get one,” I said firmly. “Julia, the tea was lovely, and I -could talk to you for a week—but I must get up. I wish it was time for -me to put on my white frock, for it was never ironed so beautifully in -its life!” - -The Irish girl beamed. - -“Did you like it? I’m glad. Me ould mother taught us ironin’, back in -Skibbereen; she’d have broke our legs from under us if we’d lef’ so much -as a crease in the tail of a shirt. There’ll be no frock among all them -fine young ladies at the picnic lookin’ betther than yours, miss. Just -you take it aisy, now, an’ don’t get tired; I’ll keep me eye on Bella -an’ see she don’t put down fish-knives for the quality to use for their -porridge!” She picked up my cup and departed. - -I found myself singing as I dressed. Julia always had an uplifting -effect upon me: and with all her quaint friendliness there was never any -lack of respect. Occasionally I had daydreams, in which Colin had won -Tattersall’s sweep or found a gold-mine, so that we swam in amazing -wealth; and always in my dreams we transferred Julia from The Towers to -grace our newly acquired marble halls. Julia herself was much uplifted -at the prospect, rather dismaying me by a childlike belief that some day -the vision would become reality. I knew how little chance there was of -that; still—where would one be without even hopeless dreams? - -I greeted Mrs. McNab at breakfast in some trepidation, the memory of the -tragic meeting of the previous night weighing upon me. To my relief, she -had evidently decided to ignore it: she gave me a pleasant “good -morning,” and actually inquired whether I had slept well—a courtesy -somewhat marred by the fact that she did not listen to my reply. That, -however, was nothing unusual with Mrs. McNab: her attention rarely -lasted beyond one’s first speech. It used to give one the rather -embarrassing feeling of talking into a telephone disconnected at the -other end. - -The house-party trooped off as soon as breakfast was over, accompanied -by Judy and Jack, whose spotless condition would, I felt grimly certain, -not endure beyond the first landing-place. Harry McNab lingered to give -me final instructions. - -“I’ve told Bence to be on hand when he’s wanted, in case Mother -forgets,” he said. “He’s to carry everything down to the -boat-house—don’t you go making a baggage-mule of yourself, Miss Earle. -Will you be down about half-past twelve? I can’t be quite certain of -being there for you on time, but I promise I won’t keep you waiting -long. We’ll all have enormous appetites, so I hope you and Mother Winter -have fixed up heaps of lunch, and that it isn’t all Beryl’s kickshaws! -I’ll want dozens of sandwiches—big, thick ones, with the crust left -on!” - -“I’ll make you up a special package,” I told him. “But don’t let your -sister see them, or I’ll be eternally disgraced.” - -“Great Scott, all the other fellows will want them, too!” he laughed. -“Make us plenty, and we’ll get behind a rock and devour them where Beryl -can’t see them. Beryl’s far too refined for the sort of picnic we’re -going to have to-day!” - -I braved Mrs. Winter’s wrath by going to the kitchen to cut sandwiches -of a size remarkable enough to satisfy the hungriest; but this light -exercise was the only work I was permitted to do that morning, for Julia -and the cook effectually blocked any attempts I made to justify my -position as a paid helper. Finally, I gave up trying to find work, and -went off to my room, where I read _Greenmantle_ and spent a morning of -utter peace and enjoyment, until it was time to dress. Julia was waiting -for me when I came downstairs, and nodded approval of my frock. - -“’Tis aisy seen that bit of linen came out of Ireland,” she said. “It do -hang lovely, miss: an’ that big black hat wit’ one rose in it is just -what it wants. You wouldn’t mind, now, comin’ out by way of the kitchen, -an’ lettin’ Mrs. Winter see you?” - -“I meant to,” I said. - -Their cheery good-byes rang pleasantly in my ears as I strolled down to -the shore. Bence had already taken the lunch. He met me near the edge of -the hummocks: a tall young fellow, with a quiet manner, and a dark, -good-looking face. - -“Everything is stacked at the end of the jetty, miss,” he said. “I see -Mr. Harry comin’ across in the launch: he’ll be there in a few minutes. -It’s a great day for a picnic.” - -“Thank you, Bence: yes, it is a perfect day,” I answered. And, indeed, -it was perfection; not too hot, yet hot enough to make bathing glorious; -a blue sea, flecked here and there with a little white cap, and air so -clear that the islands were golden against the blue. Seagulls and terns -strutted on the wet sand by the water: overhead, gannets wheeled and -hovered, now and then plunging downwards, throwing high the spray as -they disappeared in quest of darting fish. Across the bay the launch -came shooting swiftly: Harry McNab perched forward, with a rope ready, -while, as they drew nearer, I could see the flushed faces of Judy and -Jack, and shrill, triumphant cries greeted me: - -“We ran her all by ourselves, Miss Earle! Harry didn’t do a thing! Jack -ran the engine, and I steered——” - -“And you’d better stop talking, or you’ll scrape half her paint off on -the side of the jetty,” quoth Harry; to which Judy’s only answer was a -derisive snort. She brought the launch deftly alongside, and I caught -the rope round a bollard. Harry sprang out, and in a few moments the -baskets were stowed away, and we shoved off. - -“The kids really managed fairly well,” said Harry, in the -half-contemptuous tone of an elder brother. “They were mad keen to come -over for you alone, but I didn’t see much point in that.” - -“Pif—we didn’t need you!” said Judy loftily. “Bence has been teaching -us for ever so long; I bet we know as much about the engine as you do, -Mr. Harry, so there!” - -“Bence says I’d make a jolly good mechanic,” stated Jack, looking up -from the engine with a happy face, to which a large streak of oil lent -pleasing variety. - -“When you grow up I expect you might,” Harry jibed. “Anyhow, it’s not -very difficult. Ever run a launch, Miss Earle?” - -I nodded. - -“Yes—though I’m not an expert. But I like anything to do with an -engine.” - -“You’re a queer girl,” said Harry reflectively. “Most Melbourne girls -don’t know a thing about the country, or engines, or anything of that -kind, but you’re different. You weren’t even scared of the bull the -other day!” - -“That’s all you know,” I answered. “I was horribly scared, but I knew it -wouldn’t do to let the old bull see it. You see, though we were brought -up in Melbourne, Father took us to the country every summer: we -generally hired a launch and camped out. Father didn’t believe in any of -us being unable to manage the launch, if necessary, so we all had to -serve an apprenticeship. And I happen to like engines, so I picked up a -good bit. Father was a very stern camper!” - -“How d’you mean, stern?” demanded Jack. - -“Well, he believed in a camp being run properly. Everything had to be -ship-shape, and he made us do things really well, from digging -storm-water drains round the tents to burying and burning the rubbish -every day. Father used fairly to snort when he spoke of people who leave -greasy papers and tins lying about in the bush, to say nothing of -egg-shells and orange-peel. We had to take it in turns to be cook and -camp-manager, and he held a daily inspection of everything, from the -rolling of the blankets to the washing of the frying-pan.” - -“I say—that’s making camping into a job of hard work!” uttered Harry. - -“No, it wasn’t—not a bit. It only made us camp-proud, and I can tell -you, our camp was worth looking at. We enjoyed it ever so much more, and -we had hardly any bother with flies and ants. We had heaps of fun; -Father was the best mate that ever lived. Ship-shape camping is very -easy when every one knows his job and sticks to it. And it makes a big -difference when you come back tired and hungry after a long day, to find -firewood and water all ready, and everything clean.” - -“There’s something in that,” Harry admitted. “Six of us were camping -last Christmas; we used to shoot off after breakfast, leaving things -anyhow, and the greasy plates were pretty beastly at night: and we were -eaten alive with flies and creepy things. Then rain came, and we were -flooded out. It wasn’t a whole heap jolly. I’ll try your idea of a drain -next time, Miss Earle.” - -We had rounded the western headland of Porpoise Bay and were out in open -water. Before us was a long stretch of blue, dotted with a dozen little -islands—some mere heaps of rounded granite boulders, their sides washed -smooth by the waves, others clothed with trees and undergrowth. The -largest of these was a couple of miles ahead. It was a long, narrow -island, densely wooded at one end, and with smooth green slopes running -down to the water’s edge. A little building showed not far from the -beach, half hidden by the trees. - -“That’s Shepherd’s Island,” Harry nodded. - -“Is there a shepherd there? Surely there are no sheep?” - -“There have been a good many sheep there, occasionally. There’s always -grass on the Island—a little creek runs through it, fed from a -spring—and the feed is quite good. In very dry seasons some of the -farmers used to ferry their sheep across, and they did very well there. -Then some bright spirits realized that it was an easy place to get -mutton, and the sheep began to disappear. That annoyed the owners, so -they clubbed together and put a man out there to watch the flock: they -built him a stone hut, and used to take him supplies every week. But the -seasons have been so good for some years that there has been no need to -send sheep across, so the old hut hasn’t been used.” - -“What a lonely place for a man to live in!” I commented. - -“Oh, it wasn’t too bad. The Island is only a mile in a direct line from -the shore, and some of the fishing-boats used to look him up from time -to time, besides the weekly supply-boat. And there was always the chance -of a scrap with sheep-stealers; the shepherds used to be provided with a -gun, though I think only one man ever used it—and then he killed a -sheep by mistake! There’s good fishing from the rocks at the far end, -too. I don’t fancy a fellow would be too badly off there,” Harry ended. -“I think Mother might do worse than go and camp there with her writing: -an island is just about what she wants, when a book is worrying her!” - -That seemed to me a rather brilliant idea, and I was wondering how it -would appear to Mrs. McNab when we drew near to Shepherd’s Island. A -shelf of rock at the edge of a deep, tiny bay made a natural -landing-place; already two other launches were secured there, their -mooring-ropes tied to trees. We ran in gently, Judy at the helm. Several -people, Dicky Atherton among them, were waiting for us. - -“Thought you were never coming,” he called out. “We’re all stiff with -hunger!” - -“You’re very lucky to get us at all,” Harry retorted. “Catch the rope, -Dick. I hope you’ve got the billy boiling.” - -“It ought to be, if it isn’t. Hallo, Miss Earle—you’re the -coolest-looking person on this island! We’re all hot and hungry and -sunburnt, but we’ve had a great time.” He helped me ashore and -introduced me to several people whom I had not seen before. The launch -was unloaded, and we set off up the smooth grassy slope to where the -main body of the picnickers could be seen gathered under a shady tree. -To the left the smoke of their fire drifted lazily upward. - -Beryl McNab was cool and aloof, and did not attempt to make me known to -any of the strangers. But some of the other girls were kinder, and among -the Wootong contingent I discovered an old school-chum, and we fell on -each other’s necks with joy: I had not seen Vera Curthois for years, but -she was one of those to whom lack of money makes no difference. She -introduced me to the people with whom she was staying: merry, friendly -girls and boys. Harry and Dicky Atherton superintended lunch, not -permitting me to do anything; and presently I seemed to know every one, -and managed to forget that I was a kind of housekeeper and paid buffer -to Mrs. McNab. It was very refreshing to be simply Doris Earle once -more: I enjoyed every minute of the long, cheery luncheon. - -We explored the island after everything was packed up and we had rested -for awhile under the trees. The shepherd’s cottage was not much to see; -a one-roomed hut built of slabs and heavy stones, joined by a kind of -rough mortar. Cobwebs festooned it, and birds had nested in the -crevices, but it was still water-tight, though the door sagged limply on -one hinge. I fancied that Mrs. McNab would prefer her snug retreat in -the Tower rooms. It was easy, looking at it, to picture the lonely -shepherd who had waited in the darkness, his gun across his knees, for -the sound of oars grating in rowlocks as the sheep-stealers’ boats drew -near. A man might well get jumpy enough to fire into the gloom and kill -his own sheep. - -“It’s a big island, but the place where we landed is the only bit of the -shore that’s safe to bring a boat alongside,” said Harry. “Even there, -you want to be careful; there are sunken rocks everywhere. Most of the -visitors funk it, though of course it’s nothing when once you know the -way. The local people have rather exaggerated the difficulties, to -discourage boating parties from landing here when there were sheep: -there are plenty of city gentlemen, out for the first time with a rifle, -who would think it rather sporting to fire at a stray sheep on these -hills.” - -“Sort of chaps who pot black swan and seagulls,” said Jack with disgust. - -“Yes; the coast swarms with them in the holidays. However, they -generally let Shepherd’s Island alone, thank goodness!” - -“But you can land near Smugglers’ Cave,” said Judy. - -“Oh yes—if you know the entrance. But it’s so masked with rocks that no -one would dream of putting in there who wasn’t thoroughly familiar with -the place. It was rather lucky for the shepherds who had to camp here -that there is only one good landing: if they had had to watch all the -shore at night their job would have been a fairly tough one. As it was, -they could keep a look-out from the door of the hut.” - -“This is a stuffy old place!” Judy said contemptuously. “Let’s go down -to the other end of the Island: I want to show you the Smugglers’ Cave, -Miss Earle.” - -“Were there smugglers?” I asked. - -“Never a smuggler!” Harry McNab answered, laughing. “But there’s a cave -of sorts, and of course it had to have a name.” - -“All the best caves have smugglers,” Vera smiled. “Come and we’ll -explore it, Doris.” - -We went along the shore of the Island. The sandy beach soon gave place -to rocks, at first low and scattered, but presently rugged and steep, -with masses of rounded boulders flung hither and thither. The outgoing -tide had left innumerable pools among them, fringed with red and bronze -seaweed and big crimson anemones. We lingered among them until eldritch -screams from Judy smote upon our ears, and we beheld her dancing on a -huge flat-topped rock and calling to us to hurry. - -I was used to wild outcries on the part of Judy and Jack, but on this -occasion there seemed unusual urgency in the call, and I hurried -accordingly. - -“I thought you were never coming!” she greeted me. “Jack’s stuck in a -rock, and we can’t get him out. I don’t believe anything ever will, -unless they use dynamite, and then they’ll dynamite him too!” - -“But how exciting!” laughed Vera. “Lead us to the painful scene, Judy, -won’t you?”—and Judy suddenly turned upon her, her face aflame. - -“You haven’t got anything to laugh at!” she flung at her. “If it was -your brother stuck you wouldn’t think it was so jolly funny. I suppose -you think it’s a joke for a little kid to be hurt!” - -“Steady, Judy!” I said. - -“Well, she laughed!” said Judy furiously. - -“I wouldn’t have laughed, Judy dear, if I had known he was hurt,” Vera -said contritely. “Come on, and we’ll see if we can’t get him out.” - -We found the prisoner with his feet tightly wedged between two rocks, in -a deep cleft. He had slipped from above, so that both feet were jammed: -and since it was impossible for him to get any purchase on the -water-worn granite, he was perfectly helpless. Three youngsters of his -own age, lying flat on the rock above the cleft, were hauling at his -arms, with no result whatever, except to cause him a considerable amount -of pain. His rosy face was very near tears as he looked up at us. - -“I thought a grown-up would never get here!” he said dolefully. “What am -I going to do, Miss Earle? I can’t move an inch!” - -“We’ll get you out, Jack, old man,” I said. “Don’t struggle, or you may -be more jammed than ever.” - -Vera and I examined the situation, while the children stood about us -with anxious faces. We tried to lift him, but it was clear from the -first that it was beyond our strength. As I lay face downwards above him -a dull boom and a splash sounded behind me, and a swirl of green water -flowed into the cleft. - -“Tide’s coming in,” said Jack between his teeth. “That’s the third wave, -and each has been a bit higher. It comes up from somewhere underneath -me. Could you hurry a bit, Miss Earle?” - -“Judy,” I said quickly, “run for some of the men—your brother and Mr. -Atherton, if you can see them, but any of the men will do. You others -scatter and look for any long pieces of timber you can find. Stay with -him, Vera—I’m going to the boats for rope.” - -I used to be a pretty good runner at school, when I captained the hockey -team, but I don’t think I ever ran as I did along that horrible island. -It seemed miles long; when I had to leave the grass the sand held my -feet back, and I ploughed through it in ungainly bounds. I saw no one: -all the others were on the western shore, where one of the boys had -landed a big fish—so big that every one had become excited and had -insisted on trying to fish too. Judy’s search was fruitless for a time: -a fact of which I was luckily unaware, as I raced to the launches, lying -lonely and quiet by the rocky shelf. I seized a coil of the stoutest -rope I could see, and fled back again. Every wave breaking lazily on the -beach below me, struck new terror into my heart. I knew how quickly the -tide turned on that coast: how swiftly such a cleft as the one in which -Jack was trapped would fill with water, drawn up into it by suction from -the rock-spaces beneath him. His set little face swam before my eyes, as -I ran, lending new strength to my lagging feet: the square, dirty -boy-face, with the honest eyes. I think I tried to pray, only no words -would come. - -Others were running, too, as I neared the rocks again: I saw Dicky -Atherton and Harry, and a big young man in a gorgeous sweater, whose -colours had offended my eye at lunch—I welcomed it now, remembering how -big and strong he was. He carried a long pole: a young tree-trunk, -lopped for some purpose, and washed over from the mainland: even laden -as he was, he ran with the athlete’s long, easy strides. Panting, I -reached the cleft again, brushing through the group of scared children. - -The water was waist-deep round Jack now, and as I came in sight of his -face a wave washed into the cleft, sending a hurrying rush of water to -his shoulders. And even so, he gave me a little smile. - -“Golly, you must have run, Miss Earle!” he said. - -“Rope!” said a voice at my shoulder. “Oh, by Jove, that’s good!” Dicky -Atherton snatched the coil from my hands and flung himself into the -cleft, knotting it swiftly under the boy’s arms. - -“Don’t you get caught too, Dicky,” warned Jack. - -“Don’t you worry, old man—my feet are too big,” Dicky said, laughing. I -wondered how he could laugh at such a moment; and wondered the more when -I saw how his face had whitened under its tan. But Jack grinned back. - -Dicky Atherton sprang up to the top again, gathering the rope until it -was taut. The big young man had thrust his pole deep into the cleft near -Jack: on the other side, Harry had done the same with a long fence-rail -that some one had found on the shore. They glanced at each other. - -“Ready—all together!” said Harry breathlessly. “Pull, Dicky!” - -They bent on their levers, thrusting them deeper into the swirling -water, while Dicky leaned back against the rope. I saw Jack set his lips -as it tightened. For a moment nothing gave; and then the dry fence-rail -split and shivered under the strain, and Harry went staggering back with -a little gasp of despair. There was a kind of shudder through the group -round the rock. Then the good green timber found its grip and held, and -as the big man flung his weight on it, the rock moved and Jack’s -shoulders came up. Harry sprang to add his strength to the pull: -together he and Dicky drew the little prisoner up, and in a moment he -was safe upon the top. - -Beryl McNab broke into noisy crying. - -“Oh, I thought it was all over when that rail broke!” she sobbed. - -“Not much!” said Jack. He was very white, and his voice shook, but his -eyes twinkled still. He put out a hand to Judy, who had neither moved -nor spoken. She went on her knees beside him, holding the grubby little -hand in a close grip. - -“Hurt much, old Jack?” she asked with stiff lips. - -“I feel as if I was all skinned with the rope,” Jack said, sitting up -and rubbing himself. “Oh, and, by Jove, look at my legs! I’ve lost my -sand-shoes!” - -He had lost more than sand-shoes. Not only had they been pulled off, but -his feet and ankles were almost skinned, with deep cuts and grazes from -which the blood was now pouring. - -“Golly, and I never felt a thing!” said Jack, much interested. “Why, I’m -like a skinned rabbit! Well, I guess I’ll keep out of that sort of hole -after this. Jolly lucky for me there were so many people about, wasn’t -it?” - -“Jolly lucky we had that rope,” said the big man gravely. “Look at that -beastly place now.” - -The cleft was almost full of water that moved to and fro with a dull -surge. The rescue had been only just in time. I think we all shuddered, -looking into the green depths. Then, since shuddering was not much use, -and the rock where we stood would soon be covered with water, I made a -collection of handkerchiefs and bound up Jack’s wounds, after soaking -them in water. The men proposed to carry him, but he scorned the idea, -declaring himself perfectly well able to walk. - -“I’ll paddle round to the launch and get into my bathers,” he said, -standing up and shaking himself, his wet clothes clinging limply to his -little body. “Come along, Ju.” He went off, limping, but erect, Judy’s -arm round his shoulders. I think, of the two, I was more sorry for Judy. - -Harry and I followed, to examine his other wounds—Beryl being -apparently too unnerved to do anything but sit on a rock in a becoming -attitude and bewail what might have been. We found that the rope had cut -through his thin shirt, marking him in an angry circle: it was sore -enough, but we could only be thankful that it was no worse. Jack himself -asked for no consolation. - -“I’m all right,” he said sturdily. “It was all my own fault, anyhow. You -ought to make Miss Earle have a cup of tea, Harry; she ran all the way -to the launch and back for the rope, and she must be tired.” - -“That’s a good idea, young ’un,” said Harry. “Come along, Miss Earle: -you sit under a tree, and I’ll boil the billy.” - -The others came straggling back, and we had tea; and then, since Jack -was peacefully fishing from a rock in his bathing suit, and vigorously -protested against being taken home, we left him in Judy’s care and -strolled back to see the Smugglers’ Cave. - -As Harry had said, it was not much of a cave. It was wide and shallow, -with a tiny compartment opening off it—a sub-cave, Vera called it. Both -were floored with smooth dry sand. The most interesting thing about the -place was the sea in front of the opening. The rocks ran far out into -the water all along that part of the Island shore; but just before the -cave there were none, and instead there stretched a little calm bay, -almost circled by the high rocks. - -“That is really what gave the place its name,” Harry said. “Some one -started the yarn that smugglers used to run their boats in here: it’s a -perfect natural harbour. A boat might come in and anchor under the lee -of the rock, and people sailing past would be none the wiser. So a sort -of story grew up round it. As a matter of fact, there were never any -smugglers at all.” - -Dicky Atherton told him he was an unsentimental beggar. “A pity to spoil -a good yarn,” he said. “Think how tourists would lap it up!” At which -Harry shuddered, and uttered pious thanks that, so far, tourists had not -discovered their part of the coast. - -We went home slowly in the early evening, turning our backs upon a -sunset that made sea and sky a glory of scarlet and gold. It had been a -merry day, apart from the mishap that might so easily have ended in -tragedy: but since Jack was alive and well, we were young enough to -forget our brief time of terror, and we sang lustily, if not tunefully, -as the launches glided over the still sea. Jack, perched on the extreme -point of the bow, was loudest in the choruses. I could see, however, -that his wounds were beginning to stiffen; when we landed I hurried him -up to the house so that I might cleanse and dress them properly. He -wriggled with disgust at my scientific bandages. - -“Much better give ’em a dab of iodine and let the air cure ’em,” he -said: at which I shivered. I hadn’t had the heart to apply iodine to so -wide an acreage of skinned boy. - -“Comfortable?” I asked, as I adjusted the last safety-pin and pulled his -stocking gently over the whole. - -“Oh yes. It’s all right. But I do feel an awful idiot, trussed up like -this!” - -“But nobody can see, Jack.” - -“No—that’s a comfort,” he said. And then he astonished me, for he -suddenly slipped an arm about my neck and gave me a rough hug. “Thanks, -awfully,” he said. “You’re no end of a brick, Miss Earle!”—and was -gone. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - I HEAR STRANGE THINGS - - -DR. FIRTH appeared next day after breakfast and borrowed me, with the -children, for the day. Mrs. McNab was immersed in writing, and seemed -glad to let us go. She had shown real feeling over the news of Jack’s -escape, and had come to my room at night to thank me for my small share -in it. I had remarked that I was afraid she would blame me for letting -him out of my sight: to which she had replied mournfully that if one had -a hundred eyes it would be impossible always to keep Judy and Jack in -their line of vision. Then she had drifted away. - -We went off in high spirits, my own raised to the seventh heaven because -Dr. Firth allowed me to drive. I had not had the wheel of a car in my -hands since the good days when I used to drive father on his rounds; one -of the bitterest moments of our poverty had been when we saw our beloved -Vauxhall driven away by the fat bookmaker who had bought her. He -couldn’t drive a bit, either: he scraped one mudguard at our very front -gate. Dr. Firth’s car was a Vauxhall also, and it was sheer joy to feel -her purring under one’s touch. We went for a fifty-mile run before we -came back to his house for lunch. - -The house was a fine old place, of deep-red brick, half smothered in -Virginia creeper. Judy and Jack evidently knew their way about, and they -promptly disappeared towards the stables, where two ponies were at their -disposal. It was with difficulty that I retrieved them for lunch, which -we ate at a table on the verandah, in a corner shut in by a wall of -climbing roses. A delightful old housekeeper, motherly and gentle, -fussed over us. The whole place breathed an atmosphere of home. - -When we had finished, Dr. Firth showed us all the quaint and beautiful -things that his brother had collected. They were almost bewildering in -their variety. One great room was given up to stuffed animals, far finer -specimens than the moth-eaten relics to be found in the City Museum. -There were marvellous cases of butterflies, mounted so exquisitely that -they almost seemed in flight: others of tropical birds, and a -particularly unpleasant section given up to reptiles, over which Judy -and Jack gibbered with delight. In one room were weapons, ancient and -modern, civilized and savage: in another, barbaric ornaments, set with -rough jewels. I recollect a beautiful cabinet filled with fans, of the -most delicate workmanship. So large was the collection that my brain was -bewildered long before I had seen everything. I sympathized with Judy -and Jack when at last they struck. - -“They’re all awfully wonderful and all that,” Judy said bluntly. “But if -you won’t think us rude, Dr. Firth, Jack and I would rather go back to -the ponies!” - -The Doctor laughed. - -“I don’t blame you,” he said. “There is really too much for one day. I -think Doris has had enough, too. Some other time you must come and see -the rest: just now, I think we’ll lock them up again. Be off with -you!”—and the pair raced away. - -Dr. Firth returned the jewelled Tibetan belt-clasp he had been showing -us to its blue-lined case, and locked the cabinet carefully. - -“Mrs. McNab is convinced that the Wootong burglar will pay me a visit,” -he said, laughing. “I don’t think so: these things are hardly likely to -attract the average sneak-thief, though, of course, many of them are -almost priceless. They really should not be in a private house. I mean -to lend most of them to the Museum, and then I shan’t feel responsible.” - -“I should love you to be burgled,” I said, laughing—“and the burglar to -find himself inside that stuffed Zoo of yours. Just fancy the feelings -of an enterprising thief who turned on his dark lantern and found -himself confronted by a python! It would be enough to give him a change -of heart, wouldn’t it?” - -“It would certainly be worth seeing,” Dr. Firth agreed. “If he dropped -his dark lantern in his confusion and couldn’t find the way out, there -would be a very fair chance of adding a lunatic to the collection by the -morning! That room is uncommonly eerie in a dim light. I don’t care for -it myself. The animals always seem to me to come alive when the light -begins to fade: sometimes you’d swear you saw one move. They say my -brother used to sit there in the evening—he said the animals were -companionable!” - -“It was a queer taste,” I said. - -“An unhealthy one, I think. No—they’re out of place in an ordinary -man’s home. And the servants hate them; not one of the maids would go -near that room after dark if you offered her double wages. That big room -could be put to much better use than housing those silent avenues of -watching beasts. It would make a fine ballroom, wouldn’t it, Doris?” - -“Oh, wouldn’t it!” I cried. - -“I’d like to see it a ballroom,” he said, putting his keys into his -pocket, and leading the way out to the verandah. “I want to see young -people round me, Doris: the place is altogether too lonely and silent. -I’ll clear all the beasts out before the next holidays, and you and -Madge and Colin must come down here and we’ll fill the house with cheery -boys and girls. I think we could manage a pretty good time, don’t you?” - -“It sounds too good to be true!” I answered. “But I would love to think -it might happen.” - -“We’ll make it happen,” Dr. Firth said. “You three are to be my -property, in a way; you’re the nearest approach to nieces and nephews -that I have—and, indeed, I don’t believe that any nieces and nephews of -my own could have been as much to me as Denis’s children.” He put me -into a comfortable chair. “Now you have got to tell me all about him,” -he said. “I never could hear too much of Denis.” - -I certainly could never have grown weary of talking. It seemed to bring -Father very near to be telling everything about him to this man whom he -had loved: who sat, leaning forward in his chair, letting his pipe go -out as he listened. I told him how dear and good Father had been to us -after Mother had died, when Madge was a very little girl: how, busy as -he was, he had always made time to be with us, and had set himself to -make our home what Mother would have liked it to be—a place of love and -happiness. I told him of our camping-out holidays in the bush; of the -half-hour before bed-time that he always kept free for us; of how he -used to come to tuck us in, when we were in bed, and say “God bless -you,” just as Mother would have done. There were so many dear and merry -memories of which it was happiness to tell. It was not so easy to speak -of the last dreadful days, when we had all, in our bewilderment, been -unable to realize that he was going away from us for ever. - -“But he did not know, himself,” I said. “It was all so quick: -unconsciousness came so soon. We have always been thankful that he did -not know.” - -“I wish I had been there,” Dr. Firth said. “You three children, to face -everything!” - -He walked up and down for a few minutes saying nothing. Then he came -back and put his hand on my shoulder. - -“You seem to have faced things like men, at all events,” he said. “And -in future, you have got to count me in: I’m not going to lose you, now -that I have found you. When you go back to Melbourne I mean to go too, -to make friends with Colin and Madge. Colin and I used to be friends, -years ago. He was a great little boy: the kind of boy a man would like -to have for a son.” - -“He is certainly the kind of boy we like to have for a brother,” I said, -laughing. “Why, even his name helps to keep Judy and Jack McNab in -order!” - -“And that speaks volumes!” said Dr. Firth. “Not that you would call them -extra-orderly now. Look at Judy, I ask you!” - -The younger Miss McNab had just shot into view in the paddock beyond the -garden. She was mounted on a nuggety black pony, which had apparently -gone mad. Bucking was beyond the black pony, ordinarily an animal of -sedate habits and calm middle-age; but it fled across the paddock, -“pig-rooting,” kicking-up, and now and then pausing to twist and wriggle -in the most complex fashion. Behind the pair came Jack, who rolled in -his saddle, helpless with laughter: his shouts of mirth echoed as he -went. - -“She’ll be killed!” I gasped. - -“Not she,” said Dr. Firth. “That child is born to be hanged! But I would -certainly like to know what had come to my old Blackie. I didn’t think -he had it in him to be so gay.” - -Blackie’s gaiety at the moment seemed to border on desperation. He -propped in his gallop, gave a series of ungainly bounds, and finally -commenced to kick as though nothing else could ease his spirits. At each -kick his hind-quarters shot higher and higher into the air, and Judy -slid a little farther forward. At last, a kick so high that it seemed -that nothing could save the pony from turning a somersault ended the -matter for his rider: she left the saddle, appeared to sit on Blackie’s -head for a moment, and came to earth in a heap. The pony stood still, -panting. - -In their joyous career they had turned and were near the house, so that -it did not take us long to reach them. I ran with wild imaginings of -broken bones whirling in my brain: hugely relieved, as I came near, to -see Judy gather herself up from the grass, rubbing various portions of -her frame with extreme indignation. Beyond the fact that she was very -dirty there seemed little damage done. And after all, to be dirty was -nothing very unusual for the younger Miss McNab. - -“That beast of a pony!” she uttered viciously. “What on earth happened -to him, Dr. Firth? He just went mad!” - -“He isn’t given to excursions of that kind,” Dr. Firth said, looking -puzzled. “Blackie is always regarded as beyond the flights of youth. -What did you do to him, Judy?” - -“Only rode him. And I could hardly get a move out of him until just now. -I told Jack the old slug wasn’t fit to ride!” - -“So he went and slung you off!” put in Jack happily, from his pony. -“That’ll teach you to be polite to a pony, Ju!” - -“You be quiet!” flashed his sister. She cast a look of sudden -inspiration at his innocent face. “I do believe——!” She broke off, and -hurriedly unfastened Blackie’s girth, lifting the saddle. A dry -thistle-head, considerably flattened, came into view. - -“You did it!” she screamed, and darted at him. Jack’s movement of flight -was a thought too late: she grabbed his leg as he swung his pony round, -and in a moment he, too, lay on the grass, the injured Judy pounding him -scientifically. We dragged the combatants apart, holding them at a safe -distance. - -“What do you mean by putting a thing like that under your sister’s -saddle, sir?” demanded Dr. Firth severely. - -“Well, she wanted an exciting ride,” Jack grinned. “She wouldn’t do -anything but abuse poor old Blackie ’cause he wouldn’t go. She said he -ought to be in a Home for Decayed Animals, and she wouldn’t believe me -when I told her he only wanted a little handling. So I thought I’d show -her that he wasn’t as old as he looked, and I put that thistle under the -saddle while she was finding a new switch. And my goodness, didn’t he -go! Wasn’t it just scrumptious when he kicked her off!” He dissolved in -helpless laughter at the recollection, and Judy writhed in Dr. Firth’s -hands. - -“It isn’t fair!” she protested. “Just let me get at him for a moment!” - -“Murder is forbidden on this property,” answered her host sententiously. -“He deserves hanging, but you had better forgive him, Judy, and come in -for some tea.” - -Judy submitted with a bad grace. - -“Oh, all right,” she said. “Let’s go—I won’t kill him now, but I’ll pay -him out afterwards—you see if I don’t, young Jack!” With a swift -movement she possessed herself of Jack’s pony, scrambling into the -saddle and setting off at a gallop, a proceeding Jack vainly endeavoured -to check by clinging to the tail of his steed, and narrowly escaping -being kicked. He shrugged his shoulders, grinned cheerfully, girthed up -Blackie’s saddle, and went off in pursuit. They appeared together, -presently, on the verandah, washed and brushed, and apparently the best -of friends: and proceeded to demonstrate how many chocolate éclairs may -be consumed at an early age without fatal results to the consumers. - -We found a silent house when we reached The Towers at six o’clock, for -the house-party had suddenly decided upon a moonlight picnic, and had -vanished into the bush. Mrs. McNab did not appear at all: genius was -working, and she had given orders that she was not to be disturbed. We -dined in the schoolroom in unwonted quiet; the children confessed to -being tired, and went off to bed early, leaving me free to answer long -letters that had awaited me from Colin and Madge—long, cheery letters, -written with the evident intention of making me believe that life in the -Prahran flat was one long dream of joy. I was reading them, for the -fourth time, when Julia dropped in to see me, on her way downstairs with -Mrs. McNab’s dinner-tray. - -“I’d sooner be carryin’ it down than up,” she remarked, putting the tray -upon the schoolroom table. “’Tis herself has the great appetite when -she’s worrkin’: that tray was as heavy as lead when I tuk it up. Indeed, -though, wouldn’t the poor thing want nourishing an’ she writin’ her ould -books night afther night! ’Tis no wonder she looks annyhow next day.” - -“No wonder, indeed,” I assented. - -“Well, now, many’s the time I’ve said things agin her, but there’s no -doubt she’s got a feelin’ heart,” said Julia. “I’ll tell you, now, the -quare thing I heard to-day, miss. ’Twas me afthernoon out, an’ I walked -into Wootong to do me little bit of shoppin’, an’ who should I meet but -little Miss Parker—wan of thim two ould-maid sisters the thief’s afther -robbin’ the other night. They’re nice little ould things, them two -sisters: I often stop an’ have a chat wid them an’ I goin’ by. Little -Miss Sarah she med me go in to-day an’ have a cup of tay wid her an’ her -sister. An’ what do you think them two told me?” - -I said I didn’t know. - -“A baby cud have knocked me down wid a feather!” said Julia -dramatically. “This morning, who should call on them but the misthress -herself!” - -“Mrs. McNab?” I asked. - -Julia nodded. - -“Herself, an’ no wan else. Bence druv her in, but he never let on to -annywan where she’d gone. She doesn’t know them well, so they were -surprised at her comin’. She didn’t waste much time in chat, but told -them she was terrible sorry to hear about the robbery. An’ finally she -brings out five-an’-twinty pounds, just what the thief stole from them, -an’ lays it on the table, sayin’ she was better able to afford the loss -than they were. They argued against her, but nothin’ ’ud move her from -the determination she had. ‘Let you take it now,’ she says, ‘or I’ll -throw it in the fire,’ says she. There was no fire there, by reason of -the hot weather that was in it, but the bare idea made the ould maids -shiver. So they gev in at the lasht, after they’d argued an’ protested, -but to no good: she wouldn’t listen to annything they’d be sayin’. An’ -she lef the notes on the table an’ wished them a Happy New Year, an’ -said good-bye. That was the lasht they saw of her, an’ they was still -fingerin’ the notes to make sure they was real. What would you make of -that now, miss?”—and Julia cocked her head on one side and looked at me -like an inquisitive bird. - -It was a queer story, and I said so. Mrs. McNab did not strike one -ordinarily as a person of deep feeling or sympathy: and, despite the -surroundings of wealth at The Towers, she kept a fairly sharp eye upon -the household expenses and checked the bills with much keenness. It was -difficult to imagine her going out of her way to pay so large a sum as -twenty-five pounds to women of whom she knew personally very little. It -just showed that one shouldn’t judge anyone’s character by outward -appearances. Like Julia, I felt rather ashamed of having thought hardly -of Mrs. McNab. - -“Me ould Mother used to say you couldn’t tell an apple by its skin,” -remarked Julia. “I’d have said plump enough that the misthress hadn’t -much feelin’ for annywan but herself. She’s that cold in her manner -you’d imagine all the warrm blood in her body had turned to ink—but -there you are! There’s a mighty lot of warmth in five-an’-twinty pounds, -so there is: particularly when you get it back afther havin’ lost it. -Mrs. Winter, she’s as surprised as I was. ‘To think of that, now!’ says -she—’an’ only this morning the misthress was down on me sharp enough -for all the butter we do be usin’. An’ indeed, there’s butter used in -this house to that extent you’d think they greased the motor with it,’ -she says; ‘but where’s the use of scrapin’, an’ so I told her,’ says -she. Terrible stiff she was about it to Mrs. Winter. But you’d forgive -her for keepin’ one eye in the butter when she’d go off an’ make up all -that money to thim two poor ould maids.” - -Julia took up her tray and turned to go. But at the door, she hesitated. - -“Tell me now, miss,” she said. “Do you ever get thinkin’ you hear quare -noises in the night?—the sounds I was tellin’ you about when you first -came? I’d be aisier in me mind if I knew that some one else heard the -things I do be hearin’.” - -“All rubbish, Julia,” I said, laughing. “In a house with so many people -as this place has in it, you’re bound to hear movements at night some -time. You’re very foolish to worry about it.” - -Julia shook her head stubbornly. - -“’Tis no right things I do be hearin’. People like the wild young things -that’s in this house don’t move about as if they were tryin’ not to -touch the floors with a foot. Bangin’ up an’ down stairs they are, -makin’ as much noise as they can—to hear Mr. Harry or that young Mr. -Atherton you’d say it was a regiment of horse they were. That’s the way -people should move when they’re young an’ full of spirits. But the -noises at night is very different—quare, muffled noises. If ’twas in -Ireland you’d just say it was a ghost an’ be done with it. Many’s the -good respectable house has its family ghost, just like the family -pictures an’ silver. Only there’s no ghosts in Australia.” - -“Certainly not,” I agreed. “You hear the trees rustling, Julia.” - -“Ah, trees!” sniffed Julia. “The other night I heard them ould muffled -noises till I couldn’t resht in me bed for them. I was that afraid, me -heart was poundin’ on me ribs, but I up an’ puts on me coat, an’ crep’ -out. Downstairs I went, an’ if annywan had spoke to me I’d have let a -bawl fit to raise the roof!” - -“And I’m certain you didn’t find anything,” I said. - -“Well, I did not. But ’tis well known, miss, that them that goes lookin’ -for them sounds isn’t the people that finds annything,” said Julia -darkly. “An’ indeed, if I didn’t see a ghost at all, I med certain -’twasn’t only me that was afraid.” She paused, looking at me with a -scared face. - -I was trying hard to be practical and commonsensible, but in spite of -myself I gave a little shiver. There was something eerie in her tragic -tones. - -“What do you mean?” I asked, forcing a smile that felt stiff at the -corners. - -“I seen the misthress. She was huntin’, too: she had a little -flash-lamp, an’ she came out of the smokin’-room, movin’ like a ghost -herself. Sure, an’ I thought she was one for a moment. I’d have -screeched, only me tongue was stickin’ to the roof of me head! She -looked up an’ saw me, an’ I cud see she was as frightened as I was. We -stared at each other for a minute, me on the stairs an’ she by the door. -Never a worrd did she say, only she put her finger to her lips as if she -was tellin’ me to howld me noise—me, that couldn’t have said a worrd if -’twas to save me life!” - -“And what then?” - -“Then she shut off her lamp an’ went back into the room behind her. An’ -I up the stairs as if the Sivin Divils were behind me, an’ lef’ her to -her huntin’. ‘If there’s ghosts in it, let you be findin’ them -yourself,’ thinks I; ‘sure, it’s your own house!’ An’ pretty soon I -heard her comin’ upstairs slow an’ careful, an’ she went back into the -Tower.” - -“I think you are worrying yourself about nothing, Julia,” I said. “Mrs. -McNab is often about the house at night—I thought I had caught a -burglar myself the other night, and it turned out to be the mistress, -coming up the kitchen stairs. I think she often wanders round when her -work won’t go easily: and she is nervous about the safety of the place, -since the robbery at Miss Parker’s. At any rate, if she is wakeful and -watching there is no need for you or me to be anxious.” - -Julia looked unconvinced. I could see that she hugged the idea of a -mystery. And, indeed, I did not feel half so commonsensible as I tried -to seem. - -“Why wouldn’t she do it different, then?” she demanded. “If ’tis nervous -she is, she might call Mr. Harry an’ let him an’ the other young -gentlemen go huntin’, with all the lights turned on, an’ plenty of -noise! A good noise ’ud be heartenin’—betther than that silent prowlin’ -round, like a lone cat.” - -“It might—but it wouldn’t catch a burglar,” I said. “Anyhow, Mrs. McNab -might not have been after a burglar at all: she might have gone down for -a book.” - -“She had not that appearance,” said Julia. “Stealthy, she was: an’ I -tell you, miss, there was fear on her face!” - -“I should think so—with you creaking down the stairs!” I said, -laughing. “Probably she made sure that the burglar had caught her -instead. And when she saw that it was you, she was afraid you might -alarm the house. She’s awfully anxious that the house-party should have -a good time. I think it is rather nice to know that, even though she is -working so hard, she watches over everything at night.” - -“I dunno,” said Julia doubtfully. “Sure, I’d a sight rather she laid -peaceful an’ quiet in her bed, an’ lef’ all the lights burnin’. Burglar -or ghost, either of them’s aisy discouraged with a strong light: it’s -worth all the prowlin’ a woman could do. Well, I’ve been lettin’ me -tongue run away with me, but you’re the only wan I can talk to, miss. -Mrs. Winter an’ Bella, they sleep like the dead, an’ never hear -annything: an’ if they thought there was either a ghost or a burglar in -The Towers they’d be off like scalded cats, without givin’ notice. An’ -where’d you an’ I be then?” - -“Cooking,” said I with alarmed conviction. “For goodness’ sake, don’t -say a word to frighten them, Julia! Do make up your mind there is -nothing wrong, and go to sleep at night like a sensible girl. Lock your -door, and if you hear anything, just remember that it is Mrs. McNab’s -house and she has a perfect right to prowl round it at any hour of the -night.” - -“’Tis great sense you have, an’ you only a shlip of a gerrl yourself, -miss,” said Julia, looking at me respectfully—from which I gathered -that I sounded more impressive than I felt. “Well, I will try so. But -I’ll be believin’ all me days that it’s a quare house, entirely!” - -Somehow, I thought so myself, after I had gone to bed—the picnickers -had come in, laughing and chattering, and then the house settled down to -quiet. I lay awake, thinking of what the Irish girl had said: and, so -thinking, it seemed to me that, gradually, queer, muffled sounds came to -me: furtive, stealthy movements, and the creaking of a stair. Once I got -up, and, opening my door very softly, peered out: but all was in -darkness, and there was no sound as I listened, except the thumping of -my own heart. I told myself, angrily, all the wise things I had said to -Julia, as I crept back to bed. But I will confess that I switched on my -light and looked under the bed before I got back into its friendly -shelter. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - I BECOME A MEMBER OF THE BAND - - -‟MISS EARLE—do you know where the children are?” - -My employer’s voice made me jump. I had slipped away from the -drawing-room, where I had been playing accompaniments since dinner. It -was a still hot night, following upon a day of breathless heat, and I -was tired—in no mood for the dance for which Harry and his friends were -now energetically preparing the room. Like Cinderella, whom I often felt -that I resembled, I was hoping to make good my escape before my absence -was discovered. - -Mrs. McNab stood on the landing above me, looking annoyed. - -“Are they not in bed?” I asked. “They said good night an hour ago.” - -“No; their beds are empty. And I cannot find them anywhere in the house. -I—I have just come in from a—from a little stroll”—she stammered -slightly, with a trace of confusion—“and I thought I heard voices in -the shrubbery. I wonder can they have gone out on some prank.” - -“It’s quite likely,” I answered, feeling dismally certain that anything -might be expected of my charges. “I’ll go out and look for them, Mrs. -McNab.” - -“You must not go alone,” she said unexpectedly. “Change your frock as -quickly as you can: I will come with you.” - -“Oh, please don’t!” I protested. “I can easily find them alone, I’m -certain. You mustn’t disturb your work.” - -“I—I am not working well to-night.” Her tone was awkward. “So it really -does not matter—and I could not let you go alone. I would call my son, -but that one does not like to disturb one’s guests—and Beryl does so -resent it if the children are troublesome. I have no doubt that we shall -find them easily.” - -I had no doubt at all, as I hastily got out of my dinner-frock in my -room. For, as I glanced from the open window, a swift flame flickered up -into the sky, seemed to hang for a moment, and then curved and came back -to earth, leaving a trail of sparks across the blackness. In a flash as -vivid was revealed to me why Judy and Jack had been at such elaborate -pains that afternoon to find an errand for me at the railway-station -while they visited the one stationer’s shop in Wootong; I had a mental -vision of the queer-shaped packages they had stowed away in the -governess-cart when we drove back from the township. Had not Colin and I -burned our fingers over forbidden fireworks in the days of our wild -youth? - -“I think I have tracked them,” I said, laughing, as I rejoined Mrs. -McNab. “There are bangings and poppings coming from the shrubbery, and I -saw a rocket above the trees. I think they must be holding a private -Fifth of November celebration.” - -“Fireworks!” exclaimed Mrs. McNab, aghast. “But they are _never_ -permitted!” - -I kept my face grave, but it was an effort. If Judy and Jack had -restricted their energies to the list of permitted things, their lives -would have been on very different—and much duller—lines. Compared with -some of their highly-original occupations, a little indulgence in -fireworks seemed mild. But Mrs. McNab was extraordinarily concerned. - -“We must hurry,” she said, darting out of a side-door with a swift -energy that recalled the night on the shore when she had swooped upon -Jack and spanked him with such unsuspected vigour. “I have an especial -dread of fireworks in the hands of children. The figures, my dear Miss -Earle, of accidents to American children who celebrate their Fourth of -July with firework displays, are harrowing in the extreme. Death and -disfigurement are common—terribly common.” - -“They do things on such a grand scale in America,” I ventured, trotting -beside her. “I don’t think Judy would let Jack run any risk.” - -“One never knows,” returned Judy’s mother, gloomily. “Not with Judith. -Even if she protected Jack, she would not hesitate to run any risk -herself. And fireworks are so very unexpected. One cannot possibly——” - -Bang! - -Something exploded close to us, in the very heart of a dense pittosporum -tree. For a moment sparks glittered among its myriad leaves: and then -hundreds of sparrows, which made their nightly home in its heart, flew -wildly out, chirping, twittering, terrified. We were the centre of a -cloud of fluttering little bodies; they struck against our faces, so -that we had to shelter our eyes with our hands. Above the clamour of the -bird-panic rose smothered shrieks and gurgles of delight from Judy and -Jack, unseen among the bushes. - -“Crikey, that was a beauty, Ju!” came Jack’s voice. - -“Jack!” uttered his mother in awful accents. - -“Judy! It’s Mother! Grab ’em and run!” - -A dim light guided us round the pittosporum, and Mrs. McNab darted -towards it. I followed, choking with laughter. A smoky lantern, hanging -on a bough, showed the culprits racing towards a heap of fireworks that -lay on the ground within the murky circle of light. Near them Jack -caught his foot in a creeper and pitched headlong on his face. Judy -halted in her stride and darted to pick him up. - -And then something happened. - -Near the little heap of forbidden delight a cracker that had been lit -and tossed aside as useless decided to fulfil its destiny and explode. -It was a large cracker, and it did so with vehemence. A shower of sparks -fell on a long trail of soft tissue-paper which had formed the wrapping -of the parcel; dry as tinder, and sprinkled with loose gunpowder, it -flared into flame, and a little breath of wind carried it fairly across -the heap of fireworks. There was a quick spitting and hissing as the -fuses caught. I seized Jack, who uttered a wail and sprang to save what -he could. - -“No, you don’t, old chap!” I said, tightening my grip against his -struggles. - -A string of crackers went off in a spitting volley, and a -Catherine-wheel suddenly began to revolve madly in the grass. Then -everything caught at once. Rockets dug themselves into the ground, -exploding harmlessly, while whizz-bangs and Roman candles and -basket-bombs leaped and sputtered and banged in a whirl of rainbow -sparks. It was a lavish and uplifting spectacle, produced for our -benefit regardless of expense. But the producers wailed aloud in their -despair. - -“They cost every bit of pocket-money we had!” grieved Jack. “I could -have got half of them away if you’d given me a chance! Why on earth do -you want to come round poking your noses in?” - -“We never get a show,” said Judy mournfully. “We’re just hunted down -like mad dogs! I should think persons of twelve and thirteen can be -trusted to do a few little things alone, occasionally, anyhow!” - -She twisted round, and suddenly screamed. A long tongue of flame, a -licking, fiery tongue, ran up her thin frock, and in an instant it was -blazing fiercely. I dropped Jack and sprang to catch her, flinging her -down; Mrs. McNab, quicker than I, was beating at the burning silk. It -was over more quickly than one can tell of it. Judy, very white, sat on -the ground in the blackened remnants of her frock, while we gasped and -hunted for vagrant sparks. Jack burst into a terrified howl, rather -pitiful to hear. - -“Oh, shut up, Jack!” Judy said. “I’m not killed. But I ’specs I would -have been but for Mother and Miss Earle.” - -“Are you hurt, Judy?” her mother asked, her voice shaking. - -“Not a bit—I’m not even singed, I think. Jolly sight luckier than I -deserve to be. I guess I can’t talk much about taking care of myself, -can I?” - -“Judith,” said Mrs. McNab, solemnly—her solemnity rather handicapped by -the fact that she had passed a blackened hand across her face—“have I -not warned you from your childhood that in the event of clothes catching -fire one must cause the person in danger to assume an horizontal -position?” - -“You have, Mother,” responded Judy. “And I stayed vertical—and ran. -Well, I’m a fool, that’s all!” - -To this there seemed no answer. Mrs. McNab, regarding her daughter much -as an owl may who has hatched out an imp, rose slowly to her feet. -Suddenly Judy’s defiant look changed to one of swift concern. She sprang -towards her mother. - -“I say, Mother—you’re hurt!” - -“My hand is a little burned, I think,” said Mrs. McNab quietly. She held -out her left palm, on which big blisters were already forming. - -“Oh, I am a beast!” uttered Judy. “Mother, dear, I’m so sorry! It’s all -my silly fault. Is it very bad?” - -“It is rather painful,” Mrs. McNab admitted. She swayed a little, and I -put my arm round her. - -“Do sit down,” I begged. “I’ll run in for dressings.” - -“No, I am quite able to come with you,” she said. “There is no need to -alarm anyone. Just give me your arm, and I will walk slowly.” - -We gained the house unseen, a sorry little procession, and Mrs. McNab -sent the disconsolate youngsters to bed while I dressed and bandaged her -hand. The burns were painful enough, but not serious; my patient made -light of them, and refused any stimulant except coffee, which she -permitted me to prepare for her, after some argument. We drank it -together, in the kitchen. - -“Being bandaged is the worst infliction,” she said. “I do not take -kindly to being even partly helpless. I shall have to ask your -assistance in dressing, I am afraid, Miss Earle. It is fortunate that I -conformed to the fashion and had my hair cut—not that I might be in the -fashion, needless to say, but because I was thankful to be relieved of -the weight of my hair. It sadly hampered my work, and I have never -regretted that I sacrificed it, even though I have heard Judith remark -that I now resemble a turkey-hen.” - -This was one of the remarks to which there seemed no tactful reply. At -any rate, I had none handy, so I merely murmured that I should be -delighted to assist in her toilet. - -“I will not ask you to come up to the Tower rooms,” she said. “Perhaps -you will allow me to come to your room when I need a little help. I -should be glad, too, if nothing is said about the children’s escapade. -They have had a very severe fright, and I do not want them blamed by the -household. There is an old proverb about ‘a dog with a bad name’—and I -cannot but feel that my poor Judith and Jack have suffered by their -mother’s absorption in her work for some years. My daughter Beryl’s -remarks about to-night’s occurrence would certainly be very severe. I -think we may spare them any further punishment, Miss Earle.” - -“I’m awfully glad,” I said—forgetting, in my haste, that -well-brought-up governesses do not say ‘awfully.’ Luckily Mrs. McNab -appeared not to notice my lapse. “They are very sorry, I know. May I -tell them, Mrs. McNab?” - -“Do—or they will certainly blurt it out themselves. I will go to bed -now, and I think you should do the same as soon as possible.” She -refused any further help, saying that she was quite able to manage -alone. I watched her mount the stairs slowly, and then went off with my -message for the culprits, whom I found sitting together on Jack’s bed, -steeped in woe. They received my news with relief, though it did not -dispel their gloom. - -“Jolly decent of Mother,” Judy said: “Beryl and Harry would have been -beasts—’specially Beryl. Not that we don’t deserve it; but I can’t -stick Beryl’s way of telling us we’re worms. Even if you feel wormy you -don’t want it rubbed in. And every one else would have despised us.” She -looked at me keenly. “Did you ask Mother not to tell, Miss Earle?” - -“Indeed, I didn’t,” I hastened to assure her. “But I was ever so glad -that she said she wouldn’t.” - -Judy’s lip quivered, and suddenly she broke into hard, choked sobbing. -It isn’t a pleasant thing to see the complete surrender of a person who -ordinarily shows no feeling whatever: I put my arm round her, not far -removed from tears myself, and was not surprised when Jack buried his -face in the pillow and howled too. - -“Oh, you poor kids!” I uttered, entirely forgetting that I was a -governess. They seemed to forget it too, for they clung to me -desperately, and I hugged them and lent them my handkerchief in turn, -since neither possessed one. When they began to pull themselves -together, and to look shame-faced, I slipped away to the kitchen and -came back with some cake and hot milk, over which they became -comparatively cheerful. - -“If you ask me,” said Jack, “it was a pretty hard-luck night. If you and -Mother hadn’t smelt us out we’d have had our fireworks without any -accident. Why, Ju and I have used fireworks since we were kids!” - -“Rather!” agreed Judy. “And when they did go off in a general mix-up, -there was no need for me to catch fire. Why did it want to happen, I’d -like to know?” - -“And when it happened it was bad luck that your Mother got burned,” I -supported. “Some bad-tempered gnome was certainly taking the place of -your fairy godmother to-night, chickens. Only none of it would have -happened at all if you hadn’t gone out when you were supposed to be in -bed. You didn’t have much luck the last time, either, did you, Jack?” - -They regarded me, wide-eyed. - -“How—did—you—know?” uttered Jack. - -“I was there—in a bush,” I said, laughing. “But it didn’t seem -necessary for me to interfere, for you certainly got all that was coming -to you, didn’t you?” - -“My Aunt, I did!” Jack said. “And you never said a thing! Why, all our -other governesses would have sung hymns of joy!” - -“From this out,” said Judy solemnly, “I refuse to look on you as a -governess. You are a Member of the Band. Isn’t she, Jack?” - -“Rather!” said Jack. “Will you, Miss Earle?” - -“I will,” I said. “But if I belong to the Band, the Band has got to play -the game. No more night excursions unless I go too. Is it a bargain?” - -They said it was, and we shook hands with all formality. - -“We’ll back you up no end,” said Judy. “’Means we’ve got to be horribly -respectable, but it can’t be helped, Jack.” She heaved a sigh. “I’ve -always known we’d have to be respectable some day, but I hoped it -wouldn’t be until we were quite old. But you’ve been an awful brick, -Miss Earle, and we jolly well won’t let you down.” - -“And when we’re at school in Melbourne, don’t you think the Band could -meet some Saturday?” Jack asked. The outlaw in him had vanished for the -moment; he looked just a wistful small boy, with the traces of tears -still on his freckled face. - -“It will be arranged,” I told him. “And would you like my brother Colin -to come to the meeting?” - -They gaped at me. - -“The ‘record-breaker’ Earle?” Jack uttered. “My aunt, wouldn’t I!” He -flushed suddenly. “Would he come, Miss Earle? You know you told us once -he was jolly particular!” - -“He is,” I said calmly. “Awfully particular. But he will come, if I ask -him. And I should like to ask him.” - -The original Members of the Band regarded each other with glowing eyes. - -“Well!” said Jack at last, drawing a long breath. “We lost seven bob -over those fireworks, Ju, but I reckon it was worth it, don’t you?” - -“Rather!” agreed Judy. - - - - - CHAPTER X - I HEAR OF ROBBERS - - -MRS. McNAB kept to the Tower rooms all next day. Julia brought me a -message early in the morning. - -“She put her head out at me when I did be sweepin’ the landin’ outside -her door. ‘Let you be tellin’ Miss Earle I’d like to see her up here,’ -says she: ‘an’ I’ll be takin’ all me meals here to-day,’ she says. ‘The -work is troublin’ me,’ she says. An’ I’d say from the look she had on -her that something was afflictin’ her. Yerra, there’s a powerful lot of -misery over writin’ books. I never did read a book if I could help it, -but if ever I’m druv to it I’ll be pityin’ the poor soul that wrote it -all the time. It’s a poor trade for the spirits.” - -As soon as I was dressed I ran up the narrow stairway and tapped at the -door. Mrs. McNab opened it immediately. She was very pale, and there -were dark circles under her eyes. - -“I have not slept much,” she said, in answer to my inquiries. Evidently -she had not climbed the steep steps to her bedroom, for there were -tumbled rugs and cushions on the big couch; but she was fully dressed, -and her iron-grey shingled hair was as neat as usual. “I think it would -be as well if I did not go down-stairs to-day.” But she laughed at my -suggestion to call in the Wootong doctor. - -“Oh no: my hand is really not bad. I suppose I must be feeling a certain -amount of shock, that is all. I will spend a lazy day. You can manage -without me, can you not?” - -I begged her not to worry on that score, and proceeded to dress her -hand. The burns were nothing to be anxious about: there was no sign of -inflammation, and she possessed the clean, healthy skin that heals -rapidly. She was mildly proud of it as I adjusted the bandages. - -“I always heal quickly—no cut or burn ever troubles me for long,” she -remarked. “Indeed, I rarely have to bandage a trifling hurt: but one has -to be careful with a blister. Perhaps you will not mind coming up after -luncheon and dinner to renew the dressings. Judith is quite well this -morning, I hope?” - -“Quite—judging by the rate at which I saw her tearing over the paddock -to bathe, half an hour ago,” I said, laughing. “And she and Jack have -promised me that there will be no more unlawful excursions at night. We -have made a solemn alliance!” - -“I am indeed relieved to hear it.” She looked at me with something like -warmth. “You manage them very well, my dear: they recognize something in -you that they can trust. There has been mutual abhorrence between them -and their other governesses. I had begun to despair of them—every one -has regarded them as outlaws.” - -“There is nothing much wrong with Judy and Jack beyond high spirits,” I -defended. “And I think there is a good deal in what you said last night -about ‘a dog with a bad name’; they knew they were expected to be -outlaws, and they simply lived up to what was expected of them. But they -never do mean things, and I think that is all that really matters.” - -“I am glad you say that,” Mrs. McNab said. “You are young enough to -understand them—and yet I was very much afraid of your youth when you -first came. But I have become thankful for it. You are a great comfort -to me, my dear!” Which so amazed me, coming from the lips of my dour -employer, that I got out of the room with all speed—to behold from my -window my “misunderstood” outlaws vigorously watering Mr. Atherton with -the garden hose—their victim having imprudently assailed them with -chaff from a somewhat helpless position in an apricot tree. By the time -he reached the ground he was so drenched that the only thing undamped in -him was his ardour for vengeance. Judy and Jack, however, fled in time, -and as the breakfast-gong boomed out at the moment, Mr. Atherton had to -beat a retreat to change his clothes. Nothing could have been more -lamb-like than my charges when I met them at the table. I decided that -the occurrence was one which I might profitably be supposed not to have -seen. - -Nobody seemed to mind the non-appearance of the hostess, and the day -passed uneventfully. Too much fire the night before appeared to have -bred in Judy and Jack a burning desire for water; they spent most of the -day in the sea, and I had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Atherton duck them -both with a scientific thoroughness that seemed to repay him in part for -what he had suffered before breakfast. In the evening they behaved with -unwonted decorum—it drew anxious inquiries for their health from -several of the party, notably from the girl who had found a frog in her -bed. She announced her intention of making a very thorough search before -retiring, remarking gloomily that when the children acted like infant -cherubs a five-foot goanna under her sheet might well be expected. At -which Judy and Jack smiled dreamily. They went to bed early, and when I -tucked them up they were sleeping soundly, looking more innocent than -any lambs. - -Mrs. McNab came down after breakfast next morning, evidently rested. She -made light of her bandaged hand, satisfying such inquiries as were made -with a vague remark about the careless use of matches. It was a busy -morning for me, for an all-day picnic was planned, and the preparations -had to be rushed. Just as I came out with the last basket of provisions -a motor came up the drive, and Dr. Firth got out. He greeted every one -cheerfully, declining the invitations that were showered upon him to go -to the picnic: he was too busy, he said, and certainly too old—which -produced a storm of protest. Certainly he did not look old, as he gave -back chaff for chaff. Not until the last car had driven away, loaded, -did he look grave. Then the face he turned to Mrs. McNab and me was -serious enough. - -“I came with rather unpleasant news,” he said. “There didn’t seem any -need to worry all those light-hearted young people with it, but I felt I -must let you know. My place was pretty successfully burgled last night!” - -Mrs. McNab went white to the lips. - -“Dr. Firth!” she breathed. “Have you—did you lose much?” - -“More than I care about. The thieves were discriminating: they didn’t -bother about anything bulky. They must have known a good deal about the -place. All the unset jewels have gone, and most of the smaller and more -valuable ornaments—some very valuable as rare specimens. I wish I had -done six months ago what I intended to do next week—sent the lot to a -museum. You were right in your warnings after all, Mrs. McNab.” He -smiled grimly. - -“And you heard nothing?” - -“Not a thing. I was writing until very late, and when I turned in I -slept like a top. My housekeeper is a light sleeper, but she heard -nothing. I am almost inclined to think that there was only one burglar. -The police believe more than one had a hand in it. But I think that if a -gang had been at work more would have been taken; to me, the small bulk -of what has gone points to a man working single-handed. And I wouldn’t -be surprised if both thief and booty are in the neighbourhood yet.” - -If Mrs. McNab had been pale before, she was ghastly now. - -“Why—why do you think so?” - -“Because every one takes it for granted that he would get away. The -Wootong police—not that they’re especially intelligent—are quite -certain on the point: they have been keeping the telegraph-wires busy -with messages to Melbourne. I wish they’d show more anxiety to hunt the -neighbourhood. How easy it would be for a man to hide his plunder -somewhere in the bush and remain quietly here until the hue and cry died -away! In the cities the detectives have a fair working knowledge of -likely criminals. But a man could stay in the country, perhaps as a -farm-labourer, without suspicion ever being drawn to him.” - -Judy and Jack had been listening open-mouthed. Now Judy burst forth. - -“I say, I’ve a gorgeous idea! You and I’ll be detectives, Jack, and -we’ll hunt round everywhere! We’ll find out if there are any strangers -about, and do some scouting. I’m jolly glad they wouldn’t take us for -their beastly old picnic, aren’t you?” - -“Rather!” said Jack. “Let’s go and hunt through the tea-tree near Dr. -Firth’s!” - -“Not if I know it!” said the doctor hastily. “You keep well out of the -way, young people: there may be tracks, and I don’t want them confused. -I mean to get the black trackers down, Mrs. McNab: they may get on the -trail, especially if my theory is correct.” - -“The black trackers!” ejaculated Mrs. McNab faintly. “Do you really -think——?” She paused, looking at him anxiously. - -“There’s no harm in trying. Those black fellows are wonderfully quick at -picking up a track. And I must say, I should like to put up a fight to -get poor old Michael’s things back. They’re precious little good to me, -but he valued them. Besides, if the thief or thieves should be in the -neighbourhood, my house may not be the last to be robbed. He’s visited -the hotel and the poor little Parker ladies already: this may seem to -him a good district to work in.” - -“I—wonder,” said Mrs. McNab. “Oh, I should think he would have got -away. He would not dare to stay.” - -“It might be less risky to stay than to go—knowing that every detective -in the cities was on the watch for him. Of course, my theory may be all -wrong, but I mean to take precautions. And I want you to be on your -guard.” - -“My Aunt!” said Judy. “We may be burgled next, Jack. What a lark!” - -“Don’t be foolish, Judith!” said her mother sharply. “This is a matter -far too serious for silly joking. Not that I really feel afraid, Dr. -Firth. There is not much here that could be easily carried away, and I -never keep much money in the house.” - -“No; but the thief might not know that. The enterprising gentleman who -knew all about the Parkers’ little hoard might well expect pickings in -The Towers. I don’t want to make you nervous, but it would be foolish -not to be on the watch.” - -For all her attempt at unconcern, Mrs. McNab looked distinctly nervous, -though she again expressed the belief that the burglars had got well -away with their plunder, and threw cold water on the doctor’s scheme of -procuring the black trackers. I wondered at the haggard lines into which -her face set as she watched him drive away—he refused her invitation to -remain to lunch, remarking that all the Wootong police force were sure -to be waiting on his doormat, eager for him to sign more documents. “I -don’t know how many I’ve signed already,” he said, laughing. “It’s a -terrible thing to come into close quarters with the law!” - -We lunched rather soberly: the children were repressed by their mother’s -grim face, and ate as quickly as possible, so that they might escape -from the table. Mrs. McNab seemed lost in thought; she let her cutlet go -away almost untasted, sitting with her fingers keeping a soft drumming -on the tablecloth, and her brow knitted. I wondered whether the -burglar-scare were troubling her, or if it were merely the perennial -worry of her work: and wished I could escape as quickly as Judy and -Jack, whose gay young voices could be heard in the shrubbery long before -their mother rose from the table. She walked to the window and stood -looking out for a moment. Then she turned to me. - -“I hope you are not alarmed by this burglary,” she said. “I really do -not think we are likely to have trouble here.” - -“Then you shouldn’t look as if you did,” I thought; but prudently -forbore to put my thought into words. Aloud, I said I didn’t think I was -likely to be nervous. Then I wondered was I right to keep silent about -the movements I had heard. - -“I think I ought to tell you that I have noticed unusual sounds several -times at night,” I began. I got no further, for my employer took a quick -step forward, her face changing. - -“What is that? _What_ did you hear?” - -“There have been rustlings and movements in the shrubbery below my -window,” I said. “Quite a number of times; and more than once I have -heard steps on the gravel, sounding as though some one were trying to -walk as noiselessly as possible.” - -She drew a long breath. - -“Did you see anything?” - -“Yes—just glimpses of a dark figure. But with so many in the house it -seemed foolish to worry: anyone might have gone there for a stroll. I -did feel as if some one were prowling for no good; but then, I know one -is apt to fancy things, especially at night. Still, I thought I ought to -tell you.” - -Mrs. McNab looked relieved. - -“You are quite level-headed,” she said approvingly. “And I am sure there -was nothing to cause alarm: as a matter of fact, I very frequently -stroll out at night myself, and I naturally try not to disturb anyone. A -little turn in the night-air clears my head when I am at work. So, quite -possibly I myself was your prowler.” - -“Yes, I thought of that,” I answered. “Of course, there was the night I -met you on the back stairs I was sure I had trapped a burglar that -time!” - -For a moment she stared at me with a look that seemed to lack -comprehension. Then she smiled nervously. - -“Oh yes—yes,” she murmured. “Quite so. Well, I think we may agree that -Dr. Firth’s burglar has not paid us a visit yet. Personally, I do not -think he will ever do so.” She spoke hurriedly, almost incoherently. -“And I hope you will not worry, or keep any watch at night. We have -plenty of defenders, if anyone should break in. My son and his friends -would welcome the chance of dealing with a burglar—yes, think it great -fun!” The laugh with which she ended was a queer, forced cackle. Then -she turned on her heel abruptly, and hurried out of the room. - -I went in search of Judy and Jack, and, seeing them safely ensconced in -the highest branches of a pine-tree, sat down on a garden-seat and gave -myself up to thought. For the first time, doubts as to my employer’s -mental balance assailed my mind. Undoubtedly, she was queer; that I had -known always, but never had she been quite so queer as in those few -minutes after lunch. Was she really afraid of thieves? Perhaps, unknown -to anyone, she had a secret hoard of money or jewels in the Tower rooms -that she guarded so jealously: but in that case it did not seem likely -that she would feel so sure that no thief would come. She would welcome -Dr. Firth’s black trackers, instead of trying to persuade him not to -employ them. - -And yet—I did not believe that any mere danger of loss would make Mrs. -McNab look as she had looked; afraid, almost hunted. She was the -mistress of The Towers, secure, guarded, wealthy: no outside risk could -touch her. The more I thought, the more the conviction grew upon me that -her mind was unbalanced. There had been something hardly sane in her -nervous distress, her incoherence. And most of all I puzzled over her -blank look when I had spoken of our midnight meeting on the night when -she had brushed rudely by me. For, despite her quick effort to cover it, -I was very sure that Mrs. McNab had not the slightest recollection of -having met me on the kitchen stairs. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - I SEE DOUBLE - - -THE certainty that I possessed an employer with a mind more or less -unhinged deepened throughout a long afternoon during which I found it -difficult to adapt myself to the varying pursuits of my fellow-Members -of the Band. To let Judy and Jack out of my sight would not have been -prudent; they were filled with a wild yearning to go burglar-hunting, -and, had they been alone, I think no warnings from Dr. Firth would have -kept them from the neighbourhood of his house; wherefore I attached -myself firmly to them, and tried to show that I was indeed qualified to -belong to the illustrious ranks of their limited association. We played -at burglars and bushrangers in the scrub—no game without some criminal -element would have had the slightest attraction for Judy and Jack that -day. I believe I climbed trees; I certainly crawled into hollow logs and -miry hollows, to the utter wreck of a clean frock. Finally we decided to -be pirates and possessed ourselves of the small motor-launch, in which -we attacked and captured several of the small islands of Porpoise Bay, -in spite of gallant resistance from the gannets and gulls that inhabited -them. It was a bloodthirsty and exciting afternoon, and I should have -enjoyed it had it not been for the turmoil of my mind. - -I had the usual theoretical dread of anyone insane. But, somewhat to my -own surprise, I did not feel at all afraid. Perhaps it was difficult to -realize that any danger might be feared from Mrs. McNab, who, dour and -grim though she undoubtedly was at times, was always gentle—if one -excepted the night when she had so violently beaten Jack, down by the -sea. That in itself, looked at in the new light, was like the sudden -strength and fury of insanity. But it was only one instance. And, after -all, many quite sane people must have wanted at times to spank Jack; -Beryl would have said that the desire to do so was a proof of sanity. -Apart from that one uncontrollable moment, Mrs. McNab had never been -violent: she was only deeply unhappy. And, remembering her haggard face, -I could only feel sorry for her. She was not an object of fear—only of -pity. - -The question of what I ought to do beat backwards and forwards in my -brain while I bushranged and pillaged and led my band of cut-throats to -the Spanish Main—as represented by Porpoise Bay. One could not go to -Beryl and Harry McNab and express doubts as to their parent’s sanity: it -did not seem to be the kind of thing expected of governesses. If I wrote -to Colin I knew very well that he would appear by the earliest -train—even if he had to turn burglar himself to raise the money for the -journey: caring not at all for the McNabs or their concerns, but only -bent on snatching me from an environment so doubtful. Poor old Colin, -who believed me enjoying “rest and change”! The thought brought a short -laugh from me, which must have had something grim in it, since Jack, who -was at the moment delivering an oration on skulls and cross-bones, -evidently accepted it as a tribute to his blood-curdling words, and was -inspired to yet higher flights. No, I could not worry Colin, unless it -became quite necessary to do so: that was certain. Yet, it seemed to me -that something must be done: if my fears were well-founded, I ought not -to conceal the matter from every one. Then, with a great throb of -relief, I thought of Dr. Firth. - -Beyond doubt, he was the person to be told. A doctor, even if he did not -practise, would be able to confirm my suspicions or to laugh at them as -ridiculous: and he would know what to do. The heavy sense of -responsibility lifted from me as I thought of his strong, kind face. I -had a wild impulse to escape from the children and make my way to his -house immediately; but common sense came to my aid, and I remembered -that I had promised Mrs. McNab not to let Judy and Jack out of my sight. -Besides, he might not be at home; and if he were, in all probability he -would be overwhelmed with business resulting from the burglary, with -policemen proffering him documents at short intervals. A little delay -could do no harm, I thought, especially if I were very watchful of the -children: the other inmates of The Towers could take care of themselves. -He was sure to be over within a day or two: very likely to-morrow would -bring him, and I could make an opportunity of speaking to him alone. So -I tried to put away my anxiety, and to be a good and thorough pirate, as -befitted a Member of the Band. - -We became sated with bloodshed about six o’clock, and ran the launch -home, singing “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest!” with intense -feeling. Not one of the Band was fit to be seen, wherefore we sneaked in -at the kitchen entrance and made our way up the back stairs, gaining, -unobserved, the shelter of the bathroom we so sorely needed. Half an -hour later we descended, using the main stairway, a well-scrubbed trio, -clad in fresh raiment, so that we looked patronizingly on the picnic -party, all of whom presented that part-worn appearance that follows a -long day in the bush. They had just returned, and were excitedly -discussing the burglary, news of which had just reached them. Several of -the girls looked nervous, and declared their intention of sleeping with -locked doors and windows—whereat Jack ejaculated “Frowsts!” -disgustedly, elevating a nose that was already tilted heavenwards. - -“Well, if they come here they’ll get a warm reception,” Dicky Atherton -declared. “How about taking it in turns to sit up and watch?” - -“Surely that is quite unnecessary, Dicky,” Mrs. McNab said in a hurried -voice. “The burglars are probably well out of the district by now; in -any case, they would never commit a robbery the very night after they -had broken into Dr. Firth’s. You had all better go to bed as usual and -forget about them.” - -I wondered did any of the others see what was so plain to me—her -restless eyes, her hand that clenched and unclenched as she spoke. -Surely they must notice her strained and haggard face. But apparently -they thought it nothing unusual—Mrs. McNab never was quite like other -people, and anyone might be excited over a crime so near at hand. Dicky -Atherton laughed as he answered her. - -“Well, that is true enough: I should think the beggars would lie quiet -for a bit, anyhow, and we should all get pretty sick of sitting up for -nothing.” - -“We’ll go over to Dr. Firth’s in the morning, shall we, Dick?” said -Harry. “I’ve always wanted a chance of seeing black trackers at work.” - -“How do they manage?” asked some one. “You let them smell a -finger-print, don’t you? And then they put their noses to the ground and -never stop until they’ve found the criminal!” - -“Something like that,” grinned Harry. “They’re no end clever at picking -up a trail from next to no evidence. It would be a lark if they tracked -these fellows down to some hiding-place in the bush—I’d like to be in -at the death!” - -Mrs. McNab looked more troubled than ever. - -“I think the whole idea of getting in black trackers is very foolish,” -she said. “It will only alarm the district and cause a great deal of -unnecessary publicity. The daily papers always make a fuss about a case -when they are employed.” - -“Yes, they think it’s romantic!” said Dicky. “We’ll have all the Press -photographers down, and the place will be overrun with them, taking -snapshots. We had all better go about in our best clothes, because if -they meet us in a body they will attack us with their cameras, and it -would be painful if ‘Mrs. McNab’s house-party at The Towers’ appeared as -we’re looking now!” - -“I will not have that!” Mrs. McNab exclaimed heatedly. “Harry, I insist -that no one shall take photographs here—if you meet any newspaper -people you are to discourage them, no matter what they say. To -photograph a private house for a newspaper is an unwarrantable -impertinence! Do not let there be any mistake about it.” - -“Be polite, if you must, Harry, but be plain!” laughed Dicky. - -“I’ll be plain, all right,” rejoined Harry. “My boot shall, if -necessary, defend the sanctity of our home! What are you getting in such -a fuss about, Mother? I don’t for a moment suppose that any newspaper -would bother its head about us.” - -“Newspapers nowadays would do anything for sensation,” answered his -mother gloomily. “And I hate publicity given to one’s private affairs: -it is insupportable. They would drag all one’s family history through -the mire for the sake of selling a few copies.” Her voice rose angrily. -“This robbery is spoiling all our peace! I warned Dr. Firth, but he -would not be careful—he might have saved himself if he had listened to -me.” - -Every one was looking at her now curiously. Harry frowned. - -“Oh, what’s the use of bothering your head about it, Mother! It’s not -going to spoil my peace—not if I know it: or my dinner either. I’m as -hungry as a hunter, and, thank goodness, there’s the dressing-gong! Come -along, everybody: I mean to have a jolly good dance to-night, burglar or -no burglar!” - -The dressing-gong was the signal also for the schoolroom dinner, so I -herded the children upstairs, glad to escape from a scene that had had -its unpleasant side. Looking out for a moment as I closed the schoolroom -door I caught a glimpse of Mrs. McNab coming up the wide staircase. I -was glad that she did not see me, for she was uttering incoherent words -in a harsh whisper, with a little curious gesture of helplessness. There -was a look in her eyes that struck fear into my heart. I longed for -to-morrow and for Dr. Firth. - -I kept my fellow-pirates with me in the schoolroom that evening. To go -down to the drawing-room and be drawn into dancing would have been -hateful to me; to my overwrought mind there seemed an air of mystery, -almost of tragedy, overhanging the house, and I wanted the children to -be where I could watch them all the time. They were sufficiently tired -to be willing to remain quietly while I read to them. I remember the -book was Newbolt’s _Happy Warrior_, and when I had finished the story of -Bayard we talked of the old ideals of knighthood and chivalry. It was -the point I liked best about my outlaws that they were perfectly sound -on matters of honour. A lie was to either an unthinkable thing, and they -held very definite views about betraying a confidence. - -“Father says that’s the one thing a gentleman can’t do,” said Judy, who -had no intention of letting the mere accident of sex exclude her from -the knightly code. “He says that even when a secret is made public it -isn’t the square thing to let on that you knew about it beforehand.” - -My father had taught us the same thing. I felt my heart warm towards the -absent Mr. McNab. - -“Judy and I swore a Hearty Oath about it,” said Jack, who was lying full -length on the hearth-rug. “We said, cross-our-hearts we’d never do it. -It’s awful tempting, too, sometimes.” - -“Yes, isn’t it?” Judy agreed. “I’d just love to be able to say, ‘Oh yes, -I knew all about that long ago!’ with my nose in the air, very often. -But it isn’t done, in the Band. Father’s a Member of the Band, too, you -know. He won’t let us swear many Hearty Oaths, ’cause he says they’d get -cheap, and they ought to be solemn. But he approved of that one, and he -swore it, too.” - -“He told us lots of secrets,” Jack said. “’Cause he knew jolly well he -could trust us not to split.” - -“Yes, he said it was good practice for us, even if we were pretty young. -He’d say, ‘This is confidential, kids,’ and of course that was all there -was about it.” Judy’s eyes were very bright. “Father’s awfully splendid, -you know, Miss Earle. He never asked us to promise to be good before he -went away——” - -“I spec’s he knew that wasn’t a bit of use!” Jack interposed. - -“That was why. But he said, ‘You’re awful scamps, but I know I can trust -you.’ And we’d just rather die than let him down.” - -“Well, that is something to live up to,” I said. “Bayard hadn’t anything -better. I think I like being a Member of the Band. Shall we have that -meeting in Melbourne when your father comes back, so that Colin can meet -him too?” - -“You do have the splendidest ideas!” Jack said. They beamed on me; and -when I went to tuck them in, later, they hugged me vigorously. My -charges were not, as a rule, demonstrative people, and I was fairly -dazzled by the honour. - -I went back to the schoolroom, and sat down feeling rather at a loose -end. Strains of the gramophone were wafted upwards from the drawing-room -where the house-party were apparently fox-trotting with an ardour -undiminished by either picnics or burglars. I wondered was Mrs. McNab -working, or if she were prowling round in the night, a prey to her own -disordered and troubled mind. Then I remembered, with a start, that I -had not been up to renew the dressings on her injured hand. It was later -than I usually went: probably she had been waiting for me, feeling -neglected and annoyed. I was annoyed with myself as I ran swiftly up the -narrow stairs. - -The door of the lower room was partly open: a faint scent of Turkish -tobacco drifted out. Since her injury, Mrs. McNab had left it ajar each -evening until I had paid my visit: I would hear the lock click as I went -back, before I had crossed the landing. Forgetting my customary tap, I -hurried in. - -The tall figure in the grey gown was standing by the window, looking out -upon the moonlit garden far below. She did not turn as I entered and I -began my apology nervously. - -“I’m afraid I’m late,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. McNab——” - -The watching figure wheeled round swiftly. The words died on my lips as -I looked: looked at the tall, spare form, the straight shoulders, the -close-cropped iron-grey hair: looked most of all at the white, haggard -face. It was the face of my employer as I had learned to know it during -my four weeks in her house. But—_it was not Mrs. McNab!_ - -The moments dragged by as we stood, giving back stare for stare: I, -bewildered, terrified, unable to move, the other grim and watchful. I -caught my breath in a gasp at last, and a threat came to me like the -lash of a whip. - -“You will be wise if you make no noise!” - -I could not have made a noise if my life had depended upon it. I could -only gape and shiver, my eyes glued to the apparition that was, and yet -was not, Mrs. McNab. Yet so like was it that I began to think it was my -brain that had turned. Height, features, dress, voice—all were the -same; and still, the face was the face of a stranger. - -Then came quick feet on the stair, a stifled exclamation of dismay -behind me, the door slammed—and I was looking at, not one Mrs. McNab, -but two! Each the very counterpart of the other, they stood together, -and I looked from one to the other with dazed eyes, utterly bewildered. -Then my glance fell on the hands of the first, and in a moment light -came to me. I pointed a shaking forefinger at those tell-tale hands. - -“Why—you’re a man!” I cried feebly. - -The room began to swim round me, so that at one instant the two figures -seemed to merge into one, and then divided and became two, four, ten, -twenty, long, grey forms, still and silent. Faster and faster they -whirled; and then came darkness, and when I opened my eyes I was lying -on the big couch, with Mrs. McNab rubbing my hands. Beyond her, the -other grey figure sat in her office-chair, smoking: all the time -watching me with steady eyes. - -“You poor child!” Mrs. McNab said gently. - -That was almost too much for me, and I sobbed suddenly. The form in the -chair became alert. - -“Make her understand she must be quiet, Marie.” - -“She will be quiet,” Mrs. McNab said, with a touch of impatience. “Don’t -be afraid, my dear Miss Earle: you have nothing to fear. You have only -managed to blunder upon a secret, that is all. I know you will give me -your word to keep it to yourself.” - -“Of course I will,” I managed to stammer. “I am very sorry.” - -“So am I—for my stupidity in leaving the door open. I had run down to -the bathroom for some hot water, and I forgot the door until I was on my -way back. Then it was too late. I would not have had it happen for the -world.” - -I struggled to a sitting position and faced them. There had been excuse -for my collapse, for surely never were man and woman so amazingly alike! -Save for the hands, and now, I could see, the feet, no eye could detect -any outward difference. The man in the chair gave a short laugh, and -rose. - -“Well, I’ll leave you, Marie,” he said, in the low, deep voice that was -the echo of her own. “You must get through a certain amount of -explanation, I suppose—but don’t let your tongue run away with you. -This young lady has too recently graduated from the schoolroom to be -oppressed with our affairs.” He bent a keen, cold gaze on me. “I trust -you are old enough to be able to hold your tongue.” - -“I have no wish to do anything else,” I said, mustering what spirit I -could; and, somehow, from that moment there was never the slightest -confusion in my mind between Mrs. McNab and her duplicate. Like they -might be in every feature; but in him there was a cold wickedness akin -to that of a snake. I hated him then and afterwards, and he knew it. - -“Well, good night,” he said lightly, and vanished up the steps into the -upper room. Mrs. McNab and I looked at each other, and there was -something in her eyes that made me ache with pity. - -“Oh, you are unhappy!” I cried. “I wish I could help you.” - -She caught my hand, holding it tightly. - -“I am indeed unhappy,” she said. “I will tell you about it—I know I can -trust you.” - -It was a queer story—the kind of thing that I had thought happened only -in romances. The man—Ronald Hull was his name—was her twin-brother: -she touched lightly on his career, but I gathered that from his boyhood -he had never been anything but an anxiety. Before the death of their -parents he had been compelled to leave the bank in which he was a clerk, -narrowly escaping prosecution for embezzling bank money. Then he had -gone from bad to worse, living on his wits, constantly appealing to her -for funds, always on the edge of trouble and disgrace. Her husband had -established him in an auctioneer’s firm in New South Wales some years -before, and they hoped that they had done with him; but during the -previous year he had again contrived to steal a large sum, and this time -they could not protect him. He had been arrested, convicted, and -sentenced to two years’ imprisonment. - -Her voice failed when she told me this. I patted her hand—never had I -felt so helpless and so young. - -“Don’t you think you have talked enough?” said a cold voice at the -opening above our heads. “I warned you to be careful, Marie.” - -“Be quiet!” she said angrily. “Do you want your voice to be heard?” She -turned to me. “Go down to your room—I will come presently.” - -When she came, she was flushed, and there was a light of battle in her -eyes. - -“He is very angry with me,” she said. “But you must know enough to make -you understand. And I am worn out with silence and secrecy.” I put her -into a comfortable chair, and she went on with her story. - -“We were almost thankful to know he was beyond the possibility of -troubling us for two years,” she said. “At least, so we thought; and my -husband went away with an easy mind. But two months ago Ronald came here -in the middle of the night, saying that I must hide him: he had escaped -from jail, and was penniless and in dread of recapture. What could I do? -I took him in—Harry and Beryl were away—and hid him in the Tower -rooms. It was easy enough: I had for years been in the habit of shutting -myself up here, and the place is like a little house in itself. I -procured dresses for him, like my own, so that if by chance he were seen -he would be mistaken for me—you have seen how remarkable is the -resemblance between us. I pretended to be almost always at work, so that -meals were sent up here—for him: and laid in a store of biscuits and -tinned foods for the times when I had to be downstairs.” She gave a -weary little laugh. “One of the minor problems of my life has been the -disposing of the empty tins!” - -“And what have you lived on?” I demanded. - -“Oh, anything. I had a good meal downstairs occasionally. Indeed, I have -had no appetite. It has been ceaseless misery; the dread of being found -out, the constant concealments and deceptions, the strain of being much -with him—for he is no easy companion to live with at close quarters. -Lately he has become very irritable, and almost from the first he -rebelled against his imprisonment and insisted on going out at night. -What I have endured on those nights, waiting here in fear and suspense! -Of course, he was always dressed in my clothes; but I knew that sooner -or later someone would meet him and speak to him—as you did one night -upon the stairs!” - -“Then it was he!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad—I never could make out -why you looked so cross and brushed past me so rudely!” - -“I knew nothing about it until to-day,” she said. “He forgot to tell me. -And he encountered Julia, the housemaid, one night downstairs—he was -thoroughly frightened that time, and made sure he was found out.” - -“And of course—it was he who caught Jack on the shore at night, and -thrashed him!” I cried. “He need not have done it: the little chap was -only playing.” - -“Did the children tell you?” - -“I saw it,” I said. “I had followed the children down, to see that they -were safe. They have puzzled over your unexpected strength ever since.” - -“Ronald told me as a great joke,” she said. “No wonder my poor little -Jack was puzzled—I have not punished him in that fashion in his life.” - -“As a matter of fact, he said he respected you highly!” I told her, and -she smiled a little. - -“It might have made a difference in his feelings towards me if he were -not a sweet-tempered boy,” she said. “I was very angry with Ronald. Oh, -my dear, if you knew what these weeks have been, you would pity me! The -constant fear—the terrible uncertainty!” She shuddered. “There have -been many times when I have been tempted to send him away and let him -take his chance. But I could not do it. After all, though I cannot feel -any affection for him now, he was my little brother once—just such a -boy as Jack. That is the time I try to remember. And my mother left him -to my care.” - -Her eyes were suddenly kind and soft. I wondered how I could ever have -thought her cold—or mad. - -“But how long is it to go on?” I asked. “You can’t keep such a secret -for ever.” - -“There is a chance of getting him out of Australia,” she said. “He has a -friend connected with a ship which will leave Adelaide next week—ten -days from now, or thereabouts. It is a cargo-ship only, and this friend -has promised to arrange a passport for him and get him on board, if I -can get him to Adelaide. We have been trying to work out a plan to go to -Southport farther down the coast; from there he could make his way up to -the main line and reach Adelaide by train. But now we are afraid to -move, for everything is complicated by the robberies in the -neighbourhood. With the police on the alert—with those terrible black -trackers about!—what can we dare to do? I am at my wits’ end.” - -“But they will not come here,” I said. “Dr. Firth’s place is three miles -away, and there is nothing to bring the police to The Towers.” - -“I do not know,” she said slowly. She was silent, gripping my hand so -tightly that it ached. Suddenly she dropped it, sprang up, and began to -pace the room, wrapped in thought; and I sat watching her helplessly. -The minutes went by while she went back and forth, like a caged animal. -Then she came back. - -“It has been a relief to tell you,” she said. “I have longed to talk to -some one—the thing has been too hard to bear all alone. Listen—I will -tell you the worst fear of all.” - - - - -[Illustration: “Each the very counterpart of the other, they stood - together, and I looked from one to the other with dazed eyes, - utterly bewildered.” - _The Tower Rooms_] [_Page 160_] - - - - - CHAPTER XII - I HEAR STRANGE CONFIDENCES - - -BUT when she sat down she did not appear able to speak. Twice she opened -her lips, but it seemed that no words would come. - -“Don’t tell me unless you want to, Mrs. McNab,” I said, pitying the -poor, strained face. “You are just tired out, and I know that your hand -is hurting. Do rest quietly on my bed for a little while, and I will -dress it.” - -To my surprise, she did not resist me. She let me put her on my bed, -lying silently, with closed eyes, while I dressed her hand and bandaged -it freshly. Then I had a new inspiration. - -“Please don’t move,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” - -I ran down to the kitchen and made some strong coffee. Julia was there, -sewing. She wanted to relieve me of the task altogether, and insisted on -getting the tray ready. - -“I’d not say ‘no’ to a cup, meself, miss, if you could spare it,” she -said. “This place do be gettin’ on me nerves. There’s the misthress -goin’ about all this day lookin’ like a walkin’ ghost—up an’ down the -stairs an’ in an’ out like a dog at a fair. Is it for her you’re makin’ -the coffee now? But it’ll get cold on you before she comes in.” - -I opened my mouth to say that Mrs. McNab was in my room; and then -changed my mind suddenly. - -“Why do you say that, Julia?” - -“Sure I’m afther seein’ her with me two eyes, goin’ out ten minutes ago. -Slippin’ along by the back wall she was, in her grey gown, as if she -didn’t want to be seen. I was comin’ in from the laundry, an’ me heart -rose in me throat at the sight of her—though the dear knows I’ve a -right to be used to seein’ her creepin’ round the place. If she’d so -much as pass the time of day to one, I’d not think her so queer; but -’tis like a silent grey ghost she is—never a worrd out of her. What -with that, an’ the thieves that may pay us a visit anny minute, it’s no -right place to be in: I’d take me pay an’ go, if it wasn’t for yourself -an’ Mrs. Winter.” - -“Oh, you mustn’t do that, Julia,” I said, trying to speak lightly. “When -anyone is working as hard as Mrs. McNab she can’t interrupt herself to -talk. As for the thieves, I believe they are well out of the district; -remember, the police are watching for them everywhere now.” - -“Yerra, the polis!” said Julia, with much scorn. “Is it the polis you’d -be puttin’ your dependence on, miss? Sure, as Bence says, they’re too -busy tryin’ to catch poor motor-drivers to be doin’ anny real worrk. Dr. -Firth’s seen the lasht of them jools of his, you mark my words. ’Tis -meself was in Ireland when all the fightin’ was goin’, but I never felt -as quare an’ lonesome as I do in this place.” - -I poured her out a cup of coffee. - -“Just drink that and you’ll feel better, Julia,” I said. “I’m not going -to be scared of any thieves, and I don’t believe you are, either. I’ll -take up a little saucepan: if Mrs. McNab isn’t back I can warm up her -coffee on my spirit-lamp when she does come in.” - -But I knew, as I carried the tray away, that it was not Mrs. McNab whom -Julia had seen slinking by the wall. Ronald Hull must have come down the -stairs very softly while we had talked in my room. I wondered what he -was doing, out in the night. - -Mrs. McNab had not moved, and for a moment I fancied that she was -asleep. But she stirred as I came near her, and drank her coffee as -though she were thirsty. - -“That was very good,” she said, lying back. “You are a very kind child -to me: my own daughter does not think of such things. It is a shame to -burden you with my troubles.” - -I told her not to worry about that. “Indeed,” I said, “I have been more -uneasy about you for some days than I am now. Ever since I have seen -more of you, in looking after your burnt hand, I knew something was -troubling you terribly, and I have been so anxious.” - -“Was it so plain?” she sighed heavily. “I have done my best to seem -cheery and normal, but it has been hard; and all to-day I have felt -almost as if I were going mad. I think and think, until my brain feels -as though it were whirling in a circle.” - -She lit a cigarette and smoked for a few moments without speaking. - -“Oh, I must tell you!” she exclaimed. “Now that I have once spoken I -must go on and tell all. Your brain is young and clear, and you may be -able to think of a way out.” - -“It won’t do any harm to talk it over, at all events,” I said, trying to -speak comfortingly. But I felt appallingly young and helpless, and I -wished with all my heart that Dr. Firth or Colin could be there. - -“It is these robberies,” she said. “I had no peace before they took -place—but since then I have been in torment. I ask myself -ceaselessly—_Who is the thief?_ And only one answer comes to me.” - -Light flashed upon me. - -“You don’t think—you surely don’t think—your brother . . . ?” - -“I do not know what to think. Nothing like this has ever before occurred -in our quiet neighbourhood. And stealing is nothing to him—we have had -bitter proof of that. He needs money: I have raised all I can, to give -him a fresh start when he gets away, but he grumbles at the amount and -says it is not enough. Night after night he goes out, declaring that he -must have fresh air and exercise, and I do not know where he goes. I -have questioned him, but he only laughs at me. He knows his power over -me—that I will not betray him—and he takes the fullest advantage of -it.” - -With all my heart I yearned for Colin to deal with Mr. Ronald Hull. - -Mrs. McNab leaned forward, crushing her cigarette between her fingers. - -“And the danger is immediate,” she said. “If any trail brings the police -and the black trackers to The Towers or its neighbourhood, they may -insist on searching the house. Even if Ronald denied it, I would not -feel sure—he has lied so often. I do not know what to do.” - -“You would not tell your son?” - -“Tell Harry? I could not bear to do it. He is only a boy, and we have -managed to keep from him all knowledge of his uncle’s disgrace: it would -cast a shadow over his whole life. And I do not see how he could help -me. No one can help. If I could get Ronald away to Adelaide at once—but -he dares not go until the ship is ready to sail, for in any city he runs -a grave risk of recapture. And there is nowhere else that I can hide -him. It seems to me that I must get him out of The Towers -immediately—but where can he go? Everything has worked against me—even -this hand, with its wretched little injury that makes me half helpless. -I had planned to take him up the coast myself in the small launch; with -his aid I could have run it up to Southport, and hired some man to help -me back. But there is no chance of that now.” - -“Couldn’t I help?” I asked. “I know a good deal about running the -launch.” - -She shook her head. - -“You are very good. But I could not drag you into it. And, besides, it -is not time to go. The next ten days are my great difficulty: I simply -must send him away from The Towers. Picture his being found here!