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Hollyhock: A Spirit of Mischief

by L. T. Meade · English · Gutenberg #28566 · 414,411 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Hollyhock: A Spirit of Mischief

Author: L. T. Meade

Illustrator: W. Rainey


        
Release date: April 12, 2009 [eBook #28566]
                Most recently updated: January 4, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28566

Credits: Produced by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOLLYHOCK: A SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF ***




Produced by Al Haines










[Illustration: Cover art]





[Frontispiece: Sprang out over the awful chasm.]






HOLLYHOCK

A SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF


BY

L. T. MEADE


AUTHOR OF 'BEVY OF GIRLS,' 'REBEL OF THE SCHOOL,' ETC.



ILLUSTRATED

by

W. Rainey





LONDON: 38 Soho Square, W.

W. & R. CHAMBERS, LIMITED

EDINBURGH: 338 High Street

1916




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

      I.  THE CHILDREN OF THE UPPER GLEN
     II.  AUNT AGNES
    III.  AUNT AGNES'S WAY
     IV.  THE PALACE OF THE KINGS
      V.  THE EARLY BIRD
     VI.  THE HEAD-MISTRESS
    VII.  THE OPENING OF THE GREAT SCHOOL
   VIII.  HOLLYHOCK LEFT IN THE COLD
     IX.  THE WOMAN WHO INTERFERED
      X.  A MISERABLE GIRL
     XI.  SOFT AND LOW
    XII.  UNDER PROTEST
   XIII.  THE SUMMER PARLOUR
    XIV.  THE FIRE THAT WILL NOT LIGHT
     XV.  CREAM
    XVI.  THE GIRL WITH THE WAYWARD HEART
   XVII.  THE GREAT CONSPIRACY
  XVIII.  LEUCHA'S TERROR
    XIX.  JASMINE'S RESOLVE
     XX.  MEG'S CONSCIENCE
    XXI.  THERE IS NO WAY OUT
   XXII.  THE END OF LOVE
  XXIII.  THE GREAT CHARADE
   XXIV.  THE WARM HEART ROUSED AT LAST
    XXV.  THE FIRE SPIRITS
   XXVI.  HOLLYHOCK'S DEED OF VALOUR
  XXVII.  ARDSHIEL TO THE RESCUE
 XXVIII.  WHAT LOVE CAN DO




ILLUSTRATIONS


Sprang out over the awful chasm . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

'It's here on moonlight nights that the ghost walks.'

The Conspiracy

The Rescue.




Hollyhock, a Spirit of Mischief.



CHAPTER I.

THE CHILDREN OF THE UPPER GLEN.

There was, of course, the Lower Glen, which consisted of boggy places
and endless mists in winter, and a small uninteresting village, where
the barest necessaries of life could be bought, and where the folks
were all of the humbler class, well-meaning, hard-working, but, alas!
poor of the poor.  When all was said and done, the Lower Glen was a
poor place, meant for poor people.

Very different was the Upper Glen.  It was beyond doubt a most
beautiful region, and as Edinburgh and Glasgow were only some fifty
miles away, in these days of motor-cars it was easy to drive there for
the good things of life.  The Glen was sheltered from the worst storms
by vast mountains, and was in itself both broad and flat, with a great
inrush of fresh air, a mighty river, and three lakes of various sizes.
So beautiful was it, so delightful were its soft and yet at times keen
breezes, that it might have been called 'The Home of Health.'  But no
one thought of giving the Glen this title, for the simple reason that
no one thought of health in the Glen; every one was enjoying that
blessed privilege to the utmost.

At the time when this story opens, two families lived in the Upper
Glen.  There was a widowed lady, Mrs Constable, who resided at a lovely
home called The Paddock; and there was her brother, a widower, who
lived in a house equally beautiful, named The Garden.

The Hon. George Lennox had five young daughters, whom he called not by
their baptismal names, but by flower names.  Mrs Constable, again,
called her five boys after precious stones.

The names of the girls were Jasmine, otherwise Lucy; Gentian, otherwise
Margaret; Hollyhock, whose baptismal name was Jacqueline; Rose of the
Garden, who was really Rose; and Delphinium, whose real name was
Dorothy.

The boys, sons of gentle Mrs Constable, were Jasper, otherwise John;
Sapphire, whose real name was Robert; Garnet, baptised Wallace; Opal,
whose name was Andrew; and Emerald, christened Ronald.

These happy children scarcely ever heard their baptismal names.  The
flower names and the precious stones names clung to them until the day
when pretty Jasmine and manly Jasper were fifteen years of age.  On
that day there came a very great change in the lives of the Flower
Girls and the Precious Stones.  On that very day their real story
began.  They little guessed it, for few of us do believe in sudden
changes in a very peaceful--perhaps too peaceful--life.

Nevertheless, a very great change was at hand, and the news which
heralded that tremendous change reached them on the evening of the
birthday of Jasmine and Jasper.  It was the custom of these two most
united families to spend their evenings together--one evening at The
Garden, the Flower Girls' home, and the next at The Paddock, Mrs
Constable's house.  On this special occasion the Flower Girls went with
their father to The Paddock, and thus avoided receiving until late in
the evening the all-important letter which was to alter their lives
completely.

George Lennox, whose dead wife had been a Cameron--a near relative of
the head of the great house of Ardshiel--bade his sister a most
affectionate good-night, and returned to The Garden with his five
bonnie lassies.  They had passed a delightful evening together, and on
account of the double birthday Lennox and Mrs Constable had made up a
most charming little play, in which the Flower Girls and the Precious
Stones took part.  Ever true and kind of heart, they had invited from
the Glen a number of children, and also their parents, to witness the
performance.  The play had given untold delight, and the guests from
the Lower Glen finished the evening's entertainment with a splendid
supper, ending with the well-known and beloved song of 'Auld Lang Syne.'

Mr Lennox and Mrs Constable taught their girls and boys without any aid
from outside.  All ten children were smart; indeed, it would be
difficult to find better-educated young people for their ages.  But Mrs
Constable knew only too well that whatever the future held in store for
her brother's Flower Girls, she must very soon part, one by one, with
her splendid boys; for was not this the express wish of her beloved
soldier-husband, Major Constable, who had died on the field of battle
in Africa, and who had put away a certain sum of money which was to be
spent, when the time came, on the children's education?  He himself was
an old Eton boy, and he wanted his young sons to go to that famous
school if at all possible.  But before any of the Precious Stones could
enter Eton, he must pass at least a year at a preparatory school, and
it was the thought of this coming separation that made the sweet gray
eyes of the widow fill often with sudden tears.  To part with any of
her treasures was torture to her.  However, we none of us know what
lies in store for us, and nothing was farther from the hearts of the
children and their parents than the thought of change on this glorious
night of mid-June.

The moment Mr Lennox and his five girls entered the great hall, which
was so marked a feature of the beautiful Garden, they saw a letter,
addressed to The Hon. George Lennox, lying on a table not far from the
ingle-nook.  Mr Lennox's first impulse was to put the letter aside, but
all the little girls clustered round him and begged of him to open it
at once.  They all gathered round him as they spoke, and being
exceeding fond of his daughters, he could not resist their appeal.
After all, the unexpected letter might mean less than nothing.  In any
case, it must be read sometime.

'Oh, Daddy Dumps, do--_do_ read the letter!' cried Hollyhock, the
handsomest and most daring of the girls.  'We 're just mad to hear what
the braw laddie says.  Open the letter, daddy mine, and set our minds
at rest.'

'The letter may not be written by any laddie, Hollyhock,' said her
father in his gentle, exceedingly dignified way.

'If it's from a woman, we'd best burn it,' said Hollyhock, who had a
holy contempt for members of her own sex.

'Oh! but fie, prickly Holly,' said her father.  'You know that I allow
no lady to be spoken against in my house.'

'Well, read the letter, daddy--read it!' exclaimed Jasmine.  'We want,
anyhow, to know what it contains.'

'I seem to recall the writing,' said Lennox, as he seated himself in an
easy-chair.  'You _will_ have it, my dears,' he continued; 'but you may
not like it after I have read it.  However, here goes!'

The children gathered round their father, who slowly and carefully
unfolded the sheet of paper and read as follows:


'MY DEAR GEORGE,--It is my intention to arrive at the Garden to-morrow,
and I hope, as your dear wife's half-sister, to get a hearty welcome.
I have a great scheme in my head, which I am certain you will approve
of, and which will be exceedingly good for your funny little
daughters'----


'I do not like that,' interrupted Hollyhock.  'I am not a funny little
daughter.'

'Dearest,' said her father, kissing her between her black brows, 'we
must forgive Aunt Agnes.  She doesn't know us, you see.'

'No; and we don't want to know her,' said Jasmine.  'We are very happy
as we are.  We are desperately happy; aren't we, Rose; aren't we,
Delphy?'

'Yes, of course, of course,' echoed their father; 'but all the same,
children, your aunt must come.  She is, remember, your dear mother's
sister.'

'Did you ever meet her, daddy?' asked Jasmine.

'Yes, years ago, when Delphy was a baby.'

'What was she like, daddy?'

'She wasn't like any of you, my precious Flowers.'

The five little girls gave a profound sigh.

'Will she stay long, daddy?' asked Gentian.

'I sincerely trust not,' said the Honourable George Lennox.

'Then _that's_ all right.  We don't mind _very_ much now,' said
Hollyhock; and she began to dance wildly about the room.

'You will have to behave, Hollyhock,' said her father with a smile.

Hollyhock drew herself up to her full height; her black eyes gleamed
and glowed; her lips parted in a funny, yet naughty, smile.  Her hair
seemed so full of electricity that it stood out in wonderful rays all
over her head.

'And why should I behave well _now_, daddy mine?' she asked.

'Oh, because of Aunt Agnes.'

'Catch me,' said Hollyhock.--'Who is with me in this matter, girls?
Are you, Delphy?  Are you, Jasmine?  Are you, Gentian?  Are you, Rose
of the Garden?'

'We 're every one of us with you,' exclaimed Jasmine, snuggling up to
her father as she spoke.  'Daddy,' she continued, 'I want to ask you a
question.  Even if it hurts you, I must ask it.  Was our own, _ownest_
mother the least like Aunt Agnes?'

'As the east is from the west, so were those two sisters apart,' he
said.

'Then _that's_ all right,' said Hollyhock.  'I'm happy now.  I couldn't
have endured being rude to a woman who was like my mother, but as it
is'----

'You mustn't be rude to her, Hollyhock.'

'We 'll see,' said Hollyhock.  'Leave her to me.  I think I'll manage
her.  Perhaps she's a good old sort--there's no saying.  But she and
her _scheme_--daring to come and disturb us and _our_ scheme!  I like
that--I really do.  Good-night, dad; I'm off to bed.  I 've had a very
happy day, and I suppose happy days end.  Anyway, old darling, we'll
always have you on our side, sha'n't we?'

'That you will, my darlings,' said Lennox.

'What fun it will be to talk to the Precious Stones about Aunt Agnes!'
said Hollyhock.  'Flowers are soft things; at least _some_ flowers are.
But stones! they can _strike_--and ours are so big and so strong.'

'Whatever happens, girls,' said their father, 'we must be polite to
your step-aunt, Agnes Delacour.'

'Oh, she's only a "step," poor thing,' said Hollyhock.  'No wonder they
were as the east is from the west.  Now good-night, daddy.  Don't fret.
I wish with all my heart we could go back to the Precious Stones
to-night and prepare them for battle.  They ought to be prepared,
oughtn't they?'

'Well, you can't go to see them to-night, Hollyhock; and to-morrow,
early, we shall be very busy getting the room ready for Aunt Agnes, for
she _is_ my half-sister-in-law, and she did her best to bring up your
dearest mother.  But I may as well say a few words to you, dear girls,
before we part for the night.'

'What is that, dad?' asked Gentian.

'I wonder whether you remember what your real names are.'

'The names that were given us at the font?' said Jasmine.

'Yes; your baptismal names--your real names.'

'I 'll say them off fast enough,' said Jasmine.  'There's Jasmine,
that's me; there 's Gentian, meaning the little gray-eyed girl in the
corner; there's Rose, who always will be and can be nothing but Rose;
there's Hollyhock; there's Delphinium.  Delphinium is hard to say, but
Delphy is quite easy.'

'And I suppose you think,' said their father in his half-humorous,
half-serious voice, 'that you were really baptised by those names?'

'Why, of course, Dumpy Dad!' cried Hollyhock.

'Well, I must undeceive you, my dear Flower Girls.  Your mother and I
took a notion to have you baptised by certain names and called by
others.  Jasmine is really Lucy; Gentian is Margaret; Hollyhock, your
real name is Jacqueline; Rose of the Garden is, however, _really_ Rose;
and Delphinium was baptised Dorothy.'

'Well, that is wonderful!' exclaimed Hollyhock.  'I must write down the
names before they escape my memory.  Give me a bit of paper and a
pencil, Daddy Dumps, that I may write down at once our true church
names.'

'Here you are, Hollyhock,' said Lennox; 'and do not forget that in the
eyes of your step-aunt you are five little girls, not flowers.'

'In the eyes of the old horror,' whispered Hollyhock, who felt much
excited at the change in the names.

'I wonder now,' said Gentian when Hollyhock's task was finished, and
she passed her scribble to her father to see--'I wonder whether there
is a similar mistake in the names of our cousins--or _brothers_, as
they really are to us.'

'Yes, they are like brothers to you, my dears; and your aunt Cecilia
was so taken by the notion of the flower names for you that she must
needs copy my wife and me, and so it happens that Jasper is really
John, Sapphire is Robert, Garnet is Wallace, called after his gallant
father, Major Constable'----

'"Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,"' sang Hollyhock in her rich, clear
voice.  'Aweel, I love him better than ever, the bonnie lad with his
black eyes.'

'Children,' said Lennox, 'it is high time for you all to go to bed.  We
must get through the boys' names as fast as possible.  Opal's real name
is Andrew.'

'Poor lad,' continued Hollyhock, 'fit servant to Wallace.'

'And,' added Mr Lennox, 'Emerald's baptismal name is Ronald.  That is
all--five Flower Girls, five Precious Stones, first cousins and the
best of friends, even as sisters and brothers.  But my Flower Girls
must be off to bed without a single moment's further delay.
Good-night.'

'"Scots wha hae,"' sang Hollyhock, as she danced lightly up the stairs
of the big house.  'I guess, Flowers, that we are about to have a right
_grand_ time.'

'Never mind that now,' said Jasmine.  'Whatever happens, the Precious
Stones will help us.'

'That's true,' cried Hollyhock.  'Talk to me of fear!  I fear nought,
nor nobody.  The lads, I'm thinking, will be coming to _me_ to help
them, if there's fear walking around.'

She looked so bold and bright and daring as she spoke that the other
Flower Girls believed her at that moment.




CHAPTER II.

AUNT AGNES DELACOUR

Miss Delacour was an elderly woman with somewhat coarse gray hair.  She
was not old, but elderly.  She had a very broad figure, plump and
well-proportioned.  Miss Delacour thought little about so trivial a
thing as fashion, or mere dress in any shape or form.  She was fond of
saying that she was as the Almighty made her, and that clothes were
nothing but a snare of the flesh.

Agnes Delacour was exceedingly well off, but she lived in a very small
house in Chelsea, and gave of her abundance to those whom she called
'the Lord's poor.'  Her charities were many and wide-spread, and on
that account she was highly esteemed by numbers of people, either very
poor or struggling, in that upper class which needs help so much, and
gets it so little.  To these people Agnes Delacour gave freely, saving
many young people from utter ruin by her timely aid, and drawing down
on her devoted head the blessings of their fathers and mothers, who
spoke of her as one of the Lord's saints.  Nevertheless those who knew
Miss Delacour really well did _not_ love her.  She was too cold, too
masterful, for their taste, and these folks would rather live in great
difficulties than accept her bounty.

After the death of her young half-sister, Lucy Cameron, who had
married, against Miss Delacour's desire, the Hon. George Lennox, Miss
Delacour took no notice whatsoever of the five sweet little daughters
her half-sister had brought into the world.  Miss Delacour left the
broken-hearted widower and his little girls to their sorrow, not even
answering the letters which for a short time the children, by their
father's desire, wrote to their mother's half-sister, so that
by-and-by, as they grew older, most of them forgot that they had an
aunt Agnes.  Lucy Lennox was as unlike her half-sister as it was
possible for two sisters to be.  In the first place, Agnes, compared
with Lucy, was old, being many years her senior; in the second, Agnes
was singularly plain, whereas Lucy was very lovely.  She was far more
than lovely; she was endowed with a wonderful charm which drew the
hearts of all people, men and women alike, who saw her.  Her beautiful
dark eyes, her rosy cheeks, with their rare dimples, her gay laughter,
her glorious voice in singing, her pretty way of talking French, almost
like one born to the graceful tongue, the way she devoted herself to
her husband first, next to her sweet girls, the whole appearance of her
radiant face, and her conduct on each and every occasion, made her a
favourite with all who knew her.

Alas! she was gone; for Lucy Lennox was one of those not destined to
live long in this world.  She died just after the birth of her youngest
child, and Lennox felt that now his one duty was to do all in his power
for the precious Flowers she had left behind her.

There were three great and spacious houses in the Upper Glen.  One, we
have seen, was occupied by Mr Lennox, one by his sister, Mrs Constable;
but between The Paddock and The Garden was a house so large, so
magnificent, so richly dowered with all the beauties of nature, that it
more nearly resembled a palace than an ordinary house.  This great
mansion belonged to the Duke of Ardshiel, and was called the Palace of
the Kings, for the simple reason that its noble owner was looked upon
as a king in those parts.  Further, King James the First of England and
Sixth of Scotland had passed some time there, and 'Bonnie Prince
Charlie' had taken refuge at Ardshiel in the time of his wanderings.
The great castle belonged to the Duke, who had many other places of
residence, but who had never gone near the Palace of the Kings since a
terrible tragedy took place there, about twenty years before the
opening of this story.

A kinswoman and ward of Ardshiel's, a charming girl of the name of
Viola Cameron, had fallen madly in love with a gallant member of the
great clan of Douglas, and the Duke somewhat unwillingly gave his
consent to the marriage on condition that Lord Alasdair Douglas should
add Cameron to his own name.  Lord Alasdair agreed, for great was his
love for Viola Cameron.  The Duke was now well pleased.  He could not
but see what a fine fellow Lord Alasdair was, and accordingly he gave
the Palace of the Kings to the young pair, and had the whole house and
grounds put into perfect order, all at his own expense.  The fair young
Viola Cameron and the brave Lord Alasdair were to be married on a
certain day early in December.  All went merry as a marriage bell.
But, alas! tragedy was at the door, and early on the wedding morn Lord
Alasdair was found cold and dead in the deep lake which formed such a
feature of the property.  How he died no one could tell; but die he did
with life so fair and bright before him, and the girl he loved putting
on her wedding clothes for the happy ceremony.  There was no apparent
reason for his death, for he passionately loved the Lady Viola, and was
willing to give up his own proud name for her dear sake.

Viola Cameron mourned frantically for her lover for some time, and
refused to go near the Palace of the Kings; but after a time she
returned to London society, and eventually married a rich manufacturer,
nearly double her age and far beneath her in station.

The Duke, who, on her marriage with Lord Alasdair, was about to settle
a fortune upon her, now abandoned all such intentions, and Ardshiel
became his once more.  Nor would he ever again allow himself to speak
of or talk to the Lady Viola.  She was now beneath his notice.

The Lady Viola passes completely out of this story.  The Palace of the
Kings had lain empty and deserted for over twenty long years, and Miss
Delacour knew this fact and intended to act accordingly.  After making
full inquiries she paid the old Duke a visit, taking with her a certain
Mrs Macintyre.  Mrs Macintyre was one of those women whom all men
respect, if they do not love.  She had lost both husband and children.
She was of high birth and equally good education.  She was now,
however, in sore want, and Miss Delacour thought she saw a way of
helping her and also adding to the lustre of her own name as a great
philanthropist.  Miss Delacour did most of the talking, and Mrs
Macintyre all the sad, gentle smiles.  In short, they won over the old
Duke, and Miss Delacour arranged that she should call upon Lucy's
husband in order to propound her scheme.

The little girls and the boys had time to meet before Miss Delacour's
arrival.  Although that lady was well off, she would not take a
motor-car from Edinburgh to the Upper Glen.  She believed that her
brother-in-law had a motor-car, and thought it the height of
selfishness on his part that he did not send it to town to meet her.
But she had her pride, as she expressed it, and in consequence did not
arrive at The Garden till about four o'clock in the day, having given
the young Constables and the young Lennoxes time to have a very eager
chat together, whilst Mrs Constable and Lennox himself had a serious
conversation, in which they unanimously expressed the wish that Agnes
Delacour would take her departure as soon as possible.

Miss Delacour arrived on the scene in a very bad temper.  She was met
by Lennox with his beautiful smile and courtly manner.  He welcomed her
kindly, and gave her his arm to enter the great central hall.  Miss
Delacour sniffed as she went in.  She sniffed more audibly as her
small, closely set brown eyes encountered the fixed gaze of five little
girls, who, to judge from their manners, were all antagonistic to her.

'Come and speak to your aunt, my dears,' she said.--'George,' she
continued, 'I should be glad of some tea.'

'It isn't time for tea yet,' said Hollyhock,  but I 'll amuse you.
Would you like to see a girl somersaulting up and down the hall?  It's
a _grand_ place for that sort of exercise, and I can teach you if you
like.  You _are_ a bit old, but I've seen older.  You just have to let
yourself go--spread yourself, so to speak--put your hands on the floor
and then over you go, over and over.  Oh, it's _grand_ sport; we often
do it.'

'Then you might do better,' said Miss Delacour, speaking in a very
stern voice.  'I haven't quite caught your name, child, but you have
evidently not learned respect for your elders.'

'My name is Hollyhock.  I 'm a Scots lass frae the heather.  Eh, but
there's no air like the air o' the heather!  Did you ever get a bit of
it, all white?  Yes, _there's_ luck for you.'

'Do you mean seriously to tell me, George,' said Miss Delacour, 'that
you have called that child Hollyhock--that impertinent, rude child,
Hollyhock?'

'Well, yes, he has, bless his heart!' said Hollyhock, going up to her
father and fondling his head.  'Isn't he a bit of a sort of a thing
that you 'd love?  Eh, but he's a _grand_ man.  He isn't afflicted with
bad looks, Aunt Agnes.'

'Send that child out of the room, George,' said Aunt Agnes.

'I refuse to stir,' was Hollyhock's response.

'George, is it true that you have insulted my dead sister's memory by
calling one of her offspring by such an awful name as Hollyhock?'

