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 WILD WOOD. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUM: 
 
 HELEN DICKENS 
 
 " Into the blithe and breathing air. 
 Into the solemn wood, 
 Solemn and silent everywhere 
 Nature with folded hands seemed there. 
 Kneeling at her evening prayer, 
 Like one in prayer I stood." 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 London : 
 CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHEK, 
 30, WELBECK STEEET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1872. 
 
 [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
 
 V. I 
 
 POPULAR NEW NOVEL 
 
 In Three Vols. Price 31s. 6d. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 FIEM IN THE STRUGGLE. 
 
 By EMMA PICKEEING, 
 
 Author of *' Forsaking all Others," &c. 
 
 ** Miss Pickering always writes like a lady of education and refine- 
 ment. The dialogue of ' Firm in the Struggle' is clever, abounding 
 in smartness and piquancy. Amongst trees, and flowers, and quiet 
 country scenes, she is thoroughly at home, and these she sketches 
 with happy effect and truthfulness," — Albion. 
 
 "The contemptuous scorn of the usually gentle Avice, the thorough 
 goodness of Hugh, or the affectation of Maud are drawn most natu- 
 rally, while Lily and Bessie are perfect characters."- John Bull. 
 
 "The story is extremely interesting, and never flags for a single 
 
 page. We scarcely know a fiction of modern timps in which the 
 
 characters are so well sketched and sustained. Many of the de- 
 
 ^ scriptions of country life and scenery are quite equal to those so ad- 
 
 ^ mirably depicted in ' Adam Bede.' " — Daily Guardian. 
 
 " Miss Pickea'ing's truthful pictures of country life and scenery are 
 not surpassed by any of the female novelists of the present time."— 
 ^ Brighton Examiner. 
 
 "This novel is fair and fresh as May flowers, and deserves for its 
 > ability of treatment and purity of tone the highest praise. All the 
 ^ characters are well and evenly drawn , and show a great harmony of 
 ^ , treatment. It is a story of life : full of life's sorrows, temptations, 
 ^ joys, and triumphs." — Drawing-room Gazette. 
 
 ■^ ' ' The skill of the authoress has allowed her to rise into the higher 
 regions of imaginative lore." — Bell's Messenger. 
 
 Interesting, well written and wholesome. It contains a number 
 
 of natural incidents clearly described. Humour and pathos show 
 
 > that Miss Pickering possesses the power to enlist the sympathies and 
 
 ^ command the attention ot her readers, while the regular succession 
 
 ^ of events, and the unbroken thread of the narrative, never allow the 
 
 J interest to flag." — The Bookseller. 
 
 ^ " ' Firm in the Struggle' is entirely free from the worst blemishes 
 of modern fictions.'' — Observer. 
 
 4^;
 
 — EailwayB, postages— in a word, all the numerons facilities of the 
 age— have almost annihilated distance, and, as a natural result, 
 caused an individual trade between country customers and London 
 establishments. Those who do not visit town, so as to select and 
 purchase directly, send for patterns from which they can give their 
 orders. But as all apparent advantages on the one hand have more 
 or less their corresponding drawbacks, so this system is not without 
 its bane. Pushing tradesmen make a market by offering goods at 
 lower rates than they can possibly be sold at to realise a fair profit. 
 The bait traps the unreflective, and the result is that the receipts en 
 masse are not equal to the tempting samples. There is no new inven- 
 tion in this ; it has been practised in wholesale merchandise and by 
 candidates for contracts, as the proverb hath it, since there were hills 
 and valleys. But we grieve to add it is sometimes resorted to by 
 those whom one would credit for more integrity. Ladies, therefore, 
 need exercise caution, and place confidence only in houses of old- 
 established fame, for rapidly-made businesses are not generally reli- 
 able. And to what does this assertion amount more than to the fact 
 that nothing great can be effected not only without labour but with- 
 out time, and that Eome was not built, as the old saying says, in a 
 day? Messrs. Jay, of Eegent-street, whose name is well known 
 amongst the few on the Lst of hondfide establishments in the metro- 
 polis, have adopted a plan for assisting country ladies in choosing 
 for themselves London fashions and fabrics And their customers may 
 rest assured that they will thus be enabled to obtain goods of every 
 quality, both low and high priced, at the most reasonable terms — 
 that is, the terms of small profits for quick returns — and that they 
 may firmly rely upon the thoroughly corresponding character of 
 Bamples and supplies. — From the Court Journal.
 
 WILD WOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The sun was setting one Tuesday afternoon in 
 September — Wild Wood clock had struck four, 
 and the firing had not yet ceased. The keepers 
 and others had been blazing away all day, and 
 there were many orphans and widows amongst 
 the birds that strutted in the woods. No place 
 looks prettier than when the sun is on it; — and 
 had anyone been gazing at Wild Wood on this 
 particular Tuesday afternoon, they would have 
 been specially pleased by the sight. It was 
 wrapped in a mantle of gold, — it was a noble old 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 WILD WOOD. 
 
 house, with its courtyard and. moss-grown ivy- 
 covered turret ; the windows were deeply set in 
 the solid red stone, and most of the rooms pos- 
 sessed those delicious inventions-window seats, 
 nicely cushioned and roomy. Sight-seers were 
 invariably struck with the imposing appearance 
 of Wild Wood. It looked grand standing in all 
 its proud glory on the top of a green hill, where 
 strawberries grew in abundance. At a distance 
 it seemed as though the glorious trees in thesur- 
 rounding woods met over it ; but when you had 
 mounted up, they receded, and you saw splendid 
 gardens to the left, and to the right a magnificent 
 grove of yew trees, while all round the woods met 
 the eye. It was a good pull up from the grand 
 entrance, and seats were put for the convenience 
 of short-winded individuals. The walnut and 
 copper beech trees stood in all their majesty on 
 each side of the avenues, and aiforded homes for 
 numerous squirrels and birds; and on those hot
 
 WILD WOOD. 6 
 
 days — that only the South can boast of — many 
 were the forms stretched beneath their ample 
 shade. The village butcher and baker boys 
 seemed to make to them as a haven of rest. 
 Could these noble kings of the forest have spoken, 
 they would have related the doings of Maldon 
 for generations, and told of the proud old 
 Drevers who never yet cut one of their brethren 
 down to replenish their coffers. Wild Wood was 
 nearly as old as the trees, and reared its eccentric 
 old chimneys, gables, and turrets in scornful con- 
 tempt on the more modern erections that con- 
 sidered themselves ancient. 
 
 As the old Drevers died off, and the new ones 
 took possession and brought the young madams 
 home, sundry little improvements and alterations 
 had been executed in the interior, but the exterior 
 was left to state its age to admiring spectators, 
 like the trees. Had any authority on the subject 
 been asked his opinion, he would have recom- 
 
 B 2
 
 4 WILD WOOD. 
 
 mended a prop here and a prop there, for several 
 portions of the courtyard and out-buildings 
 looked quite ready to depart from their neigh- 
 bours. But it was an understood thing that Wild 
 Wood was never to be touched, excepting when it 
 gave way, and then it was to be put together 
 again in the old style. 
 
 There was a legend told of a certain Squire 
 Drever, who, to please his wife, consented to pull 
 down an old turret at the east end ; but the owls 
 and ravens which infested the place never ceased 
 screaming, and his lady was found dead in her 
 bed. This brought the Lord of the Manor to his 
 senses, and he had it rebuilt; but the moss or ivy 
 would never make friends with that east turret, 
 and it remained bare ever after in strange contrast 
 to the rest. It was known as the fated turret. 
 The courtyard clock had chimed four, then the 
 clocks in the village, so that for many and many 
 a mile the people knew the hour. A few moments
 
 WILD WOOD. 
 
 after a graceful figure swept down the oaken 
 staircase in a most becoming costume, and out at 
 the side door to go to the gardens, humming the 
 last new song. This radiant beauty was Miss 
 Lois Drever, the noted county belle. 
 
 The Drevers were a good-looking family : but 
 there were two classes. Some took after Madam 
 Drever*s family — the Bentons, and, without 
 doubt, they were the most dazzling, and con- 
 sidered by many the most beautiful, especially the 
 female portion. The Drevers were a dark brown, 
 with handsome eyes and extremely intelligent 
 faces ; but they lacked what the Bentons pos- 
 sessed — a delicacy of feature. In the men it 
 amounted to almost effeminacy ; their finely cut 
 features, lovely blue eyes, and yellow locks, 
 almost rendered them '^ pretty men." But here 
 the strong character and sterling qualities which 
 predominated in the Drever family shone forth, 
 and imparted a more decided tone to their supple
 
 6 WILD WOOD. 
 
 dispositions and pretty faces. The Drevers were 
 known as men of great power and ability, coupled 
 with untarnished honour. The women (those 
 who took after the father's side) were cut after the 
 same pattern, only on a much more delicate scale* 
 They had great courage and true womanly hearts, 
 but the common sense seemed to be pretty equally 
 divided, 
 
 The present Squire John Eeginald Drever was 
 a hale old man in years, but in good health. His 
 wife, Jeanie, was the daughter of Lord Benton, 
 and they had married for love. Their years had 
 been to them but as days, so peacefully had they 
 passed, and now in the decline of life they looked 
 on their children with pleasure and pride. 
 