—with -all this party in the house; the disgrace; the publicity for the boys -and girls in my care. Beryl and Harry would never forgive me. It would -ruin their lives; Harry could never go back to the University.” - -I saw that, and my sense of helplessness increased. To drag young Harry -McNab into this tangle, just at the commencement of his manhood, was not -to be thought of. I suggested Dr. Firth, but Mrs. McNab recoiled from -the idea in horror. - -“But he is the very man who has been robbed! He is kind, I know, but he -is only human—how could I expect help from him! He would be the first -to hand Ronald over to the police.” - -And then a bright idea came to me. - -“Mrs. McNab—what about Shepherd’s Island?” - -“Shepherd’s Island!” she repeated, dully. “I don’t understand. You -mean——?” - -“To hide your brother. Very few people ever go there now, your son told -me: no stock are taken there for grass this year, and the awkward -landing keeps picnic parties away. The hut is quite weather-proof: he -could be comfortable enough there.” - -“I would not care if he were not comfortable,” said Mrs. McNab solemnly. -Something in her tone revealed what she had endured at the hands of her -refugee. “But—anyone might land there: he would not be secure.” - -“But he isn’t secure anywhere. He might be found here at any moment, and -then, as you say, all the household would be dragged into it. It would -be no worse for him, if he should be caught, to be caught away from The -Towers; and in that case no one need know his real name. And he could -watch—he would have to watch; if he saw a boat coming he could easily -hide among the rocks; they’re full of holes and little caves. We could -leave him a good supply of food, and take more over to him at night. And -when the news of the ship comes it would be easy to take him off the -island and run him down to Southport.” - -She stared at me as if I were an angel from heaven. - -“You blessed child!” she uttered, “I believe he would indeed be safer -there than anywhere. But how would I get him there? I am so useless -now.” - -I was warming to my idea. - -“You and I could take him. I can run the launch with a little help—just -what you could give me with your good hand. Dear Mrs. McNab, it’s quite -simple! We could take all your tinned foods down to the launch—Mr. Hull -could help, of course—with rugs and blankets. He ought to hide -everything in the rocks during the day, in case of anyone’s landing on -the island. I should think he would welcome the chance of being there, -after having been shut up in the Tower rooms for so long. And then you -could laugh at policemen and black trackers, even if they came in -swarms!” - -She drew a long breath. - -“It would be like heaven to think he was out of the house!” she said. -“Oh, I have been desperate all day! But it is not right—not fair—to -bring you into it. What would your brother say?” - -I knew very well that Colin would say a good deal, but it did not seem -worth while to dwell on that point. - -“Colin would help if he were here,” I said. “And as he isn’t it’s right -for me to help. I don’t run any risk—but if Mr. Hull is found in The -Towers, think of what it means to your four children! And if he is on -the island you will be in peace at night, knowing that he is not roaming -about.” - -“Yes,” she said—“yes! I would not wake each morning in dread of hearing -of fresh robberies.” - -“Well, you might hear of them, all the same—which would be a sort of -comfort to you, because you would know that your suspicions had been -wrong. And it would not surprise me if they _were_ all wrong—surely a -man who is already in dread of the police would not deliberately do new -things that would bring them on his track! It isn’t common sense!” - -“It would be a comfort to think that,” she said. “I have tried to think -it. But he is so foolhardy—so difficult to understand! My dear, the -more I think of your plan, the more hopeful I feel. Surely on that -lonely island he would be safer than he is here!” - -“Why, of course he would. And every one in the house would be safer too. -Do make up your mind to take him over, Mrs. McNab. Let us go to-night!” - -“To-night!” she uttered. “But it is already very late. I—I have not had -time to think—to plan.” - -“But there really isn’t much to plan. There is moonlight enough to make -everything easy: we have only to get the things down to the shore as -soon as everyone is in bed. Mr. Hull could change into his own clothes -in one of the bathing-boxes when we are ready to start. The launch is -all in order; the children and I were running her this afternoon, and -there is plenty of petrol. There could not be a better chance. For all -we know the black trackers may be here in the morning.” - -She shuddered. - -“Indeed they may. That possibility has been burning into my mind all -day.” - -“Well, then, we won’t have anyone here for them to find. Have you much -food upstairs?” - -“Quite enough for a week, with care, I think,” she said. “He would not -starve, at all events: and there is fresh water on the island. He could -catch fish, too: if he made a fire among the rocks and cooked fish at -night, no one would see the smoke. There would be no difficulty or risk -about his being there unless anyone landed.” - -“And that risk is less than his being here. Remember, too, even if a -picnic party saw him, they would probably think he was a lonely camper -and would scarcely notice him. The police are not likely to think of -going there—no boats will be missing and thieves could not reach the -island without a boat.” - -“No,” she agreed. “Well, no course that I can adopt is without danger; -but I do believe that your plan holds less risk than any other. If he is -captured I cannot help it—at least, I shall have done my best. I will -go and tell him; I do not think that he will make any objection.” - -I had a moment’s horror after she had gone, for I suddenly remembered -that Mr. Hull had gone out—perhaps he was still away, roaming in the -bush or on the shore: perhaps—who could say?—visiting some other house -as Dr. Firth’s had been visited the night before. Then all my excellent -plans would be upset, and we should have to take our chance of what the -morrow might bring. But I hardly had time to worry much over this -possibility when Mrs. McNab came hurrying back. - -“He will go,” she said. “Keep a watch, Miss Earle, and come and tell us -when every one has gone to bed.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - I GO ADVENTURING - - -IT was lucky for us that all the house-party were tired that night. -Dancing was often kept up at The Towers until long after midnight; but -on this occasion the strenuous day in the bush had had its effect, so -that a move was made towards bed soon after half-past ten. One strong -soul cheerily suggested finishing up with a bathing excursion to the -beach—and never knew what malevolent brain-waves I wafted towards him -from my nook near the schoolroom door. Fortunately, Dicky Atherton -poured cold water upon the idea. - -“Don’t be a lunatic, Billy,” he remarked. “If you haven’t had enough, I -guess the rest of us have. Go and bathe by yourself, if you want to.” At -which “Billy” yawned mightily, and said that bathing alone was a poor -game, and he guessed he’d go to bed, too. They all trooped upstairs, and -I noticed that several locks clicked as the doors were shut. Evidently -the girls had not forgotten the chance of the burglar. I wondered what -would have been their sensations had they known that we were preparing -to convey the suspected burglar out of the house! - -I waited until ten minutes after the last light had gone out. The house -was wrapped in deep silence as I stole up the stairs to the Tower rooms. - -Mrs. McNab was waiting for me on the landing. - -“Come in,” she whispered. “We are all ready.” - -Ronald Hull sat smoking in her study. Something of the sneering coldness -was gone from his face. - -“You seem to be a most energetic planner,” he greeted me. “It was a -lucky chance that brought you in here this evening, though at the time I -must admit that I thought it a precious unlucky one. Are you sure you -can run the boat?” - -“Quite sure,” I told him coldly. I couldn’t bear his face or his manner: -he repelled me as a snake repels. It was difficult even to be civil to -him. - -There were many parcels and packages on the floor, ready for carrying. -Mr. Hull was still dressed like Mrs. McNab, but he carried a pile of -men’s clothing over his arm. - -“Well, we might as well make a start, if you think it’s safe,” he said. -“This stuff will need more than one trip.” - -It needed three, since Mrs. McNab could carry very little. Laden like -camels, we crept down the kitchen stairs, across the crunching gravel of -the yard, and over the paddock, stowing our burdens in the launch that -lay beside the little jetty. Backwards and forwards we went, almost -running on the return journeys to the house: the dread of detection -suddenly heavy upon us, so that every clump of tea-tree seemed to -contain the lurking shadow of a watching man. Just as we were leaving -the yard on our last trip, Mr. Hull well ahead with the heaviest -burdens, a window at the rear of the house was suddenly flung up. Mrs. -McNab and I stopped, petrified with fear. A voice shrilled out, that was -unmistakably the product of the County Cork: a voice in which wrath -struggled valiantly with nervousness: - -“Who’s there? Tell me now, or I’ll loose the dogs on ye!” - -“Answer her quickly!” I whispered. - -“It is I, Julia,” said Mrs. McNab in icy tones. They were really the -only accents she could command, for she was shaking with dread; but they -must have sounded sufficiently awe-inspiring to Julia, who ejaculated, -“Howly Ann, ’tis the misthress!” and slammed down her window. We took to -our heels and fled after Mr. Hull. - -At the shore we lost no time, Julia’s outcry might easily have aroused -the house, and for all we knew we might be followed already; so we -hurried Mr. Hull into the launch, not daring to risk delay while he -changed his clothes, which could just as well be done at the Island. He -grumbled a little, saying that he was sick and tired of living in -women’s garments; at which Mrs. McNab fixed him with a glance that, even -in the moonlight, must have been daunting, for he broke off in the -middle of a remark, and only muttered under his breath—Mrs. McNab took -the tiller, and I switched on the engine. And it would not start! - -The minutes went by while I tinkered with every gadget I could find in -that abominable box of machinery. Mrs. McNab—how I loved her for -it!—sat absolutely silent, betraying no sign of impatience; but -presently her brother grew restive, and demanded angrily, “Won’t she -start?”—a query that seemed to me so singularly futile that I deigned -no answer. I tried everything that I could think of, and still no -response came from that very engine which had purred so happily on our -piratical expedition a few hours before. Ronald Hull broke out rudely at -last. - -“I might have known as much! What fools we were, Marie, to believe in a -self-satisfied school-girl! We might as well unpack the boat and go -back—we can’t sit here until daylight comes and somebody finds us!” - -“Oh, hold your tongue, Ronald!” Mrs. McNab said wearily. “We are doing -our best for you. And let me assure you that, whatever happens, you are -not going back to my house.” - -He subsided at that, with an ill-tempered grunt. And then, I don’t know -in the least what I did—possibly my wrath communicated itself to the -spanner I was using—but the engine suddenly began to spit, and then to -purr. I heaved a sigh of relief, echoed by Mrs. McNab; and in a moment -we were slipping away from the jetty and heading towards the opening of -the bay. I took the tiller from Mrs. McNab, and in silence we shot -across the moonlit water. - -Having recovered from its fit of bad temper, the engine decided to -behave beautifully. Its even throb was music in my ears. It was a still -and perfect night, a night of moonbeams and starshine and peace, in -which the load of anxiety and evil that we carried seemed to have no -part. Beyond the headland, when we turned westward, the sea rose in -long, gentle swells on which we rocked lazily as the launch sped -onwards. Every tiny island was a dim place of mysterious beauty. No -sound reached us, save, now and then, a seabird’s cry. None of us spoke. -Ronald Hull lit a cigarette and sprawled across the bow, looking ahead: -beside me, his sister leaned back, and on her white face was the -beginning of peace. So we travelled across the gleaming water, until -Shepherd’s Island loomed ahead, and I slowed down the engine, looking -for the opening to the tiny bay where we must land. Soon it came into -view. I ran the launch carefully beside the shelf of rock, and Ronald -Hull sprang out with a rope. - -We made fast, and landed. One after another Mr. Hull passed out the -packages, until the launch was empty. - -“You’d better go ahead with the lighter things,” he said. “I’ll change -in the boat. Is it safe to show a light to guide me to this hut of -yours?” - -“I do not think it would be wise,” Mrs. McNab answered. “But you cannot -miss it—it is only a stone’s-throw away. Whistle softly when you are -ready, and we will come back.” - -We left him, and went up the slope with what we could carry. Mrs. McNab -had brought a lantern, but, even had we dared to use it, we did not need -it; although the moon was thinking of setting, the night was wonderfully -clear and bright. We opened the sagging door of the hut to its fullest -width and put in our bundles—I wondered if Mrs. McNab was as much -afraid of spiders in the dark interior as I was, or if her mind rose -superior to such earthly considerations. Personally, I cannot imagine -any circumstances in which the thought of a spider in the dark will have -lost its power to give me chills down the back. - -A low whistle came to us as we descended the slope, and we reached the -shore to find Mr. Hull arrayed in his own garments, and looking -decidedly more cheerful. - -“Thank goodness for my own kit!” he remarked. “Your clothes have been -very useful, my dear Marie, but skirts are ‘the burden of an honour unto -which I was not born,’ and I’m uncommonly glad to see the last of them. -We’d better get this stuff up as soon as possible; you two must hurry -away.” - -We loaded ourselves again, and returned to the hut. Our passenger was -not excited by its aspect. - -“Pretty dingy sort of hole!” he remarked, peering into the darkness -within. “Thank goodness it’s a warm night: I’ll roll up in my blankets -under a tree. There are probably several varieties of things that creep -and crawl inside that shanty.” - -“You will remember to keep out of sight of the mainland in daylight, -Ronald?” - -“Oh yes—I’ll be careful,” he answered lightly. - -“I hope you will. You should conceal everything in the morning, as soon -as it is light—there are rocks and hollows all over the island—you -will have no difficulty in stowing everything away. Do remember that -there will be many watchful eyes along the coast during the next few -days: you cannot be too cautious.” - -“Well, you’ve done all you can for the present, so you needn’t worry,” -her brother replied. “If they get me now it will be plain John Smith -they will get, who does not know of even the existence of such a place -as The Towers, or such a family as that of McNab! When may I expect to -see you again?” - -“We will come in three or four nights—it is impossible for me to say -exactly when I can get away unnoticed. By that time there may be news -from Adelaide about your future movements. You will have to listen for -the beat of the engine—we will try not to be later than ten o’clock.” - -“Right,” he said. “Whistle three times when you stop, so that I may know -for certain that it is your engine and not a police-boat’s. I suppose -you can whistle, Miss Earle?—you look as if you could!” - -“I suppose you can carry up the remainder of these things?” I gave back -icily. “It is quite time I got Mrs. McNab home—she is tired out.” - -“Let us go,” Mrs. McNab said hastily. I believe she knew that I hungered -to throw things at him. “Remember, by the way, Ronald, that if bad -weather comes we may be prevented from taking out the launch—you had -better husband your provisions. We will do the best that we can for -you.” - -“You’ve certainly done that always, Marie,” he admitted ungraciously. -“I’ve no doubt you’re deeply thankful to be rid of your Old Man of the -Sea for a time. Well, I hope it will be for good in a few days—I -promise I won’t come back again if once I get to America.” - -I was already in the launch, starting the engine. Mrs. McNab took her -place, and Mr. Hull cast off the rope. - -“Good night,” he said. Mrs. McNab answered him, but I pretended to be -deeply occupied with the engine, and said nothing. We slid away gently -from the rock, and in a moment the Island was only a dim blur behind us. - -I believe we both enjoyed the voyage home, although scarcely a word was -spoken. Mrs. McNab relaxed limply into her corner of the seat, smoking -so slowly that twice she let her cigarette go out, when she would flick -it away into the water and light a fresh one—she managed wonderfully -with her one hand. As for me, I could have purred as contentedly as did -the engine. It was good to be without that evil presence in the launch; -better still to think that The Towers that night would be free from its -blight. I liked to think how welcome would be the solitude of her eyrie -in the tower to the tired woman beside me. Whatever the future might -hold for Mrs. McNab and her brother, I firmly believed that we had done -a good job in transferring him to Shepherd’s Island, where his -unpleasant temper would be restricted to gannets and gulls. It gave me -serene pleasure to think how dull he would be. When Mrs. McNab -recollected presently, with an exclamation of annoyance, that she had -omitted to pack for him a good supply of tobacco, I fear I chuckled -inwardly. I had small sympathy for Mr. Ronald Hull. - -We swung round into Porpoise Bay and ran across to the jetty, slowing -down to lessen the sound of the engine, and watching keenly ahead in -case anyone should be prowling on the shore. - -But there was no one: all was dark and silent, save for the waves -lapping gently against the jetty piles. I made the launch fast, while -Mrs. McNab gathered up her brother’s discarded dress, and, hurrying -across the paddock, we gained the house unseen, and felt our way up the -dark kitchen stairs. - -Mrs. McNab came into my room, closing the door as I switched on the -light. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I saw that her eyes were -full of tears. - -“You are a very brave girl, my dear,” she said. “I shall sleep to-night -in the nearest approach to peace that I have known for a long while, and -it is thanks to you. A month ago you were a stranger to me, and yet -to-night you have done me a service I could not ask from my own son.” - -I mumbled something idiotic. Nothing that evening, unless it were the -time when the engine would not start, had been so terrible as this! - -“You do not want to be thanked, I know,” she went on. “And, indeed, I -have no words to thank you. But I hope that you will never think hardly -of me for having allowed you to shoulder my burden—I know I should not -have done it, but it was growing too heavy for me. You came to me like -an angel of help. I hope you will always let me be your friend.” She -stooped and kissed me, and then, like Julia’s “grey ghost,” she was -gone. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - I FIND MYSELF A CONSPIRATOR - - -HARRY McNAB and two of his ’Varsity friends took a car and went off to -Dr. Firth’s immediately after breakfast next morning. They returned some -hours later, much disgruntled. - -“We thought you would be black-tracking all day,” the girls greeted -them. “Have you caught the burglars already?” - -“There’ll be mighty little catching done, if you ask me,” was Harry’s -reply. “The black trackers can’t come: they’re busy on that murder case -up in the Mallee, and can’t be spared for a mere robbery. Dr. Firth’s -very disgusted. Of course the police are bobbing about everywhere, but I -don’t believe they’ll do any good. There are two Melbourne men down as -well—detectives.” - -“Very disappointing people,” put in Dicky Atherton. “Not a bit like -sleuth-hounds in appearance. I expected to see something of the keen, -strong, silent type, like Sherlock Holmes, but they’re more like retired -undertakers.” - -“And is there no clue to the burglars?” Mrs. McNab asked. I had seen the -flash of utter relief in her eyes when she heard that the black trackers -were not to come. She was looking better, but was evidently very tired. - -“Not an earthly clue! The jewels and the burglars seem to have vanished -into thin air.” - -“You can be jolly certain that they vanished into a high-powered car,” -remarked Mr. Atherton. “Burglars, as careful in their choice of -valuables as these people were, don’t do things in a haphazard way: I’ll -bet the whole thing was the work of an experienced gang, and that they -were all snug in Melbourne, with their loot, before daylight yesterday. -Well, it’s a good thing that his loss doesn’t trouble Dr. Firth as far -as his pocket goes. But he’s awfully annoyed at being bested—not that -he admits that he’s beaten yet, by a long way.” - -“No,” said Harry. “I fancy that Dr. Firth will keep his teeth into the -matter for quite a while. And it wouldn’t be jam for the thief if he -caught him. As Dicky says, it’s the old chap’s pride that seems most -deeply hurt.” - -So we gathered from Dr. Firth himself when he came over, later in the -day. - -“The things were going to the Museum, in any case,” he remarked. “So far -as that goes, I am no worse off. But it is intensely annoying that, for -the sake of a handful of jewels, poor old Michael’s treasures are -deprived of all their value as specimens. He was tremendously proud of -them, and I feel as though I had failed in my trust as their custodian.” -He gave a little dry laugh. “I believe I feel it more because I really -didn’t care a hang for the things—a good horse or a good dog appeals to -me far more than all Michael’s hideous rarities.” - -“And what about the things that are left?” Mrs. McNab asked. - -“I take no more chances. A man from the Museum is coming down to-morrow -to oversee the packing of everything, and in a few days I hope the whole -lot will be gone—I shall send them all down to Melbourne by motor-van, -with the Museum man mounting guard over them.” - -“No need for that,” put in Judy. “All you have to do is to put in a lion -or so, and drape a few pythons round the van! Nobody will go near them -then!” - -“Wouldn’t they look gorgeous, going through Melbourne like that!” Jack -exclaimed. - -“They would create a mild sensation in Collins Street,” Dr. Firth -agreed. “I’ll suggest it to the Museum official. Meanwhile, I have two -detectives about the house, both looking very wise and filling little -black notebooks with remarks on the situation. Do you know, I have the -queerest certainty that those jewels are not far off? The detectives -scoff at the notion, but it remains, all the same.” - -“You have nothing to support the idea?” Mrs. McNab asked. - -“Nothing whatever—it’s just a feeling. I suppose Michael would say that -his queer old jewels have a certain uncanny power of suggesting their -whereabouts!” - -“What’s that mean?” queried Jack. - -“Means they’re magic, silly, so’s they can tell you where they are,” -responded Judy. - -“Hur!” said Jack. “Be a jolly sight better, then, if they said it -straight out! Wouldn’t the thieves get a shock if the jewels took to -yelling ‘Here I am!’ whenever they tried to hide them!” - -“It would be a great advantage to me,” Dr. Firth said, laughing. “You -two might keep your ears well open, in your joyous wanderings—they say -that magic still lingers where there are children. An old fogy like -myself would have no chance of hearing my lost property bleat.” - -“Is there a reward?” demanded the practical Jack. - -“There is—I’ve offered £500, already, for the conviction of the thief. -If you get the jewels without the robber the reward will be less, so you -might as well make a thorough job of it.” - -“I could do with £500,” said Jack solemnly. “I awfully want a yacht all -of my own!” - -“You’re a nasty little grab-all,” stated his sister. “People don’t take -rewards from friends, do they, Mother?” - -“Certainly not.” - -“Oh well, the fun of getting them would be worth it,” said Jack, though -with some regret. “But you know jolly well you’d like that yacht -yourself, Ju. Anyhow, I vote we start hunting now. May we, Mother?” - -“I suppose so,” she said—“if you don’t go into very wild places. No, -you are not to go, Miss Earle.” She put a restraining hand on mine as I -made a movement to rise. “They cannot get into much harm, and you know -that you did not sleep well. Be home in good time, children.” - -“Right-oh!