'I have not insulted my wife's memory, Agnes.  I took a fancy to call
my little girls after flowers.  This is Jasmine--real name Lucy, after
my lost darling.  This is Gentian--real name Margaret.  This is
Rose--also Rose of the Garden, queen of all flowers.  Hollyhock's
baptismal name is Jacqueline; and Delphinium, my youngest'--his voice
shook a little--'is Dorothy.'

'The one for whom your wife laid down her life,' said Miss Delacour.
'Well, to be sure, I always knew that men were bad, but I did _not_
think they were fools as well.--Understand, you five girls, that while
I am here--and I shall probably stay for a long time--you will be Lucy,
Margaret, Jacqueline, Rose, and Dorothy to me.  I don't care what your
silly father calls you.'

'He's not silly,' said Hollyhock.  'He's the best of old ducksy dumps;
and if you don't want to learn somersaulting, perhaps you 'd like a
hand-to-hand fight.  _I'm_ quite ready;' and Hollyhock stamped up to
the good lady with clenched fists and angry, black eyes.

'Oh, preserve me from this little terror of a girl!' said Miss
Delacour.  'I perceive that the Divine Providence has sent me here just
in time.'

'You haven't met the _Precious Stones_ yet,' said Hollyhock.  'Flowers
are a bit soft, except roses, which have thorns; but when you meet
Jasper and Sapphire and Garnet and Opal and Emerald, I can tell you you
'll have to mind your p's and q's.  _They_ won't stand any nonsense;
they won't endure any silly speeches, but they 'll just go for you
hammer and tongs.  They 're boys, every one of them--and--and--we 're
expecting them any minute.'

'Jacqueline, you must behave yourself,' said her father.  'You 're
trying your aunt very much indeed.--Jasmine, or, rather, my sweet Lucy,
will you take your aunt to her bedroom, and order the tea to be got
ready a little earlier than usual in the hall to-day?'

Jasmine, otherwise Lucy, obeyed her father's command at a glance, and
the old lady and the young girl went up the low broad stairs side by
side.  Miss Delacour gasped once or twice.

'What a terrible creature your sister is!' she remarked.

'Oh no, she's not really; she only wants her bit of fun.'

'But to be rude to an elderly lady!' continued Miss Delacour.

'She did not mean it for rudeness.  She just wanted you to enjoy
yourself.  You see, we are accustomed to a great deal of freedom, and
there _never_ was a man like daddy, and we are so happy with him.'

'Lucy--your name is Lucy, isn't it?'

'I am called Jasmine, but my name is Lucy,' said the girl, with a sigh.

'That was your mother's name,' continued Miss Agnes.  'You remind me of
her a little, without having her great beauty.  You are a plain child,
Lucy, but you ought to be thankful, seeing that such is the will of the
Almighty.'

'Jasper says I am exceedingly handsome,' replied Lucy.

'Oh, that awful boy!  What a man your father must be to allow such
talk!'

'Please, please, auntie, don't speak against him.  He's an angel, if
ever there was one.  I want to make you happy, auntie; but if you speak
against father, I greatly fear I can't.  Please, for the sake of my
mother, be nice to father.'

'I mean to be nice to every one, child.  I have come here for the
purpose.  You certainly have a look of your mother.  You have got her
eyes, for instance.'

'Oh yes, her eyes and her chin and the roses in the cheeks,' said
Jasmine.  'Father calls me the comfort of his life.  No one ever, ever
said I was ugly before, Aunt Agnes.'

'I perceive that you are an exceedingly vain little girl; but that will
be soon knocked out of you.'

'How?' asked Jasmine.

'When my dear friend, Mrs Macintyre, starts her noble school.'

'School!' said Jasmine, turning a little pale.  'But father says he
will never allow any of us to go to school.'

'He will do what _I_ wish in this matter.  Dear, dear, what a dreary
room, so large, and only half-furnished!  No wonder poor Lucy died
here.  She was a timid little thing.  She probably died in the very bed
that you are putting me into--so thoughtless--so unkind.'

'It isn't thoughtless or unkind, Aunt Agnes, for father sleeps in the
bed where mother died, and in the room where she died.  But now I hear
the boys all arriving.  The water in this jug is nice and hot, and here
are fresh towels, and Magsie'----

'Who is Magsie?'

'She's a maid; if you ring that bell just there, she 'll come to you,
and unpack your trunks.  By the way, what a lot of trunks you have
brought, Aunt Agnes!  I thought you were only coming for a couple of
days.'

'Polite, I must say,' remarked Miss Delacour.

'We all thought it,' remarked Jasmine, 'for, you see, you would not
come to darling mother's funeral--that _did_ hurt father so awfully.'

'I could not get away.  I was helping the sick.  It was a case of
cataract,' said Miss Delacour.  'I had to hold her hand while the
operation went on, otherwise she might have been blind for life.  Would
you take away a living, breathing person's sight because of senseless
clay?'

Jasmine marched out of the room.




CHAPTER III.

AUNT AGNES'S WAY.

If there was a person with a determined will, with a heart set upon
certain actions which must and _should_ be carried out, that was the
elderly lady known as Agnes Delacour.  She never went back on her word.
She never relaxed in her charities.  She herself lived in a small house
in Chelsea, and, being a rich woman, could thereby spend large sums on
the poor and the needy.  She was a wise woman in her generation, and
never gave help when help was not needed.  No begging letters appealed
to her, no pretended woes took her in; but the real sufferers in life!
these she attended to, these she helped, these she comforted.  Her
universal plan was to get the sorrowful and the poor in a very great
measure to help themselves.  She had no idea of encouraging what she
called idleness.  Thrift was her motto.  If a person needed money, that
person must work for it.  Agnes would help her to work, but she
certainly would not have anything whatsoever to do with those whom she
called the _wasters_ of life.

In consequence, Agnes Delacour did a vast amount of good.  She never by
any chance gave injudiciously.  Her present protégée was Mrs Macintyre.
Mrs Macintyre was the sort of woman to whom the heart of Agnes Delacour
went out in a great wave of pity.  In the first place, she was Scots,
and Miss Delacour loved the Scots.  In the next place, she was very
proud, and would not eat the bread of charity.  Mrs Macintyre was a
highly educated woman.  She had lost both husband and children, and was
therefore stranded on the shores of life.  There was little or no hope
for her, unless her friend Agnes took her up.  Now, therefore, was the
time for Agnes Delacour to attack that strange being, her
brother-in-law, whom she had neglected so long.

She hardly knew his sister, Cecilia Constable, but she meant to become
acquainted with her soon, to plead for her help, and in so great a
cause to overlook the fact that this brother and this sister were a
pair of faddists.  Faddists they should not remain long, if _she_ could
help it.  She, Agnes Delacour, strong-minded and determined, would see
to that.  The children of this most silly pair required education.  Who
more suitable for the purpose than gentle, kind, clever Mrs Macintyre?
If George Lennox paid down the rent for Ardshiel, or, in other words,
for the Palace of the Kings, and if Mrs Constable put down five hundred
pounds for the redecorating of the grounds, and if the great Duke
allowed them to keep the old, magnificent furniture, which had lain
unused within those walls for over twenty years--and this he had
practically promised to do, drawn thereto by Mrs Macintyre's sweet,
pathetic smile and face--why, the deed was done, and she, Agnes, the
noble and generous, need only add a few extra hundred pounds for the
purchase of beds and school furniture.  Thus the greatest school in the
whole of Scotland would be opened under wonderfully noble auspices.
Yes, all was going well, and the good woman felt better than pleased.
Her great fame would spread wider and faster than ever.  She lived to
do good; she was doing good--good on a very considerable
scale--supported by the highest nobility in the land.

Miss Delacour was not quite sure whether the school should be a mixed
school or not.  She waited for circumstances to settle that point.
Mixed schools were becoming the fashion, and to a certain extent she
approved of them; but she would not give her vote in that direction
until she had a talk with her brother-in-law, and with Mrs Constable.
Ardshiel was within easy reach of Edinburgh and Glasgow, but Miss
Delacour made up her mind that the school, when established, should be
a boarding-school.  The very most she would permit would be the return
of the children who lived within a convenient distance to their homes
for week-end visits.  But on that point also she was by no means sure.
Providence must decide, she said softly to herself.  She came,
therefore, to The Garden determined to leave the matter, as she said,
to Providence; whereas, in reality, she left it to George Lennox and
his sister, Mrs Constable.

At any cost these people must do their parts.  Be they faddists, or be
they not, their children must be saved.  Could there in all the world
be a more horrible girl than Hollyhock--or, as her real name was,
Jacqueline?  Even Lucy (always called Jasmine) was an impertinent
little thing; but what _could_ you expect from such a man as George
Lennox?

Miss Delacour was, however, the sort of person who held her soul in
great patience.  After Jasmine had left her she stood and looked out of
the window, observed the lake on which those silly little girls were
rowing, noticed those absurd boys who were called after precious
stones, forsooth! and made up her mind to be pleasant with Cecilia and
her family, and to say nothing of her designs to her brother-in-law
until the children had gone to bed.  She presumed at least that they
went to bed early.  A little creature like Dorothy ought to be in her
warm nest not later than half-past seven.  Lucy and Margaret might be
permitted to sit up till nine.  Afterwards she, Miss Delacour, could
have a good talk with George Lennox.  She invariably spoke of him as
George Lennox, ignoring the Honourable, for she had no respect for the
semblance of a title.

By opening her window very wide, she was able to get a distant glimpse
of the much-neglected Palace.  She observed, with approval, the vast
size of the house, the abundance of trees, the glass-houses, the
hothouses, the remains of ancient splendour.  Then she looked at the
lake, which shone and gleamed in all its summer glory; but she turned
her thoughts from the sad history of that lake.  She was not a woman to
romance over things.  She was a woman to go straight forward in a
matter-of-fact, downright fashion.

Happening to meet one of the girls at an hour between tea and dinner,
she inquired at what time their father dined.

'We all dine at half-past seven,' replied Hollyhock.

'You _all_ dine at half-past seven?  How old are you, Jacqueline?'

'Nearly thirteen, Auntie Agnes,' replied the girl, tossing her black
mane of lovely, thick hair.

'And do you mean to tell me that little Dorothy, who cannot be more
than eight or nine years old, takes her last heavy meal at half-past
seven in the evening?  Such folly is really past believing.'

'Auntie, you must believe it, for wee Delphy always dines with the rest
of us.  And why shouldn't she?'

'Now, my dear child, as to your father's strange conduct, it is not my
place to speak of it before his unhappy and ill-bred child, but I have
one request to make.  It is this--that you do not again in my presence
call your sister by that sickening name.'

'But, auntie, _we_ think it a very lovely name.  We like our flower
names so much.  Auntie, I do wish that you'd go.  We were so happy
without you, auntie.  Do go and leave us in peace.'

'You certainly are the most impertinent little girl I ever met in my
life; but times, thank the good God, are changing.'

'Are they?  How, may I ask?' inquired Hollyhock.

'That I am not going to tell you quite yet, but changing they are.'

'And I say they are _not_,' repeated Hollyhock with great zeal.

'Oh! what a bad, wicked little girl you are!  What an awful trial to my
poor brother-in-law!'

'And I say I 'm not.  I say that I 'm the joy of his life, the poor
dear!  Auntie, you 'd best not try me too far.'

'May God grant me patience,' muttered Miss Delacour under her breath.

She went upstairs to the room where her sister had not died, and made
up her mind that as, of course, this wild family would not know
anything whatsoever of dressing for dinner, she need not trouble to
change her clothes.  That being the case, she need not ring for the
objectionable young person called Magsie.  'Such a name for a maid!'
thought Miss Delacour.  'I'll just wear my old brown dress; it will
save the dresses which I have to keep for proper occasions in London.
Dear, dear, what an _awful_ house this is!'

She sank into a chair, saying to herself how much, how very much, Mrs
Macintyre would have to thank her for by-and-by!  She looked at the
watch she wore in a leather wristlet, and decided that she might rest
for at least a quarter of an hour.  She was really tired as well as
appalled at the state of things at The Garden.  Presently, however,
seated in her easy-chair--and a very easy and comfortable chair it
was--she observed that all her trunks had been unpacked; not only
unpacked, but removed bodily from the large apartment.  She felt a
sense of anger.  That girl, Magsie, had taken a liberty in unpacking
her trunks.  She should not have done so without asking permission.  It
is true that she herself had left the keys of the said trunks on her
dressing-table, for most maids did unpack for her, but that was no
excuse for such a creature as Magsie.

Just then there came a tap at her door.  She was beginning to feel
drowsy and comfortable, and said, in a cross voice, for she preened
herself on her French, '_Entrez!_'

Magsie had never heard '_Entrez_' before, but concluded that it was the
strange woman's way of saying, 'Come in.'  She accordingly entered,
carrying a large brass can of boiling water.

'It has come to the bile, miss,' remarked Magsie, as she entered the
room, 'but ye can cool it down wi' cold water.'

'Thank you.  You can leave it,' said Miss Delacour.

'What dress would ye be likin' to array yerself in?' asked Magsie.

'I'm not going to dress for dinner.'

'Not goin' to dress for dinner!  But the master, he dresses like most
people i' the evenin', and the young leddies and gentlemen and Mrs
Constable, they sit down at the table--ah, weel! as them as is
accustomed to respec' their station in life.  I was thinkin', miss,
that your purple gown, which I have put away in the big cupboard, might
do for to-night.  Ye 're a well-formed woman, miss--out in the back,
out in the front--and I jalouse all your bones are covered.  It 'll
look queer your not dressin'--more particular when every one else does.'

'I never heard of anything quite so ridiculous,' said Miss Delacour;
'but as those silly children are going to dress, I suppose I had better
put on the gown which I call my thistle gown.  The thistle is the
emblem of Scotland.  I suppose you know that, Margaret?'

'No me,' said Margaret.  'It's an ugly, prickly thing, is a thistle.'

'Well, you have learnt something from me to-night.  You ought to be
very glad when I instruct you, Margaret.'

'I 'd rather be called Magsie,' returned Margaret.

'I intend to call you just what I please.'

'Very weel, miss; but may I make bold to ask which _is_ the thistle
gown?'

'It is a rich, white silk, patterned over with thistles of the natural
colour of the emblem of Scotland.  Open the wardrobe and I shall show
it to you.  But you took a liberty when you unpacked my clothes without
asking my permission, Margaret.'

'Leeberty--did I?  I thocht ye'd be pleased, bein' an auld leddy, no
less; but catch me doin' it again.  Ay, but this thistle gown is gran',
to be sure.'

'Can you dress hair?' inquired Miss Delacour.

'Naething special,' was Magsie's answer.  'Is it a wig ye wear or no?
It looks gey unnatural, sae I tak' it to be a wig; but if it's yer ain
hair, I beg yer humble pardon.  There's nae harm dune in makin' the
remark.'

'You are a very impertinent girl; but as my dress happens to fasten
behind, and the people in this house are all foolish, I suppose I had
better get you to help me.  No, my hair is my own.  You must make it
look as well as you can.  Do you understand back-combing?'

'Lawk a mercy, ma'am!  I never heard tell o' such a thing; and speakin'
o' my master and his family as fules is beyond a'.  However, Miss
Jasmine, the darlin', she comes to me and she says in her coaxin' way,
"Mak' the auld leddy comfy, Magsie;" and I 'd risk mony a danger to
please Miss Jasmine.'

'There isn't any Miss Jasmine.  Her name is Lucy.'

'Ah, weel, ma'am, ca' the bonnie lass what ye like.  Now stand up and
let me at ye.  That's the gown.  My word! thae thistles are fine.
Hoots! ye needna mind wearin' that gown, auld as ye be.  The thistle
'll do its part.'

'I do wish, girl, you'd atop talking,' said Miss Delacour, and Magsie
of the black hair and black eyes and glowing complexion glanced at her
new mistress and thought it prudent to obey.

She did manage to arrange Miss Delacour's hair 'brawly,' as she called
it, for, as it proved, she had a real talent for hairdressing, and the
good lady inwardly resolved to train this ignorant Margaret for the
school.

She went downstairs presently in her thistle dress.  The five little
girls were clad very simply all in white.  The five boys wore Eton
jackets, and looked what they were, most gentlemanly young fellows.
Mrs Constable, in a pale shade of gray, was altogether charming; and
nothing could excel the courteous manners of George Lennox.

Every one was inclined to be kind to the stranger, and as it was the
stranger's intention to make a good impression on account of her
scheme, she led the conversation at dinner, ignoring the ten children,
and devoting herself to her brother-in-law and Mrs Constable.

When Miss Delacour was not present there were always wild games, not to
say romps, after dinner, but she seemed in some extraordinary way to
put an extinguisher on the candle of their fun.  So deeply was this
manifest that Mrs Constable went back to The Paddock with her five boys
shortly after dinner; and Mr Lennox, seeing that he must make the best
of things, gave a hint to Jasmine that they had better leave him alone
with their mother's half-sister.

The boys had groaned audibly at this ending of their evening's fun.
Hollyhock looked defiant and even wicked; but when daddy whispered to
her, 'The sooner she lets out her scheme, the sooner I can get rid of
her,' the little girls ran upstairs hand-in-hand, all of them singing
at the top of their voices:

  And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
    And fare thee weel a while!
  And I will come again, my Luve,
    Tho' it were ten thousand mile.'




CHAPTER IV.

THE PALACE OF THE KINGS.

Miss Agnes Delacour was the last person to let the grass grow under her
feet.  She, as she expressed it to herself, 'cornered' her
brother-in-law as soon as the five little girls tripped off to bed.
There was nothing, she said inwardly, like taking the bull by the
horns.  Accordingly she attacked that ferocious beast in the form of
quiet, courteous Mr Lennox with her usual energy.

'George,' she said, 'you are angry with your poor sister.'

'Oh, not at all,' he replied.  'Pray take a seat.  This chair I can
recommend as most comfortable.'

Miss Agnes accepted the chair, but pursued her own course of reasoning.

'You 're angry,' she continued, 'because I did not go to poor Lucy's
funeral.'

'We will let that matter drop,' said Lennox, his very refined face
turning slightly pale.

'But, my dear brother, we must _not_ let it drop.  It is my duty to
protest, and to defend myself.  There was a woman with cataract.'

'Dear Agnes, I know that story so well.  I am glad the woman recovered
her sight.'

'Then you are a good Christian man, George, and we are friends once
again.'

'We were never anything else,' said Lennox.

'That being the case,' continued Miss Delacour, 'you will of course
listen to the object of my mission here.'

'I will listen, Agnes; but I do not say that I shall either comprehend
or take an interest in your so-called _mission_.'

'Ah, narrow, narrow man,' said Miss Delacour, shaking her plump finger
playfully at her host as she spoke.

'Am I narrow?  I did not know it,' replied Lennox.

'Fearfully so.  Think of the way you are bringing up your girls.'

'What is the matter with my lasses?  I think them the bonniest and the
best in the world.'

'Poor misguided man!  They are nothing of the sort.'

'If you have come here, Agnes, to abuse Lucy's children, _and_ mine, I
would rather we dropped the subject.  They have nothing to do with you.
You have never until the present moment taken the slightest notice of
them.  They give _me_ intense happiness.  I think, perhaps, Agnes,
seeing that we differ and have always differed in every particular, it
might be as well for you to shorten your visit to The Garden.'

'Thank you.  That is the sort of speech a child reared by you has
already made to me.  She has, in fact, impertinent little thing,
already asked me when I am going.'

'Do you allude to Hollyhock?'

'Now, George, is it wise--is it sensible to call those children after
the flowers of the garden and the field?  I assure you your manner of
bringing up your family makes me _sick_--yes, sick!'

'Oh, don't trouble about us,' said Lennox.  'We get on uncommonly well.
They are _my_ children, you know.'

'And Lucy's,' whispered Miss Delacour, her voice slightly shaking.

'I am very sorry to hurt you, Agnes; but Lucy herself--dear, sweet,
precious Lucy--liked the idea of each of the children being called
after a flower; not baptismally, of course, but in their home life.
One of the very last things she said to me before she died was, "Call
the little one Delphinium."  Now, have we not talked enough on this, to
me, _most_ painful subject?  My Lucy and I were one in heart and deed.'

'Alas, alas!' said Miss Delacour.  'How hard it is to get men to
understand!  I knew Lucy longer than you.  I brought her up; I trained
her.  The good that was in her she owed to me.  She has passed on--a
beautiful expression _that_--but I feel a voice within me saying--a
voice which is her voice--"Agnes, remember my children.  Agnes, think
of my children.  Do for them what is right.  Remember their father's
great weakness."'

'Thanks,' replied Lennox.  'That voice in your breast did not come from
Lucy.'

Miss Delacour gave a short, sharp sigh.

'Oh, the ignorance of men!' she exclaimed.  'Oh, the silly, false pride
of men!  They think themselves the very best in the world, whereas they
are in reality a poor, very poor lot.'

Lennox fidgeted in his chair.

'How long will this lecture take?' he said.  'As a rule I go to bed
early, as the children and I have a swim in the lake before breakfast
each morning.'

'How are they taught other things besides swimming?' asked Miss
Delacour.

'Taught?' echoed Lennox.  'For their ages they are well instructed.  My
sister and I manage their education between us.'

'George, I suppose you will end by marrying again.  All men in your
class and with your disposition do so.'

'Agnes, I forbid you to speak to me on that subject again.  Once for
all, poor weak man as you consider me, I put down my foot, and will not
discuss that most painful subject.  Lucy is the only wife I shall ever
have.  I have, thank God, my sister and my sweet girls, and I do not
want anything more.  I am a widower for life.  Cecilia is a widow for
life.  We rejoice in the thought of meeting the dear departed in a
happier world.  Now try not to pain me any more.  Good-night, Agnes.
You are a little--nay, _more_ than a little--trying.'

'I've not an idea of going to bed yet,' said Miss Delacour, 'for I have
not divulged my scheme.  You have got to listen to it, George, whether
you like it or not.'

'I suppose I have,' said George Lennox.  He sat down, and made a
violent struggle to restrain his impatience.

'I will come to the matter at once,' said Miss Delacour.  'You know, or
perhaps you do not know, how I spend my life.'

'I do not know, Agnes.  You never write, and until to-day you have
never come to The Garden.'

'Well, I have come now with a purpose.  Pray don't fidget so
dreadfully, George.  It is really bad style.  I am noted in London for
moving in the very best society.  I see the men of culture and
refinement, who are always remarked for the stillness of their
attitudes.'

'Are they?' said George Lennox.  'Well, I can only say I am glad I
don't live there.'

'How Lucy _could_ have taken to you?' remarked Miss Delacour.

'Say those words again, Agnes, and _I_ shall go to bed.  There are some
recent novels on the table, and you can read then till you feel sleepy.'