 Theirs was a true English family — large. As 
 the French say, **Ah! but you must come to 
 England to see that." Yes, England is the 
 place to see large families. The Drevers were 
 eight — four boys and four girls;— they were a
 
 WILD WOOD. 7 
 
 happy united family ; they clung together in twos 
 and twos like most large families. There is some- 
 thing very pleasant in a large family in the 
 country : they are never dull, and all have friends 
 of their own, whom they invite to stay from time 
 to time. Then they have charming skating 
 parties by the light of the moon, or bonfires, 
 and, if Jack Frost does not treat them to his 
 presence, they have dances. If it be summer, 
 there are picnics and nutting parties, without 
 mentioning that detestable and ridiculous game 
 croquet, which people are so fond of. To see that 
 game in its true colours, and properly played, the 
 sides must not be without two or three — " mutton- 
 dressed-lamb-fashion " ladies and a corresponding 
 number of "lean curates." Then to see the 
 ogling, advancing, and retiring performance that 
 goes on is something past all conception. It puts 
 one in mind of Mr. Dousie with a fiddle-stick 
 ready to scrape a " little toon," and his mouth
 
 8 WILD WOOD. 
 
 full of *' Now, young ladies, hold your dresses, 
 and advance, and retire — so." Whereupon Mr. 
 Dousie slides across the floor on his toes with the 
 fiddle-stick posed gracefully in the air, and his 
 face adorned with the everlasting black mous- 
 tache, turned over the left shoulder, while he leers 
 insinuatingly at some Miss Somebody. The ladies 
 who delight in croquet evidently have not for- 
 gotten their dancing lessons by the way they 
 parabasque over the lawn in child's sized boots. 
 I fancy I hear a whisper — ^'Be charitable." 
 
 About half-past four there is a commotion in 
 the courtyard consequent upon the return of the 
 shooting party. It is composed of gentlemen, 
 keepers, and dogs, but only one Drever — the 
 oldest son and heir, Durill. The Squire is now 
 too old to shoot all day, so he came home some 
 hours before them. 
 
 *^ Well, if you fellows won't come in and have 
 something, I suppose I shall see you to-morrow ?*
 
 WILD WOOD. 9 
 
 " No, thanks, Drever, it is getting on for ^ve ; 
 but I think there will be a pretty good muster to- 
 morrow, after such capital sport to-day." 
 
 ^* So much the better. Glad to see you all, you 
 know." 
 
 Then there was a great deal of laughing, 
 joking, and saying "good-byes," before they 
 trooped off through the Druids Grove, which was 
 the nearest way for most of them. Then Durill 
 Drever turned round, and made for the side 
 entrance ; but before he had reached it, he en- 
 countered pretty Lois returning from the gardens. 
 She held a few choice flowers in her hand, and her 
 lovely face with its crown of yellow hair made her 
 look bewitching. There was a great contrast be- 
 tween brother and sister — the one so dark, stern, 
 and handsome ; the other so golden and fairy- 
 like. But Lois was a Benton Drever, like three 
 of the others. 
 
 Durill Drever was a mighty man, Lois's yellow 
 
 B 5
 
 10 WILD WOOD. 
 
 head did not nearly reach his great shoulder as 
 she stood beside him. 
 
 " Have they all gone, Durill ?" 
 
 " Yes ; they would not come in. I think some 
 of them asked after you, Lois." 
 
 " Did they ? much obliged. Were the Hard- 
 wicks out, Durill ?" 
 
 " No ; Captain Hardwick is expecting his young 
 brother George down, and I think he went to 
 meet him." 
 
 Durill stretched himself. 
 
 " They have not got back yet, I suppose, Lois ?" 
 
 " They ! if you mean by ^ they' — Judy and the 
 new importations — no ; and if I had my way they 
 would stay away. I cannot see why we must be 
 saddled with other people's children. Gilbert got 
 married entirely on his own account to some 
 vulgar girl : he never asked any of our opinions 
 about it, and now he has the cheek to send us 
 two children."
 
 WILD WOOD. 11 
 
 Pretty Lois looked very wrath, and the big man 
 at her side took it coolly. 
 
 **Well, we must be kind to the poor little 
 beggars, Lois. They are not to blame for their 
 father being a fool. I wonder what they are like, 
 though ?" and he stroked his splendid moustache 
 meditatively. 
 
 Like most bachelors of thirty- three, he had a 
 vague idea of children. 
 
 " The same as most other children — Minnie's, 
 for instance — cross-tempered,'' answered the still 
 angry Lois. 
 
 "Come, Lois, you are too severe; Minnie's 
 children are not bad-tempered naturally, and 
 when they are it is their mother's fault. She is 
 like you— not suited to them. That Arnold is a 
 bonny little chap." 
 
 " Well, I am not so fond of children, I confess, 
 and I don't suppose you will be after we have had 
 these two here a month. They will be an intoler- 
 able nuisance."
 
 12 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Indeed ! they are here now, so we shall soon 
 find out. Bush ! I think I hear wheels." 
 
 ** Do you ? then good bye. I am ofif, for they 
 are certain to scream, if at nothing else but your 
 great face." 
 
 Off ran Lois, leaving Durill, showing white 
 teeth from ear to ear, to follow more slowly. At 
 the bottom of the stairs Lois ran into a good 
 sensible looking girl, a shade taller than herself, 
 and very like the great fellow she had left in the 
 garden. 
 
 " Don't stop me. May. Durill says he hears 
 the carriage, and those infants are sure to make 
 a disturbance. I wish you joy at your end with 
 those children. It is well you have only Durill 
 with you, and Julius is away. If Crispin had 
 been at home, and in the west end, he would have 
 served you out." 
 
 *' I thought you did not want to be stopped, 
 Lois, and here you are saying what you have no 
 need to say. The children must go somewhere.
 
 WILD WOOD. IS 
 
 they cannot sleep upon the roof, and it was Judy 
 that fixed upon those two rooms more than I." 
 
 " Judy ? yes, indeed, she would like to turn us 
 all upside down because they are her dear Gilbert's 
 children." 
 
 ^^ Well ! I don^t think you need make such a 
 fuss, Lois ; you will not miss your sleep, or be 
 distressed in any way." 
 
 " There, May, you are vexed I can see." 
 
 ^' I am not over pleased, I must confess," re- 
 plied May, raising her full brown eyes to the' 
 worrying Lois, who seemed quite happy mounted 
 up three stairs, and laughing at May's sober 
 face. '* I think you are getting very selfish, 
 Lois." 
 
 Lois's only answer was a rippling laugh, as she 
 mounted still higher up the broad oak staircase. 
 
 May continued her way along the hall till 
 arrested by somebody with a rich baritone 
 calling —
 
 14 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Here, May, where are you off to with such a 
 dignified bearing ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Durill, have you had a good day's sport ?" 
 and May went to him so gladly. 
 
 ** Yes, pretty well, darling." 
 
 He drew her with him into his snuggery, a cosy 
 room to the right of the hall, near the side door. 
 
 '^ What is the matter. May?" he asked, hold- 
 her face between his hands. 
 
 " Nothing much ; but Lois said you heard the 
 carriage coming up ; they are a long while get- 
 ting to the top, are they not ?" 
 
 Durill laughed. 
 
 " To tell the truth May, I drew on my ima- 
 gination to get rid of Miss Lois. I did not hear 
 the carriage; they won't be here for four 
 minutes." 
 
 May smiled too. They were strikingly alike, 
 this brother and sister. 
 
 May was the youngest, and Durill's pet. He
 
 WILD WOOD. 16 
 
 had chosen well ; she had a true heart, and a 
 sensible head. Durill used to nurse little big 
 eyed May when a plump baby, and put her pink 
 foot, with its ^Ye little toes, in his mouth. 
 
 And when questioned as to whose pet she was, 
 and who she belonged to, she would lisp out, 
 " Papa and Durill." She was Durill's right hand, 
 helped him with his papers and letters, for the 
 Squire left everything to Durill, and Durill in his 
 turn left a good deal to May. She had her own 
 side of the table, and her own chair in Durill's 
 snuggery, and when their work was done they 
 used to sit and chatter to each other; strange 
 things they talked about sometimes, those two 
 with their long heads. Durill used to learn from 
 May, and May from Durill, 
 
 *' What did you want to get quit of Lois for, 
 Durill?" 
 
 " Why she was harping on that old string again, 
 those poor, unfortunate children, May, and I
 
 16 WILD WOOD. 
 
 could not stand it. She seems to me to take a 
 very unnatural view of the case. And she does 
 not say a good say and have done with it, but 
 she nibbles, nibbles ; she is most tiresome." 
 
 " Yes, she is. Do you know it was she who 
 made me out of temper just now. I met her at 
 the bottom of the stairs, and she stopped to wish 
 me joy because my rooms are next to those pre- 
 pared for the poor little things ; and if Crispin 
 had been at home he would not have allowed it." 
 
 " Pray, what has Crispin to do with it?" 
 
 *^ Nothing that I can see ; his rooms are not 
 at our end, only near ; and he can get moved 
 further on if he does not like it, when he comes 
 home." 
 
 '^ Of course he can. Such a selfish set. Julius 
 won't mind, I am sure, any more than you and I 
 will, May. I will never marry, May, if I am to 
 have a wife like Lois, who is pretty enough, but 
 dreadfully selfish."
 
 WILD WOOD. 17 
 
 '' Durill, why don't you get married ? You 
 will be getting grey soon, and then no one will 
 have you." 
 
 '' Is that so ? Well, then I will wait till I am 
 grey to try my luck. But, May, I want to find 
 a little girl like you ; I want just such another 
 wife as you will make." 
 
 May laughed. 
 
 " What a pity we are brother and sister, or we 
 might have arranged matters to our satisfaction ^ 
 you will make your old May conceited. But I 
 am not thinking of getting married, Durill; 
 what put it into your head ?" 
 
 " Nothing particular, only I think I may re- 
 turn the compliment, and recommend you to be 
 quick. You were twenty last week, and posi- 
 tively have no lover. I wonder how many Miss 
 Lois has ?" 
 
 " Ah ! Lois ; don't talk about it. The last time
 
 18 WILD WOOD. 
 
 she confided in me she had five, according to her 
 own calculation." 
 
 *' You don't say so ? Well, if she only hooks 
 as decent a fellow as Mark Calvert she will do 
 well." 
 
 " Have you seen him to-day ? How is Minnie ? 
 The habies I need not ask about." 
 