—we’ll go and get the ponies, Jack!” They raced off together. - -Dr. Firth looked keenly at us both. - -“I must say that neither of you look as fresh as you might,” he -observed. “I suppose you have been worrying over this wretched robbery. -You did not sit up on guard, did you?” - -“Oh no!” Mrs. McNab replied hastily. “Harry suggested doing so, but it -seemed foolish and he gave up the idea. I am really not at all alarmed -about The Towers—we are such a large party, with several active young -men: a thief would meet with a warm reception here.” - -“I think so, too. Still, if you should feel in the least nervous I would -send one of my men over here at night.” - -This well-meant suggestion caused us both acute anxiety. The very last -thing we desired was a guardian for The Towers at night. Mrs. McNab was -so emphatic in declining the proposal that Dr. Firth looked at her -curiously. - -“Well—just as you please. But if you are not worried, I should like to -see you looking rather more like yourself. Is the work going badly?” - -Poor Mrs. McNab leaped at the suggestion. - -“Very badly,” she said, with a wintry smile. “There are so many -interruptions—so much to think of throughout the day. I never can -expect really free time during the holidays; although Miss Earle does -everything in her power to spare me, and never spares herself.” She -patted my hand. “I do not know how much magic is in your jewels, Dr. -Firth, but my good fairy was certainly at work when she sent me this -kind girl.” - -Dr. Firth beamed on us. - -“I’m delighted to hear you say so,” he said. “One would not expect -anything but kindness from Denis Earle’s daughter. My luck was even -better than yours, for you have her only for the holidays: I am not -going to lose her again, if I can help it!” - -“I should be very sorry to think our friendship would end with the -holidays,” said Mrs. McNab. “Indeed, after all the young people have -gone away I should like to keep you here awhile, my dear, for a thorough -rest—with nothing to do but lie about and read, or drive the car, or -bathe. It would be dull, but I think it would be good for you.” - -“You’re awfully kind, Mrs. McNab,” I said. “But there’s school—and -Madame Carr. Think of the waiting twelve-year-olds to whom I teach -deportment!” - -“Hang the twelve-year-olds!” said Dr. Firth explosively. - -I felt inclined to agree with him. For me, school and Madame Carr were -only a fortnight away, and the prospect was a grim one. To see Colin and -Madge again would be sheer delight, of course; but apart from those -beloved ones I hated the very idea of leaving the country. My time at -The Towers had been by no means all joy. Still, I had managed my -job—that was some satisfaction; and I had made good friends, and had -found Dr. Firth. And there were my dear little Judy and Jack. It was no -small thing to be a Fellow-Member of the Band. I had yet to learn how -big a thing it could be. - -“I don’t suppose the twelve-year-olds will be any more pleased to see me -than I shall be to meet them again,” I said, smiling at Dr. Firth’s -outburst. “Still, they are not bad youngsters, on the whole, and I feel -so well now that I’ll be able to tackle them in earnest. I was losing my -grip before the holidays, and they were fully aware of it.” - -Dr. Firth said nothing, but he still looked explosive. It was Mrs. McNab -who answered. - -“I hope that if they ever tire you out again you will remember that you -have a home at The Towers, my dear. And then I shall try to give you a -time without any worries—only peace.” - -Poor soul—she looked as though she needed the peace herself. I was -trying to reply fittingly when Bella appeared with the tea-tray and -provided a welcome interruption. It was terribly embarrassing to have -speeches made at one. - -The next few days went by uneventfully. Judy and Jack scoured the -country every day, returning in disgust at their lack of success in -finding the jewels, but always ready to go out again. We saw nothing of -Dr. Firth’s detectives. It was hinted that they had a clue, a possession -which Harry declared no self-respecting detective to be without; but -whatever it was, it seemed to lead them nowhere, and the belief grew in -the neighbourhood that the robbers had made good their escape, and were -not likely to trouble the Wootong district again. The girls ceased to -lock their doors at night; the Melbourne papers, which had given a good -deal of space to the burglary, dropped the subject in favour of -something more interesting. Only Dr. Firth still held to his idea that -his jewels were not far off. But as nobody agreed with him, he said -little, remarking that a man who had no foundation for his opinions was -wiser if he kept them to himself. He was very busy over the packing of -his remaining curios; load after load of stuffed animals left his house, -to the unconcealed joy of his servants, who declared—Julia reported to -me—that the place was becoming one in which a self-respecting girl -could move about at night without her hair rising erect upon her head. -“An’ that’s more than one can say of this place, miss,” added Julia -gloomily. “There’s more than poor dead beasts is in it at The Towers!” - -Mrs. McNab and I paid another visit to the Island on the fourth night, -taking a fresh supply of food. We found our refugee in a distinctly bad -temper, loneliness and lack of tobacco being his principal grievances. -He became rather more cheerful when we supplied the latter need, but -muttered angrily when he learned that no letter had yet been received -from his friend in Adelaide. “A man can’t stay on this beastly rock for -ever!” I heard him say. “I’ll be in a pretty fix if Transom slips me up, -after all.” - -“You do not think he will, Ronald?” Mrs. McNab’s voice was sharp with -anxiety. - -“Oh, I don’t know. He seemed anxious enough to get me in with him, if I -could raise a little money—but he could easily find somebody with more -than I shall have. I’ll believe in him when I hear from him—and the -letter should have come before now. For goodness’ sake come back as soon -as you can, Marie; waiting in suspense in this hole is enough to send a -man out of his mind!” He stood glowering at us as we left the Island. To -my relief, he had not spoken to me at all. - -I think that the doubt he put into Mrs. McNab’s mind about the friend in -Adelaide was the last straw that broke down her endurance. She had made -very certain of the prospect of help from this man, Transom: Mr. Hull -had never spoken of him, she told me, as if there were any chance that -his offer would not hold good. I did not believe it now: I felt sure -that Mr. Hull had only tried to worry her by expressing a doubt that he -did not really feel. It was one of his pleasant little ways, that he -liked to work on her feelings by dwelling on dangers, both real and -imaginary: she had told me this herself, and I ventured to remind her of -it now. But she shook her head. - -“I do not know. He can be very cruel, but I hardly think he would be so -bitter as that. It may have been that his talk of Transom and America -was only a trick to induce me to raise the money—and I have raised all -that I can. But if Transom fails, whatever can we do? He has been my -only hope. Ronald cannot leave Australia without a passport—he dares -not try to get one himself, even under a false name. And nowhere in -Australia is he safe.” - -There was not much that I could say to comfort her. She gripped the rail -of the launch, staring out to sea as we ran smoothly homeward: seeing, I -knew, all that might lie before her: bringing her brother back by -stealth to his old hiding-place in the Tower rooms, to enter again upon -the dreary life of concealment and deception, with the ever-present risk -of discovery, and of disgrace for them all. It was a bitter prospect. -She looked ten years older when she said good night to me after we got -back to the house. As I listened to her dragging footsteps, going -wearily up the stairs, once more I longed very heartily for a strong man -to deal with Mr. Ronald Hull. - -It was not a surprise to me when Julia brought me word next morning that -Mrs. McNab was ill. - -“I dunno is it a fever she have on her,” said the handmaiden. “She do be -all trembly-like, an’ as white as a hound’s tooth. Sorra a bit has she -seen of her bed lasht night; I’d say she was fearin’ that if she tried -to climb that small little ladder to her room it’s fallin’ back she’d -have been. A rug on the sofy is all the comfort she’s afther having.” - -“Well, she can’t stay there,” I said. “Miss Carrick left yesterday, -Julia: we can bring Mrs. McNab down to her room.” - -“’Twould be as good for her,” agreed Julia. “’Tis all ready, miss; as -warrm as it is, I’ll clap a hot bottle between the sheets, the way she -wouldn’t feel the chill. Let you go up to her now, for the poor soul’s -unaisy till she sees you. Herself sets terrible store by you these -days.” - -There was no doubt that Mrs. McNab was ill—her appearance bore out all -Julia’s description. She tried to make as little of it as possible, -declaring that she was used to such attacks, and that a day in bed was -all she needed; she had taken the necessary medicine, and utterly -refused to see a doctor. But she did not resist being taken down to the -vacant room near mine, and leaned heavily upon me as I helped her down -the stairs. I was thankful when I saw her safely in bed. - -“Don’t trouble about me,” she said weakly. “My head aches badly: I am -better alone. It will pass off after a time. But you must bring the -letters to me as soon as the post-bag comes from Wootong—promise me, -Miss Earle.” - -I promised, seeing that nothing else would keep her quiet. But when the -mail arrived, the bundle of letters, which she turned over with shaking -fingers, did not contain the one for which she longed. - -“There is nothing from Transom,” she declared tragically. “I am afraid -Ronald’s fear is only too well-founded.” She turned her face to the wall -with a smothered groan. - -It was the longest day that I had spent in The Towers. There was -scarcely anything that I could do for my patient—she had no wishes, and -would take hardly any nourishment. Beryl paid her a casual visit, and -then left her to my care—Mother was like this occasionally, she said, -and wanted only to be let alone until she was better. Harry was more -concerned, but accepted philosophically the view that he could do -nothing in the sick-room and would be of more practical use if he kept -the house quiet by taking every one out: and presently all the party -went off for an excursion, and with the throb of the departing motors -The Towers settled down to silence. Judy and Jack had gone -treasure-hunting again, taking their lunch with them. There was nothing -for me to do but sit in my room, going often to steal a quiet look at my -patient, who generally lay with closed eyes, her face grey against the -white linen of the pillow. - -She roused a little towards evening, and permitted me to take her -temperature, which I found far too high for my peace of mind, though the -thermometer’s reading did not trouble Mrs. McNab. - -“Oh yes—it is often like that,” she said. “Give me some more of the -medicine: it will be better in the morning.” She smiled feebly at my -anxious face. “There is really no need for alarm, so far as I am -concerned. The worst feature is that these attacks leave me so terribly -weak: I am a wreck for days after one. And I have no time to be a wreck -just now.” - -This was so true than any comment on my part was needless; I could only -beg her not to worry, which I felt to be a singularly stupid remark. She -took a little nourishment, and soon afterwards fell into a heavy sleep, -from which she did not stir until after midnight. Then she woke and -smiled at me, and asked the time. - -“And you still up!” she said reproachfully. “You must go to bed at once, -Miss Earle. I am better, and there is no need whatever for you to sit up -any longer.” - -She was evidently better, and the temperature, though not yet normal, -had gone down. I made her take a little chicken-broth and shook up her -pillows, putting on cool, fresh covers. - -“That is so nice!” she said, as her hot face touched their coolness. -“Now I am going to sleep again, and you must do the same. I can ring if -I want anything—but indeed I shall want nothing. Run off to bed at -once, or I shall have to get up to make you go!” - -I gave in, seeing that she was really worried about my being up, though -I was not at all sleepy. Nevertheless, once I was in bed I slept like a -log, and did not waken until I found Julia by my side with tea in the -morning. She beamed cheerfully at me. - -“Let you take your tay in peace, now,” she said. “The misthress is -betther: she’s afther drinkin’ a cup, an’ she towld me to tell you to -take your time, for she’s needin’ nothin’.” - -“Is she really better, Julia?” I asked anxiously. - -“She is. There’s great virtue in that quare little glass stick she’s -afther suckin’; she med me give it to her, an’ she says it’s made her -norrmal. I dunno what is norrmal, but she says she’s cured. The fever’s -gone out of her entirely. But she have a strong wakeness on her yet; -sure I had to howld the cup when she drank, for there’s no more power in -her hand than a baby’s. But that’s nothin’ at all: we’ll have her as -well as ever she was in a few days, if only she’ll leave the owld -writin’ alone.” - -Mrs. McNab greeted me with a smile when I hurried in. - -“Ah, I told Julia to make you rest awhile,” she said. Her voice was -still faint, but her eyes were clear, and the pain had gone out of them. -“I am really better: the attack has passed off, and I have only to get -rid of this weakness. But it takes time.” - -She was a very meek patient that morning. All her powers were -concentrated on getting back her strength: she took nourishment whenever -I brought it to her, and tried to keep herself as placid as possible by -sheer strength of will. But strength of will, even as great as Mrs. -McNab’s, does not work miracles: she was still weak enough to tremble -violently when I brought her her letters at twelve o’clock, and when she -came to one in a dingy blue envelope her hand shook so that she had to -let me open it for her. With a great effort she commanded herself to -read it. - -“It is from Transom!” she gasped. “Everything is arranged, and he wants -Ronald to join him in Adelaide immediately—not to delay an hour longer -than he can help!” - -The letter fluttered to the ground and I sprang to her side. She had -fainted. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - I SAIL WITH MY BAND - - -‟I WILL not let you go alone.” - -“But I could manage quite well. It will be moonlight, and such a still -night. There would be no real difficulty.” - -“I will not let you go.” - -“But it will be days before you are fit to move. You know you cannot -risk the delay: it is your brother’s only chance. You can’t see it -wasted.” - -“I can—if the price is too great to pay. I will not buy his safety at -the risk of a young girl. I will not let you go.” - -“Then let me tell your son.” - -The white face on the pillow worked pitifully. - -“No—anything but that! Harry is so young—and so proud. I cannot let -him share the knowledge of disgrace. Life would never again be the same -to him. I have tried so hard to keep it to myself—to spare Harry.” - -“Ah, let me go!” I said. “It would be so easy—the launch is ready, and -the run to Southport would be nothing. Think of it—to have all your -anxiety at an end! Say I may go, dear Mrs. McNab.” - -We had argued at intervals all the afternoon. At first, after recovering -from the fainting-fit into which the arrival of Transom’s letter, urging -Ronald Hull to come without delay, had thrown her, Mrs. McNab had -declared that she herself would be well enough to go out that night: a -manifest absurdity, speedily proved when she tried to walk across the -room. She could only totter a few yards, and then was glad to catch at -my arm and let me support her to a chair. Again and again she had tried, -with no better success. I put her back to bed at last, and gave her a -stimulant, angry with myself for having assisted at the folly. And then -had begun the argument. - -It seemed to me that the only thing to be done was for me to take the -launch and convey Ronald Hull to Southport. I didn’t like the idea of -doing it alone—who would? But there was no other way, since Mrs. McNab -steadfastly refused to tell Harry. A second reading of Transom’s letter -showed us that we should have received it a day earlier, and that to -reach Adelaide in time Mr. Hull must start that very night. It was now -or never; and Mrs. McNab had made up her mind that it must be never. - -She turned her weary eyes in my direction now with a hopeless movement. - -“I cannot. It is absolutely unthinkable that I could allow it. Even -Ronald’s disgrace, sore as it is, would not be as bitter to me as my own -conscience if I let you go. We must find some other plan of escape for -him. I am too tired to talk any more. Promise me you will not try to go -alone, and I will go to sleep.” - -I promised, reluctantly, knowing that she had already strained her -endurance too far: she had a touch of fever again, and I feared that the -next day would find her much worse. She looked relieved, murmuring -something I could not catch; then she closed her eyes, and I went -quietly out of the room, tasting all the bitterness of failure. I had so -built on ridding her of her abominable brother. It was terrible to think -that this wonderful chance was to be lost—that when she struggled back -to health he would still be a millstone about her neck. - -The sound of galloping hoofs came to me as I went out on the front -verandah, and I saw Judy and Jack come racing up the drive on their -ponies. They waved to me and shouted, but did not stop, tearing on to -the stable-yard. I sat down on a garden-seat to await them—and suddenly -hope flashed on me like a beacon-light. - -Judy and Jack! They were only children, but they were strong and -sensible, when they chose: they knew the launch and its engine better -than I did, and the sea was their friend and playfellow. They would -come, my little Fellow-Members of the Band, and ask no questions that -would lead to unpleasant explanations. I could trust them, just as their -father had said he could trust them—not to betray a confidence, never -to let one down. It wasn’t done, in the Band. - -I turned my great idea over and over in my mind while we were at dinner -in the schoolroom, and could find no flaw in it. I believed Mrs. McNab -would find none, either. To go out on the sea at night was nothing to -any McNab: that part of it I dismissed as not worth considering. The -chief thing to ponder was the necessity of letting them into at least -part of the secret: and there it was their very youth that gave me -confidence. Harry, if told, would have demanded every detail: Judy and -Jack would be content with what I chose to tell them, and I need tell -them nothing that would affect their peace of mind in the future. I -looked at my outlaws, unconsciously eating their dinner, with a -gratitude that would certainly have amazed them, had they suspected it. - -I went in to consult Mrs. McNab when we had finished. Before dinner she -had not slept, and I had felt uneasy about her, for she was flushed and -hot and restless: but now I found her in a heavy slumber, breathing -deeply and regularly. She might remain so for hours, perhaps all night. -Why should I tell her at all? Why not let her sleep on, untroubled, -while the Band did her work? There was nothing to be gained by waking -her. I knew where to find, in the Tower room, the little suit-case that -held necessaries she had packed for her brother’s journey, and the money -she had procured for him. It had been ready for days, in case of a -hurried summons. I had only to take it, and go. - -Slowly I went back to the schoolroom. The children were reading, their -mother’s illness making them unusually quiet; they glanced up at me, and -grinned in a friendly fashion. I sat down on the table and looked at -them. - -“Do you remember,” I asked, “what you told me your father used to say -when he told you a secret?” - -“Rather!” said Judy. “He always says, ‘Kids, this is confidential.’ -Why?” - -“Because I’m saying it now,” I said. “I have something to tell you, -and—‘Kids, it is confidential.’ Is it all right?” - -“O-oh, Miss Earle, you’ve got a secret! ’Course it’s all right. Isn’t -it, Jack?” - -“Cross-our-hearts,” said Jack solemnly. “Shall we swear a Hearty Oath?” - -“Your word is good enough for me,” I answered. “But it has to be a very -solemn word, because this is a big secret, and it isn’t even mine.” - -“We’ll never tell,” Judy said. “Jack and I never tell anything, you -know. Father understands that. Oh, Miss Earle, go on, or I’ll bust!” - -“You two have got to help me to-night,” I said. “You have the biggest -job that has ever come into your lives. And then you have to keep quiet -about it for ever and ever.” - -“_And_ ever!” said Judy. “Quick, Miss Earle!” - -“I can’t tell you all the details, because they are not mine to tell,” I -said. “But your mother has a friend who is hiding from some people who -want to find him—why they want him is no business of ours. We will call -this friend Mr. Smith. He is living on Shepherd’s Island.” - -“On Shepherd’s Island! In the old hut? Miss Earle, what a gorgeous -thrill!” - -“That isn’t half the thrill there is,” I said, laughing in spite of -myself. “Mr. Smith wants to go to Southport—it is very important that -he should go there to-night. Your mother and I were going to take him -there, in the small launch.” - -“You and Mother! Nobody else knowing anything at all?” - -“Not a soul.” - -“Do you mean you two were going out late to take him? All the way to -Southport? Why, it’s twenty miles!” - -“Yes—to everything,” I said. “But your mother has gone and got ill, and -she can’t come. That is worrying her dreadfully, because she knows Mr. -Smith must be at Southport this very night. I wanted to go alone, but -she would not let me. And all through dinner I have been wondering if my -Fellow-Members of the Band would help me.” - -“Any mortal thing!” declared Judy. “What can we do?” - -“You can run a launch as well as I can—or better.” - -“You mean——!” Light dawned on their eager faces. “You mean, you’d take -us to Southport?” - -“I mean that you two should come to help me take Mr. Smith to Southport. -It has become a job for the Band.” - -“It’s too wonderful to be true!” said Judy solemnly. “Oh, Miss Earle, -you darling! When do we start?” - -“I think we might slip out about nine o’clock——” - -“Just when we ought to be going to bed!” said Jack, with a blissful -chuckle. - -“We had meant to go later, when every one was in bed—but I am very -anxious to get back before your mother wakes. She is fast asleep now. If -your brother or sister should come up after nine and find everything in -darkness they will think we are all in bed. It seems to me the safest -plan.” - -“I suppose I’m really awake!” Judy remarked. “It would be too awful to -wake up and find I had only dreamed it! Pinch me, kid, will -you—Ouch!”—as Jack promptly complied. “Yes, I’m awake, all right. Miss -Earle, d’you mean that no one but you and Mother knows Mr. Smith is on -Shepherd’s Island?” - -“No one.” - -“How did he get there?” - -“We took him one night some time ago.” - -“What does he live on?” - -“We gave him food. And he catches fish.” - -“Where was he before?” - -“Oh—different places.” The cross-examination was growing too searching. -“Judy, I don’t want you to ask me questions, dear.” - -“I’m sorry, Miss Earle,” was the quick response. - -“It isn’t my secret, but your mother’s. I am telling you without her -leave, and she may be worried when she knows. I want you to promise to -ask no questions—to try not to be curious, even though it’s hard, about -what really doesn’t concern you two or me. We are only acting as agents, -and it isn’t our business. And don’t ask your mother anything when she -is better. It is a matter to be silent about—on the honour of the -Band.” - -“Cross-our-hearts!” they said in chorus—a touch of awe on their young -faces. - -“That’s all right, then. Just look upon it that you’re doing a good turn -and helping a lame dog over a stile—and, of course, one doesn’t talk of -that sort of thing afterwards.” - -“Rather not!” Jack said. “We’re never to speak of it again, ’cept when -we three are together.” - -“And very little then,” I said. “I’m going to forget all about it from -the minute I come home to-night.” - -“I don’t s’pose we could do that, because it’s the biggest adventure -we’ve ever had in the world, and we’re awfully obliged to you for giving -it to us—aren’t we, Ju? But it’s a deadly secret for ever and ever. -Will Mr. Smith know who we are?” - -“He may. But he is rather down on his luck, and I don’t think he will -want to talk.” - -“Well, goodness knows we don’t want to worry the poor beggar!” remarked -Jack, in masculine sympathy. “Can I be engine-man, Miss Earle?” - -“Yes, please. And will you steer, Judy?” - -“Don’t you want to? Oh, I’d love to—and then it’ll be all our -expedition and you’ll just be the Admiral and not do any work!” Judy -hugged me in her ecstasy. “We know Southport quite well, you see—we’ve -often been there in the launch, so we can do it all ourselves.” Joy -overcame her: she jumped up and pranced round the room wildly. - -“Judy, you villain, be quiet, or I won’t let you be even a cabin-boy,” I -said, laughing. “You have got to be absolutely steady and silent—both -of you. Now go on with your reading while I get ready.” - -I peeped at Mrs. McNab, who was still sleeping heavily; and then ran up -to her study, the key of which was in my care. The suit-case was on the -table: I glanced inside it, to make sure that the money was there. Yes, -it was all safe—a neat package of crisp bank-notes, tucked into a stout -envelope among the clothes. Locking the study, I carried the suit-case -down to my room, and found a long coat, into the pocket of which I -slipped an electric torch, with a dark veil to tie over my hair. Then I -scribbled on a half-sheet of notepaper: “Gone with Judy and Jack—please -don’t worry,” and put it on a little tray with nourishment: a glass of -milk and one of barley-water, with a saucer of chicken jelly. Mrs. McNab -did not stir as I put the tray on the table beside her bed. - -“Please go on sleeping,” I whispered. “I’ll take great care of your -babies.” There was no sound but her heavy breathing, and I tiptoed out. -I found Judy and Jack returning ecstatically from arranging dummy -figures in their beds. We extinguished all the lights in our part of the -house, and in a few moments we were hurrying across the paddock. It was -barely nine o’clock. - -There was no doubt that the presence of my two outlaws gave our -expedition the air of a joyous adventure. Mrs. McNab and I had come in -fear and trembling, seeing danger in every shadow; but with Judy and -Jack I raced merrily down to the shore, and we stowed ourselves in the -launch and pushed off with much ridiculous pomp and ceremony, as -befitted a lordly Admiral with a crew sworn to be faithful. To the -children it was simply a colossal lark, spiced with a glorious touch of -mystery; it was easy enough to take their view of it and share their -delight, until Shepherd’s Island suddenly showed before us. Then we ran -in silently, and I got out and went up the slope for a little way, -giving the signal of three low whistles—at which I could feel the new -thrill that ran through Judy and Jack. Three whistles—and a hunted man -in the dark! And to think that we, who shared this wonder, had a week -ago played at pirates, like children, with gulls for foes! - -Ronald Hull came running down with long strides. - -“Is that you, Marie?” he breathed. “Have you heard from Transom?” - -“Mrs. McNab is ill,” I told him curtly. “She has sent me in her place. -The letter came this morning, and we are ready to take you to Southport, -now.” - -“We! Whom have you told?” - -“Nobody. I have Judy and Jack with me, to help with the boat, but they -do not know who you are. It was the only way: you have to be in Adelaide -as quickly as possible.” - -“But have you the money? I can’t go without it.” - -“I have everything, and here is Transom’s letter: you are to get out at -Mount Lofty, outside Adelaide, where he will meet you with a car. Is -there anything you want to ask me?