'Thanks; I am never sleepy when I have work to do.  My work is charity;
my work is philanthropy.  You know quite well that I am blessed by God
with considerable means.  Often and often I go to the Bank of England
and stand by the Royal Exchange and see those noble words, "_The earth
is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof._"  George, those words are _my_
text.  Those words exemplify my work.  "The earth is the Lord's."  I
therefore, George, give of my abundance to the Lord, meaning thereby
the Lord's poor.  I hate the Charity Organisation Society; but when I
see a man or a woman or even a child in our rank of life struggling
with dire poverty, when, after making strict inquiries, I find out that
the poverty is real, then I help that man, woman, or child.  I live,
George, in a little house in Chelsea.  I keep one servant, and one
only.  I do not waste money on motor-cars or gardens or antiquated
mansions like this.  I give to the Lord's poor.  George, I am a very
happy woman.'

'I am glad to hear it,' said Lennox.  'Since you entered my house, I
should not have known it but for your remark.'

'Ah, indeed, I have cause for sorrow in your ridiculous house,
surrounded by your absurd children'----

'Agnes!'

'I must speak, George.  I have come here for the express purpose.  Dear
little Lucy wrote to me during her short married life with regard to
the Upper Glen.  She wrote happily, I must confess that.  She spoke of
her children as though she loved them very dearly.  Would she love them
if she were alive now?'

'Agnes!'

'George, I say--I declare--that she would _not_ love them.  Brought up
without discipline, without education; called after silly flowers; told
by their father to be rude to me, their _aunt_!  How could she love
them?'

'Agnes, I try hard not to lose my temper; but if you go on much longer
in your present vein of talk, I greatly fear that it will depart.'

'Then let it depart,' said Miss Delacour.  'Anything to rouse the man
who is going so madly, so cruelly, to work with regard to his family.
Now then, let me see.  I am ever and always one who walks straight.  I
am ever and always one who has an aim in view.  My present aim is to
help another.  There is a dear woman--a Mrs Macintyre--true Scotch.
You will like that, George.  She has been left destitute.  Her husband
died; her children died.  She is alone, quite alone, in the world.  She
has been most highly educated, and I have taken that dear thing up.
There are in the Upper Glen three houses, or, rather, palaces, I should
call them--one where you live, one where your sister, Mrs Constable,
lives.  She seems a nice, sensible sort of woman, simple in her tastes
and devoted to her sons, except for the silly names she has given them.
But both The Paddock and The Garden are small in comparison with the
middle house, which has been unoccupied since before your marriage,
George.  It is a spacious and beautiful place, and my intention--my
_firm intention_, remember--is to place Mrs Macintyre there and
establish a suitable school for your girls, for other girls.  Your
girls can go to her as weekly boarders.  I am not yet _quite_ sure
whether I shall admit the young Constables; but I may.  Mrs Macintyre
is a magnificent woman.  She will secure for your children, for the
other children, for the Constables, if _I_ permit it, the best masters
and mistresses from Edinburgh.  You have a motor-car, have you not?'

'Yes.'

'You did not send it to meet your sister.'

'I did not.'

'Polite, I must say; but I forgive your bad manners.  I proceed in the
true Christian spirit with my scheme.  The middle house in the Upper
Glen belongs, as you know well, to the great Duke of Ardshiel.  It is
sometimes called Ardshiel, but more often by the title The Palace of
the Kings.  Since the sad tragedy which took place there, it has stood
empty, the Duke having many other country seats and avoiding this noble
mansion because of its associations.  Well, George, you know all that
story; but when Mrs Macintyre came to me in her distress and poverty I
immediately thought of Ardshiel.  I thought of it as the very place in
which to start a flourishing school, of which your girls could take
full advantage.

'Accompanied by dear Mrs Macintyre, I went to see his Grace.  I was
surprisingly successful in my interview.  The Duke was quite charmed
with my suggestion.  He was much taken also with Mrs Macintyre.  In
short, he agreed to let the Palace of the Kings to my friend.  I do not
think he will ask a high rent for the lovely place, and, from a very
broad hint he threw out, I expect he will give us the present
magnificent furniture.  You will be expected to pay the rent--a mere
trifle.  Your sister, if I admit a mixed school, will be asked to
subscribe five hundred pounds for the rearranging of the grounds.  The
Duke will put the Palace into full repair, and with our united
aid--for, of course, I shall not keep back my mite--we shall have the
most flourishing school in Scotland opened and filled with pupils by
the middle of September.  In fact, I consider the scheme settled.
There will be a large and flourishing school in your midst, for his
Grace would only do things in first-rate style.  Now I consider the
matter accomplished.  The school will be opened in September, and as I
really cannot stand any more of your fidgeting--such shocking style!--I
will wish you good-night.  Of course, not a word of _thanks_ on your
part.  I overlook all _those_ little politenesses.  The righteous look
for their reward on _High_!  Good-night, good-night!  No arguments
to-night, pray.  I do not wish to listen to your objections to-night.
You will naturally have them, but they will be overcome.  Mrs Macintyre
is a pearl amongst women.  Good-night, George; good-night.'

Miss Delacour left the room.  George Lennox did not go to bed that
night until very late.

'Well,' he said to himself at last, 'I did not know I could be snubbed
by any one; but that woman, she drives me wild.  However, I will call
my own children by the names I wish, and will _not_ assist her with her
school.  _I_ to pay the rent, forsooth!  I to send my darlings to
school, when I long ago made up my mind that they should never go to
one.  Dear Cecilia to be robbed of five hundred pounds and that _pearl
of a woman_ established in our midst.  Not quite, Agnes Delacour!  We
of the Upper Glen resist.  How I wish Hollyhock had been here to-night
when the woman attacked me!  No wonder my Lucy could not abide her.
However, I am the master of my own money, and the father of my own
children.  I must talk with Cecilia early to-morrow morning, or Agnes
will be at her.  Dear Cecil, she would starve herself and her boys to
help any one, but she shall certainly get my views.'

Alas, however, his optimism proved ill-founded, and it so happened that
Miss Delacour paid a very early call indeed on the following morning at
The Paddock, for she slept well and woke early, whereas the Honourable
George Lennox slept badly and awoke late.

Mrs Constable was rather amazed at so early a visit from her brother's
sister-in-law.  The boys rushed in, yelling the news.  She was just
pouring out milk for her collection of Precious Stones when the
unabashed lady entered the spacious dining-room.

'Ah, upon my word, a nice house!' said Miss Delacour.  'How cheerful
you make everything look, dear!  As sister women we can appreciate the
little niceties of life, can we not?'

'Yes, of course,' said Mrs Constable in her pleasant manner and with
her pretty, bright look.  'But what a long walk to take before
breakfast, Miss Delacour!'

'I have come on behalf of my brother-in-law.'

'Is George ill?' inquired Mrs Constable.

Miss Delacour put her finger to her lip.  Then she significantly
touched her brow.  Going up to Mrs Constable, she begged to have a
special talk with her all alone.  Mrs Constable had thought the woman
in the thistle gown very queer the night before, and the boys had
frankly detested her; but when that admirable philanthropist went up
and dropped a word into her ear she turned a little pale, and facing
her sons, said, 'Laddies, you had best go into the back dining-room and
sup your porridge.  Run, laddies; run.'

The boys gave their mother an adoring glance, scowled ferociously at
Miss Delacour, and left the room.  Over their coffee, hot rolls, and
marmalade, Miss Delacour propounded her scheme--her great, her
wonderful scheme.

It is well to be first in the field, and Miss Delacour could speak with
eloquence.  She was a real philanthropist, and she appealed to the kind
heart of Mrs Constable.




CHAPTER V.

THE EARLY BIRD.

There is, after all, nothing like being first in the field.  The old
proverb of the early bird that catches the worm is correct.  Miss
Delacour knew her ground.  Miss Delacour had gauged her woman, and
when, about eleven o'clock that day, George Lennox walked across to The
Paddock, hoping to obtain the sympathy which he had never before been
refused by his sister, he was much amazed to find that Mrs Constable
was altogether on the other side.

'What has come over you, Cecilia?' he remarked.  'Is it possible that
you have already seen my sister-in-law?  Do you understand the sort of
woman that she is?'

'I have seen her more than two hours ago, George,' replied Mrs
Constable, 'and, to be frank with you, I admire her very much.  There
is no one to me like you, George, but women can see things which men
cannot.  It seems to me that Miss Delacour is a woman with a great
heart, and she has taken pains to propound to me a scheme which I
consider most noble.  In fact, I fully agree with her in the matter.  I
cannot help doing so.  Our children, our dear children, George, require
by now to be taught the great things of the world.  Hitherto you and I
have taught them all we could.  I do not deny that, until now, our
instruction was sufficient; but a time has arrived when they all need
the broader life.  I, for one, will certainly help Miss Delacour to the
extent of five hundred pounds.  The Duke is quite in favour of the
Palace of the Kings being made use of for so worthy an object, and will
give us the furniture, if not for _nothing_, at least for a very
trifling sum.  Miss Delacour will herself provide the extra furniture
required for a school, and I further understand that the Duke will let
the old house and grounds for a merely nominal rent, which I think you,
George, being his kinsman through your dear wife, ought to supply.
Miss Delacour has secured the services of a most efficient
head-mistress, and the school will be run on truly noble lines--on the
very best lines, or the Duke would have nothing to do with it.  As I am
willing to help Miss Delacour, she will allow my dear sons, for a
longer or shorter period, to enter the school so as to prepare for Eton
by-and-by.  Home education is not enough, George, and the children will
be educated for the broader world, at our very doors.  They will be
allowed to return to the home nest each Saturday until early Monday
morning.  What could by any means be more advantageous?'

'Oh dear,' exclaimed Lennox, '_what_ a woman Agnes is!'

'What a noble woman! you mean.'

'I do not mean that, by any means.  I mean that she is clever and very
rich, and philanders with philanthropy.  We know nothing, for instance,
of the proposed head-mistress, Mrs Macintyre.'

'Yes, we do, through that really excellent woman, your sister-in-law.
George, you are sadly prejudiced.'

'Cecil, you wrong me.  Was she not my Lucy's half-sister, and did not
my dearest one suffer tortures at her hands?'

'Ah! try to forget that part of the painful past.  Well do I know what
your Lucy was to you, to me, to her little girls.  _Try_, my dearest
brother, to be brave, and to take to your heart the text, "Vengeance is
mine, saith the Lord," and receive Miss Delacour's magnificent scheme
with a good grace.'

'And the loss of a considerable yearly income, to say nothing of the
far deeper pain of parting from my children.  Really, Cecilia, I did
think you would show more pity to a sadly lonely man.'

'And I, also, am a sadly lonely woman, George; but I must not think of
myself in the matter of my beloved boys.'

'You never do, and never could, Cecil; but that woman drives me nearly
wild.'

'Dear George, try to think more kindly of her.  She spoke, oh! _so_
kindly of you; indeed, she spoke most affectionately.  I could not
believe that you were inclined to be jealous, and even stingy.'

Lennox rose.  'If being unwilling to deprive myself of several hundreds
a year for a total stranger, as well as parting from my dear little
lasses, is stingy, then I _am_ stingy, Cecilia; but let the matter
drop.  I bow to the decrees of two women.  When two women put their
heads together, what chance has poor man?'

'Oh George,' said Mrs Constable, 'since my beloved husband was killed,
whom have I had to look to but you, my dearest brother?  Believe me,
this _is_ a good cause.  Your children and my children _need_ to mix
with the world.  Jasper must soon go to a public school, but a year in
a mixed school will do him no harm.  I have been deeply puzzled of late
as to what to do with my boys' future.  Then comes unexpectedly a noble
woman who opens up a plan.  It seems right; it seems correct.  Our
children will mix with other children.  They will know the world in the
way they _must_ first know it--namely, at school; and they will be,
remember, George, within a stone's-throw of us.'

'You don't mean to say that they are to be weekly boarders?' remarked
the stricken man.

'I do say it.  That is her determination.  The school will be a very
large one, and I am going to-day to meet Miss Delacour at Ardshiel in
order to see what improvements are necessary.  Oh, dear, dear old boy,
if I _could_ remove that frown from your brow!'

'You can't, Cecilia; so don't try.  I am worsted by two women, the fate
of most men.  I am very unhappy.  I don't pretend to be anything else.
My sister-in-law has stolen a march on me, but at least there is one
thing on which I am determined.  You, of course, Cecilia, can do as you
please, but I positively _refuse_ to send a child of mine to that place
until I have first had an interview with Mrs Macintyre.'

'And that is most sensible of you, George.  I shall wire to her and ask
her to come to The Paddock to-day.  I shall be so glad to put her up
and make her happy.  A woman in her case, with financial difficulties,
having lost husband and children, is so deeply to be pitied.  My whole
heart aches for the poor, dear thing.'

'Cecilia, I would not know you this morning.  I must go back now to my
little girls.  They at least are all my own; they at least dislike the
woman who has conquered your too kind heart.'

'George, I have faithfully promised in your name and my own to visit
Ardshiel immediately after luncheon to-day.  We have to see for
ourselves that the sad home of neglect and tragedy, which will soon be
filled with young and happy life, is in all respects suited to our
purpose.'

'Oh dear, oh dear!' said George Lennox.  'Well, if I must, I must.  Two
women against one man!  I suppose I may be allowed to bring Hollyhock?'

'Best not, on the first occasion.  She irritates Miss Delacour.'

'Oh, bother Miss Delacour!' exclaimed the Honourable George, who was
now at last thoroughly out of humour.  'Well, I'll meet you at
half-past two at Ardshiel, and I hope by then I may feel a little
calmer than I do at present.'

As soon as George Lennox had gone, Mrs Constable sent a telegram to the
bereaved and distracted Mrs Macintyre, inviting her to make a speedy
visit to The Paddock.  This telegram had only to go as far as
Edinburgh, for Miss Delacour had put her friend up in a shabby room in
a back-street in that city of rare beauty.  The address had been given,
however, to Mrs Constable; and Mrs Macintyre, who was feeling very
depressed, and wondering if anything could come of her friend's scheme,
replied instanter: 'Will be with you by next train.'

Mrs Constable made all preparations for her guest's arrival.  The best
spare room was got ready.  The finest linen sheets, smelling of
lavender, were spread on the soft bed.  The room was a lovely one, and
in every respect a contrast to any Mrs Macintyre had used of late.

As has been said, it was the custom for the Constables and the Lennoxes
to dine and spend the evening together.  This was the night for The
Paddock, and Mrs Macintyre would therefore see not only the Honourable
George Lennox, but a goodly number of her future pupils.  Miss Delacour
was a woman who in the moment of victory was not inclined to show off.
Having gained Mrs Constable, she was merciful to George, and said
nothing whatever to him with regard to the school, or with regard to
the advent of Mrs Macintyre.  She knew well that that really good woman
would be at The Paddock that evening, and considered her task
practically accomplished.

George Lennox, feeling sad at heart, but still trusting to the
incapability of Mrs Macintyre to undertake so onerous a charge, went
with his sister-in-law to meet Mrs Constable at the appointed hour at
Ardshiel that afternoon.  When they joined Mrs Constable at the lodge
gate, he did not hear the one lady say to the other, 'The dear thing
will be with me in time for dinner.'

'We dine at The Paddock to-night,' whispered Miss Delacour.  'How
marvellous are the ways of Providence!  I can get back to London
to-morrow.  Between ourselves, dear, I hate the Upper Glen, and
heartily dislike my brother-in-law.'

'Oh! you must not speak of my brother like that,' said Mrs Constable.
'With the exception of my dear husband, there never was a man like my
brother George.'

'As you think so much of him, perhaps he will help you by finding
husband No. 2,' said Miss Delacour in a tone which she meant to be
playful.  She chuckled over her commonplace joke, having never
succeeded herself in finding even No. 1.  But Mrs Constable's gentle
and beautiful gray eyes now flashed with a sudden fire, and the colour
of amazed anger rose into her cheeks.

'Miss Delacour, you astonish and pain me indescribably when you speak
as you have just done.  Little you know of my beloved Wallace.  Had you
had the good fortune to meet so noble a man, you would perceive how
impossible it is for his widow, indeed his _wife_, as I consider
myself, to marry any one else.  Never speak to me on that subject
again, please, Miss Delacour.'

Miss Delacour saw that she had gone too far, and muttered to herself,
'Dear, dear, how _huffy_ these handsome widows are!  But, all the same,
I doubt not that she _will_ marry again.  Time will prove.  For me, I
have no patience with these silly airs.  But I see I must change the
subject.'  Accordingly she deftly did so, and even asked to see a
portrait of the late gallant major.  This request was, however,
somewhat curtly refused.

'Only my laddies and myself see the picture of their blessed father,'
was the reply; and Miss Delacour could not but respect Mrs Constable
all the more for her gentle and yet firm dignity.

Meanwhile the unhappy and lonely George Lennox, hating his
sister-in-law's scheme more and more, wandered away by himself, where
he could think matters over.

'I never _could_ have believed that Cecil would abide tittle-tattle,'
he thought; 'but that woman Agnes would contaminate any one.'

The ladies had now reached Ardshiel.  It was, of course, considerably
out of repair, but was even now lovely, with the beauty of fallen
greatness.  The majesty of the spacious grounds, the reflection of the
sun on the tragic lake, the fine effect of great mountains in the
distance, were as impressive as ever.  It was clear that the walks, the
lawns, the terraces, the beds of neglected flowers, the great
glass-houses, could all soon be put to rights.

Then within that house, where the footsteps of the young bride had
never been heard, were treasures innumerable and furniture which age
could only improve.  The Duke had promised, if all turned out
satisfactorily, to hand over the furniture, the magnificent glass and
china, the silver even, and fine linen and napery of all sorts, as his
present to the school; but he insisted on a small rent being paid
yearly for the lovely place, and also demanded that a certain sum be
paid for the restoration of the grounds.  Mrs Constable would repair
the grounds, while her brother would surely not refuse to pay the small
rent expected by the Duke for this most noble part of his property.
Miss Delacour hoped that she would establish her friend in the school
without much loss of her own property, but she was willing to add the
necessary school furniture, meaning the beds for the children and the
correct furniture for their rooms, also the downstairs school
furniture, such as desks and so forth.  She expected to get them for a
sum equal to what Mrs Constable intended to spend--namely, five hundred
pounds.  In this matter she thought herself most generous, and poor
George most mean.

While the ladies were examining the interior of the great house, the
Honourable George Lennox walked through the place alone, taking good
care to keep away from the women.  He walked all the time like one in a
dream.  It seemed to him as though he saw ghosts all around him, not
only the ghost of his own peerless Lucy, and the other ghost of the
poor youth who early on his wedding morning was found, cold and dead,
floating on the waters of the mighty lake.  Lennox spent much of the
time in the grounds of Ardshiel, and heard, to his delight, the
wrangling voices of the two women, hoping sincerely that the scheme of
having this house of almost royalty turned into a school would be
knocked on the head; for when were women, even the best of them, long
consistent in their ideas?

Finally, however, the ladies did leave Ardshiel, the whole scheme of
turning Ardshiel into a school for lads and lasses marked out in Miss
Delacour's active mind.  The attics would do for the children's
cubicles.  The next floor would be devoted to class-rooms of all sorts
and descriptions, the ground floor would form the pleasure part of the
establishment, and the servants would have a wing quite apart.  The
school could certainly be opened not later than September.  The place
was made for a school for the upper classes.  It seemed to grow under
the eyes of the two women into a delightful resort of youth, learning,
and happiness; but Mr Lennox became more opposed to the scheme each
moment.  His one hope was that Mrs Macintyre might turn out to be
_impossible_, in which case these castles in the air would topple to
the ground.

The three parted at the gates of Ardshiel, Miss Delacour and her
brother-in-law going one way, and Mrs Constable the other.

'You won't forget, dear,' said Mrs Constable, nodding affectionately to
her new friend, 'to be in time for dinner this evening?'

'Oh dear!  I forgot that we were to dine with you, Cecilia,' said
George Lennox.

'Well, don't forget it, George; and bring all the sweet Flowers with
you.'

'Naturally, I should not come without them.'  His tone was almost angry.

'What a charming--what a sweet woman Mrs Constable is!' remarked his
sister-in-law.

Lennox was silent.

'George,' said Agnes, 'you're sulky.'

'Doubtless I am.  Most men would be who are cajoled as I have been into
paying the rent of that horrid house.  Yes, you are a clever woman,
Agnes; but I can tell you once for all that not a single one of my
Flowers of the Garden shall enter that school if I do not approve of
the head-mistress.'

'I said you were sulky,' repeated Miss Delacour.  'A sulky man is
almost as unpleasant as a fidgety man.'

'To tell you frankly, Agnes, I keenly dislike being played the fool
with.  You saw Cecilia Constable this morning.  You won her round to
your views when I was asleep.'

'Ha, ha!' laughed Miss Delacour.  'I repeat, she is a sweet woman, and
her boys shall go to the school.'

'I thought it was a girls' school.'

'For her dear sake,' replied Miss Delacour, 'it will be a mixed school.
Oh, I feel happy!  The Lord is directing me.'

They arrived at The Garden, where five gloomy little girls gazed
gloomily at their aunt.

'I do wonder when she 'll go,' whispered Hollyhock.  'Look at Dumpy
Dad; he's perfectly miserable.  If she does not clear out soon, I 'll
turn her out, that I will.'

When tea was over, the children and their father went into the spacious
grounds, rowed on the lake, and were happy once more, their peals of
merriment reaching Miss Delacour as she drew up plans in furtherance of
her scheme.

By-and-by the children went upstairs to dress for dinner.  Their dress
was very simple, sometimes white washing silk, sometimes pink silk,
equally soft, sometimes very pale-blue silk.  To-night they chose to
appear in their pink dresses.

'It will annoy the old crab,' thought Hollyhock.

They always walked the short distance between The Garden and The
Paddock.

Miss Delacour put on her 'thistle' gown, assisted by Magsie, who
ingratiatingly declared that she looked 'that weel ye hardly kent her.'

'You are a good girl, Margaret,' answered Miss Delacour, 'and if I can
I will help you in life.'

'Thank ye, my leddy; thank ye.'

The entire family started off for The Paddock, and on arrival there, to
the amazement and indeed sickening surprise of the Honourable George
Lennox, were immediately introduced to Mrs Macintyre, who turned out to
be, to his intense disappointment, a quiet, sad, lady-like woman, tall
and slender, and without a trace of the Scots accent about her.  She
was perfect as far as speech and manner were concerned.

Mrs Macintyre, however, knew well the important part she had to play.
At dinner she sat next to Mr Lennox, and devoted herself to him with a
sort of humble devotion, speaking sadly of the school, but assuring him
that if he _could_ induce himself to entrust his beautiful little
Flower Girls to her care, she would leave no stone unturned to educate
them according to his own wishes, and to let them see as much of their
father as possible.