 " Quite well, he said. He was going to Ash- 
 worth to see someone who had been crushed in a 
 thrashing machine. I met him by the Scrubbs." 
 
 " It is very nice having Minnie so close, but I 
 must say X was not very sorry when Mark took 
 her away, she was so like Lois." 
 
 *^ Right you are, May ; I like her better at a 
 distance, too. I don't know how it is they are 
 such lovely girls, and yet have such odd disposi- 
 tions. Perhaps it is with being so much admired. 
 Society is a bad thing for weak minds." 
 
 ** I think so too, and I quite dread little Lucy
 
 WILD WOOD. 19 
 
 growing up, because Minnie will never be careful 
 about such things, and the child will be quite 
 xuined.*' 
 
 " Time enough for that. May ; it is no use 
 always looking for breakers ahead." 
 
 *^ Nay, I differ with you, Durill ; we should be 
 on the look out for breakers, and try to steer 
 clear of them. Many a ship is lost because the 
 watchman is asleep, and does not see the danger. 
 ' Watch, lest ye enter into temptation.' We are. 
 all ships on the sea of life, and exposed to more 
 dangers than those on the salt sea, yet no one 
 watches, and some day we shall get on the rocks 
 or in a whirlpool. Then we shall cry aloud like 
 the disciples did during the storm, when Jesus 
 was asleep. But he won't be in the boat with us, 
 Durill." 
 
 " No, but he will be as near to us, little May." 
 They were silent for a few seconds, then there 
 came the sound of carriage wheels.
 
 20 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Here they are, Durill." 
 May opened the door. 
 
 There in the hall stood Miss Drever, holding 
 two little children by the hands.
 
 WILD WOOD. 21 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 "Oh, May, see love!" 
 
 " Yes, come in here, Judy, for a moment." 
 
 May drew the poor little things in, while 
 Judith followed wearily, and, throwing back her 
 veil, gazed at Durill and sighed. 
 
 " What is the matter, Judy?" 
 
 *' Oh, Durill ! you cannot think how bad things 
 are with Gilbert. I dare not tell papa; but I was 
 so glad to bring these children away." 
 
 This caused Durill and May to look down 
 more attentively at the two poor forlorn little 
 creatures standing like outcasts, hand in hand ; 
 a boy and a girl — twins — not quite four. The
 
 21J, WILD WOOD. 
 
 boy, Ivo, was a manly little fellow with a proud 
 flash in his splendid eyes, infant though he was. 
 His hair was a dark chesnut, and curled naturally 
 down his back. He stood by his sister in a pro- 
 tecting sort of manner, which was truly touching 
 in one so young, while she, poor little darling, 
 crept closer to him, and buried her face in his 
 side. Her hair, like his, curled naturally, only it 
 was just a tone lighter. They were beautiful 
 children, without doubt ; there was a good deal of 
 the wonderful beauty of Lois about them, whioh 
 was no wonder, for their father, Gilbert, was a 
 Benton Drever. 
 
 Little Evelyn began to cry — not a lusty roar, as 
 prognosticated by Aunt Lois, but silently, the 
 large drops rolling quickly over the fair round 
 cheeks, and the pretty mouth quivering. May 
 gathered her to her directly, and soothed her with 
 soft words and that beautiful tenderness which is 
 the inheritance of a true woman. There, held
 
 WILD WOOD. 23 
 
 closely, she gained courage, and raising her 
 pretty head, called for Ivo to come. So May, 
 with a smile, took him to her also, and com- 
 menced talking to them sweetly, making the 
 poor little strangers feel at home. Great Durill 
 looked on, a world of delight shining in his brown 
 eyes, while Miss Drever seemed greatly relieved 
 to be rid of them, and that they had taken to 
 someone. 
 
 Judith Drever was thirty-one, a good strong 
 woman, but she had had a blight when young, 
 and it appeared to have dried up a great portion 
 of the ^'milk of human kindness." She was 
 kind-hearted, and did her duty, but she lacked 
 gentleness. Her sorrow was not to be seen on 
 her good-looking sensible face, it had worn away 
 with the long long years, and at the same time 
 worn away the sweetness of her youth. She felt 
 for the griefs and troubles of others, but hers was 
 a heavy hand to lay on an aching brow. Gilbert
 
 24 WILD WOOD. 
 
 was her favourite, and to none had his life been 
 a greater disappointment than to poor Judy. He 
 had, like many others, taken the wrong turning. 
 He was Madam's pet, because he was like her own 
 family. Those who had the yellow locks and 
 blue eyes stood a better chance with their lady 
 mother. Madam Drever. She was a lovely woman, 
 but of a worrying disposition and weak intellect. 
 She had not the power to resist the pleading of 
 her children when they asked for anything, even 
 if it were bad for them. She winked at their 
 faults, and screened them from the Squire, who, 
 in his strong sense of honour, would have dealt 
 severely with them. Thus it was that Gilbert, 
 her third child, and the first like herself, went to 
 ruin, on a gentlemanly scale. Indolence and 
 vanity were the two first vices to shake him by 
 the hand. He had wasted his time terribly. He 
 imagined himself very clever, and boasted of what 
 he could do ; but, as his brains might have been
 
 WILD WOOD. , 26 
 
 carried about in a thimble, they were soon used 
 up, and then it became only too apparent to all 
 beholders what sort of a young man Gilbert 
 Benton Drever was. 
 
 He could not make anything for himself, 
 though he had had every possible assistance ren- 
 dered him, or if he did make it he lost it or spent 
 it. So the post-bag contained no end of epistles, 
 couched in the most flowery terms, and garnished 
 with elaborate flourishes, the sum and substance 
 of which was always, " I want some money." 
 For the last few months these missives had been 
 directed to either Madam or Judy, and they, 
 woman like, strained every point to help their 
 darling, always hoping he would turn over a new 
 leaf, and quite unable to perceive that the scamp 
 would sit still for ever with his mouth open for 
 them or anyone else who was fool enough to feed 
 him. 
 
 About five years before we became acquainted 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 WILD WOOD. 
 
 with them he had taken to himself for better or 
 for worse a young person of the name of Emily 
 Ryde. He asked no one's opinion about it, for 
 no better reason than that he knew his family 
 would not agree to it. 
 
 So he married her and then informed his 
 family of what he had done. 
 
 The Squire's face went purple as he read the 
 letter, and then told the astonished family what 
 their brother had accomplished. 
 
 The fruits of that ill-fated marriage were the 
 two pretty little creatures we left on May's knee. 
 Gilbert had coolly written to say that he and his 
 wife were thinking of going abroad, and they 
 could not take the children, therefore he asked 
 for them a home till he was in a better position. 
 
 This request was strengthened by a letter to 
 Durill from Julius, a rising barrister, living in 
 the Temple, saying how Gilbert teased him, and 
 what a life he was leading. Durill showed this
 
 WILD WOOD. 27 
 
 epistle to their father, and the Squire determined 
 to take the children. So that Tuesday morning 
 Judy set off to fetch the nei^lected babies to the 
 home ready for them at Wild Wood. 
 
 "Judy, have you seen mamma yet?" 
 
 " No, May, I have not, and I don't feel equal 
 to just at present; you can't think how com- 
 pletely cut up I am. I don't wonder at Julius 
 writing to you as he did, Durill. He was quite 
 right in all he said, I only wish to goodness we 
 had found it out sooner !" Judy was half crying 
 while making this confession. 
 
 '^ What sort of a place was it, Judy, and what 
 is she like?" 
 
 " She! don't mention it pray, Durill. Ah, such 
 -a creature, I can't think whatever Gilbert has 
 been about ; he must have been mad to have 
 chained himself to such a girl. But I strongly 
 suspect the great source of attraction was the few 
 hundreds handed to her on her wedding day !" 
 
 2
 
 28 WILD WOOD. 
 
 '' Good God ! has Gilbert sunk so low as 
 that?" 
 
 *^ Yes, indeed he has, Durill, and a great deal 
 lower ; he is lost, I plainly see, and no wonder 
 either, with such a wife. Not that I want to 
 excuse him, for my eyes are opened now. But 
 there is no chance for him, even if he were dis- 
 posed to make an effort, with such a drag." 
 
 '^ What is she like ; good looking?" 
 
 '' No. I don't consider her good looking, 
 though no doubt many do. I can see no beauty 
 in her. She is a vulgar, indolent, ignorant thing, 
 with impudence enough for a dozen. I am cer- 
 tain you would both say the same if you saw her. 
 She came to me this morning, and they did not 
 know I was coming, you know, at half-past ten 
 in a light silk dress, all daubed with grease, and 
 her head ornamented with a green ribbon. She 
 entered the room as upright as a grenadier guard, 
 and swooped down upon me. I was petrified."
 
 WILD WOOD. 29 
 
 " How does she manage her house ? What 
 sort is it — a villa is it not ?" 
 
 " One of a row of small, but not bad houses. 
 * Terrogardo Villas,' or some such name. It is 
 next to the end. But oh ! May, love, the dirt of 
 the place ! I did not know where to sit down for 
 the cleanest. And when I went upstairs I was 
 obliged to wash the basin out before I could wash 
 my hands." 
 
 " Poor Gilbert !" gesticulated May. 
 
 " Yes, you may well seiypoor, he is to be pitied; 
 he looked to me ashamed. She actually spoke of 
 the children as ' kids.' It is a blessing they are 
 so young, they will forget what they have seen. 
 If Gilbert had married a simple, modest, indus- 
 trious girl, it would have been all right; she 
 could have attended to the house and children. 
 But that creature is not educated ; all she does, 
 if I may judge from the pile I saw in a corner, is 
 to read ' Family Heralds.' She thinks too much
 
 30 WILD WOOD. 
 
 of herself to see to the children or clean the 
 house, and Gilbert has to have two dirty trollop- 
 ing servants, when he is not in a position to pay 
 one." 
 