—because I do not want you to talk -before the children. Your voice is so like their mother’s that it might -make them suspicious. And please keep your hat pulled down well over -your face.” - -“You’re free enough with your orders,” he said with a sneer. “However, I -suppose I am in your hands. Where is the money?” - -“In the launch, in your suit-case. Do you want to get anything from the -hut?” - -“Yes—my hat and a few things. Get into the boat; I’ll be back in a few -minutes.” He ran back, and I went down to the shore, where Judy and Jack -waited in a solemn silence. But the launch seemed to quiver with their -ecstasy! - -We carried no light as yet—the moon gave us sufficient to steer by, -though clouds hid it now and then. I was glad that a bank had drifted -across its broad face just as Ronald Hull came down, in a long -mackintosh, with a soft hat pulled over his eyes. He took his place on -the bow, and we edged away for the last time from Shepherd’s Island. - -Never was there a more silent voyage. Not a word fell between us as we -ran the long miles along the coast, passing, one after another, the -lights of little villages. The sky grew more and more overcast, and the -air warmer, with little puffs of hot wind now and then. Had I been less -centred on getting to Southport and seeing the last of my passenger, I -might have been anxious about the weather; but I could only think of the -blessed certainty that soon he would be gone, and hug myself with joy -when I remembered the news I should have in the morning for Mrs. McNab. -Judy’s hand was light on the tiller: Jack crouched over the engine, a -queer, gnome-like figure, in the shadow. Ahead, the sinister figure sat -on the bow, his back to us, smoking. I wondered what his feelings were, -with freedom opening before him: and hardened my heart anew as I -recollected that he had made no inquiry whatever about Mrs. McNab’s -illness. Truly, it was a meritorious act, to rid a family of Mr. Ronald -Hull. - -“There’s Southport!” Judy said softly. - -The lights of a town showed ahead, scattered and dim, with a few -standing apart that marked the pier. We ran in gently, slowing the -engine. No one was to be seen as we crept alongside the pier, looking -for the steps at its side. The launch scraped them presently, and Mr. -Hull steadied her and sprang ashore, while I handed up his possessions. - -“Thanks,” he said, in a low voice. “Good night.” - -“Good night—and good luck!” I had to say that, because I was -representing Mrs. McNab. But I fear that, so long as he got clear of -Australia, I did not care in the least whatever might happen to Mrs. -McNab’s brother. I only hoped fervently that we might never see him -again. It is years ago now, but he still gives me unpleasant dreams. - -We headed for home joyfully, dodging anchored fishing-boats until we -were out in the open and could go full speed ahead. Nothing mattered to -us now: we had dropped our dangerous cargo, and not one of us cared who -heard our engine as Jack opened the throttle and the launch shot over -the oily sea. Judy was the first to speak. - -“I did want to see his face, so’s I could make him into a real hero,” -she said regretfully. “You can’t make a hero very well out of a -mackintosh and a felt hat!” - -“I don’t see why you can’t,” I told her, laughing. “It makes it all the -more beautifully mysterious, like the Man in the Iron Mask. But you are -to wash him out of your memory as soon as you can, and only remember -that the Band had a gorgeous and exciting midnight voyage. As a matter -of fact, this isn’t a motor-launch at all: it’s the _Golden Hind_, and -I’m Drake, and you are my faithful captains!” - -“And there’s a Spaniard ahead!” quoth Jack ferociously. “Up, Guards, and -at ’em!” - -A hot puff of wind went by; and a dash of spray fell on board. I glanced -round, to see a dark line of clouds across the sky. - -“There may or may not be Spaniards ahead, but there’s rain and wind -behind,” I said. “Get all you can out of her, Jack—I don’t want to take -you two home like drowned rats.” - -“P’f!” Judy ejaculated. “What’s rain to us jolly mariners!” - -We were to have an opportunity of seeing that. The clouds spread -rapidly, and the wind rose. We were yet five miles from home when the -moon was blotted out, and almost simultaneously the rain came down, in -gusty squalls that deepened to a steady downpour. I took the tiller from -Judy, who sat peering forward, picking up one shore-light after another -as we raced the leaping seas. They were staunch comrades, my -Fellow-Members: they sat as unconcernedly as if they were at dinner, -efficient and cheerful, while I wondered what I should have done had I -come alone, as I had wished. At intervals they apologized to me for the -unpleasant nature of their weather, and hoped I was not getting very -wet. - -“We’ll have to turn and run back against it pretty soon, if it doesn’t -clear,” Judy remarked. “It won’t do to get among the islands in this -darkness.” - -“It’s going to clear,” Jack said, scanning the horizon wisely. - -“Well, you just slow down,” returned his sister. “I’d hate to hit an -island at this pace!” - -Jack grunted, and slowed down—and grunted again as a wave hit us -squarely, deluging us with a rush of black water, just as the cover -slammed down on the engine. That was the last effort of the squall: it -lifted and blew away over the sea, and the moon came out and sailed -majestically through the flying clouds, revealing the fact that we were -quite unpleasantly near the islands which Judy would have hated to hit. -Nothing troubled us now; we sang a song of triumph in whispers as we -danced over the big seas and rounded the headland of Porpoise Bay. There -is great solace in a whispered chant of triumph if circumstances prevent -a full-throated chorus. - -Drenched, but entirely cheerful, my outlaws and I made a burglarious -entry into the darkened house. I had taken the precaution of leaving a -big Thermos of hot milk, with which I regaled them when I had them -snugly tucked into bed, after a brisk rub-down. - -“That was heavenly!” said Judy, snuggling into her pillow. “I’ve had the -most beautiful night of my life, Miss Earle, and I’ll bless you for it -always!” - -“Me, too,” echoed Jack sleepily. - -“I rather enjoyed it myself,” I said. “Go to sleep, Fellow-Members. I -shall certainly tell Colin that if he ever wants two mates in a tight -place I can supply him from the Band!” - - - - -[Illustration: “The letter fluttered to the ground and I sprang - to her side. She had fainted.” - _The Tower Rooms_] [_Page 201_] - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - I FIND A LUCKY SIXPENCE - - -AS soon as I was in dry things I slipped into Mrs. McNab’s room, my -heart thumping. All through our voyage I had pictured her waking up and -needing me: perhaps alarming the household, perhaps thrown into anxiety -by reading my note. There were a dozen unpleasant possibilities, and I -had explored them all. - -But luck had held for me throughout that evening. She lay just as I had -left her hours before, breathing deeply and regularly: the tray was -untouched beside her, the note in its original fold. I pocketed it -thankfully and went to bed—to wake with a start in the early dawn. - -I threw on a dressing-gown and went across to Mrs. McNab’s room. She was -lying awake and greeted me with a smile. - -“You should not be up so early,” she said. “No, I am quite comfortable -and better, and I have taken some jelly. And I feel cheerful, though I -do not know why. I went to sleep so miserable, but a comforting dream -came to me: a dream in which I saw Ronald, safe and happy and good. Is -it not curious that I should have such a happy dream, just when all our -plans for him are ruined!” - -“I don’t know,” I said, and smiled at her “I think it was a sensible -dream, sent as a warning.” - -“I would like to think so,” she said wistfully. “But everything is so -dark and uncertain now, and I do not know how to plan.” - -I suppose I grinned idiotically, for suddenly her face changed. She -looked at me keenly, rising on her elbow. - -“Miss Earle, you have something to tell me! You—you did not break your -promise to me!” - -“I did not,” I said. “To go alone was what I promised not to do, and I -didn’t go alone. I took Judy and Jack with me, bless their dear hearts: -they think we were assisting a gentleman named—possibly—Smith, and -they asked no questions, and will ask none in the future. Thanks to the -darkness they never saw his face. And we landed your brother at -Southport before midnight, dear Mrs. McNab, and his money and -everything. There wasn’t a hitch, and he’s well on his way to the -Adelaide line, I hope.” - -For a full minute she lay and looked at me without speaking. Then she -suddenly put her face into the pillow and broke into a passion of sobs. - -“Oh!” I uttered, horribly alarmed. “Oh, please don’t. Mrs. McNab, dear! -I shouldn’t have told you in such a hurry, but you guessed so quickly -that something had happened.” Dismally I felt that I had been a failure, -and I nearly howled, myself. “I—I thought you’d be glad!” - -She put out her hand to me, as if groping, her face still hidden. I held -the hot hand tightly while the sobs grew less, and she struggled to -command herself. - -“Glad!” she said presently. “Glad! When a burden of misery is suddenly -lifted glad is such a poor little word! My dear—my dear—what am I to -say to you?” - -“Why, nothing at all,” I said, greatly relieved. “It was the very -easiest little job, thanks to Judy and Jack. I had scarcely to do -anything: they ran the launch, and I was a mere passenger. They were -hugely delighted at the adventure.” - -“But will they say nothing?” - -“They will not say a word, even to you. I have told them it is not a -matter to be discussed; that the man on the Island was a friend we were -helping, and that he wanted to get to Southport last night. I can trust -Judy and Jack—when they have given their word nothing on earth can -shake it. They understood that the matter was confided to them on -condition that they should keep silent and ask no questions, and they -are very proud of being trusted.” - -She drew a long breath. - -“Sit down, and tell me everything that happened,” she begged. “Every -little detail.” - -I did so, touching very lightly on the rough journey home—hoping that -she would not ask me if her brother had sent her any message. Probably -she knew that a gentleman of Ronald Hull’s type would have no thought -for anyone but his precious self, for I had no awkward questions to -dodge. - -“It was all so simple and straightforward that there really is very -little to tell,” I finished. “I asked Mr. Hull not to speak in the boat, -so that there would be no risk of the children’s recognizing his voice: -and I was so anxious to get back in case you needed me, that we didn’t -lose a moment. It was just a pleasure-trip. You don’t mind that I took -the children? Indeed, I meant to ask you, but you had gone to sleep -before I could do it.” - -“I don’t mind anything,” she said. “There is no room in my heart for -anything but the utmost relief and gratitude; how could there be when my -burden is rolled away?” And she clung to my hand, and said a great many -things I couldn’t write down in cold blood—it made me feel an utter -fool to listen to them. I only know I was very thankful when she -stopped. - -“Now, you are to go back to bed at once,” she said. “Do not worry about -me any more: you shall see how quickly I can get better now.” And -indeed, she looked almost like a girl, her cheeks flushed, and a light -of happiness in her eyes. “Julia can do anything for me—she is very -kind. I should be really glad if you would spend all day in bed.” - -One does not do such things if one is a governess-head-companion with -buffering thrown in as a side-line. But I did sleep like a log until the -dressing-gong boomed, and Judy and Jack pounded on my door begging me to -go down for a swim. It gave one a thrill to run across the paddock as we -had run the night before: to see the launch rocking lazily by the pier. -Bence was busy in her. Jack scampered over to speak to him, dived in -from the pier-head, and swam round to meet us, with his face one broad -grin of impish joy. - -“Bence is as wild as a meat-axe!” he said cheerfully. “Says it’s no good -cleaning out the launch every day when people ’liberately pour water -into her at night! She really is awfully messy: that last big sea we -shipped put gallons and gallons of water into her.” - -“What did you say to him?” - -“I said it was a jolly shame,” Jack chuckled. “’Tis, too—poor old -Bencey! I say, Miss Earle, haven’t you got anyone for us to go out and -rescue to-night?” He turned head-over-heels in the water, dived -underneath Judy, and pulled her under by the leg. I left them arguing -the matter out below the surface. - -There was no holding my Fellow-Members of the Band that day. Their night -adventure had left them wild with excitement; they rioted like mad -things until I decided that exercise was the only possible treatment, -packed up a billy and sandwiches, and took them out for a long day in -the bush, leaving Mrs. McNab to the care of Julia, who liked nothing -better than to have some one ill enough to be fussed over. Miles from -home we came upon Dr. Firth, walking slowly through the scrub with his -big Airedale at his heels. He looked gloomy enough before he saw us, but -his face lit up when Judy and Jack hailed him joyfully. - -“I was just deciding that treasure-hunting was a poor sort of game,” he -said. “This is about the tenth attempt I’ve made at scientific -detective-work: I try to put myself in the position of a burglar leaving -my house with his loot, desirous of avoiding all roads and tracks, and -of finding a safe hiding-place until excited policemen have calmed down -sufficiently to make it safe for him to get away. With this profound -idea in our minds Sandy and I strike out across country and look for -tracks!” - -“I say—that’s a jolly game!” cried Judy. - -“It is quite a jolly game,” he agreed. “Sandy entirely approves of it. -It has given us a great deal of fresh air and exercise, and our health -has benefited enormously—you can see for yourself how well Sandy -looks!” He pulled the Airedale’s ears. “But so far as finding the jewels -goes, it doesn’t seem to lead anywhere. That doesn’t trouble Sandy, but -it is hurtful to my pride. It would give me unbounded pleasure to be -able to flourish my property before those two superior detectives, -remarking airily, ‘I told you so!’” - -“I think you need help,” Judy told him kindly. “Say we go with you and -lend a hand?” - -“Say I go with you, and forget all about the wretched old jewels,” he -responded. “I think it would do me good to have the cheerful society of -you three merry people for a day. I don’t seem to have had a moment free -from the worry of them for the last week. By the way, my detectives have -a fresh thrill; they went out boating before breakfast, and landed on -Shepherd’s Island.” - -Jack jumped, and Judy favoured him with a threatening glare. - -“What’s up, Jack?” inquired Dr. Firth. - -“Trod on a stick,” mumbled Jack, his face the colour of a beetroot. I -felt that mine resembled it, and could only hope that Dr. Firth would -put it down to sunburn. - -But Judy did not turn a hair. - -“What did they land for?” she inquired politely. “A picnic?” - -“I think life is all a picnic to those two plump and worthy men,” Dr. -Firth responded. “I suppose they landed as a measure of exploration. -They came back in some excitement, though, to breakfast—nothing makes -my two sleuth-hounds forget their meals. A man has been camping in the -old hut, they say: they found blankets there. Indeed, for all they know, -he is still on the Island.” - -“But I suppose anyone may camp there?” I asked. “It isn’t private -property.” - -“Of course—dozens of people may use it, for all I know. However, the -detectives have made up their minds that he is their man, and off they -went after breakfast, to explore it thoroughly. I only hope they won’t -arrest some perfectly innocent holiday-maker and bring me his scalp!” - -I did not dare to look at the children. They fell behind, affecting to -examine a plant, and I heard smothered shrieks of glee. For myself, I -found it difficult to listen to what my companion was saying: my brain -was all a-whirl. If we had not gone last night——! And then I fell to -wondering if anything that might be found on Shepherd’s Island would -bear marks that would be incriminating. The blankets, I knew, were plain -Army grey ones; the food-tins, even if discovered, were only such as -might be bought at any good store, and I knew Mrs. McNab had always -ordered them from Melbourne. Ronald Hull would have hidden them -carelessly: there was no hope that they would not be found by the -detectives. Well, I could only hope that Mrs. McNab’s prudence had -guarded against supplying evidence. She had had long enough to practise -prudence, poor soul. - -We camped beside a little creek, boiled the billy, and shared our lunch -with Dr. Firth; fortunately, I had learned that it was wise to provide -amply for Judy and Jack’s appetites, and there were plenty of -sandwiches. Then Sandy dashed into the bush, to appear presently in -triumph with a rabbit, which he laid at his master’s feet. The sight of -the little, limp body filled Judy and Jack with ambition to fish for -yabbies, and Dr. Firth skilfully dissected a leg for each, while they -tied strings to tea-tree sticks. Then they sat, supremely happy, on the -bank, dangling their grisly baits, and drew up numbers of the hideous -little fresh-water crayfish, which they stowed in the billy, with a view -to supper. I had uneasy visions of Mrs. Winter’s probable comments on -the addition to her larder. - -Dr. Firth and I sat under a tree, listening to their ecstatic yells, and -talked. It was always easy to talk to him: each time we met seemed to -show me more clearly what a friend I had found. Always he wanted to hear -more and more of Colin and Madge, and of our life since we had lost -Father; he knew all about the little Prahran flat, about Madge’s music -and her examination successes, and about Colin’s dearness to us both. We -laughed over our amateur housekeeping and over Colin’s droll stories of -his office—Colin had always made a joke of it, though Madge and I knew -well enough how sorely he hated it. And then the talk would swing back -to Father, and he would tell me stories of the youth they had spent -together, until I felt that I knew Father better than I had ever done -before, and had even greater cause for pride than I had dreamed of. The -future, that had been so drab to us, seemed quite different now. -Hardship and work there must be, of course, but not the loneliness that -had walled us round since Father had gone away. - -We had been so deeply engrossed that we had not noticed that the -children had tired of fishing and had disappeared, leaving their rods on -the bank beside the billy that was half full of squirming captives. I -looked at my watch when we discovered their absence, and came back with -a start to the realization of my duties. - -“We ought to be making a move homeward,” I said. “I don’t want Mrs. -McNab to be worried about us.” - -“Oh, they won’t be far off,” Dr. Firth said. - -He sent a long coo-ee ringing through the scrub. A faint answering sound -came, and following it, we went along the creek bank, to be greeted -presently by the spectacle of Judy and Jack perched in a tree that -partly overhung the water. Jack was feeling his way along a dead bough -towards a hole that might or might not contain a parrot’s nest. I cried -out in alarm at sight of him, for the branch was rickety, and the ground -below did not invite a fall—it was strewn with loose rocks, some of -which had tumbled bodily into the creek. - -“Do be careful, Jack!” I called. “That branch isn’t safe.” - -“P’f! It’s as safe as houses!” said Jack airily. “Don’t bother a chap, -Miss Earle—women are always fussy. I only want to get to this good old -nest, and then I’ll——” - -There was a splintering crack and the branch sagged down suddenly. Jack -clung to it for a moment while I ran towards him wildly; then he fell, -as I made an ineffectual attempt to catch him. It failed, but it broke -his fall. We went down to the ground together. A loose rock on the edge -gave under us, and we rolled down the bank amid a scatter of stones and -loose earth, ending with our feet in the creek. - -We were both up in a moment, laughing. Dr. Firth’s alarmed face peered -over the bracken-fringed bank above us. - -“Anyone hurt?” - -“Nothing but a few scratches,” I answered. “But we seem to have brought -down half the bank—it’s a regular avalanche. I don’t believe we can get -up there, Jack.” - -“Oh, can’t we!” Jack uttered. “Bet you I can. I’ll go ahead, Miss Earle, -’n’ then I can pull you up.” - -“You needn’t trouble,” I thanked him. “I prefer a place where it’s a -little cleaner. Not that that matters much, since we rolled down!” I -looked ruefully at my earth-stained frock. - -“Well, I’ll show you!” said Jack sturdily. - -He scrambled up, sending down showers of small stones and loose soil, -while I watched him, half expecting him to come sliding back to my feet. -Just as he neared the top, my eye caught sight of a tiny object half -hidden in our miniature avalanche—something that shone faintly. I -stooped forward and picked up a bright sixpence. - -“Take care, Jack—you are dropping your money,” I called. - -“Me?” inquired Jack, from the top. “Not me—I never had any. What’s the -use of bringing money out in the bush? Did you find any?” - -“I found sixpence,” I answered. “That’s good luck for me, at all events. -I wonder how it came here.” - -“Might be more lying about,” suggested Jack. “Have a look.” - -I glanced up at him, laughing. - -“If I find a silver-mine, I’ll buy you that yacht you were talking -about. What did you say her tonnage——?” - -Something made me break off suddenly. There was a little recess in the -bank, just under his laughing face: a recess only revealed since we had -sent the rock that guarded it crashing down the bank. Something -glimmered in it faintly. I went up the broken bank even more quickly -than Jack had done, while the others sent a fire of laughing questions -at me. Putting my hand into the recess I drew out—an old tobacco-tin. - -“Whatever have you got there, Doris?” Dr. Firth asked. - -“Somebody’s ’baccy,” I answered, laughing, scrambling up over the edge. -“I suppose some poor old swagman has made a _cache_ here. I must put it -back.” - -“You might look at it first,” he said quietly. But there was something -in his voice that made me glance at his face. I sat down on the ground -and got the lid open. - -There was not tobacco inside, but moss—old soft moss, tightly rammed -down. It might well have contained a fisherman’s worms, but at the -moment I didn’t think of that, or I might not have acted as I did. I -shook it all out, with a jerk, into my lap. Dr. Firth caught his breath -in a gasp and the children gave a shout. - -There was more than moss. Hidden among it were things that glittered and -sparkled in the sunlight—rough-cut rubies and emeralds and sapphires, -and softly-gleaming turquoises that bore the scratches of the tool that -had hewn them hurriedly from their setting. They twinkled at us, lying -among the soft bronze-green of the moss: Dr. Firth’s stolen jewels! I -sat and stared at them stupidly. - -“You said they were magic!” shrilled Judy delightedly. “Oh, well done -you, Miss Earle!” - -“There should be more,” said Dr. Firth quietly. “Pack them up again, -Doris, and let us see where you found them.” - -We went over the edge in a body. There were two other little -tobacco-tins in my hole, packed in the same way, stowed well under a -rock. Half of it had broken away, and even then, only the smallest -corner of the first tin had been visible—but for the lucky avalanche -that Jack and I had brought down no one would ever have found that -hiding-place, even if it had been years before the thief came back to -remove his booty. - -“I wouldn’t have seen it at all if he had left the paper wrapping on the -tin,” I said. “It was the little gleam of metal that caught my eye.” - -“That was a small detail of extra carefulness,” Dr. Firth said. “People -have been tracked down before now by leaving something of which the -purchase could be traced. He was a careful burglar, bless him!” - -“He wasn’t so smart when he dropped his sixpence!” exulted Jack. “It was -the sixpence that started you looking, Miss Earle.” - -“It was. I was just turning away to look for a better place to get up -when I saw it half under a stone.” - -“You ought to keep that sixpence for luck,” said Judy solemnly. “Oh, Dr. -Firth, are you going back to wave the jewels at the detectives? Do let -us come too! I’d love to see their faces!” - -“I shan’t be in too much of a hurry,” he said, smiling. “It might be as -well to see what their new clue amounts to. Possibly there is something -suspicious about that Shepherd’s Island camper, after all.” - -My heart gave a sudden sick leap. What if there were?—if it had indeed -been Ronald Hull who had hidden the jewels under the bank, trusting to -luck some day to come back and retrieve them! What if his willingness to -go to Adelaide were only a blind?—if he meant not to leave Australia at -all, but only to get out of immediate danger here? I thought of poor -Mrs. McNab’s face that morning, ten years younger in her utter relief -and thankfulness, and I shivered to think that her misery might not be -over yet. - -“We’ll keep the matter to ourselves for a day or two, at any rate,” Dr. -Firth was saying. “You won’t say a word, children?” - -“Cross-our-hearts!” said Judy and Jack in chorus. - -“That’s all right. I’ll see what the detectives have to say; and -meanwhile I’ll put a man of my own to watch this place, in case the man -who planted those jewels comes back. Keep out of this part of the bush, -you two, until I see you again.” - -They promised, wide-eyed. Life was indeed full of glory this week for -little Judy and Jack McNab. - -“But you won’t wave them at the detectives without us?” - -“Cross-my-heart!” said he solemnly. “I’ll bring you and Miss Earle over, -and you shall do the waving yourself, and see the sleuth-hounds collapse -before you! And now, if you are ready, I think we’d better get home. I -shall feel easier in my mind when these three tobacco-tins are locked -away in my safe.