Lennox began to feel that he preferred Mrs Macintyre to his
sister-in-law or even to his sister, Mrs Constable, at that moment.
The woman undoubtedly was a lady.  How great, how terrible, had been
her sorrow!  And then she spoke so prettily of his girls, and said that
the flower names were altogether _too charming_, and nothing would
induce her to disturb them.

It was on the lips of Lennox to say, 'I am not going to send my girls
to your school,' but he found, as he looked into her sad dark eyes,
that he could not dash the hopes of such a woman to the ground.  He was
therefore silent, and the evening passed agreeably.

Immediately after dinner Mrs Macintyre sat at the piano and sang one
Scots song after another.  She had a really exquisite voice, and when
'Robin Adair' and 'Ye Banks and Braes' and 'Annie Laurie' rang through
the old hall, the man gave himself up to the delight of listening.  He
stood by her and turned the pages of music, while the two ladies, Mrs
Constable and Miss Delacour, looked on with smiling faces.  Miss
Delacour knew that her cause was won, and that she might with safety
leave the precincts of the horrible Garden to-morrow.  How miserable
she was in that spot!  Yes, her friend's future was assured, and she
herself must go to Edinburgh and to London to secure sufficiently
aristocratic pupils for the new school.




CHAPTER VI.

THE HEAD-MISTRESS.

It was, after all, Mrs Macintyre who made the school a great success.
Her gentleness, her sweet and noble character, overcame every
prejudice, even of Mr Lennox.  When she said that she thought his
children and their flower names beautiful, the heart of the good man
was won.  Later in the evening, when the lively little party of
Lennoxes, accompanied, of course, by Miss Delacour, went back to The
Garden, his sister-in-law called him aside, and informed him somewhat
brusquely of the fact that she was leaving for London on the following
day.

'Mrs Macintyre will remain behind,' she said.  'I gave her at parting
five hundred pounds.  You will do your part, of course, George, unless
you are an utter fool.'

George Lennox felt so glad at the thought of parting from Miss Delacour
that he almost forgave her for calling him a possibly utter fool; nay,
more, in his joy at her departure, he nearly, but not _quite_, kissed
his sister-in-law.

Every attention was now paid to this good lady.  At a very early hour
on the following morning the motor-car conveyed her to Edinburgh.  It
seemed to the Lennoxes, children and father alike, that when Aunt Agnes
departed the birds sang a particularly delightful song, the roses in
the garden gave out their rarest perfume, the sweet-peas were a glory
to behold, the sky was more blue than it had ever been before; in
short, there was a happy man in The Garden, a happy man with five
little Flower Girls.  How _could_ he ever bring himself to call his
Jasmine, Lucy; his Gentian, Margaret; his Hollyhock, Jacqueline; his
Rose of the Garden, mere Rose; and his Delphinium, Dorothy?

'Oh, isn't it good that she's gone?' cried Jasmine.

'Your aunt has left us, and we mustn't talk about her any more,' said
Lennox, whose relief of mind was so vast that he could not help
whistling and singing.

'Why, Daddy Dumps, you _do_ look jolly,' said Hollyhock.

'We are all jolly--it is a lovely day,' said Mr Lennox.

So they had a very happy breakfast together, and joked and laughed, and
forgot Aunt Agnes and her queer ways.  The only person who slightly
missed her was Magsie, on whom she had bestowed a whole sovereign,
informing her at the same time that she, Margaret, might expect good
tidings before long.

'Whatever does she mean?' thought Magsie.  'She has plenty to say.  I
didn't tak' to her at first, but pieces o' gold are no to be had every
day o' the week, and she has a generous heart, although I can see the
master is not much taken wi' her.'

The Flower Girls and their father were rowing on the lake, when a shout
from the shore called them to stop.  There stood Mrs Constable; there
stood Mrs Macintyre; there also stood in a group Jasper, Garnet,
Emerald, Sapphire, and Opal.

'Come ashore, come ashore,' called Jasper; and the boat was quickly
pulled toward the little landing-stage.

The ten happy children romped away together.

'Isn't it good that she's gone?' said Hollyhock.  'Isn't she a
downright horror?'

'But mother says she means well,' said Jasper; 'and who could be nicer
than Mrs Macintyre?'

'I suppose not,' said Hollyhock.  'Is she going to stay with Aunt Cecil
long, Jasper?'

'Long?  Why, don't you know the news?'

'What?  Oh, do tell us!' cried Delphinium.

'She's going to stay for ever,' said Jasper, 'except of course in the
holidays.  She has taken Ardshiel, and she is going to turn it into a
great school, a great, monstrous, magnificent school; and we are _all_
going--we, and you, and heaps more children besides; and mother is
nearly off her head with delight.  Of course, as far as I am concerned,
I shall only be able to stay at such a school for one year, for I must
then go on to a public school.  But Mrs Macintyre has been talking to
mother, and says she can prepare me for Eton with perfect ease in a
year from now.'

'Oh, bother!' said Jasmine.  'We don't want other boys and girls.  We
are quite happy by ourselves.'

'But mother thinks we must mix with the world, girls; and so does Mrs
Macintyre,' continued Jasper.

'Well, I'm not going to school, anyhow,' said Hollyhock.  'You and your
mother may go into raptures over Mrs Macintyre as much as ever you
please, but I stay at home with Dumpy Dad.  Why should _he_ be left out
in the cold?  He is the dearest Dump in the world, and I 'm not going
to have him slighted.  You are very fond of romancing, Jasper, and I
don't believe a word of your story.'

'All right,' said Jasper, looking with his honest, Scots face full into
the eyes of Hollyhock.  'There they are--the principals, I mean.'

'Principals!  What nonsense you do talk!'

'I mean my mother, your father, and Mrs Macintyre.'

'And what are they principals of?' asked the angry girl.

'Why, the school, of course.'

'The school?  There's no school.'

'Well, let's run and ask them.  Hearing is believing, surely.'

The ten children raced after Mrs Macintyre, Mr Lennox, and Mrs
Constable.

'Daddy,' exclaimed Hollyhock, 'there's not going to be a school set up
near here?  You are not going to send your Flower Girls to school?'

'Wouldn't you like me to help you a little, darling?' said Mrs
Macintyre in her gentle voice.  'You look such an intelligent, pleasant
girl, and I would do all in my power for you; and although your father
and Mrs Constable are quite wonderful in educating you so far, I think
a little outside life, outside teaching, and the meeting with outside
boys and girls would be for your benefit, dear child.  I do, really!  I
don't think you'll oppose me, Hollyhock, when your father wishes it.'

'Dumpy Dad, do you wish it?'

'Well--ah, _yes_, I think it would be a good plan,' said George Lennox.

'Then I'm done,' said Hollyhock.  'Where's Magsie?  She's the only bit
of comfort left to me.  Let me seek her out and put a stop to this
madness.'  Hollyhock really felt very, very angry.  She was not yet
under Mrs Macintyre's charm.  'Where's my brave Magsie?' she cried, and
presently she heard an answering voice.

'Eh, but is that you, Miss Hollyhock?  Why, lassie, you look pale.
Your eyes waver.  I don't like ye to look so white in the complexion.
What may ye be wantin' wi' me, my lass?'

'They are trying to whip me off to school,' said Hollyhock; 'that's
what they are after.  That's what that horrid Aunt Agnes came about.'

'Eh, but she is a fine gentlewoman,' replied Magsie.  'She gave me a
whole sovereign.  What _I_ ken o' her, I ken weel, and I ken kind.  Eh,
but ye 'll hae to soople your backbone, Miss Hollyhock, and think a
pickle less o' your dainty self.  It 'll be guid for ye to go to that
schule.'

'_You_ are no good at all,' cried Hollyhock.  'I 'm the most miserable
girl in the world, and I hate Mrs Macintyre.'

'I haven't set eyes on her yet,' said Magsie.  'Suppose I go out and
tak' a squint.  I can always tell when women are good or the other
thing.  Why, Miss Hollyhock, you look for all the world as though you
were scared by bogles; but I 'll soon see what sort the leddy is, and I
'll bring ye word; for folks canna tak' in Magsie Dawe.'

Hollyhock sat down, feeling very queer and stupid.  She had not long to
wait before Magsie dashed into her bedroom.

'Hoots, now, and what a fuss ye mak' o' nothing at a'!  A kinder leddy
never walked.  What ails her? says I.  Indeed, I think ye 'll enjoy
schule, and muckle fun ye 'll hae there.  Ye canna go on as ye are
goin'.  Hech!  I wouldna be you, stayin' at hame, for a guid deal.
It's richt for ye to gang; that's what I think, havin' seen the leddy
and glowerin' at her as I did; but not one thocht but o' love could
rise in my breast for her.  I'd gie a guid deal for her to teach _me_,
that I would.  I wouldna sit down and greet like a bairn.'

Meanwhile Miss Delacour, having thoroughly propounded her scheme,
returned first to Edinburgh, where she made known her plan of the great
school, which was to be opened in September for the young sons and the
daughters of the highest gentry and nobility.  She was a woman who
could speak well when she pleased.  She said the terms for the school
education would be high, as was to be expected where such excellent
teaching would be given.

She spoke of Mrs Macintyre with tears in her eyes.  'That noble woman
would win any heart,' she said.  She then described her
brother-in-law's daughters, and the sons of her brother-in-law's
sister.  She spoke of these ten children with enthusiasm.  She spoke of
the mother of the boys with delight.  She was a little sad when she
mentioned her brother-in-law.  It was really necessary to save his
pretty girls.  He was a man who meant well, but acted foolishly.  The
school would be superb--the very first of its kind in Scotland.  She
wanted English children to come to it.  She wanted it for a short time
to be a mixed school, but that scheme would probably die out
eventually.  Her great object at the present moment was to secure
worthy pupils for her dear friend, and to introduce the very best boys
and girls into the Palace of the Kings, one of the most beautiful homes
of the great Duke of Ardshiel.  The terms for weekly pupils would
necessarily be high--namely, two hundred pounds a year; while the terms
for those boys and girls who spent all their time, excluding the
holidays, at the great school would be still higher, even as much as
two hundred and fifty pounds a year.  But the education was worth the
price, for where was there another school in the whole of the United
Kingdom to compare with the Palace of the Kings?  The very best
teachers from Edinburgh would come, if necessary, to the school; and
what centre so great as Edinburgh for learning?  The best foreign
governesses were to be employed.  An elderly tutor or two were also to
live in the house.  These were to be clergymen and married men.

Having done her work in Edinburgh, Miss Delacour proceeded to London,
and soon had the happiness of securing Master Henry de Courcy Anstel,
the Lady Leucha Villiers, the Lady Barbara Fraser, the Lady Dorothy
Fraser, the Hon. Daisy Watson, Miss Augusta Fane, Miss
Featherstonhaugh, Miss Margaret Drummond, Master Roger Carden, Master
Ivor Chetwode, Miss Mary Barton, Miss Nancy Greenfield, Miss Isabella
Macneale, and Miss Jane Calvert.  There were many more to follow, but
she felt that she had done well for her friend with this number, and
that the noble old Palace was well started.

After a few days spent first with Mrs Constable and then with Mr
Lennox, and having heard the good news from her friend Miss Delacour,
Mrs Macintyre went to London to select suitable teachers.  The school
was put into the hands of the best decorators, upholsterers, and
builders.  The furniture was polished; the gardens were remade; in
short, all was in readiness for that happy day in September when the
greatest private school in Scotland was to be opened, and opened with
éclat.

The parents of the children were all invited to see the great school
the day before lessons began, and they could not help expressing their
delight with the lovely place.  The gentlemanly little Constables and
the charming little Flower Girls were present, and gave a delightful
effect.  Even Hollyhock condescended to go to the school on this one
occasion to see what it was like, more particularly as that horrid
Magsie was going there as one of the maids.  As for the rest of the
Lennoxes, they were simply wild to go to school, and Mr Lennox was now
as keen to see them there as he had at first been opposed to the whole
idea.  But he was the sort of man who would force none of his children,
and if Hollyhock preferred to stay at home with him--why, she might.
He rather suspected that she would soon come round.




CHAPTER VII.

THE OPENING OF THE GREAT SCHOOL.

The parents of the pupils were more than delighted at the thought of
their children being educated in such a home of beauty and romance.

Now Ardshiel, by means of Miss Delacour and Mrs Macintyre, had been
very much spoken of before the opening day.  Those English girls and
boys who were to go there, and the girls and boys from Edinburgh, were
all wild with delight; and, in truth, it would be difficult to find a
more lovely place than that which Ardshiel had been turned into.  The
story of the drowned man and the deep lake and the mourning bride was
carefully buried in oblivion.  Magsie of course knew the story, but
Magsie wisely kept these things to herself; and even Mrs Macintyre, the
mistress of the school, had not been told the story.

On a Monday in the middle of September Ardshiel looked gay of the gay.
The sun shone with great brilliancy.  The French mesdemoiselles, the
Swiss fräuleins, and the gentle Italian signorinas were all present.
In addition there were English mistresses and some teachers who had
taken high degrees at Edinburgh University.  Certainly the place was
charming.  The trees which hung over the tranquil lake, the lovely
walks where girls and boys alike could pace up and down, the
tennis-courts, the hockey-field, the football-ground reserved for the
boys, and the lacrosse-field designed for both girls and boys, gave
promise of intense enjoyment; and when the guests sat down to
lunch--such a lunch as only Mrs Macintyre could prepare--they felt that
they were indeed happy in having secured such a home for the education
and delight of their darlings.

Hollyhock and her sisters sat in a little group at one side of the long
table, and a lady, the mother of Master Roger Carden, spoke to
Hollyhock, congratulating her on her rare good luck in going to such a
school.

'I'm not going to this stupid old Palace,' said Hollyhock.

'Why, my dear, are you not going?  Besides, I thought the name of the
place was Ardshiel.'

'Oh, they re-called it,' replied Hollyhock, tossing her mane of black
hair from her head.  'Anyhow, one name is as good as another, I 'm
going to stay with my Dumpy Dad.'

'Who is "Dumpy Dad"?' asked Lady Jane Carden.

'Don't you dare to call him by that name,' said the indignant
Hollyhock.  'He's my father; he's the Honourable George Lennox.  I'm
not going to leave him for any Ardshiel that was ever made.'

'What a pity!' said Lady Jane.  'My boy Roger will be so disappointed.
He 's coming to the school, you know.'

'Is he?  I don't think much of boys coming to girls' schools.'

'I'm afraid, my dear little girl,' said Lady Jane, 'that you yourself
want school more than most.  You don't know how to behave to a lady.'

'I know how to behave to Dumpy Dad, and that's all I care about.'

Nothing further was said to Hollyhock, but she noticed that Lady Jane
Carden was speaking to another friend of hers, and glancing at
Hollyhock with scant approval as she did so.  It seemed to Hollyhock
that she was saying, 'That's not at all a nice or polite little girl.'

Hollyhock was vexed, because she had a great pride, and did not wish
even insignificant people like Lady Jane Carden to speak against her.

The great inspection of the school came to an end, and the children
were to assemble there as soon as possible on the morrow.  Mrs
Macintyre, however, declared that there would be no lessons until the
following day.  This greatly delighted the four Flower Girls and the
five Precious Stones, and they all started off in the highest spirits
to their new school next morning.  Oh, was it not fun, glorious fun, to
go to Ardshiel and yet be close to mummy and daddy all the time?  Their
father had specially forbidden his Flower Girls to make any remarks to
Hollyhock about her not going with the others to school.

'Leave her alone, children, and she 'll come round,' was his remark.
'Do the reverse, and we'll have trouble with her.'

As soon as the children had departed to Ardshiel, Hollyhock and her
father found themselves alone.  She looked wildly round her for a
minute; then she dashed into the pine-wood, flung herself on the ground
among the pine-needles, and gave vent to a few choking sobs.  Oh, why
was she so fearfully lonely; why was this horrid Ardshiel invented; why
were her sisters taken from her, and her brothers, as she called the
Precious Stones?  Of course she still had Dumpy Dad, and he was a host
in himself.  She brushed violently away some fast-flowing tears, and
then dashed into the hall.  As a rule the hall was a very lively place.
If it was at all cold weather there was a great fire in the ingle-nook,
and a girl was sure to be found in the hall playing on the grand piano
or on the beautiful organ, or singing in her sweet voice; but now all
was deadly silence.  Even the dogs, Curfew and Tocsin, were nowhere to
be seen.  There was no Magsie to talk to.  Magsie had gone over to the
enemy.

Hollyhock ran up to her own room, for each Flower Girl had a room to
herself in the great house.  She brushed back her jet-black hair; she
tidied her little blouse as well as she could, and even tied a crimson
ribbon on one side of her hair; and then, feeling that she looked at
least a little bewitching, and that Ardshiel mattered nothing at all to
her, and that if her sisters chose to be fools--well, let them be
fools, she flew down to her father's study.

Now this was the hour when George Lennox devoted himself, as a rule, to
his accounts; this was the hour when, formerly, Mrs Constable came over
to fetch the children for their lessons.  But there was no sign of Mrs
Constable coming to-day, and Dumpy Dad only raised his head, glanced at
his miserable child, and said sharply, 'I can't be interrupted now,
Hollyhock.  You'd better go out and play in the garden.'

'But I 've no one to play with,' said Hollyhock.

'You must leave me, my dear child.  I shall be particularly busy for
the next couple of hours.  In the afternoon we can go for a ride
together.  It's rather cold to row on the lake to-day.  Now go,
Hollyhock.  You are interrupting me.'

'Dumpy Dad!' faltered Hollyhock, her usually happy voice quavering with
sadness.

Lennox took not the slightest notice, but went on with his accounts.

'This is unbearable,' thought Hollyhock.  'If dad chooses to spend his
mornings over horrid arithmetic instead of looking after me, when I 've
given up so much for his sake, I'll just run away, that I will; but as
to going to Ardshiel, to be crowed over by Magsie, catch _me_!'

Hollyhock pulled the crimson bow out of her dark hair, let the said
hair blow wildly in the breeze, stuck on her oldest and shabbiest hat,
which she knew well did not become her in the least, and went to The
Paddock.  She was quite longing to do her usual lessons with Aunt
Cecil.  In order to reach The Paddock she had, however, to pass
Ardshiel, and the shrieks of laughter and merriment that reached her as
she hurried by were anything but agreeable to her ears.

'Jasmine _might_ have more feeling,' thought the angry girl.  'Gentian
might think of her poor lonely sister.  Delphinium ought by rights to
be sobbing instead of laughing.  We were always such friends; but
there, if this goes on, Scotland won't see much more of me.  I used to
be all for the bonnie Highlands, but I 'm not that any more.  I 'll go
to cold London and take a place as kitchen-maid.  I won't be treated as
though I were a nobody, I 'll earn my own bread, I will, and then
perhaps Dump will be sorry.  To do so much for a man, and for that man
to absorb himself in arithmetic, is more than a girl can stand.'

Hollyhock reached The Paddock between eleven and twelve o'clock.  She
marched in boldly to see Mrs Constable employed over some needlework,
which she was doing in a very perfect manner.

'I thought you were coming to teach me this morning, Aunt Cecilia,'
said the girl in a tone of reproach.

Mrs Constable raised her soft gray eyes.  'My dear child,' she said,
'didn't you know that your father and I are not going to teach you any
more?  All the teaching in this place will be at Ardshiel.'

'Then how am I to learn?' said Hollyhock, in a tone of frightened
amazement.

'Naturally,' replied Mrs Constable, 'by going to Ardshiel.'

'Never!' replied the angry girl.  'I 'm not wanted.  I can make my own
plans.  Good-bye.  I _hate_ every one.'

Hollyhock made a dash toward the door, but Mrs Constable called her
back.

'Won't you help me with this needlework, dear?  I should enjoy your
company.  I miss my Precious Stones so much.'

'Fudge!' replied Hollyhock.  'I 'm not going to comfort you for your
Precious Stones.  Great boobies, I call them, going to a mixed school.'

She dashed away from The Paddock.  Again, on her way home, Hollyhock
was entertained by the sounds of mirth at Ardshiel.  On this occasion a
number of girls were playing tennis, and her own sisters, Jasmine and
Gentian, blew rapturous kisses to her.  This seemed to the unhappy
child to be the last straw.

'Who is that girl?' asked Ivor Chetwode.

'She _is_ my sister,' replied Jasmine.

'Your sister!  Then whyever doesn't she come to this splendid school?'

'Oh, we 'll get her yet, Ivor.'

'We must,' said Ivor.  'I can see by her face that she 'll be no end of
fun.'

'Fun!' replied Jasmine.  'She 's the very life of The Garden.'

'The Garden?  What do you mean by The Garden?'

'That's where we happen to live,' replied Jasmine.

'You are not a weekly pupil, are you, Ivor?'

'No, alas!  I 'm not.  My home's too far away.'

'Well,' said Jasmine, 'I 'll beg Mrs Macintyre to let me invite you to
dine with us at The Garden on Sunday.'

'But will your sister scowl at me, the same as when you kissed hands to
her just now?' asked Ivor.

'Oh no; but you must be very polite to her.  You must try to coax her
in your manly way to become a pupil at the school.'

'Well, I 'll do my best,' said Ivor Chetwode.  'She is certainly
handsome, but she has a scowl that I don't like.'

'Well, try not to speak against her, Ivor.  Remember she is my sister.'

'I am awfully sorry, Jasmine, and I do think you 're a ripping kind of
girl.'

Hollyhock sat down to the midday meal at The Garden in exceedingly low
spirits, but her father had now got through what she called his
arithmetic, and was full of mirth.  He ate heartily and laughed
heartily, and said in his most cheery voice, 'Well, my pet Hollyhock,
you and your Dumpy Dad must make the best of each other.'

'Oh Dumps, do you _want_ me to stay with you?'

'Why not?  What do you think?'

'Dumpy, I've had a miserable morning.'

'I 'm sorry for that, my little Flower; but it need not happen again.
You ought not to be unhappy.  You 'll have holidays always from now
onwards.'

'Oh daddy, am I never to learn anything more?'

'Well, I don't exactly know how you can.  The teaching goes on at
Ardshiel, and as you naturally wish to stay with your father, and as I
naturally wish to keep you, and as the expense of sending my other
Flowers to such a costly school is very great, I have undertaken some
estate work, which must occupy a good deal of my time.  Your aunt, too,
dear woman, has secured a post as kindergarten teacher at the great
school.  Therefore, my little Hollyhock will have holidays for ever.
She will be our little dunce.  Think how jolly that will be!'

Hollyhock felt a dreadful lump in her throat.  She managed, however, to
eat, and she struggled hard to hide her great chagrin.

'For the rest of the afternoon I am entirely at your service, my
child,' said Mr Lennox.  'I think it is just precisely the day for a
good long ride on Lightning Speed and Ardshiel.  There's a fine,
bright, fresh air about, and it will put roses into your bonnie cheeks.
Get on your habit and we 'll go for a long ride.'