 The babies Ivo and Evelyn had been play- 
 ing with May's rings and staring about them ; 
 now, howevef, they turned round and faced 
 Durill and Judy. So Durill took little Evelyn 
 in his arms and kissed the rosy face. She stroked 
 his face with her tiny hands, and was quite happy. 
 '' Say uncle Durill, little one." '' Uncle Durill," 
 lisped the child, for which she got nearly 
 smothered with kisses. Suddenly the door 
 opened, and in came Lois ready dressed for 
 dinner. 
 
 " So you are back, Judy, I thought I saw a 
 trunk going towards May's end of the house. 
 And these are the children ? What a pretty little 
 trot. How sweet she would look in white and 
 blue, eh, May ? What is your name ?"
 
 WILD WOOD. 31 
 
 But Evelyn did not seem to take to the cold 
 lady bending over her, so she immediately buried 
 her face on uncle Durill's broad chest, with a 
 little whine of satisfaction. Durill gave her a 
 fond hug, aDd laughed. 
 
 " You don't understand the infant age, Lois. 
 They are too young to appreciate your pretty face 
 or your ' get-up,' and you are too much afraid of 
 having your yellow pyramid disarranged to bend 
 to them. Try Ivo, he is of the male sex, per- , 
 haps he will not be indifiFerent to your charms." 
 
 Lois' pretty face flushed indignantly, and Judy 
 and May could hardly refrain from laughing. 
 
 " Well, there's one thing to be said," answered 
 the injured beauty, " if I don't understand them 
 you do, but I don't believe it will last very 
 long." 
 
 '' Don't you ? I would not prophecy any more 
 were I you, Lois, considering how badly your 
 first attempt in that line went off."
 
 32 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " What was that, pray ?" 
 
 " Why, that we should have a terrific outburst 
 the instant they set foot in the house. They 
 have been here about a quarter of an hour and 
 we have not had it." 
 
 " Don't boast ; wait a bit, you will have it 
 presently. You and your dear May have your 
 hands full." 
 
 ** So it seems, for we sha'n't get any help from 
 you ; we don't expect it." 
 
 " Yes," said Judy, rising, " it does seem pretty 
 clear whose children they are going to be. You 
 and May will divide the honours between you." 
 
 The elegant Lois was near the door, but she 
 condescendingly turned back to say — 
 
 " You people will all be late for dinner if you 
 don't make haste." 
 
 *' Yes, I think we shall ; but it is an unusual 
 event, the arrival of two children. Come, May, 
 you bring the little chap. Is he too heavy for
 
 WILD WOOD. 33 
 
 you ? If so give him to me, I can carry both 
 easily." 
 
 *^ Oh ! no, Durill, I can manage quite well ; he 
 is very light and I am very strong. But do 
 move your great shoulders out of the way, I 
 can't see where I am going to." 
 
 " If you don't behave yourself. Auntie May, I 
 will carry the three of you off." 
 
 <' Don't boast of your strength, you giant; you 
 are quite equal to anything, I know. So, chil- 
 dren, recollect whenever you want a nice ride you 
 must go to Uncle Durill." 
 
 " Now, then, May, what is that you are put- 
 ting into their young minds ?" 
 
 " A ride on your back," said Ivo. 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, we'll see. By the way, who 
 is going to attend to these morsels ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Judy engaged Mrs. Cowley's sister, 
 Parker, such a nice girl. She came last night, 
 and I think she will do nicely." 
 
 c 5
 
 34 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ^* Well, here we are, so I must sit you down, 
 darling. One sweet kiss for carrying you up- 
 stairs." 
 
 Evelyn laughed, and readily kissed and patted 
 the handsome face. 
 
 " Now, May, it is a case of be quick." 
 
 " Yes, but T must go and speak to nurse* 
 Knock at my door as you pass, please, Durill." 
 
 ^^ All right." 
 
 No one quite liked to mention the children to 
 the Squire. Dessert was on the table, and they 
 had told Parker to send them in. The old Squire 
 was a kind-hearted man, but on the subject of 
 Gilbert he was exceedingly bitter, and not with- 
 out cause either. However long a purse may be, 
 when there are perpetual draws upon it and a 
 large family it all helps to shorten it. 
 
 May glanced at Judy to get her to name them, 
 but Judy gave a decided shake of her sober head. 
 Madam was busy talking to the beauty Loi&
 
 WILD WOOD. 35 
 
 about a journey to London, and a visit to Madame 
 Elise, Regent Street. 
 
 *^Yes, I think white trimmed with blue or 
 pink, don't you, mamma ? Minnie was talking 
 about pale green, but I fancy white relieved with 
 a colour this time, and moreover, it will be use- 
 ful now we have that little Evelyn. That reminds 
 me where are they ? May, are they not to come 
 in?" 
 
 *' Yes, I expect them every moment." 
 " That was a lucky stroke of Lois, eh, May?"' 
 whispered Durill. '^ The most useful thing she 
 has done for many a day." 
 The Squire looked up. 
 " Ah ! where are the children, May ?" 
 " Coming, papa ; I told Parker, but perhaps 
 they are too sleepy after their journey." 
 "Judy, did you see Gilbert ?" 
 «' Yes, papa, I did ; also his wife." 
 This was said in the most uucompromismg
 
 36 WILD WOOD. 
 
 tone possible. Every one was silent. It was 
 quite evident the Squire would have to ask if he 
 intended to be enlightened ; Judy would volun- 
 teer nothing. The silence was rather embarras- 
 sing. 
 
 *' Lois, sherry ?" 
 
 '^ Please, mamma." 
 
 Miss Lois never seemed to feel anything. She 
 was indifferent to other people's troubles, and 
 never had any of her own. Happy Lois I Yes, 
 in one sense, but not in another. When trouble 
 came to her she would have to seek shelter, she 
 had none within herself. Like all butterflies, her 
 place was in the sunshine. 
 
 " Judy," continued the Squire, '' what do you 
 think of Gilbert ?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied that lady, after a pause. 
 
 " Judy, my dear,'' interposed madam, softly^ 
 while she fidgeted her bracelets nervously. 
 
 " No, no, Jeanie," called out the Squire to his
 
 WILD WOOD. 37 
 
 wife, " no more blinds, if you please ; I have had 
 enough of them. The time for concealment is 
 past. Speak, Judith, my daughter, what do you 
 think Gilbert is doing ?" 
 
 " He is not doing anything, papa," answered 
 Judy, raising her calm face, " and what is worse, 
 he does not try to do anything." 
 
 *' Do you mean to tell me he does not attend 
 to his business ?'* 
 
 " He has no business ; his office has been 
 closed for some time. He says he could get no 
 work." 
 
 " Then upon what is he living ?" 
 
 " On what vou allow him, and what he can 
 screw out of Julius, and for the rest he goes into 
 debt. I fear he will never do any good again, 
 and the wife he has chosen is not at all calculated 
 to spur him on." 
 
 A dead silence followed this confession of
 
 38 WILD WOOD. 
 
 Judy's ; even the gay Lois was awed. May and 
 Durill exchanged glances ; they knew what it cost 
 poor brave Judy to tell of her favourite brother. 
 But she would be true to her father, even at the 
 expense of her own feelings. She had dreaded 
 being asked, because, as she told May — 
 
 '' I must tell the truth." 
 
 " Judy, I am entirely of your opinion on the 
 subject. I don't believe he ever will do any good. 
 I told your mother so six years ago. Now, how- 
 ever, the doubt is settled, I will not help those 
 who will not help themselves. I firmly believe 
 had I refused assistance at the onset, he would 
 have exerted himself. If he had been the son of 
 a poor man, he would have had to either work or 
 starve — and hunger is a capital stimulant. But 
 from this quarter I stop my allowance ; it falls 
 due on the 29th— eh, Durill?" 
 
 *' Yes, sir."
 
 WILD WOOD. 39 
 
 " Well, then, he gets no more after that. He 
 shall not be helped on his way to the devil by 
 me. I have taken the children, and he and his 
 wife must look out for themselves. As it is, he 
 has had considerably over his share, and that 
 before my death, too." 
 
 Madam commenced to use her lace handker- 
 chief, but not without an eye to effect, while her 
 blue eyes shot quick lightning at Judy. It had 
 considerably astonished Madam Drever to hear 
 Judy take sides against Gilbert, whom she had 
 hitherto helped to screen. But there is a limit 
 to all things, and amongst the rest Judy's 
 patience. 
 
 The visit to Terrogardo Villas had revealed a 
 great deal to Judy, which in all probability but 
 for that visit they would never have found out. 
 For shocking to state, Gilbert did not tell the 
 truth ; Julius had been the first to see round the
 
 40 WILD WOOD. 
 
 curtain, and he had written very strongly on the 
 subject to Durill. But he did not go to Red 
 Hill ; he merely drew his own conclusion from 
 what Gilbert told him, so the blow had in'reality 
 fallen upon Judy.
 
 WILD WOOD. 41 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 "It is a quarter-past seven ; I wonder whether 
 those children are coming, May?" asked the 
 Squire. 
 
 " I don't know what is keeping them, I am 
 sure ; shall I go and see ?" 
 
 May rose, but before she reached the door there 
 was a knock, and it opened. 
 
 There stood Parker with Ivo and Evelyn, look- 
 ing charming in pretty white frocks. Everyone 
 was surprised ; they were wonderfully lovely 
 children. They came straight to May and Darill. 
 The old Squire put up his glass, and exclaimed 
 " Bless me !" while genuine tears ran down 
 madam's cheeks this time. May led them to the
 
 42 WILD WOOD. 
 
 Squire, and they gazed at him fearlessly, and put 
 their little fat hands on his knees. 
 