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - I USE A POKER - - -TO anyone who watched unseen, our progress homeward would undoubtedly -have presented itself as peculiar. Dr. Firth’s suggestion that the -jewels would be more secure in his safe filled Judy and Jack with a -vision of the thief coming to find his hidden booty. They scented danger -in every clump of scrub, and earnestly demanded of Dr. Firth whether he -had a revolver. - -“Certainly I have—an excellent one,” he answered. “It’s in its case at -home.” - -“Fancy you coming out to look for the jewels without it!” rebuked Judy. -“I never heard of anything so careless. And if you meet the thief he’s -simply certain to be armed to the teeth!” - -“I shall defy him to his teeth—even if false!” said the Doctor stoutly. - -“Precious lot of good defying would be if he had a six-shooter!” growled -Jack, who looked with a lofty scorn upon all literature that did not -deal with the Far West. “Why, you’re as good as a dead man if he gets -the drop on you! I think each of us three ought to take a tobacco-tin -and scoot—he’d never suspect any of us.” - -“It’s a noble idea, but I like the feel of them in my pockets,” -responded the Doctor cheerfully. “I must e’en take my chance. Do you -really think any modest burglar is going to be foolhardy enough to -attack four desperadoes like ourselves—to say nothing of Sandy?” - -“He’d pot you from behind a tree as soon as look at you,” said Judy, -with gloom. “Anyhow, Jack, you and me’ll go ahead and scout. And you -bring up the rear, Miss Earle—you might walk backwards as much as you -can, in case he tries to stalk us from behind!” - -We obeyed. Thus might have been seen two small forms flitting through -the trees, peering in every direction: halting now and then, with lifted -hand, to scan a possible danger-point: then, reassured, darting off to -right or left, to reappear presently, perhaps examining a hollow stump, -perhaps up a tree to obtain a wider view. In the rear, I endeavoured to -be as sleuth-like as possible—dutifully walking backwards whenever I -fancied they glanced in my direction, wherefore I twice sat down heavily -on a tussock. In my next expedition of the kind the rear will be a -position I shall carefully shun. Between our two forces, Dr. Firth -stalked majestically, his chest thrown out, his hands clenched over his -pockets—looking rather like Papa in _The Swiss Family Robinson_. Sandy -was the only one of the party on whom life sat lightly. He hunted -rabbits with a joyous freedom that I envied greatly. - -We parted where the track branched off towards The Towers. Judy and Jack -were profoundly uneasy at letting Dr. Firth continue his journey alone, -preferring to risk the loss of their dinner rather than let him go home -unguarded. It took all our persuasion, coupled with the reminder that -their mother would certainly be worried about them, to induce them to -say good-bye. They beguiled the way back to The Towers with the -dreariest predictions of what might be expected to happen to him and the -jewels deprived of their vigilance and mine. - -We were very late for dinner, but Mrs. McNab had not worried. I do not -think, that day, that she was capable of worrying. She was a different -woman: there was a new light in her eyes, a little colour in her cheeks; -her voice had lost the hard ring that had made it so repellent. Julia -reported that she had taken her food like a Christian, and that you’d -hardly know her, for the spirit she had on her. “’Tis bein’ forced away -from the owld writin’,” said Julia. “If I’d me way the divil a pen she’d -see between now an’ Patrick’s Day!” - -She made us sit in her room after dinner while the children told her -about their day. It was nervous work, for the discovery of the jewels -was naturally uppermost in their minds, and just as “all roads lead to -Rome,” so every topic we chose seemed only to merge into that crowning -achievement of the day. Luckily, their mother was too blissfully content -to notice occasional stumbling and hesitation. She gave them ready -sympathy and outward attention, but I knew that half her mind was so -busy rejoicing that she did not hear half they said. - -As for Judy and Jack, they noticed nothing of her abstraction. They were -only amazed at the change in her. I found them discussing it in bed when -I went out on the balcony to tuck them in. - -“Never knew Mother so jolly,” said Jack. “Did you, Miss Earle? She was -all smiling and int’rested—and generally about three minutes of us is -all she can stick!” - -“She looked so pretty, too,” Judy added. “Her eyes were all big and -soft. Miss Earle, you do really think she’s better, don’t you?” The -child put her hand out and drew me down beside her. “She—she made me -frightened,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “You don’t think she’s -going to be very ill, do you?” - -“No, she isn’t,” I answered quickly—not very sure of my own voice. -“She’s really ever so much better: in a few days she will be up. Mother -has had a great deal of worry for a long time, old Fellow-Members, and -now I hope that worry has gone.” - -Jack made a spring across from his bed and snuggled down beside Judy and -me. - -“Miss Earle—was the worry something to do with—with the job we helped -you with last night?” - -“Yes, it was. But you aren’t going to ask questions.” - -“No, of course not. But I just wanted to know that much. It wasn’t any -harm just to ask that, was it?” - -“No, indeed it wasn’t, old man. You earned that, you and Judy.” - -“I’m glad I know,” Judy said. “Will the worry ever come back! I do hope -it won’t, ’cause I’d love Mother to stay like she is now.” - -“I don’t think it will,” I said: I spoke stoutly, but again there was -that sick fear at my heart. “It has been terribly hard for Mother to -carry on, because she couldn’t bear anyone but herself to have the -worry.” - -“And things you keep to yourself are ever so much beastlier,” observed -Judy. “Do ask Mother to tell us, after you’ve gone, if it comes back, -Miss Earle. We might be able to help.” - -“And anyhow, we’d take care of her,” said Jack. “We’d make her a Member -of the Band, if she’d like—only somehow, she’s never seemed exactly -Band-y before. She’d be a simply ripping Member if she stays like she is -to-night!” - -He gave a great yawn, stood up, and dived back to his own bed. - -“I’m awful sleepy,” he said. “But we’ve had two wonderful adventures, -haven’t we, Ju? These have been the best two days of my whole life!” - -“Me, too,” said Judy. - -Would the worry ever come back! The fear was strong on me as I sat by my -window before going to bed. Do as I might I could not shake off the -feeling that Ronald Hull had not done with us yet. Why, I asked myself, -should he go to America, when in Australia he had a sister ready to -beggar herself and risk disgrace to protect him? And if this last dread -were true—if it were he who had hidden the jewels in the hole under the -bank of the creek—was it to be expected that he would leave the country -without them? The evil face, with its cold eyes, seemed to hover before -me in answer. Whatever happened, Ronald Hull would consider nobody in -the world but himself. - -I was very tired, and when I went to bed sleep came to me almost at -once, and I dreamed a cheerful dream that Colin and I were chasing Mr. -Hull across a paddock that ended in a precipice. We knew it was there, -and so did he, and he tried to break back and escape; but Colin had not -been a footballer for nothing, and he headed off every rush, countered -every dodge, edging him on all the time: until at last Mr. Hull gave it -up, and, running wildly and calling out unpleasant things, reached the -edge of the cliff and sprang out in mid-air, twisting and turning as he -fell, but never dropping his cigarette from his lips. He disappeared far -below, and I woke up. I do not think it was a lady-like dream, but I -felt astonishingly light-hearted. I knew how Sandy felt when he caught -his rabbit. - -I was just dropping off to sleep again when a sound fell upon my ears. -It was so faint that at first I thought I was mistaken; then it came -again, more distinctly, and I sat up, very wide-awake. Surely, some one -was calling for help—a child’s voice. - -I sprang out of bed, flung on my dressing-gown and slippers, and ran out -into the corridor. Something was happening downstairs: there was no -light save that of the moon, but I heard a scuffle, and a man’s voice, -low and furious. And then another, and it was Jack’s, crying, “Let go, -you brute!” At that I lost my head altogether. Any sensible person would -have summoned Harry McNab and his friends. But I fled downstairs without -stopping to think, and, following the sounds, dashed into the library. - -There were two figures there in the moonlight: Jack, in his pyjamas, a -slight thing in the grip of a tall man who was trying to silence him. I -heard an oath and a low-voiced threat, as I picked up the poker and -struck at him. He let Jack go, turning on me savagely. I dodged his -blow, struck again, and felt the blow go home: heard Jack crying out, -“Look out, Miss Earle—he’ll kill you!” It seemed very likely, as he -rushed at me; but that was no reason for letting him kill Jack. - -We circled round each other warily for a moment. Then he made another -rush, and Jack sprang in between us and gripped him by the legs. He fell -heavily over the boy: I sprang again, and hit wildly, caring not where I -hit, and only wishing there were more strength in the blows. And then -came another little figure—Judy, who flung herself across the -struggling man, pounding wildly with her fists. I saw her thrown aside, -and she did not move. Came racing feet, and the voice of Julia—“Let me -at him, the murdherin’ vilyun!” as I hit with my last ounce of strength, -and staggered back. - -“Sit on his head, Julia!” shrilled Jack. - -“I will so,” said Julia: and did. - -I saw Jack crawling away, and flung myself across the struggling legs. -We thrashed backwards and forwards on the floor, Julia keeping up a -steady flow of threats, mingled with remarks addressed to the saints. -And then the light was switched on, and the room was full of -voices—men’s voices, tense and angry. I could not see any of them: I -was trying feebly to keep my hold, knowing I was done. Something like a -thunderbolt caught the side of my head. Then came blackness and silence. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - I LOSE MY SITUATION - - -I REMEMBER a dream of pain that seemed to last for years: a dream in -which lights flashed back and forth perpetually behind my eyes, and all -the time there was a buzz of low voices; it troubled me greatly that I -could never hear what they said. Then the dream faded, and there was -something cool and wet on my forehead: I tried to tell them how good it -was, but I seemed to have no tongue, so I gave up the attempt and went -to sleep instead. And after years more of sleep I woke up in a room of -dim twilight: and it was the most natural thing in the world to see -Colin sitting beside my bed. - -He saw my eyes open, and gave me his own old smile. - -“Better, old girl?” He held something to my lips, and I drank thirstily. - -“Is it time to start for school?” I whispered. - -“Not nearly,” he said. It was an immensely comforting statement to me. -“Go to sleep again, kiddie.” And I went obediently. - -He was there the next time I awoke, but it was morning this time. They -told me afterwards that for three days and nights he scarcely ever left -my side, sitting just where I could see him if my eyes opened. No one -could ever guess how beautiful it was to see him there. I grew to -wondering would he still be there, before my heavy lids lifted: to be -almost afraid to lift them, in case he should have gone away. But always -his smile was ready for me, and I would drift away to sleep again, -trying to smile back. - -Then one day I woke up with my brain quite clear, and the desire for -sleep all gone. Colin put his fingers on my wrist, and I lay watching a -little ray of sunlight that crept in by the blind and fell across his -crisp hair. He did not take his eyes from me, but spoke to some one I -could not see. - -“All right,” he said quietly. “Come along and say good morning to her, -Madge.” - -Madge came—which also seemed a most natural thing. She kissed me very -gently and stood back with her hand on Colin’s shoulder, and I grinned -foolishly at them both. - -“I’ve had a tremendous sleep,” I said, “and all sorts of queer dreams. -And I’m ever so hungry!” - -“That’s much better to think about than the dreams,” said Colin. He put -out a long arm and mysteriously produced some jelly, with which he fed -me like a baby. It was wonderfully good, and I ate six spoonfuls, and -then discovered that I wasn’t as hungry as I had thought. So I went to -sleep again, holding a hand of each. - -It was quite a long while before they would let me talk about what had -happened in the library. They thought I did not remember much about it -at first, which was quite wrong: I remembered everything until the -stunning blow that put me out of action. But I did not know what I dared -ask. You see, I had never seen the thief’s face clearly, but his height -and build were the same as Ronald Hull’s. In my mind, as I lay finding -my strength again, I was quite sure that that estimable gentleman had -returned to pick up a little more loot. - -Judy and Jack were safe—I knew that, because they came and peeped at me -every day and brought me flowers. And Julia also: she swept and polished -my room, and showed much hatred and jealousy of the stern little trained -nurse who wouldn’t let her do the dusting. But when I asked feebly for -Mrs. McNab they told me she was still too ill to get up; the shock of -the attempted robbery at The Towers had evidently made her worse. So I -held my peace as best I could, outwardly, though in my mind I ached to -know if Ronald Hull were the individual I had so heartily battered with -the poker. If so—well, I trembled for Mrs. McNab, but I was glad I had -done the battering. - -Then, one day, Mrs. McNab came in, in her dressing-gown, looking like a -tall ghost: and Colin slipped out and left us alone. She kissed me and -sat down by my bed. - -“Tell me——” I whispered. - -“Tell you what, my dear?” She bent towards me. - -“Did they get him?” - -“Whom do you mean, Doris dear?” She looked puzzled. - -“Your brother. Did the police get him?” - -A great relief flashed into her face. - -“Ronald! Oh no. He got quite safely away from Adelaide. His friend wrote -to me after the ship had sailed: there had been no difficulty at all. -That worry is ended, thank God!” - -“Oh!” I said weakly. “Then it wasn’t he—in the library? I thought it -was.” - -“In the library? You—you don’t mean the burglar? Why, my dear child, -that was Bence!” - -“Bence! Not the chauffeur?” Bence had always been especially civil to -me. I felt a guilty pang, remembering how hard I had tried to hit him -with the poker. - -“Yes, it was Bence. He turned out to be a very well-known criminal—the -police had been looking for him for some time. He was responsible for -all the robberies; some of Dr. Firth’s property was found in his room, -in addition to the jewels you children discovered in the bush. He has -made a full confession.” She looked at me doubtfully. “Will it excite -you to hear about it?” - -“It will excite me far more _not_ to hear,” I said truthfully. “I’ve -been lying here for days, aching to see you: there was no one else I -dared to ask. Do tell me. Did I hit him very hard?” - -“You got in one lucky blow that dazed him, and a good many that hurt him -a good deal. But for that I do not know what would have happened to you -and the children. As it was, Julia seems to have arrived just in time, -for he was getting his wits back. I don’t know that anyone is certain of -what actually happened—you were all struggling in the darkness, and -Judy was stunned. But just as Harry and Dicky arrived and turned on the -lights he kicked you with tremendous force on the head: I don’t know -whether he meant it, or if it were done blindly in his struggles.” - -“I think it must have been that,” I said. “Bence was always very -courteous!” - -Mrs. McNab gave a short laugh. - -“He was past being courteous just then. The blow sent you flying, and -the other side of your head crashed into the carved leg of a table. -Then, of course, the boys mastered him easily enough, aided by Julia, -who fought with great fury. He was rather badly knocked about—they were -all beside themselves, seeing you and Judy unconscious. Judy was quite -well in half an hour. But you have been a more serious matter—though we -shall soon have you as strong as ever.” And then she put her grey head -down on my hand, and I felt it wet with her tears. - -“And you got Colin and Madge for me! That was ever so dear of you.” - -“That was the least we could do. Dr. Firth managed it for us: they were -here next day. I think they rather wanted to kill us all at first, but -they have forgiven us now. I have told Colin everything, Doris—about my -brother and Shepherd’s Island. It was right that he should know. And -though he was naturally distressed at all that you have undergone, I do -not think he blames me—perhaps not as much as I blame myself. ‘I don’t -see what else you could have done,’ he said. He has been wonderfully -kind to me. It is easy to see why you are so proud of him.” - -“Well—yes,” I said. “There never was anyone like Colin.” - -She smiled at me. - -“Colin seems to have the same conviction about you,” she said. “Here he -comes: I am told he is terribly stern if your visitors stay too long. -Julia says he is the one person of whom the nurse is afraid!” - -Colin came in and stood at the foot of the bed, very tall and good to -look at. We laughed at each other. - -“I thought my patient might be tired,” he said. “But you are doing her -good, Mrs. McNab.” - -“I was worrying over something that Mrs. McNab has explained to me,” I -said. “Now I shan’t worry any more. Colin, isn’t it a good thing you -made me practise boxing with you? I should never have landed my best -efforts on Bence if it hadn’t been for that!” - -He stared at me. - -“Why, I thought you had forgotten all about it,” he said. “Have you been -lying there gloating in secret over your savagery?” - -“Something like that,” I laughed. “I feel I ought to have done -better—but a dressing-gown does cramp one’s style with a poker!” - -He laughed too, but there was something in his eyes that brought a lump -into my throat. - -“You blessed old kid!” he said softly. That was a good deal for Colin to -say, and it told me more than if anyone else had talked for a week. - -They brought me downstairs a few days later, looking very interesting in -a wonderful blue teagown that Mrs. McNab had ordered for me from -Melbourne. Colin carried me, for my knees still bent under me in the -most disconcerting fashion when I tried to walk, and put me on a lounge -in the garden, with a rug over my feet. Most of the house-party had gone -away, but there were enough left to make quite a crowd, after my quiet -time in my room, and they all made a ridiculous fuss over me. Dicky -Atherton and Harry McNab plied me with unlimited offers of food. Even -Beryl was quite human; she brought me my tea herself, and actually ran -for an extra cushion. It was all very disconcerting, but when I got used -to it, it was lovely to be outside again. Judy and Jack had planted a -huge Union Jack at the head of my couch. They sat down, one on either -side of me, and declined to yield their positions to anyone. “You may -think you own her,” Judy said to Colin, her nose in the air. “But we’re -the Band!” - -It was some days after when they took me out for my first drive. I could -walk now, and I was dressed, even though Madge did say my clothes looked -as if they were draped on a bean-pole: but they still took great care of -me, and anyone would have thought I was really important, to see how -Julia tucked the rug round me and slipped a little soft pillow behind my -back. “’Tis lookin’ well ye are, thank God!” she said, regarding the -effect judicially. “Let ye go aisy, now, over the bumps, sir. There’s a -pot-hole in the road beyant, that Bence druv me into wan time; an’ ’twas -a mercy the lid was on the car, or it’s out I’d have been. I have the -bump on me head yet!” - -“I will, Julia,” said Colin, at the wheel. “Quite ready, Mrs. McNab?” as -she took her place beside me. “Hop in, Madge.” We slid off gently, -leaving Julia waving from the steps. - -I don’t think I’ll ever forget that first drive. The country was all -dried-up, for no rain had fallen for weeks: but even the yellow paddocks -were beautiful to me, and every big red-gum tree seemed to welcome me -back. As we mounted the headland above Porpoise Bay the sea came in -sight, blue and peaceful, with little flecks of white foam far out, and -here and there the brown sails of a fishing-boat. The islands were like -jewels on its bosom. I looked at the green hills of Shepherd’s Island, -and thought of the night—how long ago it seemed!—when the children and -I had taken off our silent passenger, and of how narrowly we had escaped -running upon its rocks as we raced home before the driving storm. It had -been a wild enough venture, but it had succeeded; and it had given me -the two best little comrades anyone need want. Never were allies -stauncher than my Fellow-Members of the Band. - -The drive was only a short one: Dr. Firth had asked us to afternoon tea, -saying that the distance was quite long enough for my first outing. He -seemed curiously young and happy as he ran down the steps to meet us. -Already he and Colin and Madge were firm friends. I liked to watch him -whenever his eyes rested on Colin. They made me think of Father’s eyes, -full of pride in a son. - -The housekeeper came out to welcome me, and we had tea in the verandah, -among the ferns and palms. After we had finished, Mrs. McNab took out -her knitting and settled herself comfortably in a lounge-chair. - -“I know you want to show these children the house,” she said. “I will -sit here, if you don’t mind, Dr. Firth. Be sure you do not let Doris -become tired. I heard her tell Colin this morning that her knees were -still ‘groggy.’ Of course, I can only guess at the meaning of that -expression—still——!” She laughed at me as I pulled down the corners -of my mouth. - -“I’m afraid I’m pretty hopeless as a governess,” I said contritely. - -“So hopeless that I fear we’ll have to find you other occupation,” said -the Doctor, laughing. He patted my shoulder. “Come and give me your -opinion of my spring-cleaning.” - -The big house was very different now. The rooms that had been full of -cabinets and showcases were re-furnished: one a billiard-room, with a -splendid new table, the other a very charming sitting-room, dainty, yet -homelike, with comfortable chairs and couches, a piano, a writing-table, -and low book-cases full of enticing-looking books. I exclaimed at it. - -“What a jolly room!” - -“This is a home-y room, I think,” the Doctor said, looking round it with -satisfaction. “The drawing-room is too big and gorgeous for ordinary -use: I’m afraid of it. Later on I may become brave enough to go into it, -but it needs to be furnished with dozens of people. Oh, well, perhaps -that can be arranged in time. Now come and see where the wild beasts -lived.” - -There were no grim beasts and reptiles now. Instead, the room was bare, -with a shining new floor—a floor that instinctively made one’s feet -long to dance. There was a little stage at one end for musicians: big -couches near the walls, where hung some fine old paintings. A double -door opened into a long conservatory. And that was all. - -“Oh, what a ballroom!” Madge cried. - -“Will it do?” he said. - -“I should think it will! Isn’t it just perfect, Doris?” - -“It is, indeed,” I said. “Do ask us to come when you give a ball, Dr. -Firth.” - -“I will—if you will promise to give me the first dance. After that I’ll -let the youngsters have a chance, and take my place meekly with the -aged; but the first dance is my perquisite. Now I want to show you some -other rooms. Is she strong enough for the stairs, do you think, Colin?” - -“Not to be thought of, with groggy knees!” said my brother. He picked me -up as if I were a baby and strode upstairs with me, disregarding my -protests. - -“Yes, you’re putting on a little weight,” he said, setting me gently on -the landing. “Nothing to speak of, of course, but you’re rather more -noticeable to carry than you were a week ago—upstairs, at any rate. -Where next, sir?” - -“Here,” said the Doctor. - -He led us into one bedroom after another. A man’s room first, with a -little iron bedstead, big chairs, a heavy writing-table and book-cases, -and plenty of space. Next, a dainty room, all furnished in pink, where -roses sprawled in clusters on the deep cream ground of an exquisite -French wall-paper. From it opened a bare, panelled room, the sole -furniture of which was a grand piano and three chairs. - -“Why, that’s the twin to your Bechstein, Madge!” I said. - -Madge astonished me by suddenly turning scarlet. - -“Is it?” she said awkwardly. - -“Don’t stay to argue over pianos,” Dr. Firth said. “There’s another room -to see.” - -It was a very lovely room. A little carved bed stood in an alcove under -a broad casement-window; all the colouring was delicate blue and grey, -and it was full of air and sunlight. The furniture was of beautiful grey -silky-oak: the chintzes were faintly splashed with pink here and there, -and there was pink in the cushions on the great Chesterfield couch. -Never, I think, was there so dainty a room. - -“One has to ask a lady’s permission before one sits down in her room,” -said Dr. Firth, with a twinkle. “May we sit down in your apartment, -Doris?” - -“Mine?” I stammered. And then I saw Colin’s face, and I knew there was -something I had not been told. - -Colin came with one stride, and put me on the big couch. - -“Listen, Dor, old girl,” he said. “Dr. Firth has been making great -plans: he’s such a strenuous planner that it isn’t the least bit of use -to argue with him, I find. They are very wonderful plans for us.” And -then the big fellow fairly choked. “I think you’d better go on, sir,” he -managed to say. - -“I’m a very lonely man, Doris,” the Doctor said. “I’ve no one belonging -to me in the world, and far too much money for one man to use. And you -three are the children of the best friend I ever had, to whom, at one -time, I owed everything. Wherefore, I am about to adopt you. I may say, -I have already adopted you. I don’t know how one does it legally, but -I’m very sure no one is going to get you away from me.” - -I could only look from him to Colin: and Colin’s face was very grave and -very happy. So I knew it was all right. - -“Colin is a stiff-necked person,” the Doctor went on. “I have had most -tiring arguments with him, thanks to his abominable pride. Thank -goodness, I think I have succeeded in making him see that Denis Earle’s -son, cut out for a doctor if ever a fellow was, is thrown away in an -insurance office. As a matter of principle, it is all wrong. So Colin is -going back to the University to take his degree——” - -“Oh!” I cried. “Colin—Colin!” I put my head against his coat and simply -howled. He held me very tightly. I believe he wasn’t much better -himself, big as he is. - -“Madge is going to be a boarder for a couple of years. Personally, I -don’t want her to be a very learned lady and fag herself to a shadow -with innumerable examinations; but as to that, you three must settle the -matter and do as you think best. But she can go as far as she likes with -her music, with my full approval, if only she’ll come home here and play -to me on her Bechstein whenever she gets a chance.” - -Madge was perched on the arm of his chair. She leaned across and kissed -the top of his head airily. - -“Thank you,” said the Doctor. “I believe we can consider that signed and -sealed. As for you, we have told Madame Carr that she can find some one -else for her twelve-year-olds. I want some one to look after me and make -this place the sort of home we want it to be whenever Colin and Madge -can come back to us. It’s only a house at present, but I rather think it -will be a home when you are here.” - -“And you can’t argue, Dor,” Madge said wildly. “’Cause we’ve sub-let the -flat in Prahran!” She hurled herself on me. “Say you’ll agree, Dor. It’s -going to be just perfect!” - -I looked at Colin. - -“It’s for you to say,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you like, old Dor. I -wasn’t tired of your housekeeping, you know—only of seeing you at it.” -He gave a big sigh. “To think of you in a place like this—not tired and -worried any more!” - -“To think of you,” I said—“with your degree. Not washing saucepans?” - -“Then may we call it a bargain?” the Doctor said. - -I went over to him and kissed him just where Madge had kissed him. - -“Signed and sealed,” he said contentedly. - - - - - Popular Gift Books - - _Large Crown 8vo. Fully Illustrated. Cloth. 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