This was better; this was reviving.  The horses were led out by the
groom.  Hollyhock, who could ride splendidly, was soon seated on the
back of her glorious Arab, Lightning Speed.  Her father looked
magnificent beside her on Ardshiel, and away they started riding fast
across country.

They returned home after an hour or two with ravenous appetites, to
find that Duncan, the old serving-man, had lit a great fire of logs in
the hall, and that Tocsin and Curfew were in their usual places,
enjoying the blaze.

Hollyhock tossed off her little cap and sat down to enjoy tea and
scones to her heart's delight.  She now felt that she had done right
not to go to Ardshiel.  Her voice rang with merriment, and her father
joined her in her mirth.

But when tea came to an end Lord Ian Douglas, the gentleman of vast
estates whom Mr Lennox was to help as agent, appeared on the scene, and
Hollyhock was forgotten.  She was introduced to Lord Ian, who gave her
a very distant bow, and began immediately to talk to his new agent
about crops and manures, turnips, cattle, pigs, all sorts of impossible
and disgusting subjects, according to the angry little Hollyhock.

Lord Ian did not go away for some hours, and when at last he departed
it was time to dress for dinner.  But how Hollyhock did miss the
Precious Stones and The Garden girls!  How dull, how gloomy, was the
house!  She tried in vain to eat her dinner with appetite, but she saw
that her father looked full of preoccupation, that he hardly regarded
her; in fact, the one and only speech that he made to her was this:
'Douglas is a good sort, and he has given me a vast lot to do.  It will
help to pay for the Flowers' education; but I greatly fear, my
Hollyhock, that you will be a great deal alone.  In fact, the whole of
to-morrow I have to spend at Dundree, Lord Ian's place.  I wish I could
take you with me, my darling; but that is impossible, and I must leave
you now, for I have to look over certain accounts which Lord Ian
brought with him.  This is a very lucky stroke of business for me.
Your Dumpy Dad can do a great deal for his Flower Girls by means of
Lord Ian.'

'I hate the man!' burst from Hollyhock's lips.

If her father heard, he took no notice.  He calmly left the room.




CHAPTER VIII.

HOLLYHOCK LEFT IN THE COLD.

The fire burned brightly in the ingle-nook, and the dogs, Tocsin and
Curfew, slept in perfect peace in close proximity to its grateful heat;
but Hollyhock was alone--utterly alone.  She felt more miserable than
she had ever believed it possible to be in her hitherto joyous life.
She drew up a chair near the hearth, and the dogs came and sniffed at
her; but what were they, compared to Jasmine, Delphinium, and the
Precious Stones?  As to Dumpy Dad, she could never have believed that
he would treat his little girl in such a heartless manner.  Had she not
given up all for him, and was this her reward?

She felt a great lump in her throat, and a very fierce anger burned
within her breast.  What right had Dumpy Dad and Aunt Cecilia to
forsake the only child who was true to them?  The others were off and
away at their learning and their fun, perchance; but she, Hollyhock,
the faithful and the true, had remained at home when the others had
deserted it.  She had been firm and decided, and here was her
reward--the reward of utter desolation.

'Get away, Curfew,' she said, as the faithful greyhound pushed his long
nose into her hand.

Curfew raised gentle, pleading brown eyes to her face; but being of the
sort that never retorts, he lay down again, with a sigh of
disappointment, close to Tocsin.  He, too, was feeling the change, for
he was a very human dog, and missed the Flower Girls and the Precious
Stones, and the dear, dear master and Mrs Constable, just as Hollyhock
did.

But what was the use of making a fuss?  According to Curfew's creed, it
was wrong to grumble.  Hollyhock did not want him.  He lay down with
his long tail on Hollyhock's frock, and his beautiful head pressed
against Tocsin's neck.  Tocsin was a magnificent bloodhound, and he was
the greatest support and comfort to Curfew at the present crisis.

By-and-by Mr Lennox passed hurriedly through the hall.  He was going
into his special library to get some books.  He saw the melancholy
figure of Hollyhock seated not far from the great fire, and the
faithful dogs lying at her feet.  He said in his most cheerful tone,
'Hallo, my little girl! you and the dogs do make a pretty picture; but
why don't you play the organ or sing something at the piano?'

'You know, daddy, I have no real love for music,' said Hollyhock in a
cross voice.

'Well, well, then, take a book, my child.  Here 's a nice story I can
recommend you--_Treasure Island_, by Louis Stevenson.'

'I hate reading,' she said.

'Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, dear.  I'm frightfully busy, and
shall not get to bed until past midnight.  Taking up this new work
means a great deal, and you know, my Flower Girl, your Dumpy Dad, as
you like to call him, is the very last person in the world to do a
thing by halves.  If I have to sit up till morning, I must do so in
order to be prepared for Dundree and Lord Ian to-morrow.  Perhaps,
dear, you had best kiss me and say good-night.'

'Daddy--daddy--I 'm so--miserable!'

'Sorry, my child; but I can't see why you should be.  You have all the
comforts that love and sympathy can bestow upon you.'

'No, no; I am alone,' half sobbed Hollyhock.

'Don't get hysterical, my child.  That is really very bad for you; but,
anyhow, I 've no time to waste now over a little girl who is surrounded
by blessings.'

'If Daddy Dumps goes on much longer in that strain I shall absolutely
begin to hate him,' thought the furious child.  'The bare idea of his
_thinking_ of talking to me as he has done.--No, Curfew, _don't_!  Put
your cold nose away.'

Curfew heaved another heavy sigh and lay closer to Tocsin, and with a
smaller portion of his tail on Hollyhock's dress.

Now the olden custom at The Garden and The Paddock--that lovely custom
which had suddenly ceased--was music, dancing, games, fun, shrieks of
laughter from Precious Stones and Flower Girls, the hearty peal of a
man's voice when he was thoroughly enjoying himself, the gentle,
restrained merriment of a lady.  This lady was Mrs Constable, who was
now going to be a kindergarten teacher, forsooth!  And this man was
Dumpy Dad, who was going to be an agent, indeed!  No wonder the girl
and the dogs felt lonely.  The end of the happy evenings had arrived.
One evening used to be spent at The Garden, the next at The Paddock;
and then the delightful good-byes, the cheerful talk about the early
meeting on the morrow, and if it was the evening for The Paddock, the
lively and merry walk home with Daddy Dumps and the other Flower Girls.

Oh, how things were changed!  What an unbearable woman Aunt Agnes was!
What a horror was Mrs Macintyre!  Had not those two between them simply
swept four of the Flower Girls out of sight, and _all_ the Precious
Stones; and, in addition, had not Dumpy Dad and Aunt Cecilia undertaken
some kind of menial work with regard to Dundree and Ardshiel?  It was
solely and entirely because of Ardshiel that Dumpy Dad was going to be
an agent.  It was entirely on account of Ardshiel that Aunt Cecilia was
going to stoop to be a sort of nursery-governess.  Well and cleverly
had those wicked women, Aunt Agnes and Mrs Macintyre, laid their plans.
'But the plans o' the de'il never prosper,' thought Hollyhock.
'They'll come to their senses yet; but meanwhile what am _I_ to do?
How ever am I to stand this awful loneliness?'  Hollyhock was not a
specially clever child.  She was passionate, fierce, and loving; but
she was also rebellious and very determined.  There was a great deal in
her which might make her a fine woman by-and-by; but, on the other
hand, there was much in her which showed that she could be, and might
be, utterly ruined.

Suddenly a wild and naughty idea entered her brain.  Nothing, not all
the coaxing, not all the petting, not all the language in all the
world, would get her to go to Ardshiel as a pupil; but might she not go
there now, and peep in at the windows and see for herself what was
going on, what awful process was transforming the Flower Girls and the
Precious Stones into other and different beings?

Her father had said good-night to her, but it was still quite
early--between eight and nine o'clock.  The Ardshielites, those wicked
ones, would still be up.  She would have time to go there, to look in
and see for herself what was going on.

She was the sort of girl who did nothing by halves.  The servants had
no occasion to come into the hall again that night.  Ah yes, here was
Duncan; she had better say something to him in order to lull his
suspicions.

The old man came in and began to close the shutters.  'Don't ye sit up
ower long, Miss Hollyhock.  Ye must be feelin' a bit dowy without the
ithers, bless them.'

'No, I don't, Duncan,' replied Hollyhock.  'But, all the same, I 'd
best go to bed, I expect.'

'Weel, that 's exactly what I 'm thinkin',' said the old man.  'Ye 'll
gang to your rest and have a fine sleep.  That's what a body wants when
she's eaten up wi' loneliness.  I ken fine that ye are missin' the
ithers, lassie.'

'I'm not missing them a bit,' replied Hollyhock.  'As if I could miss
_traitors_.'

'Come, come, noo; don't be talkin' that way.'  Here Duncan shut the
great shutters with a bang.  'Why should a young maid talk so ignorant?
Ye 'll be a' richt yet, lassie; but there, ye 're lonesome, my bonnie
dearie.'

'Suppose, now, you had been me, Duncan, what would you have done?' said
Hollyhock suddenly.

'Why, gone to Ardshiel, of course.'

'Duncan, I hate you.  You 're another traitor.'

'No, I'm no,' said Duncan; 'but I ken what's richt, and I ken what's
wrang, and when a little lass chooses betwixt and between, why, I says
to myself, says I, "Halt a wee, and the cantie lass'll come round,"
says I.  Shall I take the dogs or no, Miss Hollyhock?'

'Yes, take them; I don't want them,' said Hollyhock.

'The poor maister, he's that loaded wi' work.--  Come away, doggies;
come away.--  Guid-nicht to ye, missie; guid-nicht.  Bed's the richt
place for ye.  I 'm sorry that Magsie 's no here to cuddle ye a bit.'

'Thanks; I'm glad she's gone.  I hate her,' said Hollyhock.

'Ay,' said the old man, coming close to the child and looking into her
eyes.  'Isn't it a wee bit o' the de'il ye hae in ye the nicht, wi'
your talkin' o' hatin' them that luves ye!--Come, doggies; come.  My
poor beasties, ye 'll want your rest; and there's no place like bed for
missie hersel'.'

'You 'd best go to your own bed, too, Duncan,' called Hollyhock after
him.  'You are a very impertinent old man, and getting past your work.'

'Past my work, am I, now?  Aweel, ye 'll see!  Guid-nicht, miss.  I
bear no malice, although I pity the poor maister.'

Duncan departed, taking the greyhound and the bloodhound with him.  As
soon as she was quite sure that he had gone, and silence, deep and
complete, had fallen on the house, Hollyhock took down an old cloak
from where it hung in a certain part of the hall, and wrapping it
firmly round her shoulders, went out into the night.  It was better out
of doors--less suffocating, less lonely--and the girl's terribly low
spirits began to rise.  She was in for an adventure, and what Scots
lassie did not love an adventure?

So she crept stealthily down the avenue, slipped through the smaller of
the gates, and presently found herself on the highroad.  It was still
comparatively early, and certainly neither Lennox nor old Duncan missed
her.  Duncan thought she was in bed; Lennox was too absorbed in his
heavy work to give his naughty little girl a thought.  She had chosen
to stay behind.  It was very troublesome and awkward of her, but he was
confident that her rebellious spirit would not last long.  Accordingly
Hollyhock went the short distance which divided Ardshiel from The
Garden, entered by the great iron gates, and walked up the stately
avenue toward the beautiful mansion, where her own sisters were
traitorously and wickedly enjoying themselves.

'But let them wait until lessons begin,' thought Hollyhock; 'let them
wait until that woman puts the birch on to them; then perhaps they 'll
see who's right--I, the faithful, noble girl, who would not desert her
father, or they, who have just gone off to Ardshiel for a bit of
excitement.'

Ardshiel really looked remarkably pretty as Hollyhock drew near.  It
was illuminated by electric light from attic to cellar, and there was
such a buzz of young voices, such an eager amount of talk, such peals
of happy, childish laughter, that Hollyhock was led thereby in the
right direction, and could peep into a very large room which was
arranged as a vast playroom on the ground floor, and where all the
children at present at Ardshiel were clustered together.

Hollyhock, wearing her dark cloak, looked in.  The blinds had not yet
been pulled down, and one window was partly open.  She therefore saw a
sight which caused her heart to ache with furious jealousy.  Her own
sister Jasmine was talking to a girl whom she addressed as Barbara.
Her own sister Rose of the Garden was chatting bravely with a girl whom
she addressed as Augusta.  Hollyhock could not help observing that both
Barbara and Augusta were particularly nice-looking girls, with fair
English faces and refined English voices.  All the children were
dressed for the evening.

'So _affected_ at a school,' thought Hollyhock; 'but the birch-rod
woman will be on them soon, if I 'm not mistaken.'

There was, however, a boy present who specially drew her attention and
even forced her admiration.  He was a remarkably handsome boy, and his
name was Ivor.  What his surname was Hollyhock could not guess.  She
only knew that she had never seen such beautiful blue eyes before; and
such a manner, too, he had--almost like a man.  Why, Jasper, Garnet,
Sapphire, Opal, and Emerald could not touch him even for a moment--that
is, as far as appearance and ways went.

While she gazed in at the window, who should come up to this boy but
her own sister Gentian!  She took the boy by the arm and said, 'Now
let's sit in a circle and think out our charade for Monday night.'

Ivor gave a smile.  He looked with admiration at Gentian, whom
Hollyhock always considered very plain.  Instantly chairs were drawn
into a circle, and an excited conversation began.

The birch-rod woman was a long time in appearing!  Hollyhock's black
eyes were fixed on the blue eyes of Ivor.  It would certainly _not_ be
unpleasant to talk to a boy of that sort; but he seemed quite devoted
to Gentian--poor, plain, little Gentian--while she, Hollyhock, the
beauty of the family, was standing out in the cold; and it _was_ cold
on that September night, with a touch of frost just breathing through
the air.  Hollyhock felt herself shiver; then, all of a sudden, her
patience gave way.  Those children should not be so happy, while she
was so wretched.  She got behind the window where no one could see her,
and shouted in a loud, cracked voice, which she assumed for the
purpose, 'Oh! the ghost! the ghost!'

She then rushed down the avenue, fearing to be caught and discovered.
She ran so fast that her long cloak tripped her, and she suddenly fell
and cut her lip.  When she came to herself she had to wipe some stains
of blood away from her injured lip with her handkerchief.

She just reached the lodge gates in time to shout once again, 'The
ghost! the ghost!' when the woman who lived in the lodge came out,
prepared to lock up for the night.

'Who may you be?' said the woman.

'I'm the ghost.  Let me through!' screamed Hollyhock.

And she really looked so frightful, with her big black eyes, and
blood-stained face, and streaming lip, that the woman, who was a
stranger, and did not know her, called out, 'Get ye gone at once or
I'll set the dogs on you.  The shortest road ye can go'll be the best.
Ye 're not a ghost, but a poor cracked body.'

Hollyhock was sincerely glad to find herself once again on the
highroad, but in some mysterious way her dislike for Ardshiel had
vanished, and she felt furiously angry with Ivor Chetwode for daring to
take notice of her plain sister, Gentian.

She got into the house without much difficulty, bathed her swollen lip,
and retired to bed to think of Ivor's blue eyes.  What a nice boy he
must be!--a real bonnie lad, one _worth_ talking to.  Why should a girl
be a dunce all her days, when there was such a laddie at Ardshiel?  Ah,
well, she would know more about Master Ivor before long.

She slept soundly, and forgot the troubles of her miserable day.  In
her dreams she thought of the Precious Stones and Ivor, and imagined
them all fighting hard to gain the goodwill of Gentian, who was a
freckled little girl, not to be named with her, Hollyhock.  If that was
the sort of thing that went on at Ardshiel, and the birch-woman did
_not_ appear, it must be rather a nice place, when all was said and
done.




CHAPTER IX.

THE WOMAN WHO INTERFERED.

There is nothing in its way more difficult than to start a new school;
and Mrs Macintyre, with all her vast experience--for she had been
mistress of more than one of the celebrated houses at Cheltenham
College in the time of the great and noble Miss Beale, and had in fact,
until her marriage, been a teacher--knew well what special difficulties
she had before her, more particularly in a mixed school.  There was no
reason, however, why such schools should not exist, and do well.  But
she knew they had a fight before them, and that conflict lay in her
path.  She did not, however, know that this conflict was to take place
so soon.

Mrs Macintyre was a good deal surprised by what followed Hollyhock's
stolen visit to Ardshiel.  The children--boys and girls alike--were now
hard at work at their daily tasks.  The first day passed splendidly.
The Precious Stones became extremely great friends with Roger Carden,
Ivor Chetwode, and Henry Anstel.  There were also some other boys whose
parents were negotiating to send their sons to Mrs Macintyre, for the
fame of her school and the beauty of its surroundings were much talked
of, and the idea of a mixed school highly pleased some people, while it
equally annoyed others.

It was on the first Saturday morning, when the Precious Stones and the
Flower Girls were to return home, that Mrs Macintyre was informed by
one of her servants (Magsie, no less) that a lady, a Mrs Maclure, had
called, and was waiting to see her in the white drawing-room.  Mrs
Macintyre's husband had been Scots, and she herself was Scots.  She
therefore knew many of the Edinburgh people, and had drawn upon this
knowledge in getting pupils for her school.  She wondered if Mrs
Maclure was a certain Jane Scott whom she knew in her youth, and who
had married a Dr Maclure.  She felt not a little surprise at this visit
at so early and important an hour.

'The leddy kens ye are busy, but will not keep you long,' said Magsie,
who was struggling in vain to acquire an English accent.

'I will be with her immediately,' said Mrs Macintyre, and Magsie
tripped away, her eyes very bright.  She was enjoying herself
immensely.  As a matter of fact she had never known real life before.

Mrs Macintyre went at once into the drawing-room, having given
different orders to her teachers to proceed with their work, and
promising to be with them again before long.  The moment she entered
the drawing-room she gave a little gasp of pleasure.

'Why, Jane, is it indeed you?' she could not help remarking.

'Ah, yes, Elsie, it's no other.'

'Well, sit down, Jane, won't you?'

'I suppose I 've come at an inconvenient time, Elsie?'

'Well, I do happen to be busy.'

I can't help that, my dear,' said Mrs Maclure.  'The business that
hurries me to your side is too urgent and important to brook a moment's
delay.'

'Dear me, what can be wrong?' said Mrs Macintyre.

'I'm told that you keep a mixed school.'

'Yes, I do.  I have a few small boys here.'

'Shocking!' said Mrs Maclure.

'What do you mean, Jane?  Why shouldn't the boys be here?'

'This is a costly place,' said Mrs Maclure, looking round her.  'The
laying out of it must have cost a deal of money.'

'It did; but generous friends helped, and the Duke was not stingy with
his purse.'

'I don't want to know any of the financial particulars,' continued Mrs
Maclure.  'But tell me one thing, Elsie.  Do you want your school to
pay?'

'Of course I do.'

'Ah, I thought as much.  Now, I 'll tell you what it is, Elsie.  I have
come here with a scheme, and if you see your way to carry it out, why,
the school will pay, and pay again and again; but there must be no
mixing in it.  I mean by that, the eggs must be in one basket and the
butter in another.'

'You puzzle me very much, Jane.'

'Well, I was always outspoken, my dear, and I heard of your trials, and
your noble courage, and the fact that you 'd got hold of one of the
bonniest bits of land in the whole of Scotland.  Why, Ardshiel could be
full over and over again if it wasn't mixed.  But mixed it must not be.'

'I 'm very sorry to displease you, Jane,' said Mrs Macintyre; 'but the
thing cannot be altered now.  I have, after all, at the present moment
only got eight boys in my school, although others will probably arrive.
I cannot turn those dear little fellows out.'

'Well, then, the girls must go.'

'No; I mean to keep my girls.'

'Elsie, you were always obstinacy personified.  You've got a good
school in a lovely spot, within easy reach of Glasgow and Edinburgh,
and also capable of receiving children from different parts of England.
The establishment is in working order.  Now pray tell me how many you
have got in the school?'

Mrs Macintyre said, 'Reckoning the boys first, I have got eight, as I
said; but I have had letters this morning from several parents who wish
to send their sons to my school.'

'Well, we 'll say eight boys,' said Mrs Maclure.  'I suppose they are
quite babies?'

'Not at all.  Jasper is fifteen.  He is the eldest boy in the school,
but will only stay for a year, as he has been very well taught by his
gifted mother and by Mr Lennox, the father of my sweet little Flower
Girls, as I call them.'

'Elsie, you are becoming sadly romantic.  It runs in the blood.  You
must be careful.  Fancy a big boy of fifteen in a girls' school.'

'He's a gentleman and my right hand,' said Mrs Macintyre.

'That has nothing whatsoever to do with it.  He's fifteen, and ought to
be in a public school.'

'He wants a year's training before he can go to Eton.  He is a
singularly gifted lad, and is the life of the house.'

'He must be the life of some other house.  Now, then, for the girls.
How many of them have you got?'

'To begin with, I've got Lucy, Margaret, Rose, and Dorothy Lennox;
their father is the Honourable George Lennox, who lives in a house
called The Garden close by.'

'Well, go on.  I suppose you have more girls than that.  That makes
four.  Now proceed with the rest.'

'Well, there's Lady Leucha Villiers.'

'You don't say so!'

'I do, my friend.  Her mother, the Countess of Crossways, has entrusted
her to my care.'

'You amaze me!'

'Perhaps I shall amaze you further.  I have also got the Ladies Barbara
and Dorothy Fraser, daughters of the Marquis of Killin.'

'You astound me!'

'Then I have the Honourable Daisy Watson.  In addition I have Miss
Augusta Fane, Miss Agnes Featherstonhaugh'----

'Good name that,' muttered Mrs Maclure.

'Miss Margaret Drummond.'

'I know them well--Scots to the backbone,' said Mrs Maclure.

'Miss Mary Barton,' continued Mrs Macintyre, 'Miss Nancy Greenfield,
Miss Isabella Macneale, Miss Jane Calvert.'

'Now let 's count how many you have got in the school,' said Mrs
Maclure.  'Everything _sounds_ well, but the boys will ruin the whole
affair.'

'Oh, nonsense, Jane.  If only you were not so narrow-minded.'

'I know the world, my dear friend, and I don't want the best school in
Scotland to be spoiled for the lack of a little care--care bestowed
upon it at the right moment.  Your girls, counting the Lennoxes, make
fifteen.  Altogether in the school you have therefore twenty-three
children.  How many teachers, pray?'

Mrs Macintyre was never known to be angry, but she felt almost inclined
to be so now.  She mentioned the number of her tutors, her foreign
governesses, and her English teachers--the best-trained teachers from
her own beloved Cheltenham.