 Parker had vanished, or she might have been 
 surprised to see the almost vicious manner in 
 which the Squire kissed the little things. They 
 were fearless, happy children, and they went 
 round the table first to one and then another, 
 getting nice things. But they found their rest- 
 ing places : Evelyn on Uncle Durill's knee, and 
 Ivo on Aunt May's. ^ 
 
 <* I thought they were Gilbert's babies, Durill ?" 
 said the Squire. 
 
 ** So I believe they are, sir/' answered Durill, 
 laughing ; " but they seemed to take to May and 
 me the moment they came, and I think we are 
 very glad to have it so, eh. May ?" 
 
 ** Oh ! yes, certainly ; they will be quite play- 
 things for us, and prevent us getting either sel- 
 fish or bad tempered. Papa, I wish you would 
 give me one of those oranges for Ivo."
 
 WILD WOOD. 4S 
 
 *< Certainly ; here, little man. And what must 
 grandpapa give you, my little maid ?" 
 
 " Tonga cake," replied Miss Evelyn, wriggling 
 with delight on Durill's knee, and extending two 
 little fat fists, each armed with a ^' 'ponge cake," 
 across the table. 
 
 ** Durill," called Lois, ^' I should advise you to 
 give your child a drink of water ; the rate she is 
 cramming those dry cakes down is dangerous I 
 am sure." ^ 
 
 ^* You don't say so. Judy, that goblet, please. 
 May, do you see any alarming symptoms ? do you 
 recommend patting her on the back or shaking 
 her?' 
 
 *^ Nonsense, Durill, the child is not going to 
 choke ; she is all right, dear little thing." 
 
 " Then, ^ dear little thing,' turn round, and let 
 me look at you." 
 
 Evelyn rolled her little hot body round, 
 smothering the plate with her balloon petticoats,
 
 44 WILD WOOD. 
 
 and commenced a furious attack of kissing, 
 smearing her uncle's face all over. But he stood 
 it all like a Spartan, indeed he seemed rather to 
 like it if one might judge by the number of 
 squeezes her plump little body received. She 
 talked and jabbered away in his face, much to the 
 amusement of the Squire, who at last found voice 
 to exclaim — 
 
 " I had no idea you were so fond of children, 
 Durill." 
 
 " Had you not ? Well, certainly you have never 
 bad an opportunity of judging, for Minnie's babies 
 are rather too small to play with at present, though 
 I had a grand romp with Lucy the other day." 
 
 '^ By-the-bye, that reminds me," said madam, 
 ^^ how is Arnold getting on? There was some 
 trouble about his teeth ; Minnie told me Mark 
 was afraid of convulsions." 
 
 *^ Well, T don't know ; I did not hear anything 
 about it, and he looked all right. He stuffed
 
 WILD WOOD. 45 
 
 everything into his mouth that he could lay 
 hands on, and I suppose that is a sign of teeth." 
 
 " Evelyn, where did you get that pretty frock 
 from ?" asked Lois, who, as usual, had an eye to 
 the finery. 
 
 The child looked at Lois, but never uttered a 
 sound. 
 
 " Tell Aunty Lois, Evelyn," whispered Durill. 
 
 Instantly the little girl glanced at him, and 
 said quite loud — 
 
 " I don't know." ^ 
 
 She was evidently puzzled herself. 
 
 '^ Ivo, do you know ?" asked madam. 
 
 *' No, grandmamma ; they are new." 
 
 ^'Well, perhaps Judy can solve the riddle." 
 
 " Yes I can, Lois. I got them along with a 
 number of other things this morning at Sill's. 
 The rest are to be sent on to-night, they required 
 several alterations. The clothes they had were
 
 46 WILD WOOD. 
 
 not new, and I could not let tliem come with 
 them alone." 
 
 ** No, you did quite right, Judy. Since we are 
 to have the children they must rank with us, and 
 be dressed according to their position. Though 
 I daresay your mamma can find plenty of things 
 for them." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that, my dear. Minnie 
 took all my treasures for Lucy, but no doubt we 
 shall manage very well. May, you must have a 
 hunt amongst your possessions." 
 
 ^^ Willingly; but I imagine Lois is the best 
 person to apply to for choice bits, I never pur- 
 chase too much material." 
 
 *' Oh ! I must say I like that ; so I am to dress 
 these two little creatures ?" 
 
 " No, most certainly not ; I don't mean any- 
 thing of the kind, which you know perfectly well, 
 only if you have any pieces suitable, I shall be
 
 WILD WOOD. 47 
 
 glad of them. Ivo must be put into nickerbockers 
 soon ; don't you think so, Judy ?" 
 
 " Yes, and I have some capital stuff for that 
 purpose." 
 
 " Here's Parker ; I wonder who she has come 
 for?" 
 
 ^' Oh ! is it time. Aunty May ?" 
 
 '^ Yes, Ivo dear ; you will never be able to get 
 up in the morning if you don't go to bed. Go 
 and say good-night to grandpapa and all round." 
 
 Ivo made a tour of the table, but Evelyn never 
 offered to move. She sat still, with her plump 
 arms clasped round Durill's neck, and her cheek 
 pressed against his, looking defiance at Parker 
 through a shower of carls. Durill smiled. 
 
 '' Come, Evelyn, Ivo has kissed everyone, and 
 you are not off my knee yet." 
 
 She shuffled down, thereby twisting her petti- 
 coats nearly round her neck, and ran off to kiss 
 " Good-night." Parker and Ivo stood waiting
 
 48 WILD WOOD. 
 
 at the door, but she darted past them round the 
 other end, and arrived puffing at Durill's side. 
 He looked down from his superior height, at the 
 small creature whose fat fingers were doing a 
 faint scrape on his leg. 
 
 "Why you don't mean to say you are not 
 gone ?" 
 
 "I go wid you !'' 
 
 " With me ? but I am not going to bed ; my 
 half-past-seven go to bed days ended long ago." 
 
 *' The truth is, she wants you to carry her up 
 those long stairs, Durill ; she is young, and I 
 am old, so I can feel for her, and it is a tremen- 
 dous pull up. That's it, is it not, Evelyn ? you 
 want Uncle Durill to carry you up to bed this 
 once ?" 
 
 " Ris, grandpapa." 
 
 " You mean this twice, papa,'' said Lois ; 
 " that is the consequence of beginning a bad 
 practice, Durill."
 
 WILD WOOD. 49 
 
 " You quite astonish me, Aunt Lois, I had no 
 idea you were so prudent or farseeing. But I am 
 not so sure about its being a bad practice. Come 
 along little one, your horse is ready." 
 
 " Who is your horse, Ivo ? * 
 
 " Aunty May, grandpapa." 
 
 ^' Aunty May ! is he not too heavy for you. 
 May, my dear ?'* 
 
 "No, papa, I can carry him perfectly well. 
 See, Ivo ; mount that chair. There, now, off we 
 go." 
 
 Parker followed with one of Miss Evelyn's 
 shoes, which had slipped off in her exertions to 
 ^rive her " Gee-gee. " 
 
 The babies were carried up and deposited in 
 their nursery safely. May was quite flushed with 
 the pace they had come at. 
 
 '^ Capital exercise, this, May," laughed strong 
 Durill, who, to use a horsey phrase, had " not 
 turned a hair. " 
 
 VOL. L D
 
 50 WILD WOOD. 
 
 *' Yes, indeed, I don*t think I shall ever re- 
 quire to embrace ' Banting' while these little 
 tyrants remain." 
 
 "To bed, to bed, you sleepy head." 
 
 *' Good-night, darlings; be good children." 
 
 " May, I want to say something to you, let us 
 stand here, there is no one about. I had a letter 
 this morning from Crispin, and he wants some 
 money at once." 
 
 " Money, Durill ? impossible, why it is not 
 three weeks since he had his allowance, and that 
 nearly double, too." 
 
 " Well, he says he wants some badly. I fancy 
 he is in some scrape, but I don't know how to 
 tell my father." 
 
 '^ Nor I, because his allowance is so handsome, 
 and he has nothing to pay out of it. Keally, 
 Durill, I by chance got hold of his last year's 
 college bills the other morning, and I assure you 
 I was shocked. He is far more extravagant than
 
 WILD WOOD. 51 
 
 Julius was. It is awfully expensive ; I hope he 
 is not idling his time away. But I am afraid he 
 is going to follow Gilbert's example." 
 
 " Never, surely; one in a family is quite enough, 
 May. But I must confess I don't like or under- 
 stand him continually wanting money. And I 
 don't see where it is to come from just at present. 
 Because everything is settled, and the Squire is 
 full of those new cottages. He will not have 
 anything out of order in his affairs ; he puts 
 down a certain sum for everything, and he is very 
 liberal, too ; but he will not have it overdrawn, 
 unless there is some excellent cause." 
 
 " Well, what is to be done, Durill ? If Crispin 
 really requires the money, I suppose he must have 
 it some way, or else he will resort to some under- 
 handed scheme that will prove twice as expensive 
 in the long run. Go to the Jews, or get money 
 advanced on his prospects. He is a Benton 
 
 D 5 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOU 
 LIBRARY
 
 62 WILD WOOD. 
 
 Drever, Durill, and up to all manner of dodges. 
 I wonder why he does not apply to his mother. 
 She might part with her grandmother's diamonds 
 to obli|;e him." 
 
 *' You are speaking bitterly, May. Our 
 mother is a foolish woman ; but we must bear 
 with all and everything, because she is our 
 mother." 
 
 " Yes, I know that perfectly well ; but, still, I 
 cannot help feeling annoyed, for papa has to pay 
 for her ridiculous pampering and favouritism, 
 and Oris is just putting his feet in Gilbert's 
 marks. Julius never caused any trouble, and 
 look how industrious and clever he is I More- 
 over, I question whether Crispin is really benefit- 
 ting very much by his prolonged stay. He ought 
 to have passed last term ; he was well drilled by 
 Dr. Tinley." 
 