'How many servants?' was Mrs Maclure's next query.

'Really, Jane, you are keeping me from my duties; but as you have come
all the way from Edinburgh to question me so closely, I will confess
that I have got ten indoor servants; that, of course, includes the
housekeeper and a trained nurse in case of illness.'

'Dear, dear!' exclaimed Mrs Maclure.  'Prodigious!  And then, I
presume, you get special masters and mistresses from Glasgow and
Edinburgh.'

'I certainly do.  The school is a first-rate one.'

'My poor Elsie, it won't be first-rate long.  You are taking all this
enormous expense and trouble for twenty-three children.  How many can
your school hold?'

'My school could hold quite seventy pupils,' said Mrs Macintyre; 'but
you must remember that it was only opened last Tuesday.  Really, I
greatly fear that I shall have to leave you, Jane.  This is a
half-holiday, and I have a special class to attend to.'

'Let your special class go.  Listen to the words of wisdom.  The fame
of your school has spread to Edinburgh; it has been talked about; it
has been commented on.  It is for that reason, and that reason alone,
that I have come here to-day.  Put the boys into an annex, and provide
them with the necessary teachers--men, of course, if possible.  Keep
the girls, and I'll engage to get you ten fresh pupils from Edinburgh
early next week, twenty from London--that's thirty--and several more
from Glasgow, also Liverpool, Manchester, and different parts of
England; and when I say I _can_ engage to do this, and fill your school
to the necessary number of seventy, I speak with confidence, _for I
know_.  The ladies are dying to send their lassies to you, but the
mixed school prohibits it.  I have no wish or desire to stop the
co-education of girls and boys, but to have those of the upper classes
mixing in the same boarding school won't go down in this country, Elsie
Macintyre.  No, it won't do.  Now, let me think.  You speak of five
boys from the neighbourhood--who are their parents?'

'They are the sons of my dear friend Mrs Constable, whose husband,
Major Constable, fell in the late war in South Africa.'

'And the eldest is fifteen?'

Yes.'

'Where does Mrs Constable live?'

'A very short way from here, at a place called The Paddock.'

'And you think well of the woman?'

'Cecilia Constable!  She is delightful.  Why, the dear soul has sent
her boys to my school, and comes here herself daily to undertake
kindergarten work in order to help her to pay the expenses of her
children.'

'Bravo!' said Mrs Maclure.  'Why, of course, she can take them all.  Is
her house a good size?  Has it a respectable appearance?'

'It is a beautiful house, the home of a true lady.'

'So much the better.  The thing is as right as rain.  Is she here now?'

'Yes, and very busy.'

'I must see her.  I cannot lose this golden chance for you, Elsie.  Her
own five sons, and Master Henry de Courcy Anstel, Roger Carden, and
Ivor Chetwode, shall all move to The Paddock on Monday next.  She will,
of course, be the head of the house, and tutors will be provided for
the instruction of the boys.  I can assure you, Elsie, that neither I
nor my friends will have the least objection to your girls and her boys
playing games together and meeting at each other's homes.  And now I
think I have done you a good turn.  I have saved Ardshiel from ruin,
and The Paddock, or, if you prefer it, the Annex, will hold the boys,
old or young, who may wish to go there.  Please send Mrs Constable to
see me, for I must immediately communicate with my friends.  Ardshiel
will be packed by this day week, if Mrs Constable proves satisfactory.'

'Well, really, I don't know what to think,' said Mrs Macintyre.
'Perhaps you are right, and I know dear Cecilia would like to have her
boys back with her again.  I 'll send her to you.'

Nobody could look into the gentle, gray eyes of Cecilia Constable
without feeling an instinctive trust in her, which was quickly, very
quickly, to ripen into love.  All those who knew her loved her, for she
was made for love and self-sacrifice.  Forgetting herself, she thought
ever and always of others; and when, in her quiet, Quaker-like dress,
she entered the room, Mrs Maclure said, under her breath, 'Good
gracious, what a beautiful creature!  How admirably she will manage the
Annex!'

It was not likely that Mrs Constable had parted with her five boys with
any sense of joy, and it was not lightly that she had undertaken the
duties of kindergarten mistress at Ardshiel; but right to her was
right, and it seemed the only way to pay expenses.  As Mrs Maclure
unfolded her scheme the gray eyes grew bright and the lips trembled.

'But does Mrs Macintyre consent?' she said at last.  'Your proposal
truly amazes me; but, oh, am I worthy?'

'I feel you _are worthy_.  Mrs Macintyre was loath at first to lose the
boys, but the lads cannot stay in a mixed school.  If you agree, you
have only to say the word, and your sons will return to you.  But
please understand that they must look on you as their _mother, not_ as
their teacher.  The Reverend James Cadell of the neighbouring parish
will come to you every morning to instruct them in Latin and Greek.  I
will get other teachers for you from Mrs Macintyre's, and there is no
earthly reason for keeping the boys and the girls apart.  Only I
protest that they shall not live in the same school.  Why, now, there's
Alan Anderson, and there's Davie Maclure, my own first cousin.  Alan
Anderson and Davie can live in the house, and Mr Cadell will come over
every morning.  He 'll ride his bicycle and be with you in good time.
If you know of anything better, which I doubt, you have but to say the
word.  Now, then, I have my motor-car at the door.  We 'll drive right
away to The Paddock and see the rooms for the lads and teachers.  Don't
you fear, my dear; I'll help you with your Annex as heartily as I'll
help Elsie Macintyre with her great school.'

'I must go and ask Mrs Macintyre's leave,' said Mrs Constable.  'This
sounds like a wonderful and delightful dream.'

'My only dread,' thought Mrs Maclure to herself whilst waiting for Mrs
Constable to join her, 'is that that good man, James Cadell, will lose
his heart to her.  I must give her a word of warning.  He is a bit
susceptible, and she's a rare and beautiful woman.'

On their way to The Paddock Mrs Maclure did impart her fears to Mrs
Constable, but that dear lady's sweetest and gravest of eyes looked at
her so reproachfully that she felt sorry she had spoken, and only
pressed her hand.

The Paddock was large and roomy, and all arrangements for the Annex
school could quickly be made.  The boys were to be informed that they
were not going home, but to an adjacent school; only the school was to
be, for five of them, _mother's house_.  Oh, was not that delightful?

So it came about that the Annex was established, and Cecilia Constable
knelt down and thanked God most earnestly for His great mercies.  Oh,
how more than happy she would be once again!  Now there was only one
little black sheep to be put right.  Poor, lonely, prickly Holly!  She
would see to it that the child entered Ardshiel, when her boys and the
three strange boys left the Palace of the Kings.




CHAPTER X.

A MISERABLE GIRL.

Whether or not Hollyhock took a chill on that night when she peeped in
at the gay group at Ardshiel can never be quite established, but
certain it is that when her four sisters--those beloved and yet
traitorous sisters--rushed wildly back to The Garden on the following
Saturday afternoon, they found Hollyhock lying in bed, perhaps cross,
perhaps ill; anyhow, to all appearance, quite indifferent to their
presence.

Jasmine stood and stared at her sister in amazement.  So also did
Gentian and Rose and Delphinium.  What could be the matter with their
flower maid, their darling?

On their return home they were greeted by the information that the
master was away on business, and that Miss Hollyhock was upstairs.

'In bed, I take it,' said old Duncan.  'It seems a pity for her not to
be down to greet ye, my dearies, but I do declare I canna make out what
ails her.  She's poorly, the dear lass; but she 'll no say that she's
ill.'

'But where is father, Duncan?' asked Jasmine in a dazed sort of voice.

'Oh, the maister!  He is weel enough, but he is that taken up wi' the
work o' Lord Ian Douglas that he canna gie much time to his lonesome
child.  You must get her to school, Miss Jasmine; you must get her to
school, Miss Gentian.'

'Of course we must, Duncan,' said Jasmine; 'and, oh! it is a right
splendid school.'

'I'm thinkin' that mysel',' said Duncan, 'for Magsie, she came ower one
nicht and declared that there was not the like o' Ardshiel in the
length and breadth o' bonnie Scotland.  But dear, dear, I was like to
forget.  The maister, guid man, gave me a letter which he wrote this
mornin' to you, Miss Jasmine, and you was to have it at once.'

'Thank you, Duncan.  I 'll take the letter and go at once to Hollyhock.'

The letter in question was read by all four girls at once, and was
simply to the effect that the young Precious Stones would dine with
them on the morrow, as well as Master Ivor Chetwode.  In fact, Mr
Lennox had already written a letter to Mrs Macintyre, acquainting her
with his desire.

'Then that's all right,' said Jasmine.  'Dad did get my letter.  I was
a bit surprised at his being so long in answering it.  Well, we 'll go
to Hollyhock now.  Poor Ivor would have been terribly disappointed if
he had been left out of The Garden treat.'

While this conversation was taking place Hollyhock was listening
intently from her small bed.  She would not for the world let the girls
think that she missed school, and the only chance of keeping up this
deception was by retiring to bed and feigning illness.  Not that she
felt _quite_ well; she was altogether too lonely and miserable for
that.  She had not a book to read; she had not a thing to do.  The dogs
were off with their master, and she had hardly even an animal to speak
to, with the exception of the kitchen cat, which came up and lay on her
bed, until she shooed her off with quick, angry words.

Well, Saturday had come, and the girls had come, and she must keep up
her supposed illness at any cost, or they would suspect that she was
regretting her decision.  But what a time they did take havering with
old Duncan!  Tiresome man, Duncan!  He was nearly as tiresome as the
dogs, Tocsin and Curfew, and the kitchen cat, Jean.

When the children burst into the room, Hollyhock looked at them out of
her black eyes with a dismal stare.

'Here we are back again,' said Jasmine.  'Haven't you a word of welcome
for us, Holly?'

'Why should I?' replied Hollyhock.  'I 'm suffering from a reeling
head, and can't stand any noise at all.'

'Dear, dear!' exclaimed Gentian.

'I don't want any of _your_ fondling,' said Hollyhock in an angry tone,
for was not Gentian the girl whom the beautiful blue-eyed boy had paid
so much attention to?

'Whatever have _I_ done?' said Gentian in amazement.

'Oh, I'll leave it to your conscience.  I'm not going to enlighten you.'

'Dear, dear, what _can_ the matter be?' said Delphy.

'Don't talk so loud.  Keep your school manners for your school,' said
Hollyhock.

'Dear, deary me!' cried Jasmine in an anxious tone, 'I think we ought
to get the doctor to see her.  There's Dr Maguire, and Duncan will
fetch him.  He 'll soon put you right, Hollyhock.'

'He won't, for I won't see him,' said Hollyhock.  'Don't you bring him
to this room.  I suppose, if I am faithful to my own Daddy Dumps, and
my own dear home, I may at least have my own way with regard to a
doctor.  I 'm not ill _exactly_, but I 'm reeling in the head, and no
one can force me to have a doctor except Daddy Dumps, and he's away
with Lord Ian at Dundree until dinner-time.'

'All the Precious Stones are coming over for dinner,' said Rose, as
softly as she could speak.

'Are they?  I don't want them.'

'But they are coming all the same, Hollyhock, and so is Aunt Cecilia;
and to-morrow they are coming again with that dear boy Ivor Chetwode.'

'Oh, is that his name?' said Hollyhock.

'How can you know anything about his name?' said Jasmine in
astonishment.

'Ask Gentian; perhaps _she'll_ tell you,' said Hollyhock with a wicked
glance out of her black eyes at her sister's pale-gray ones.

But Gentian shook her head in bewilderment.  'She ought to see a
doctor,' was her remark.

'Oh yes,' cried Hollyhock; 'but though she _ought_, she _won't_; and
neither you nor that old Duncan can force me to; and I don't wish to
hear a thing about your precious school, so for goodness' sake don't
begin.  You know the old proverb that new brooms sweep clean.  Well,
the school is a very new one, and the brooms are very new also.  I
expect you won't be in such _pretended_ raptures after another week or
two, while I, the faithful one, remain at home, to do my duty.'

The four Flower Girls gazed in consternation at one another.  They were
certainly distressed when Hollyhock refused to go to school with them,
but her behaviour on the first day of their return altogether upset
them; and as for poor little Delphy, it was with difficulty that she
could keep the tears back from her eyes.

'There!  Shoo!  Get the cat out,' cried Hollyhock, as Jean was again
putting in an appearance.

'Why, poor old darling!' exclaimed Gentian, 'she sha'n't be scolded,
that she sha'n't.  I 'll take her away to my room and pet her.'

'No, you won't; you'll do nothing of the sort.  She's the only thing
that now clings to me, and I 'm not going to have _you_ sneaking round
and winning her affections.'

'Why, you wanted her to go, Hollyhock.  Really, I don't know you,'
cried Gentian.

'I dare say you don't.  You have "other fish to fry."'

The four girls felt for the first time in their lives really angry with
their favourite sister.  Hollyhock, simply to spite Gentian, called in
a coaxing tone to Jean, who now jumped on the bed and purred loudly,
while Hollyhock stroked her fur, doing it, however, very often the
wrong way, which form of endearment tries all cats, even a kitchen cat.

'There, you see for yourselves, she 's the only one left to love me,'
said Hollyhock.  'Oh, for goodness' sake, don't rush at me with your
sham kisses!  I can't abide them, or you.  Get away, will you, and
leave me in peace!--Jean, poor beastie!  And do you love your little
mistress?  You are the only one I have got, Jean, my bonnie pussie; the
only one who, like myself, is faithful and true.'

It was just at that moment, when Jean had sunk into placid slumber and
the Flower Girls were intending to leave the room, that there came a
gentle, very gentle, knock at the door.

'Who can be there now?' said Hollyhock.  'Whoever it is will wake the
cat.--  There, my bonnie beastie, sleep away.  Don't you know that you
and I are the two lonely ones of the family?'

The amazed Jean cuddled up closer than ever to Hollyhock, and the next
minute the door was quietly opened by Mrs Constable.

'Well, children,' she said, 'the boys are downstairs, so I thought you
might like to see them.  I 'm very sorry to perceive that our little
Hollyhock isn't well.  This is a sad blow, when one has a rare holiday
and has looked forward to it.  But I want to have a talk with Hollyhock
all by myself.'

'You won't bring me round, so don't think it,' said Hollyhock.

But Mrs Constable, taking no notice of these words, motioned to the
other four Flower Girls to leave the room.  She then proceeded to make
up the fire brightly and to straighten Hollyhock's disordered bed.

'Now, my child, what 's wrong with you?' she said in that voice so
melting and so sweet that few could resist it.

'Oh, Aunt Cecil, I'm so unhappy--I'm alone.  I have no one to love me
now but Jean.'

'Poor little Jean!  She seems very happy,' said Mrs Constable; 'but I'm
afraid she'll make dirty marks on your white counterpane, child.'

'As if I cared.  I'd stand more than that for love.'

'Now, Hollyhock,' replied Mrs Constable, 'I must get to the bottom of
this.  You are my own dear little girl, remember, and I must find out
whether you are ill or not.'

'Of course I 'm ill; that is, I 'm a little ill.'

'I have a thermometer with me.  I'll take your temperature,' said Mrs
Constable.

'Auntie, I would so much rather you didn't.'

'I 'm afraid I must, child; for if you have a temperature, I must send
for Dr Maguire.'

'I won't see him!'

'You need not, my child, if you have no temperature.  Now, let me try;
for afterwards I have some very exciting news to tell you.  None of the
other girls know it yet.'

'Oh, auntie, you do excite me!  Yes, I 'll put the little thermometer
into my mouth.  I hope I sha'n't break it, though.'

'You must be careful, Hollyhock; for were you to swallow all that
mercury, it would kill you.'

'Oh, auntie, what dreadful things you say!  Well, stick it in, and then
tell me the news that none of the others know.'

The thermometer was inserted.  Hollyhock's temperature was perfectly
normal, and she was then questioned with regard to her throat and her
health generally.  In the end Aunt Cecilia pronounced the girl quite
well, and desired her to get up and dress.

'But I--the reeling in my head,' said Hollyhock.

'That will pass, after you have had a nice warm bath and put on one of
your pretty frocks.'

'Oh, but, auntie, I do want to hear the news.'

'You shall hear it after you are dressed.  I don't tell exciting news
to little girls who lie in bed.  The effect might be bad for them and
bring on fever.'

'Oh, auntie, I don't want the servants to come near me.'

'They needn't, child.  I'll turn on the hot water in the bath, and then
help you to put on your prettiest dress.  Why, Jasper is just pining to
see you.  Now, then, no more talk.  The hours are passing, and quick 's
the word.'

'Auntie, you have a nice way of saying things.'

'I 'm glad you think so, child.'

'Although you are only a governess at that horrid Ardshiel.'

Mrs Constable was silent.

In a very short time Hollyhock had had her bath.  She dressed
luxuriously by the fire in her bedroom, Aunt Cecilia brushing out her
masses of black hair and fastening it back with a large crimson bow.
Aunt Cecilia chose a very pretty dress of softest gray for the little
maid, and then, when the last touch connected with the toilet had been
given, there came a mysterious knock at the door.

'Who can that be?' said Hollyhock, who felt discontented once again.

'Only some one bringing a little food, dear, which I have ordered for
you.  You need not see the person who brings it.  I will fetch it
myself.'

Accordingly, tea in a lovely old Queen Anne teapot, accompanied by
cream and sugar, hot buttered toast, and an egg, new laid and very
lightly boiled, was placed before Hollyhock.

'But I haven't touched food for nearly twenty-four hours,' said the
wilful child.

'Which accounts for the reeling in your head, my love.  Now, then, set
to work and eat.'

'But your news, auntie--your news.'

'After you have eaten, my child--after you have finished all the
contents of this little tray, but not before.'

Hollyhock suddenly found herself furiously hungry.  She attacked the
toast and egg, and wondered at the sunshiny feeling which had crept
into her heart.

'Now, remember that you are perfectly well, Hollyhock.'

'Yes, auntie dear, of course.'

'And there 'll be no more malingering.'

'Whatever's that, Aunt Cecilia?'

'Why, doing what you did--_pretending_ to be ill, and keeping your
family in a state of misery.'

'I won't do it again.  Now for your news.'

'I want to make one last condition, Hollyhock.'

'What do you mean?'

'A lonely life does not suit you, my child.  When you are forced to
have recourse to the kitchen cat, that proves the case.  Now I want you
to go back to Ardshiel with the other girls on Monday.'

'Oh, oh, _auntie_!'

'No one wishes for you here, child, and you certainly won't get my
great piece of news unless you make me that promise.  You will be as
happy as the day is long at that school.'

'They certainly do _look_ happy,' said Hollyhock, 'and I should like to
see the boy with the blue eyes.'

'The boy with the blue eyes'----

'Oh, nothing, auntie; nothing.  I'll agree.  The kitchen cat is poor
company.  Now, then, out with your news.'

'You shall have it, dear.  God bless you, darling!  You have done a
brave thing.  And I cannot describe to you the joys of that lovely
school, which you have wilfully absented yourself from.  Now sit quite
close to me, and listen to my news.'

Certainly Aunt Cecilia _had_ a winning way.  She was always remarkable
for that.  She could fight her cause with any one--with man, woman, or
child; and she could fight it in the best possible way, by not fighting
it at all, by simply leaving the matter in the hands of Almighty Love,
by just breathing a gentle prayer for Divine guidance and then going
bravely forward.

This plan of hers had supported her when her beloved husband was killed
in battle; when her bonnie laddies, her Precious Stones, were sent to
Mrs Macintyre's school; and would support her when, according to the
arrangement made between herself and her husband, Major Constable, the
time came for her Precious Stones to go to Eton.

Major Constable had been an Eton boy, and he knew well the spirit of
the gallant words:

  It's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
    Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
  But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote,
    Play up! play up! and play the game!'
  This is the word that year by year,
    While in her place the School is set,
  Every one of her sons must hear,
    And none that hears it dare forget.
  This they all with a joyful mind
    Bear through life like a torch in flame,
  And, falling, fling to the host behind--
    'Play up! play up! and play the game!'


Mrs Constable, as she repeated these words to Hollyhock, noticed the
flame in her cheeks and the radiance in her black glorious eyes; knew
only too well that this fearless girl would play her part--yes, to the
very letter.  For one like Hollyhock there would most certainly be a
conflict, and also most assuredly a victory.  She would 'play up! play
up! and play the game!'  Her own heart beat as she watched the child.
Eton, that princely school, would be the first training-ground for
Major Constable's young sons; but for Hollyhock there would be both at
school and afterwards in the world the greater battlefield.  Her heart
went out to the child, and she pressed her close for a moment to her
heart.  Mrs Constable felt very happy to-night.  She knew well that she
herself was a very efficient teacher; she was also a very persuasive
teacher, and Mrs Macintyre had eagerly agreed to her suggestion that
she should be her kindergarten mistress, thus helping Mrs Constable to
pay in part for the enormous expense of sending five boys to Ardshiel.
But, after all, this sum of money was but a drop in the ocean; and her
delight was intense, her thanksgiving to Almighty God extreme, when she
was told that she _herself_ might get her laddies back and start an
Annex School for the boys, who were really too old to be at Ardshiel.
The departure of one would mean the departure of all; and now, as she
sat by Hollyhock's side, holding her little brown hand, she had already
secured for herself quite fourteen boys, who were all to arrive at the
Annex, or the dear Paddock, as she loved to call it, on the following
Monday morning.  But this apparent breaking up of Mrs Macintyre's
school had not been mentioned as yet to any of the children.  Mr
Lennox, of course, knew and approved, and Hollyhock was really the
first of the Flower Girls to whom the news was broken.

'Well, my dear,' said Mrs Constable, 'I have news for you, which I
expect will please you.  What do you say to two schools in this
neighbourhood?'

'Two schools!' said Hollyhock, looking with amazement at gentle Mrs
Constable.

'Yes, my love, that's my news.  And I 'm to be at the head of one,
though by no manner of means the teacher.  That wouldn't do.  But I 'm
to superintend, and guide, and influence, and what you may call
"mother."  I'm getting my own brave laddies back.'

'But'---- said Hollyhock, a startled look coming into her dark eyes.

'Yes, my dear, and more than that.  I 'm getting a boy called Henry de
Courcy Anstel from the big school; and another one, Roger Carden.'

'Oh, oh!' said Hollyhock, turning first white and then red, 'has he
blue eyes--_has_ he blue eyes?'