 '^ Yes, you are correct, he should have gone up 
 last term, and it annoyed my father extremely.
 
 WILD WOOD. 53 
 
 But the question just now is, where is this money 
 to come from ?'* 
 
 ^^ How much is it ?" 
 
 ** Well, he very coolly asks for as much over a 
 hundred as I can send, but certainly not less 
 than a hundred.*' 
 
 ^' Good gracious, Durill ! He must have got 
 into some scrape or other." 
 
 " So I think, May, and I have almost made 
 up my mind not to name it to the Squire ; it will 
 put him so much out of the way, especially now 
 that Gilbert has shown up in his true colours." 
 
 ^^ Then what are you going to do ?" 
 
 " Why, I am going to send him one hundred, 
 and not a penny over, and a stiff letter, telling 
 him it will be the last he will get from me." 
 
 " You are a good fellow, Durill ; I wonder 
 what we should do without you ? You spend a 
 great deal of money on first one thing and then 
 another,"
 
 54 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Well, I can aflford it ; my engineering pays 
 well. I have made a great deal out of that new 
 boiler, May. And Howards want me to sell it 
 to them, but that I won't do, because it pays 
 better to keep the right. That reminds me I 
 want your assistance in the morning, if you can 
 spare time. May." 
 
 " Oh, yes, quite easily ; I have nothing to do 
 particularly. What do you want me for ?" 
 
 ** To help with a new plan, and write me the 
 descriptive letters ; also to overlook the cottage 
 plans again. Jones tells me our idea will cost 
 over the stated sum to carry out. So we must 
 reduce it." 
 
 " I am sorry for that, because we only gave 
 just what would render them comfortable." 
 
 Durill smiled. 
 
 *' What about the pet schemes to induce them 
 to be neat and orderly, eh. May ?' ' 
 
 ** Well, yes, that certainly necessitates the ex-
 
 WILD WOOD. 55 
 
 penditure of more money ; but then how can a 
 poor woman with a large family Jjeep her house 
 tidy and clean with so few apartments, small 
 windows, and no water in the house ? One pump 
 to supply six cottages. And then, see the evil 
 consequences of that pump ! Three, perhaps, go 
 at the same time to draw water, and there they 
 stand gossiping, while the baby sets fire to its 
 clothes, or the child left in charge of it drops it 
 into a pail of hot water, which has been heated 
 in a pan because there is no boiler. Then, again, 
 they have no gardens, half of them. Look at 
 Mr. Chaters, for instance ; not a scrap. So when 
 the poor men come home they cannot remain in 
 the hot stufPed cottage, when the children, being 
 put to bed, are at concert pitch ; they have no 
 nice little plot of ground to take their attention, 
 so the result is they go to the public-house. I 
 am certain the builders of cottages will be held
 
 66 WILD WOOD. 
 
 responsible for one half the misery and sin in 
 them." 
 
 " But our village is not like that, May ?" 
 
 '' No, of course it is not ; hut still it might be 
 improved. There are many little comforts they 
 might have, which I am sure the poor things 
 would appreciate." 
 
 " Well, May, perhaps some day we shall see 
 you a * Lady Bountiful.' " 
 
 '^ No, never, for I shall never have money 
 enough, and no great man would marry me because 
 I am not good looking enough to suit them. I 
 am going to remain Miss Drever, the old maid." 
 
 " Indeed, you will be obliged to dispose of 
 Judy first." 
 
 " Who is taking my name in vain ?" asked 
 Miss Drever, coming softly behind them. 
 
 " Oh ! it is you, Judy ! Well, Durill is think- 
 ing of a plan to get rid of you, that is all."
 
 WILD WOOD. 57 
 
 " Get rid of me ! why, what for ?" 
 
 " So that May, here, may be the ^ old maid' 
 of the family. That is the height of her ambi- 
 tion ; and she has called me to her assistance." 
 
 May burst out laughing. 
 
 " Durill is only cramming, Judy. But the 
 conversation did get upon that topic, and Durill 
 asked me how I was going to dispose of you after 
 hearing my desire," 
 
 Judy smiled. 
 
 " You will find it a difficult task, May. You* 
 had better put a board up in the village — ' For 
 sale, that young woman, Judith Drever, war- 
 ranted sound in everything but her temper. 
 Applications to be made at Wild Wood.' " 
 
 " Yes, and the house would be full, Judy. 
 There would be Mr. What's-his-name ? the 
 widower with seven children." 
 
 ** Stop, for goodness sake, May, my ambition 
 does not extend that far." 
 
 D 5
 
 58 WELD WOOD. 
 
 " Poor Judy," laughed Durill, " but we have 
 been here long enough, it seems to me ; suppose 
 we find a seat?" 
 
 " Why, what have you two been talking 
 about?" 
 
 ** Laying plans to blow you all up to-night, 
 Judy." 
 
 " Ah ! then all I have to do is to run down 
 stairs and inform against you." 
 
 " Run, make haste; May and I have still got 
 plenty to say." 
 
 " And I am not to know ? Well. I don't care 
 as long as it is only your own business, because 
 ycu are two wise ones, but I am always fearful 
 of the rest." 
 
 " Never mind, Judy ; Gilbert, may be, will 
 take a better turn." 
 
 *^ Never, Durill, while his wife lives. I pray 
 that the rest of you may remain single for ever 
 rather than marry such a creature."
 
 .WILD WOOD. 59 
 
 ^' Come, let us go down; Judy, are you not 
 coming?" 
 
 " No, May, not at present ; tlie children are 
 asleep by now, of course ?" 
 
 ** Oh, yes, it is some time since they went to 
 bed, dear little trots." 
 
 " May, I am going to the stables for a short 
 time," said Durill, when they reached the hall. 
 '^ What are you going to do ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; write love letters, I think. 
 But don't stay long, Durill, the tea tastes nasty 
 when you are away." 
 
 "Does it? you lovely little May! Now, if 
 you will wait in our snuggery for me I will be 
 all the quicker." 
 
 " Yes, I will wait for you or follow you." 
 
 May settled herself comfortably, and com- 
 menced writing at express speed. Hers was an 
 extensive correspondence, and she, unlike most 
 young ladies, attended to it regularly.
 
 60 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Good little May," exclaimed Durill, wha 
 shortly after came in. '^ Do you know Floss 
 has such a pretty family, all white like her- 
 self?" 
 
 " Has she ? Did you bring one for me to 
 see?" 
 
 '* Bless me, no ; you surely don't think I am 
 as mad about puppies and kittens as you are ?" 
 
 " Come, Mr. Durill, you know you are very 
 fond of them ; are you sure you have not got one 
 in your back pocket?" 
 
 " Yes, quite sure, love. Have you finished 
 your letters ?" 
 
 " Not all, but it does not signify, because the 
 mail does not go out till the 23rd, and I shall 
 have plenty of time before then." 
 
 " May, I have got a fancy in my head — I don't 
 know whether there is any cause for it or not,, 
 but I imagine Lois is setting her cap at Captain 
 Hardwick."
 
 WILD WOOD. 61 
 
 " Captain Hardwick ! I don't know, Durill ; 
 she may be ; perhaps he is setting his at her ?" 
 
 " No, that he is not, I am certain ; but, to 
 tell the truth, I dread any of your hopeless at- 
 tachments. Judy has never been the same since 
 that luckless affair. She puts me in mind of a 
 cup of strong tea without sugar." 
 
 '^ Yes, Judy never has been quite the same 
 since ; it was an awful pity. I remember papa's 
 finding it out, young as I was ; and, moreover, 
 I always suspected Gilbert had a hand in that 
 business." 
 
 " So did I ; and it seemed very likely, too, for 
 he was Gilbert's friend." 
 
 ^^ I wonder what he is doing ? he was handsome 
 enough for anything. Do you recollect him sing- 
 ing the * Village Blacksmith ' that eventful 
 night?" 
 
 " Perfectly, and I can guess what he is about. 
 He was sent abroad because his family were
 
 62 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ashamed of him, and also for a little shuflSing, so 
 no doubt he is living on his wits somewhere." 
 
 '' I don't know what ever Judy saw in him. He 
 was good-looking to be sure, but to me there was 
 something wanting in his face." 
 
 ** It was a sort of infatuation, and truly he was 
 a very amusing, jolly fellow, but be would never 
 have done for Judy's husband — he was penniless, 
 or next door to it then, and when the governor 
 found it out, wasn't he wild though ?" 
 
 " Yes — poor Judy ! Shall we go to the draw- 
 ing-room, Durill ?" 
 
 "Yes, Aunt May."
 
 WILD WOOD. 63 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Thank goodness, Crispin comes home to- 
 morrow !" exclaimed Lois, one morning at break- 
 fast. " I wonder what his friend Ted Archer will 
 be like ? I hope he is a nice fellow ; — we do so 
 want a few agreeable, jolly men in this place. 
 Don't you think we might have a dance this 
 Christmas, mamma?'' 
 
 *' A ball, Lois ? Ah, my love, it makes such 
 an upset. We shall have dinner and evening 
 parties, of course, but a dance is really an under- 
 taking ; but we will see." 
 
 " Why, there is Judy ; she and Mrs. Morrison 
 can see to everything for you, mamma."
 
 64 WILD WOOD. 
 
 "As you are SO anxious to have a ball, Lois, 
 supposing you assist Morrison, I don't believe we, 
 any of us, care for it but you." 
 
 " Now, Judy you are wrong for once, because 
 it was Minnie who first put it into my head, and 
 I am certain Crispin would enjoy it. Really, I 
 have a most thankless office : I have to propose 
 everything, and receive black looks and temper 
 for my pains. 1 told Minnie how it would be." 
 
 ^* You and Minnie are like a couple of gnats — 
 always worrying after something, Lois." 
 