'That is more than I can tell you.  The colour of the eyes does _not_
trouble me, and they ought not to trouble a lass of your tender years.
There 's another boy called Ivor Chetwode also coming.  These with my
own five make eight.  In addition, I have got Andrew MacPen from
Edinburgh, and Archie MacPen, his brother, and four little orphan boys,
who are coming all the way from London.  Their names are Johnnie and
Georgie and Alec and Murray.  I call them orphans because their father
and mother have gone to India, and have had to leave them behind.  So
on Monday my little Annex will open with fourteen boys.  They'll have
the advantage of the fräuleins and mesdemoiselles from Ardshiel to give
them lessons two or three times a week; and in addition, being manly
boys, I have made arrangements that they shall be taught by the
Reverend James Cadell and two resident tutors.  So you see now for
yourself, Hollyhock, that after your insisting so often that nothing
would make you go to a mixed school, the thing has been taken out of
your hands, my love.  Mrs Macintyre has a large and flourishing school
for girls, and I hope to do well with my boys.  You must congratulate
me, Hollyhock.'

'Well,' said Hollyhock haltingly, 'I--somehow--it seems hard on Mrs
Macintyre, doesn't it?'

'Not a bit of it, dear.  Why, it's the making of her school.  She has
got so many applications for girlies like yourself to go to Ardshiel
that she soon will have to close her lists.  Now that you have decided
to go there, Hollyhock, it will bring the number of her pupils in the
course of next week up to nearly seventy.'

Hollyhock sat very cold and still.

'You don't look pleased, my child, and yet you were so strong against a
mixed school.'

'Well, yes, I was, and I am still.  For that matter, I hate all
schools.'

'But you faithfully promised me to go to Ardshiel, Hollyhock.'

'Oh yes, I 'll keep my word.  I expect I 'm a bit of a dare-devil;
there is something very wicked in me, Auntie Cecilia.'

'I know there is, child.  You need Divine guidance.'

'I won't be lectured,' said Hollyhock, getting very cross all at once.
'Oh, auntie, those blue eyes!' and the excited, hysterical girl burst
into tears.

'There must be something at the back of this, Hollyhock.'

'Oh, nothing--nothing indeed.'

'Well, I won't press for your confidence, dear.  Little girls and
little boys should be friends and nothing more for long years to come;
and although I at first quite hoped that Mrs Macintyre's mixed school
would be a great success, I now see that it is best for me to have my
little corner in the Lord's vineyard alone.  But don't for a moment
imagine, Hollyhock, that you girls of Ardshiel and my boys of the Annex
won't be the best of friends, meeting constantly and enjoying life and
fun together.  Think of your Saturday to Monday, Hollyhock!  Think of
my Precious Stones meeting you Flower Girls!  Think of the old life
being brought back again!'

'Yes, I suppose it is best,' said Hollyhock, but she heaved a sigh as
she spoke.  Her sigh was mostly caused by the fact that she had given
in.  She, who had made such a grand and noble stand, was going to
Ardshiel after all.




CHAPTER XI.

SOFT AND LOW.

But when Hollyhock went downstairs, dressed so charmingly and with a
rich colour in her cheeks, with the sparkle of excitement in her eyes,
and when she saw Jasper, Garnet, and the other boys, who all rushed
toward her with a cry of delight, she began to enjoy herself once more.

Old Duncan was moving about the great hall and whistling gently to
himself.  'Soft and low, soft and low.  It 's that that does it,'
whispered the old man.  Then he broke out again in his cracked old
tones, 'And for bonnie Annie Laurie I wad lay me doun and dee!'

'Duncan, you might remember that we are in the room,' said Hollyhock.

'To be sure, lassies; and don't ye like the sound o' the grand old
tunes and words?  Did ye never hear me sing "Roy's Wife o'
Aldivalloch"?'

'No; and I don't wish to,' said Hollyhock.

'Well,' said Duncan, who was never put out in his life, 'here are the
doggies, poor beasties, and I guess, Miss Hollyhock, you 'll be a sicht
better for a little company.  I 'm reddin' up the place against the
maister's return.  Ay, but we 'll hae a happy evenin'.  Old times come
back again--"Should auld acquaintance be forgot"'----

'Duncan, you are incorrigible!'

But Duncan deliberately winked at Jasper, then at Garnet, then at his
beloved Miss Jasmine, and finally catching Delphy in his arms, trotted
up and down the great hall with her on his shoulder, while the child
shrieked with delight and called him dear, darling old Duncan.

At last, however, the hall was in order.  The ingle-nook was a blaze of
light and cosiness.  The boys and girls were chattering as they had
never chattered before; and Duncan, assisted by a boy of the name of
Rob, who wore the Lennox livery, brought in ponderous trays, which were
laid on great tables.  These trays contained tea and coffee, scones to
make your mouth water, butter arranged like swans swimming in parsley,
and shortbread made by that famous cook, old Mrs Duncan, who was also
the housekeeper at The Garden.

The trays were followed, alas! by the kitchen cat, Jean, who smelt the
good things and walked in with her tail very erect, and a look on her
face as much as to say, 'I 'm monarch of all I survey!'

'Out you go, Jean!' cried Hollyhock.

'No, Hollyhock, don't be unkind to poor Jean,' said Mrs Constable.
'You were very glad to have her when you were alone.  And now listen,
my dear; I have something to whisper to you.'

Hollyhock dropped Jean, who was immediately snatched up by Gentian.
Gentian provided the kitchen cat with a rich mixture of cream, milk,
and sugar.  She lapped it slowly and gracefully, as all cats will, in
front of the ingle-nook, the two great dogs watching her with envious
eyes, but not daring to interfere.

Mrs Constable, meanwhile, continued to whisper in a distant corner to
Hollyhock, 'My darling, I was the first to tell you the great news--I
mean with regard to the boys' school, or, as we intend to call it, the
Annex.  No other child knows of it at present, and no other child knows
that you are going to Ardshiel on Monday with your sisters.  Now, what
I propose is this.  You must have a hearty tea and enjoy yourself as
much as possible, and then you shall have the great honour of telling
the news _first_ about yourself, and then about my boys and the little
school, to the others.  _Only_ Hollyhock shall tell.  There, my pet,
kiss me.  See how I love you.'

'Oh, you do, and you are a darling,' said Hollyhock, who was keenly
gratified by this distinction bestowed upon her.

The tea was disposed of with appetite.  Never, surely, was there such
shortbread eaten before, never such scones partaken of.
Notwithstanding her private tea upstairs, Hollyhock was very hungry and
happy, and the marked attentions which Jasper paid her gave her intense
and unalloyed pleasure.  Oh, what a pity he was leaving the school!
What a dear boy was this Precious Stone!  She even forgot the boy with
the blue eyes when she looked at Jasper's honest, manly face.  But the
best of good teas come to an end.

Duncan came in with his soft whisper and gentle words in his cracked
old voice, still singing softly, 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?'  Hollyhock gave him a haughty glance, but
he did not observe it; and Jasper suddenly said, springing to his feet,
'Hurrah, old Duncan! you are the man for me.  Let's all sing the jolly
old song!'

'But, master,' faltered Duncan, 'I canna sing as once I sang.'

Jasper said, 'Nonsense; you forget yourself, Duncan.  You lead off, and
we 'll begin.'

All the children stood up; all the young voices, the middle-aged voice
of Mrs Constable, and the aged voice of Duncan brought out the beloved
words:

  'Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
    And never brought to mind?
  Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
    And auld lang syne?

  'We twa hae paidl'd in the burn
    Frae morning sun till dine;
  But seas between us braid hae roar'd
    Sin' auld lang syne.

  For auld lang syne, my dear,
    For auld lang syne,
  We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet
    For auld lang syne.'


Just as the last words had echoed round the hall, who should enter but
the father of the Flower Girls.  There was a sudden cry of rapture.
Jasmine's arms were round his neck; Delphy mounted to her accustomed
place on his shoulder.  He was their own, their darling.  Gentian
kissed his hand over and over again.  Dark-eyed Rose of the Garden
kissed him once more.  Oh, how happy they were! for his little
Hollyhock--the child who had troubled him all the week--overcome by
varied emotions, sprang to his side, pushed both Jasmine and Gentian
away, and said, 'Oh, daddy, I have been a bad, bad lassie, but I'm all
right now; and if you'll listen, daddy mine, and if the others will
hold their peace for a minute, I 'll let my great secret out.'  There
was a new sound in Hollyhock's voice.  Old Duncan stood in a kind of
trance of wonder.  To be sure, things _were_ coming round, and that
week of misery was over.  'Daddy,' said Hollyhock, 'I didn't think
you'd enjoy my absence as much as you will.  I talked a lot of
nonsense, and said I'd see to you, Daddy Dumps; but what's the use?  I
'm not just entirely to blame, but I have _not_ been happy this last
week, so I think it is well that I should go back with Jasmine and the
others to Ardshiel on Monday morning--that is, if _you_ wish it, daddy?'

'Is the choice entirely your own, my child?' said George Lennox.

'Yes, it is.  You 'll want me, perhaps, when you haven't got me, but
I'm away to school with the others.  It's right--it _is_ right.'

'Well, my Hollyhock, I thank you,' said her father.  'I shall miss you,
beyond a doubt; but work has set in for me to such an extent that I
have no time to attend to you, and your being in the house and
uneducated has been a sore trial to me, Holly.  You 'll be a good lass
at school, my child.  You must promise me that.'

'You 'll have a right-down lovely time, Holly,' cried Jasmine.

'Yes, won't she?' echoed Gentian.

'But I haven't told you all the story yet,' said Hollyhock.  She
suddenly went up to Jasper and took his big hand.  'I was trusted by a
lady, whose name I mustn't mention, with another bit of news, Jasper,
boy--and, oh! it's sore it makes my heart.  _You_ have to go to the
lady, Jasper, boy, and so has Garnet, and so has Sapphire, and so have
Opal and Emerald.  In addition, the boys at Ardshiel are to go to a new
Annex--under protest, no doubt; but still it has to be.  You 'll be
taught by men, my bonnie Precious Stones, and we lassies will have to
do with the women folk.'

'Well, this is astounding,' said Jasper.  'Is it true?--Can you
explain, Uncle George?'

'Yes, my boy; and I don't think you 'll mind when it's explained to
you.  The "lady" whom my Hollyhock wouldn't mention is your _own_
mother.'

'Mother!' cried Emerald, in a voice of rapture.  'Eh, mother, I have
missed you!'

He was only a little fellow--the youngest of the Precious Stones--and
he suddenly burst out crying.

'There, now, be a brave lad,' said Mrs Constable.  'No tears, my little
son, for they don't become a gentleman.  They don't become the son of
Major Constable.  Ho died fighting for his country, and no son of his
and mine should be seen with tears in his eyes.  You all do come back
to your mummy, my children, and a lot of other boys come as well; and
The Paddock is to be partly changed, so that I can mother you, my
Emerald, but not teach you--no, no, none of that.  There 'll be that
fine gentleman, the Reverend James Cadell, to put Latin and Greek into
you; and there'll be Alan Anderson to teach you games, as boys should
play them; and there 'll be young Mr Maclure to help him with your
English and your lessons all round.  I 'll have my five Precious Stones
sleeping again under my roof; and your food will be prepared by that
maid of ours, Alison, of whom you have always been so fond; and old Mrs
Cheke will be the housekeeper and look after your wants.  And for
foreign languages Mrs Macintyre will send over at certain hours each
day some of her governesses.  Now then, children, I think we are all
going to be as happy as happy.  It was decided by a wise woman that Mrs
Macintyre's mixed school would eventually prove a mistake, for a good
many mothers object to sending their girls to such places, although I
myself see no harm in them whatsoever.  But, my dear boys, we must
think of Mrs Macintyre, who will have a very large school of girls.  On
Monday next you will see many new faces at Ardshiel, and the
arrangement that you, my little loves, are to spend Saturday till
Monday all together is to continue.  So now do let us sing a fresh song
of that wondrous bard, Robbie Burns, because I feel so absolutely Scots
of the Scots to-day that I simply cannot stand any one else.

  'Hark, the mavis' evening sang
  Sounding Clouden's woods amang;
  Then a-faulding let us gang,
      My bonnie Dearie.

      'Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
      Ca' them whare the heather grows,
      Ca' them whare the burnie rowes
          My bonnie Dearie.

  We'll gae down by Clouden side,
  Through the hazels spreading wide,
  O'er the waves, that sweetly glide
      To the moon sae clearly.

  'Yonder Clouden's silent towers,
  Where at moonshine midnight hours,
  O'er the dewy bending flowers,
      Fairies dance sae cheery.

  'Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
  Thou 'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,
  Nocht of ill may come thee near,
      My bonnie Dearie.

  Fair and lovely as thou art,
  Thou hast stown my very heart;
  I can die--but canna part,
      My bonnie Dearie.

  'While waters wimple to the sea,
  While day blinks i' the lift sae hie,
  Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e
      Ye shall be my Dearie!'


'Oh, mother, mother!' cried one boy after another, as they clustered
round her, 'indeed we are happy now, since _you_ are the "lady."'

'We didn't rightly understand at first,' continued Jasper.--'But come
for a walk, Hollyhock; come along; I have a lot to say to you.'

So Hollyhock and Jasper went out together into the old grounds in the
old way, and the sweet, yet sorrowful, week--so maddening to poor
Hollyhock, so joyous to Jasper--was forgotten in the spirit of reunion.
Oh, it was perfect for the Flower Girl to be with her precious Precious
Stone again, and she even loved his dear Scots ways so much that she
told him of her little adventure as a 'great secret,' and besought of
him not to mention it to any one.

'And so you were taken with that English boy Ivor Chetwode,' he
remarked.  'I didn't think you were so fickle.  But it's all right now,
Hollyhock, and you 'll have a right jolly time at the school.'




CHAPTER XII.

UNDER PROTEST.

Whatever Hollyhock's feelings may have been, she went to school on the
following Monday morning with a good grace.  She was the sort of girl
who, when once she put her hand to the plough, would not take it back
again.  She refused, however, to listen to any of the stories which
Jasmine, Gentian, and the others longed and pined to tell her of the
great school.

'I 'll find out for myself,' was her remark; and Mrs Constable advised
the other girls to leave this obstinate lass alone as far as possible.

'Under protest!' exclaimed Jasmine.

'If you think it right,' said Gentian.

'Yes, Jasmine; yes, Gentian.  I do know what is really best for our
little maid.  She will find her own way best in the school if she is
not interfered with.  If she is in any sort of trouble, then she will
have her dear Flower sisters to go to.'

'I doubt it myself,' said Gentian.  'That's just what Hollyhock will
not do.  I know Holly; she's a queer fish.  Rare courage has she; I 'm
not fit to hold a candle to her myself.'

'Oh, you have plenty of courage of your own,' said Mrs Constable.  'You
can wile every girl in the place, but don't interfere with Hollyhock.'

'Well, I 'm longing to be off to school,' said Jasmine, 'and I only
trust Holly will like the dear spot as much as we do.'

'She 's certain sure to, girlies, if you don't tell her so.  If you do,
I won't answer for the consequences.  She 'd love to scare you all.
There now, my darlings, let her be, let her be.'

So the girls, who dearly loved Aunt Cecilia, and who thought a lot of
her counsel, were induced to be judicious in the matter of Hollyhock,
and to walk with her to Ardshiel as though it were an ordinary stroll
they were taking.

Hollyhock was certainly a very handsome little girl.  With the
exception of Rose of the Garden, she was the only one of the young
Lennoxes who was really dark.  Her great deep black eyes were
surrounded by thick black lashes.  Her hair grew low on her brow and
curled itself into little rings here, there, and everywhere.  In
addition, it was extremely long and thick, and, when not tied up with a
ribbon, fell far below her waist.  Hollyhock had pearly-white teeth, a
very short upper lip, and a certain disdainful, never-may-care
appearance, which was very fetching to most girls.

The hour for the reassembling of the girls at Ardshiel was nine
o'clock, and Hollyhock, although her heart was beating furiously,
showed not a scrap of nervousness, but gazed dauntlessly and with a
fine defiance around her.  Everywhere and in all directions she found
eyes fixed on her--blue eyes, gray eyes, brown eyes, light eyes, dark
eyes, the eyes of the pale-faced English, the glowing eyes of a few
French girls; but she felt quite assured in her own heart that there
was not one in that great group who could compare with herself.
Hollyhock, or, in other words, Jacqueline Lennox.

She resolved quickly (and Hollyhock's resolutions, once formed, were
hard to break) that _she_ would be _captain_ of this great school; she
would lead, and the others would follow, no matter the colour of their
eyes, no matter the complexions, no matter the thin, pale faces, or the
fat, rosy faces.  These things were all one to Hollyhock.  She would
compel these girls; they would follow her willy-nilly where _she_
wished and where _she_ dared to go.  She knew well that she was not
clever in book-learning, but she also knew well that she had the great
gift of leadership; she would be the leader here.  She rejoiced in the
fact that all the girls were staring at her.  She would go carefully to
work and soon secure a band of followers, who would increase by-and-by,
becoming extremely obstreperous and doing all sorts of naughty things,
for Holly had no intention when at school to be good or to learn much.
She went solely and entirely for her own happiness, because she
preferred the girls with the blue, gray, and nondescript eyes to the
kitchen cat, Jean, and to the great loneliness which had descended on
The Garden.

Such a girl as Hollyhock could not but attract attention, and the Lady
Barbara Fraser, Miss Agnes Featherstonhaugh, and many others became
fascinated on the very first day.  But Hollyhock, on that first day,
was outwardly meek.  She was good, except for her flashing eyes; she
was good, except for the sudden and very queer smile which played round
her pretty lips.

The other Flower Girls had been liked very much indeed, but they had
not stirred a certain naughty spirit in the breasts of the girls.  They
honestly, all four of them, wanted to learn hard and to repay their
beloved father for all the expense he was put to on their account; but
Hollyhock's was a totally different nature.  She had come to school to
lead, and lead she would.

On the afternoon of the first day, Lady Leucha Villiers, who was a
delicate, refined-looking girl, came up to Jasmine.  'Well, what queer
changes have taken place in the school!'

'What do you mean exactly?' replied Jasmine.

'Why, all those nice boys have vanished like smoke.'

'No, they haven't.  They are alive and well.  They are being taught at
the Annex.  It has been considered best.'

Lady Leucha gave a sigh.  'I miss that dear Ivor,' she said, 'and I
also miss your cousin Jasper and that little chap you call Opal; but
what puzzles me most of all is the crowds and crowds of new girls who
have arrived at the school, and the newest of them all is your sister.'

'Yes,' said Barbara Fraser, 'your sister, Jasmine, is very new and very
remarkable.  Whyever did she not come with the rest of you last week?'

'She did not wish it,' replied Jasmine.  'Girls, had we not better get
our French ready for Mam'selle?'

'Oh, bother Mam'selle!' said Lady Leucha.  'I am interested in your
sister.  Fancy a girl not coming to school because she doesn't wish it.'

'Father never forces any of us,' said Jasmine in her sweet voice.
'Hollyhock began by disliking the school--I mean the idea of it--and
she was a bit lonesome with no one to talk to her, so she came back
with us this morning.'

'Hollyhock,' said Lady Leucha.  'A queer name!'

'Oh, it isn't her real name; it is her home name.  Her real name is
Jacqueline.'

'That's much prettier,' said Leucha Villiers.  'Do tell her to come and
sit with us, Jasmine.  I shall always call her Jack.  I have taken a
great fancy to her.'

'Well, you'd best keep your fancy to yourself,' said Jasmine, 'for no
one _will_, and no one _can_, coerce Hollyhock.'

'Oh, she's not going to lord it over me,' said Lady Leucha.  'Am I not
an earl's daughter?'

'That will have no effect on Hollyhock, I can assure you.'

'Won't it?  We'll see.  My father has got a glorious mansion, and we
belong to the very greatest nobility in the whole of England.  Our
cousins, the Frasers, are the daughters of the Marquis of Killin.  So
you 'd better not put on airs before me, Jasmine.  Oh Jasmine, I do
love you; you are such a downright dear little thing.  I 'm going to
ask you up to Hans Place at Easter if daddy and mother will give me
leave.'

'Thank you,' said Jasmine;  but I couldn't afford to spend one minute
away from The Garden.'

'How queer of you!  You seem devoted to your home.'

'I'm Scots,' replied Jasmine; 'and to the Scots there are no people
like the Scots.'

'Oh, do, do watch her!' suddenly exclaimed Lady Leucha.  'Barbara, do
you see--Dorothy, do you see?--she's walking up and down on the terrace
with that ugly Mary Barton and that nobody, Agnes Featherstonhaugh.
Why, Nancy Greenfield and Jane Calvert are hopping round her just as
though they were magpies on one leg.'

'Why should she not talk to those girls?  They are very nice,' said
Jasmine.  'But, Leucha, Barbara, and Dorothy, do you not think you had
better prepare your French lessons?  At least I must and will.'

Jasmine skipped away and was soon lost to view, but the Ladies Barbara,
Dorothy, and Leucha found themselves alone--alone and somewhat
slighted.  Slighted, too, by those commonplace Scots girls!  They, who
were the daughters of a marquis and an earl!  The thing was not to be
endured!

Leucha whispered to her companions, and soon they got up and went out
in a little group into the grounds.  They saw black-eyed Hollyhock,
surrounded by her adorers.  She was talking in quite a gentle, subdued
voice, and did not take the least notice of the marquis's and the
earl's daughters.  Never had Nancy Greenfield, Jane Calvert, Mary
Barton, Agnes Featherstonhaugh, and last, but not least, Margaret
Drummond felt so elated.  Holly was talking in a very low, seductive
voice.  Her rich curls were tumbling about her face and far down her
back.  Her cheeks were like bright, soft fire, and the flash in her
glorious black eyes it would be difficult to surpass.

'I say, Jack,' exclaimed Leucha.

----'And, girls, as I was telling you, that poor cat, wee Jean, she
came and nestled on my bed'----

'I'm talking to you, Miss Lennox,' said Lady Leucha.

'Are you?  I did not listen.  You spoke to some one called Jack.
That's a boy.  I happen to be a girl.--Well, girls, let's proceed.
I've _such_ a jolly plan in my head.  I 'm thinking--whisper--that
young person must not hear.'

The whisper was to the effect that wee Jean was to be fetched from The
Garden by Holly that very night and put comfortably into Lady Leucha's
bed.  A saucer of cream was to be placed in the said bed, and it was
more than likely that bonnie Jean would spill it in her fright.

Lady Leucha, who knew nothing of this plan, said in a tone bristling
with haughtiness, 'Some little Scotch girls can be very rude!'

'And some fair maids of England can be downright worse!' retorted
Hollyhock.--'Come along, girls, let's go down this side-walk.'

Lady Leucha had never been spoken to in that tone before, but rudeness
to a girl who had always been pampered made her desire all the stronger
to win the fascinating Hollyhock to her side, and to deprive those
common five, Agnes Featherstonhaugh, Mary Barton, Nancy Greenfield,
Jane Calvert, and Margaret Drummond, of her company.  Accordingly,
accompanied by the two Frasers, she also went down the shady walk which
led to the great lake.  She began to talk in a high-pitched English
voice of the delights of her home, the wealth of her parents, and the
way in which the Marquis of Kilmarnock and his sons and daughters
adored her.

Hollyhock heard each word, but _her_ voice was no longer gentle.  It
was loud and a little penetrating.  'You would not dare to come out at
night,' she said, looking at the devoted five.

'And whyever not?' asked Mary.

'You would not have the courage.  It's here on moonlight nights that
the ghost walks.  He drips as he walks; and he's _very_ tall and very
strong, with a wild sort of light in his eyes, which are black and big
and awful to see.  He was drowned here in the lake on the night before
his wedding.  He's very unquiet, is that poor ghost!  _I_ do not mind
him one little bit, being a sort of friend, almost a relative, of his.
Many and many a night, when the moon is at the full, have I stood by
the lake and said, "Come away, my laddie.  Come, poor ghostie, and I
'll dry your wet hair."  Poor fellow, he likes me to rub him dry.'

[Illustration: 'It's here on moonlight nights that the ghost walks.']

The daughters of the marquis and the earl were now quite silent, their
silly little hearts filled with horror.  They never guessed that
Hollyhock was making up her story.

'You _couldn't_ have done that,' said Jane Calvert.

'Whist, can't ye?  I want to get those girls away, so as to talk about
the kitchen cat.'

The girls in question certainly did go away.  They did more; they went
straight to Mrs Macintyre and asked her if the awful story was true.
Mrs Macintyre, having never heard of it, declared emphatically that it
was not true; but, somehow, neither Lady Leucha nor the Fraser girls
quite believed her.  There was such a ring of truth in Hollyhock's
words; and had they not all heard, on that first happy evening at the
school, the cry, so shrill, so piercing, '_The ghost! the ghost!_'

They had tried not to think of it since, but Hollyhock seemed to
confirm the weird words, and they began to wonder if they could stay
long in this school, which, beautiful as it was, contained such an
awful ghost--a ghost who required a little girl to dry his locks for
him.  Surely such a terrible thing could not happen!  It was quite past
belief.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE SUMMER PARLOUR.

If there was a girl who was at once slightly frightened and extremely
angry, that girl was Leucha Villiers, the daughter of the Earl of
Crossways.  Never, never before had any overtures on her part been
treated as Hollyhock had treated them.  If this saucy black-eyed imp
intended to rule the school, she, Leucha, would show her what she
thought of her conduct.  She would not be ruled by her.  She would, in
short, show her once and for all her true position.  Little Scotch
nobody, indeed!  Well, the angry Leucha knew how to proceed.

Leucha was considered by her friends and by her numerous acquaintances
a most charming girl, a girl with such aristocratic manners, such a
noble presence, such a gentle, firm, distinguished air.  She had been,
during her first week at school, very happy on the whole, for Jasmine,
and Gentian, and Rose, and Delphinium had more or less bowed down to
her and admired her.  But now there appeared on the scene a totally
different character--Hollyhock!  How ridiculous to call any human being
by such a name!  But then it wasn't her real name; her name was
Jacqueline.  She, Lady Leucha, would certainly not call her Hollyhock,
or prickly Holly, or anything of that sort.  She would call her Jack
and Jacko, and tease her as much as possible.  She had certainly spoken
of the ghost in her ridiculous Scotch accent, but Leucha Villiers,
after careful consideration, determined not to be afraid of pure
nonsense.  Was there ever a girl in creation who dried a ghost's
dripping hair?  The whole thing was too silly.

In accordance with Mrs Maclure's promise, a great many fresh girls had
arrived, and the full number of seventy was now nearly made up.  It
would be quite made up by the end of the following week.

Leucha liked the boy element in the school, and was exceedingly sorry
to part with it; but she perceived, to her intense satisfaction, that
the English contingent of girls at Ardshiel was very strong, and that,
notwithstanding all her audacity and daring, Jacko--of course she was
Jacko--could be kept in a minority.  She felt there was no time to
lose, for Hollyhock looked at her with such flashing eyes, with such
saucy dimples round her lips, with such a very rare and personal
beauty, that Leucha felt she must get hold of her own girls at once, in
order to sustain the school against the wicked machinations of Jacko.

Accordingly she got Lady Barbara Fraser and her sister Dorothy, also
the Honourable Daisy Watson, to meet her in what was called the Summer
Parlour, a very pretty arbour in the grounds, where materials for a
fire were laid, and where a fire could be lit in cold weather.

Winter was approaching.  It was now nearly October, and October in the
North is often accompanied by frosts and fallen leaves, and by bitter,
cold, easterly winds.  Lady Leucha had, she considered, a very charming
manner.  Having collected her friends round her, she went off with them
to seek for Mrs Macintyre.  They found this good woman, as usual, very
busy, and very gentle and full of tact.

'We have come with a request,' said Lady Leucha.

'And what is that, my child?' asked Mrs Macintyre.

'Mrs Macintyre,' said Lady Leucha, 'you have in your school far more
English than Scotch girls.'

'That is true, my dear--at least, it is true up to the present.  But I
have heard to-day from my dear friend Mrs Maclure that fifteen new
Edinburgh lassies will arrive on Saturday.  You'll welcome them; won't
you, Leucha?'

'I like English girls best,' said Lady Leucha.

'That's natural enough, dear child.  Well, you have a goodly number of
friends and relatives at the school.'

'I have,' said Leucha; 'but I have come in the name of my cousins,
Dorothy and Barbara Fraser, and my great friend Daisy Watson, to say
that we do not approve of the manners of the new pupil.'

'What new pupil, Leucha?  There are a good many in the school.'

'I know that.  But I allude to that wild-looking child with black eyes
and hair, who talks the absurdest nonsense.  Would you believe it, dear
Mrs Macintyre, she talks of coming here on moonlight nights and wiping
the hair of a ghost?  Could you imagine anything so silly?'

'It is a very foolish thing to say,' remarked Mrs Macintyre--'so silly
and impossible that if I were you, Leucha, I would not give it a second
thought.  The child must have said it in pure fun.  You are doubtless
alluding to Hollyhock, a splendid little girl.'

'Well,' said Leucha, tossing her head, 'I don't care for girls who tell
untruths; and it is not only for that reason that I dislike her, it is
also because she has been so terribly rude to my cousins the Frasers,
and to my dear friend Daisy Watson.  I can see that she intends to rule
the school, or at least to take a very leading position in it.  Now
this I, for one, do not wish, and I do not intend to put up with it.  I
think that I, as Earl Crossways' daughter, and the Frasers, who are
daughters of the Marquis of Killin'----

'And therefore Scots of the Scots,' interrupted Mrs Macintyre.

'Well, at least their mother is English of the English, and they have
been brought up in English ways.  They are _my_ relatives, and I do not
choose them to be treated rudely.  There is also my very great friend
Daisy Watson.  We are most anxious, dear Mrs Macintyre, for you to
allow us English girls, who at present are in a majority in the school,
the entire use of the Summer Parlour, giving it out as your desire that
no Scotch girl is to come into the parlour without our express
permission.'

'I do not quite see how I can do that, Leucha.  The Summer Parlour is
for the use of all, and why should my Scots lassies be excluded?  I am
sure, notwithstanding your remarks, Leucha, the children you speak of
are both good and well-bred.'

'That horrid creature they call Hollyhock isn't well-bred,' said Leucha.

'She is a magnificent child,' said Mrs Macintyre.  'You don't know her
story or you wouldn't speak of her like that.'

'_I_ don't want to hear her story,' said Barbara Fraser.  'I dislike
her appearance too much.'

'Barbara, my dear, I am the last to encourage vanity, but Hollyhock is
quite the handsomest girl in the school.'

'Oh, Mrs Macintyre, I do wish we had never come here!' said Leucha, who
looked extremely mournful and inclined to cry.  'Of course, I suppose,
mother must give you a term's notice, but there are really _refined_
schools in England without wild Scotch girls in their midst.'

'You must not speak against Scotland to me,' said Mrs Macintyre.
'Remember it is my native land--the land of the heather, and the lochs,
and the glorious mountains.  It is the land of brave men and brave
women, and I will not have it run down by _any_ impudent English girl.
I've got so many other English girls coming to the school that the loss
of you four won't affect me much, Leucha Villiers.'

This was taking matters with a very high hand, and Leucha, who had no
great moral strength, was thoroughly subdued.

'I didn't mean to be rude to you, of course, dear Mrs Macintyre,' she
said, nudging her cousins as she spoke.  'I only said I did not like
that black-eyed girl.  She's frightfully wild and rude, and I'm
accustomed to girls of a different type.  Naturally indeed, being born
as I am.  However, I ask now for permission to use the Summer Parlour.
Do you refuse it?'

'If you don't want it for hatching plots or anything of that kind,'
said Mrs Macintyre, 'you English girls can have it till Saturday--no
longer, remember; and as the weather is turning very cold, you must pay
for your own fire, and, what's more, light it.  For all my maids have
plenty of work to do in the house.  Now, then, are you satisfied?  The
Summer Parlour will be yours, beginning from to-day.'

'Thank you, Mrs Macintyre; we are quite satisfied,' said Leucha, who
knew well how furious her mother would be were she removed from
Ardshiel, which, as the former home of _kings_, was considered most
distinguished.

The girls went off quite mildly and gently.  The day was drawing toward
evening.  Their idea was to light a great fire in the Parlour, and then
go into the house for tea; after which they would prepare their
lessons, and then go back in a body to the Parlour to discuss the
enormities of that wicked girl who called herself Hollyhock.  But,
alack and alas! the daughter of the Earl of Crossways and the daughters
of the Marquis of Killin had never lit a fire in their lives, and did
not know in the least how to set about it.  They were not particularly
strong girls, and did not wish to sit in the Summer Parlour hatching
mischief against their schoolfellow without the comfort of a glowing
fire.

'How queer and cross Mrs Mac. is!' said Leucha, turning to her
companions as they rushed off to the Parlour, knowing that they would
have at least half-an-hour in which to make it ready for their evening
talk.

'No, no; she's all right,' said Barbara Fraser; 'and mother thinks the
world of her.  If we left, girls, I don't know what father and mother
would say.  They've always been wild to get us into a proper Scottish
school.'

'How are we to light the fire?' whispered Leucha.  'Do you know how
it's done, Dorothy?'

'Not I.  Who 's that singing?'

There was a wonderfully sweet contralto voice sounding from the cosy
depths of the Summer Parlour.  The words the girl sang were as follows:

  'The great Ardshiel, he gaed before,
  He gart the cannons and guns to roar.


'Whisper now, lassies.  Do you not know that "the oak shall go over the
myrtle yet"?  We will settle some of the poor English girls yet.  All
the same, I like the really nice English girls _ever_ so well.  They
are so bonnie and so gentle, like my own sweet sister Jasmine.  Where
could you see her like anywhere?  And there is my own kinsman, the Duke
of Ardshiel!  Ah! but I love him well!'

The voice was undoubtedly the voice of Hollyhock, who, without rhyme or
reason, had lit a great fire in the old grate, and was comfortably
established there, with her four sisters and a number of Scots and
English girls scattered round.

These young people were seated round the roaring fire, and Holly, with
her black locks and great glowing black eyes, was the centre of an
animated group.  She was about to expand her views on the nice and
not-nice English girls, when in rushed Leucha and her friends.

'You clear out of this,' she said.

'Clear?' said Hollyhock.  'What is clear?'

'There's the door,' said Leucha.  'Go!'

'Not I,' said Holly.  'I find this little chair very comfortable.'

She established herself with much grace and dignity, and the others
clustered round her.

'You have got to go,' said Leucha, who was now in a towering passion.
'We have got Mrs Macintyre's permission to consecrate the Summer
Parlour to the English girls until Saturday.'

'That seems a pity,' said Holly, 'for, you see, we _must_ put out the
fire.  We built it, we lassies of Scotland, and we do not leave it
except to those English girls who are on our side.  I rather think you
are up to a conspiracy, and you sha'n't hatch your plot by _our_
fire.--Come, girls, she wants the Parlour and the fire, but she does
not want us.  So, quick is the word.  Stir yourself, Delphy; stir
yourself, Augusta; stir yourselves, all the rest.  It is mighty damp
outside, so the faggots can cool themselves there.  My word!  I do not
think much of _some_ English maids.  They have no manners at all.  And
I telling such a fine tale about Ardshiel and his bonnie men.  Well,
the Camerons are down now, but they will soon be up again.  "The
Camerons are coming," say I.  Never mind, girls; we 'll find another
place for our wee conspiracy.'

In less than two minutes the fire no longer glowed and roared.  The
coal smouldered feebly under the grate; the faggots were put in the
dripping rain, for the evening happened to be a wet one; and, in order
to make all secure, Hollyhock poured a jug of water over the rapidly
expiring fire.

'There they lie,' she cried; 'but if any of you wants a proper fire
lit, not in anger, but in the spirit of love, I can and will undertake
the job.  Ay! not a word!--Come away, girls.  I know a little hut where
we can light a fire for our own conspiracy--a sort of a "cubby hole,"
but loved by poor ghostie, and fit for our work.  Come at once, girls.
Come at once.'




CHAPTER XIV.

THE FIRE THAT WILL NOT LIGHT.

The Lady Leucha Villiers and her cousins, the daughters of the Marquis
of Killin, assisted by their chosen companions, tried in vain to
relight the fire in the Summer Parlour; but, alas! although even the
kitchen cat might have understood so simple a job, being at least
acquainted with _something_ of the system, it was quite outside the
powers of these ladies of high degree.

Naughty Hollyhock's last effort before she left the Parlour had been to
pour a small jug of water over the fast-expiring coals.

'I 'm thinking this will settle matters,' she said to her adoring
companions.  'Let them try their hardest now if they like, but we 'll
find our own cubby hole and light our fire somewhere else.'

No sooner said than done, for Hollyhock was an adept at small manual
jobs.  She had observed in her rambles over the Palace of the Kings a
small neglected hut, said to be haunted by the ghost from the
neighbouring loch.  As Hollyhock had not a scrap of fear of the ghost,
knowing only too well that he did _not_ appear, and knowing also that
she could use him as a valuable weapon, she entered the hut, sent
Gentian flying for some fresh faggots, and with the aid of Margaret
Drummond and her own sisters, Mary Barton, Nancy Greenfield, Isabella
Macneale, and Jane Calvert, she soon had a glowing fire.  They put by
in one corner a pile of faggots to place on the fire when tea was over,
after which they would have quite an hour to work out their conspiracy.
At tea, which was served on long tables in a beautiful old room,
Hollyhock looked more brilliant and more beautiful than ever.  Leucha,
on the contrary, had a pale face and seemed chilled to the bone.

'Did you leave your fire burning well, Leucha, my hearty?' inquired
Hollyhock.

Leucha, of course, refused to reply.  She sat looking down at her
plate, hardly eating the good things before her, but making up her mind
to punish that horrible _Jack_, even if she herself died in the effort.

'Couldn't you find a small hut by the burnside; couldn't you now?'
continued Hollyhock in a coaxing tone.  'The Summer Parlour's grate is
hard to light up--it has an artful way with it--but a small _hut_ now,
with you sitting by the fire, could be easily managed.  I 'd bring you
some faggots, if you said the word.'

'No, thank you.  I don't choose you to help me in any way.'

'All right!  I 'm not wanting to,' said Hollyhock.  'I'm very happy
without you, my Lady Leucha.'

'Girls,' said one of the English mistresses, who felt quite certain
there was mischief ahead, 'I think you ought to take your tea, and be
quick about it.  You will lose your recreation afterwards if you stop
to wrangle.'

'What's wrangle, Miss Kent, dear?' asked Hollyhock in her sweetest
tones.  'I like well to hear your pure English words.  We Scots talk
very differently, no doubt, but we are always willing to learn.  So,
please, what's wrangle?  And will you pass me a fresh scone, Miss Kent,
dear, for my appetite is far more than ordinary?'

'Vulgar little glutton,' muttered Leucha to Dorothy Fraser.

'She really _is_ attractive, all the same,' answered Dorothy.

'Oh Dolly, you are not going round to her?  That _would_ be the final
straw.'

'No, I 'm not, of course; but I can't help admiring her funny ways and
her beautiful, noble sort of face.'

'Noble!' cried Lady Leucha.

'Yes, it is noble, although it is full of mischief too.  You could have
had her as a _great_ friend, Leucha, and that girl is worth making a
friend of.  I never saw her like before.  She really haunts me.'

'What haunts you, lassie?' cried Hollyhock.  'Is it my eyes so black,
or my cheeks so rosy-red, or my hair so curly, and black as the
blackest night?  I 'm at your service.  I'm willing to forgive and
forget this blessed minute if you'll all hold out the paws of
forgiveness.'

Both Dorothy and Barbara longed to do so, but Lady Leucha put the final
extinguisher on their hopes by saying, 'No, never!  Why, you are not
even a lady!'

'Let's eat,' said Hollyhock.  'I waved the flag of peace, as the great
Ardshiel did once; but never again--don't you fear, lassies.  No lady,
indeed!  We 'll see who's the lady!'

In vain Miss Kent tried to stop the angry torrent of words, but this
was the hour when the girls were allowed to talk freely.  Mrs Macintyre
was not present, and all eyes in the room were fixed with admiration on
Hollyhock.

'First, we 'd like to know--just for a diversion--what _makes_ a lady,'
continued the obstreperous lass.  ''Tisn't birth--my certie! no.  It
must be a sort of civilisation.  It must be, to my way of thinking, a
give and a take.  It must belong to the sort of person who has the
courage of her race, and will even wipe the hair of a ghost when he
comes to you in his trouble.  That's what _I_ call a lady.  Others may
differ from me.'

'They do,' said Leucha.  'Liars are not ladies!'

'You 'd better not call _me_ that.'

'But I do.  You never wiped the hair of a ghost.'

'Let's drop the subject,' said Hollyhock.  'My sisters and I, and Mrs
Constable, and my father, and my five cousins, the Precious Stones,
have views that differ from yours entirely.  I know your sort of lady.
I have read of her in books, but I never came across her till I met
you, Leucha.'

'I 'd thank you to call me Lady Leucha.'

'I won't, then.  You are only Leucha to me in this school.  I have
described what I call a lady.  She's bountiful to the poor, and
kindness sits in her bonnie eyes, and love shimmers round her lips, and
her heart--why, it's pure gold; and she's all-forgiving, and all for
making up.  There 's never a quarrel that a real lady would nurse; but
mayhap there's a different sort in England.  They walk what you might
call _mincingly_, and they drop their words slow, and there's no flash
in their eyes, and no courage in them, and no daring in them.  No doubt
they are very respectable, and they are very proud of their family.
Then they make their little curtsy, when their education is quite
finished, to the Sovereign on the throne; and they go to many a party,
and they dress like all the other girls--no individuality anywhere.
That would not be thought right for such an English lady.  She marries
when she can get a man to have her.  Many a time he's as old as her
father; but that doesn't count with _her_, she being what she is,
looking out for _respectability_.  Ah, well!  I 'm all for the Scots
lady.  I don't care for grand parties or grand dresses; but I want my
bit of adventure, and I'll have it, too.  Good-bye, Leuchy.  I think I
have explained myself.--Come along, girls; we have our work cut out for
us.  It would not do for that poor Leuchy to be cold this night.  She
must have a living, warming thing to comfort her, poor Leuchy!  Come
along; there's no time to spare.'

The girls, headed by Hollyhock, left the room in a group, but for some
reason Jasmine remained behind.  She was very much distressed by her
sister's manner of going on, and what followed would not have taken
place had she gone to the ghost's hut and joined in the 'conspiracy;'
but the other girls were now fairly mad with excitement, and Margaret
Drummond, a Scots girl, was so much in love with Hollyhock that she
would have done anything on earth for her.

[Illustration: The Conspiracy.]

'You are splendid, lassie!' she cried.

The fire was quite out in the Summer Parlour, but it glowed warmly in
the ghost's hut.

'It's here I dry his hair, poor fellow,' said Hollyhock, who was now
nearly beside herself with delight.  'Listen to me, girls.  You are a
goodly group, and true to the heart's core, true to the soul of the
thing; but I 'm not going to be ruled over by Leuchy, though I don't
mind Barbara, or Dorothy, or that weak little Daisy looking on.  It's
Leuchy who 'll get a fright this very night.  Now, then, we haven't
long to lose, for the hours for pure enjoyment are few in number.  I am
much deceived if we don't find many impediments in our path.  Now,
lassies, I 'll show you on the spot what we have got to do.  One of us
must go to The Garden, my home, to fetch wee Jean, the kitchen cat; and
another has to beg, borrow, or steal a saucer of cream for the little
beastie.  That's about all.  I 'll start off at once for the cat; and
you, Gentian, had best get the cream.  I have been looking round the
house--don't I know every stone of it?--and you have got to get into
the larder.  You know your way to the larder, don't you, Gentian?'

'Yes,' said Gentian, who looked rather frightened.

'Well, never mind, my lass.  You have got to do it, and one of these
girls will help you.  You were always nimble-witted, and you won't fail
your own sister-born in a conspiracy so innocent and so amusing.  While
I 'm off alone for the cat, you other girls will find out the number of
Leuchy's room, and have the nice rich cream ready for poor Jean.  She
can sleep with me afterwards.  Well, then, off I go!  Good-bye,
lassies; good-bye!  Oh, I can tell you bogy stories that 'll make your
hair stand up straight; but this is the night for wee Jean.'

Hollyhock, her head in the air, rushed quickly down the avenue.  There
was plenty of time still, for the gates would not be locked before nine
o'clock.  She went out, therefore, boldly, and reached the dear old
Garden.  She wrapped her cloak well about her, so as to disguise
herself as much as possible, and went straight to the kitchen regions,
where the housekeeper, having very little to do now that all the girls
were out and the master was dining with Lord Ian Douglas, was sound
asleep by the kitchen fire.

On her lap reposed Jean, also in profound slumber.  Hollyhock whisked
her up in a hurry, petting and cuddling her all the time.  A row of
baskets hung just outside the kitchen door.  Hollyhock chose one,
placed a warm bit of felt at the bottom, put in a lump of butter for
Jean to lick, fastened her down securely in the basket, and was off and
away, back to Ardshiel.

By that time the other girls had fully carried out the commands of
their liege lady.  The cream had been secured by Gentian, who had
scraped her shins a little in climbing in at the window.  She had put
the cream into a small jug, and had further procured a saucer.

'That'll do fine,' said Hollyhock.  'Poor Jean, poor beastie, we
mustn't frighten her, or she 'll be off like a flash.  Have you got the
number of the English lady's room?'

Yes, Leucha Villiers's room had been discovered.  Hollyhock went boldl

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