 ^^ Well, papa, it is hard that we merry ones can 
 never have any pleasure, all because Durill, Judy, 
 May, and Julius are of a serious turn of mind.'* 
 
 " Come, Lois, don't pout ; no one said you 
 might not have your much-wished-for party ; as 
 for Durill and May, they have not said a word 
 yet, and Julius is not present." 
 
 " Then we may have it, papa ?" 
 
 *'Not so fast, my dear, not so fast; I did not
 
 WILD WOOD. 65 
 
 say you might have it, because, as your mamma 
 just now told you, it makes a great upset, and we 
 are neither of us so young as we used to be. 
 Quieter parties are more suited to my taste, but 
 it is for you and your mamma to settle." 
 
 " Lois, I am sure you won't press it, since you 
 hear that papa does not desire it ?" 
 
 " It would not be much use, May, with you all 
 against me." 
 
 ^^ I forgot to tell you, sir, that I went about 
 that donkey for the children, and Bland wants two 
 pounds for it." 
 
 " Two pounds ! Well, is it worth it, "Durill, 
 because the children must have something to ride 
 on ; and Parker will do better with a donkey than 
 a pony. Moreover, I will not have anything but 
 good horseflesh in my stables, and, then, some- 
 times those well-bred ponies are skittish, and 
 require a man to lead them." 
 
 " Yes, that is perfectly true ; — it was in that
 
 66 WILD WOOD. 
 
 way that Mr. Shatt's boy was crippled for life. 
 They put him on a dashing pony, the prettiest 
 thing I ever saw, and sent him out with the 
 nurse. Something or other frightened it; the 
 nursemaid got alarmed and let go. The pony 
 raced off, threw poor Harry, and injured his 
 spine. Shutt was only telling me about it the 
 last time I was over there." 
 
 " Dear me — how sad ! Poor boy ! Well, Durill, 
 we will have this quiet donkey, and see that the 
 saddle is nice and easy. A pad, had it not better 
 be?" 
 
 *• Yes, I think so ; and they are making a sort 
 of chair, or, rather, two chairs for children now, 
 so that two can ride together. That, I imagine, 
 would suit Ivo and Evelyn ?" 
 
 " Very likely. See after it to-day, Durill ; it 
 will be a nice Christmas present for them." 
 
 ^' Yes, I will ; I shall be over there this 
 morning."
 
 WILD WOOD. 67 
 
 Next day Crispin arrived with his friend Mr. 
 Edward Archer,called Ted for short — a good-look- 
 ing, merry fellow, with a great deal to say for 
 himself. He and Lois seemed intent upon capti- 
 vating each other, and, really, Lois could be 
 agreeable enough when it suited her — all smiles 
 and graces. 
 
 "What do you think of him, May?" asked 
 Durill. 
 
 ** He is very nice, and decidedly good-looking ; 
 but to tell the candid truth, I dread anothet 
 Charles Blackett performance. Those things 
 always annoy me immensely, Durill. I am like 
 papa for that — I detest a flirt. Lois is, I think, 
 worse than Minnie was, and trouble enough there 
 used to be over her flirtations." 
 
 '* Why, May, you little darling, nearly every 
 girl flirts." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose they do, but that does not 
 make it any better, that I can see. It is just
 
 68 WILD WOOD. 
 
 acting lies instead of speaking them, Durill, and 
 they will be recorded just the same. Besides, 
 there is no necessity for them ; flirting is not 
 essential to one's happiness. It is simply an 
 idle, loose amusement, which must be disgusting 
 to any sensible, honourable man, because there is 
 so much hypocrisy required to carry it off. I feel 
 very strongly on that subject, it seems to me 
 lowering ; in my eyes the girl who flirts loses 
 caste, and it wounds me to think that one bearing 
 the name of Frever should stoop to such a de- 
 grading pastime." 
 
 " But, May, how about the men ? They are 
 quite as bad as the women.'* 
 
 " Not quite, Durill, and moreover, if a lady 
 will not flirt a gentleman will respect her all the 
 more. There are exceptions to the rule, I am 
 aware, but what true-hearted woman — a lady in 
 mind — wants the love or admiration of a scoundrel ? 
 If the women stopped flirting the men would^
 
 WILD WOOD. 69 
 
 and we should very soon have our drawing-rooms 
 clear of heartless, brainless puppies." 
 
 ^' Well said, May. We men do take our cue 
 from the ladies, because they are supposed to be 
 * true of heart ' and ' pure of mind,' and I agree 
 with you, there is something very repulsive in a 
 flirt. I do not know a more pitiable sight than 
 a young girl flirting." 
 
 '^ And we get your pity, then ? It almost 
 makes me blush. I often wondered what Charles 
 Blackett thought of Lois. She carried on most 
 shamefully with that young man. I hope he will 
 never come down here again." 
 
 *' Did you never take her to task about it, 
 May ?" 
 
 " Many a time. We used to have such battles 
 over it. But at last he wrote to papa, actually 
 asking for his consent when he got that living in 
 Staff"ord somewhere, and papa sent for Lois to 
 explain it to him. Then it all came out. Lois
 
 70 WILD WOOD. 
 
 had not the least intention of marrying the poor 
 fellow — never had. She had done it all by way 
 of a joke, and for want of something better to do, 
 I expect. Papa was so wrath. I was in his 
 study at the time. He frightened Lois dreadfully. 
 He told her he would make her marry him since 
 she had gone so far. So Lois commenced to cry, 
 like mamma, with her lace handkerchief, but her 
 tears had no effect upon papa, so, as a last re- 
 source, she fell headlong off her chair in a dead 
 faint, but managed not to strike her head in 
 falling." 
 
 *^ And the Squire was beaten, of course ?" 
 ** Yes, it was no use talking any more, with 
 her full length on the floor. There was some 
 water on the table, and he dashed it all over her, 
 but never offered to lift her up. When Lois 
 thought she had been long enough on her back, 
 she came to with several gasps, and walked out 
 with a dropping head. But I don't think I ever
 
 WILD WOOD. 71 
 
 saw papa so angry. He blamed mamma for a 
 great deal of it.** 
 
 " What for ?'* 
 
 " Why, he thought mamma ought to have seen 
 how things were going on, and in truth she did 
 see, only it was Lois, so she never interfered. 
 But the worst of it was, papa charged me that if 
 ever I knew of anything of the kind again I was 
 to inform him immediately." 
 
 " By Jove ! the old gentleman must have been 
 up. Does Lois know of that?'* « 
 
 " Of course not, and that is what renders me 
 so uncomfortable with regard to this Mr. Archer. 
 He has been in the house four days, and accord- 
 ing to my idea, things have gone quite far enough 
 already. But perhaps I am too straight laced. 
 Any way, I shall not tell at present, and not at 
 all if I can possibly help it. It is no pleasant 
 thing to have to tell of one^s sister.'* 
 
 '^ No, that it is not, but it is better than letting
 
 72 WILD WOOD. 
 
 her do the same again. If she were my daughter 
 I should shake her welL** 
 
 ** Yes, I almost think it would require a shake 
 to arouse Lois. She knows she is safe with 
 mamma, and she does not suspect that papa will 
 ever find anything out. And then, as she said to 
 me the last time I remonstrated with her — 
 
 " ' It is what every young lady does. May.' 
 
 '* * That may be correct enough, but then they 
 are not the daughters of John Beginald Drever.' " 
 
 *' Well, it is as Judy says, a nuisance, to have 
 such family troubles. By-the-bye, I named to 
 Crispin about that hundred pounds, and he took 
 it quite coolly, and all I could get out of him 
 was, * My honour was at stake.' So I suppose I 
 am to find money to keep his ' honour ' in the 
 right place. But he has got the last, and I told 
 him so. I am loth to confess it, but really I see 
 a wonderful change in Crispin, he appears to me 
 perfectly hardened and indifierent. And I am
 
 WILD WOOD. 73 
 
 beginning to echo your forebodings that he is 
 copying from Gilbert." 
 
 " Ah, Durill, I am afraid you are right, I can- 
 not make him out, and he is so uncertain in his 
 temper, especially with the children, and a bad 
 temper with children is complete ruin for them. 
 Moreover, Ivo and Evelyn are particularly sweet 
 and tractable little things. But just to show 
 you how shrewd you are, I will relate to you what 
 took place no later than last night. They pray 
 for everyone they love, little darlings, before I lift' 
 them into bed, and I had noticed previously 
 that they left Lois out when they could. So now 
 that Crispin is home, and they have had many 
 opportunities of learning to love him, I told Ivo 
 to include uncle Crispin. The child stopped 
 short and looked at me. * Well, what is it, 
 Ivo?' 
 
 " ' Aunty May, I cannot say that.* 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 74 WILD WOOD, 
 
 '' ' Why not, dear T 
 
 *^ ' Because I donH love uncle Crispin, he does 
 not love me and Evelyn.' 
 
 '' * Yes he does, Ivo.' 
 
 ^* ' He told me to go away and not tease him, 
 and he would not crack me any nuts.' 
 
 ^' * And did you get nothing ? ' 
 
 " ' No, Aunty May, I did not like to move, and 
 go round the table.' " 
 
 " Now, Durill, you see the little fellow was 
 wounded, hurt, because Crispin would not crack 
 him any nuts. He saw at once that Crispin did 
 not care about him, and he could not say he loved 
 him. He is too young at present to know any- 
 thing about the love due to all mankind. He 
 loves those who are kind and tender to him, and 
 his honest little baby heart would not allow him 
 to say * I love uncle Crispin.' He recollected the 
 uncracked nuts. So Crispin, by his selfishness,
 
 WILD WOOD. 75 
 
 has lost the love of a little child, and Christ 
 loved little children." 
 
 ^*May, what did j^ou say to Ivo. Did you 
 compel him to say it ?" 
 
 *^ Compel him ! compel him to go contrary to 
 his conscience, and play the hypocrite ? Certainly 
 not, Durill. Crispin would have been no better 
 for that. God listens to little children, and a 
 prayer from their pure little minds is of great 
 
 value. They are much nearer to Him than we 
 
 « 
 are, by reason of their purity. They know no 
 
 sins or wretchedness, their souls are without a 
 blot. To see those babies clasp their little hands, 
 and ask our Father to bless us, each named sepa- 
 rately, in all the earnestness of their minds, is a 
 thing to be remembered. Oh! Durill, it is a 
 foolish man or woman that discards the love of 
 one of Christ's little ones.'* 
 
 ^' I shall come into the nursery to hear you 
 
 E 2
 
 76 WILD WOOD. 
 
 teach the children, May. I have missed the last 
 
 few days, but I am in want of teaching myself." 
 
 " But I don't think I can teach you anything, 
 
 Durill. Indeed, many times the children teach
 
 WILD WOOD. 77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ^* Mks. Calvert," announced Blake. 
 " Minnie, darling, how do you do ?" 
 ^* Pretty well, only mamma, I am so worried." 
 " What with, dear ? Let me take your hat off, 
 
 and jacket, there — you will be more comfortable 
 
 now. Tell me what your trouble is ?" 
 
 " Trouble ! oh, dear ! why the children, they 
 
 are both ill, and Mark is so unfeeling, he says 
 
 perhaps Arnold will die." 
 
 " And Minnie, you have left him to the care of 
 
 Janet," exclaimed Judy, who had just entered. 
 "Dear me, Judy, don't look so astonished ; if 
 
 you had been chained up as I have during the
 
 78 WILD WOOD. 
 
 last two days, I think you would have come out. 
 And I want to see Lois about a bonnet, I am un- 
 decided what to get. What do you recommend, 
 mamma, fawn, or one in the new shade ? It 
 would suit my hair nicely, I fancy, only it might 
 become common in the village.'* 
 
 ^' Minnie, I really think you might dispense 
 with a bonnet at present ; if little Arnold dies 
 you cannot wear fawn or the new shade." 
 
 " Oh, Judy ! how unkind you are to say such 
 a thing to me, his mother. You have no feeling.'^ 
 
 Pretty Minnie Calvert commenced to cry and 
 sob, Judy looking on, her proud lip curling with 
 scorn. 
 
 " I wonder how you can be so absurd, Minnie. 
 You say yourself that the child is seriously ill, 
 and yet you leave him and want advice about a 
 new bonnet. Yet when I suggest that he may 
 die you commence to cry. It is extremely incon- 
 sistent, Minnie."
 
 WILD WOOD. 79 
 
 " If I had known I was to have such a reception 
 I would never have come, I can assure you ; but 
 it is hard if one cannot come to one's own in one's 
 trouble." 
 
 *' Judy, I am astonished. Don't you see Minnie 
 is quite unnerved with so much anxiety ?" 
 
 *^ Is she. Well, I am sorry I am so dull at 
 comprehension. I had better leave you to console 
 her, mamma." 
 
 "Judy is very hard, don't you think so, 
 mamma?" * 
 
 " Well, my love, she is quite a Drever, not in 
 the least like my family. Have you seen Cris- 
 pin's friend, Mr. Archer ?" 
 
 '* No, not yet, but Lois has told me a great 
 deal about him ; she appears quite smitten." 
 
 " Indeed ! well, he is too. But really that is 
 no wonder, for she is a particularly sweet girl. 
 I must contrive some parties, but the Squire is so 
 averse to anything of the kind. Lois quite pines
 
 80 WILD WOOD. 
 
 for a little gaiety, dear girl, and I fully intended 
 sending her up to town to your Aunt Sophia, 
 but that again your papa objects to." 
 
 " Yes, it would be a good thing to send Lois 
 and May up, though I don't fancy she would 
 take. But she does really manage Ivo and Evelyn 
 capitally. Mark is always singing her praises to 
 me, and he hinted that perhaps she would come 
 and nurse Lucy and Arnold through this sickness. 
 It really would be a great relief to me. I am so 
 nervous, I cannot endure the least sound or the 
 least exertion. I think I must take after your 
 family, dear mamma." 
 
 '* You do, my love, Lois and you. The Ladies 
 Benton are noted for particularly delicate nerves. 
 Yes, it certainly would be a great point gained to 
 have May at hand, she is so wonderfully strong — 
 quite a Drever. But I question whether your papa 
 or Durill will spare her; she belongs to them." 
 " Oh ! I know Durill thinks there is no one
 
 WILD WOOD. 81 
 
 like May. Mark has pretty much the same 
 opinion too. But I will try, at all events." 
 
 While this conversation had been going on be- 
 fore the fire in Madam's room, Judy had sought 
 May, and found her, as usual, busy with Durill. 
 Both were intent over some parchment, but raised 
 their heads at her entrance. 
 
 '^ Want me, Judy ; anything the matter with 
 the children?" 
 
 ^' No, May, nothing is to do with our children, 
 but something is amiss with Minnie's." 
 
 "Why, what?" 
 
 " That I cannot rightly say, for Minnie is 
 rather misty in her statements. But I went into 
 mamma's room just now to speak to her about 
 Sharp's wife, who wants help, and who should I 
 find there but Minnie, looking charming in an 
 elegant costume, irreproachably put on, and, 
 according to her own account, overwhelmed with 
 grief." 
 
 E 5
 
 82 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " It seems to me that you are rather misty, 
 Judy. Don't lose the place, May dear. Go on, 
 Judy ; what calamity has befallen Mrs. Minnie ?" 
 " Oh, Durill, don't laugh ; I really am serious. 
 She says the children are both very ill, and Mark 
 fears poor little Arnold will die, and yet she 
 leaves them to the mercy of Janet, and comes up 
 here to see mamma, and consult Lois about a 
 new bonnet. I was so much astonished that I 
 could not help exclaiming, and I got called un- 
 feeliug and cruel because I did not see that dear 
 Minnie was quite overdone, &c., &c." 
 '* Do you really mean that, Judy ?" 
 *^ Yes, indeed, I do, Durill ; I am perfectly dis- 
 gusted. I think I shall go down and see the 
 poor little things. Will you come, May ?" 
 
 " 1 don't know, Judy ; it depends upon what 
 it is. We must not forget Ivo and Evelyn, they 
 would easily catch any complaint." 
 
 *^ Very true, May. So Judy shall go alone,
 
 WILD WOOD. 83 
 
 and you will stay and look after the children. 
 Minnie wants boxing. I really wonder how 
 Mark has patience with her." 
 
 '^They took each other for better or worse, 
 Durill, and Minnie is a sweet little creature." 
 
 " So she is, when everything goes the right 
 way ; but just wait, if Mark lost his practice, or 
 got anything amiss with him she would consider 
 herself very badly dealt with, and sit and wring 
 her pretty hands and cry. That is not the sort 
 of wife for my money, Judy !" % 
 
 " Your money ! Wait till you get in love, and 
 then talk." 
 
 " Now, May, you have lost the place, though I 
 asked you not." 
 
 " No, indeed, I have not. There's someone at 
 the door ; come in." 
 
 '^ Please, Miss May, Madam wants you in her 
 room." 
 
 " Very well, say I am coming, Blake."
 
 84 WILD WOOD. 
 
 *^ May, I should not be a bit surprised if they 
 want you to nurse these babies." 
 
 ^'Well, then she sha'n't, Judy, so that is the 
 long and short about it. Stop a minute, May, I 
 am coming with you. See, I have put the plan 
 into the bill-drawer till we come back." 
 
 " You come too, Judy?" 
 
 ** No, thank you, May ; I shall get the credit 
 of putting you up to saying no as it is." 
 
 ^' May, look here ; I shall not let j^ou go, if 
 that is what they want, so you need not say one 
 word." 
 
 " But, Durill, if she—" 
 
 *^ Hush I" 
 
 *^ How are you, Minnie ? How is Mark and 
 the babies ?" 
 
 "They are ill, Durill, and I am so anxious." 
 
 *^ Indeed ! I should not have thought so !" 
 
 " What is the matter with them, Minnie ?" 
 
 " Colds, May, and slight inflammation. Mark
 
 WILD WOOD. 85 
 
 is very fearful for Arnold. If anything happened 
 to him, I believe it would kill me. May, why 
 don't you dress your hair in the new style ? Lois 
 would show you, I am sure, or I will." 
 
 Durill and May exchanged glances. 
 
 " Thank you, Minnie ; but I think this way 
 will do very well. It is very comfortable, and 
 does not take long." 
 
 ^* I am afraid you are becoming careless. May ; 
 mamma, don't you think so ? It used not to be 
 so when I was at home. Lois should take qjy 
 place ; I must speak to her about it." 
 
 Durill fidgetted on the table, and May's cheeks 
 burnt. 
 
 *' I recommend you to leave things alone, 
 Minnie. They are very much better as they are. 
 Lois cannot teach May anything.'* 
 
 *^ Really, Durill, you are ridiculous; you will 
 have two old maids on your hands. Judy and
 
 80 WILD WOOD. 
 
 May will never marry, I am sure, if they go on 
 so absurdly." 
 
 *'Is that your opinion? I differ from you, 
 Minnie. I think they have a grand sight better 
 chance than Lois, who, by the way, is roaming 
 about the woods with Archer. Mother, I con- 
 sider that improper, and I hope you will stop it. 
 It is not in accordance with Lois's position. If 
 she cannot see those things for herself it is your 
 place to. The Squire would be wild if he knew." 
 
 ^' I did not know Lois was out, Durill." 
 
 ** Well, she is ; I saw her go more than two 
 hours since down to the ^ Druid's Walk.' She 
 will be the talk of the village shortly." 
 
 " But Crispin is with them." 
 
 "No he is not. Crispin has ridden over to 
 Middleton's about a pointer they have for 
 sale." 
 
 " Mr. Archer is a very nice young man, I am
 
 WILD WOOD. 87 
 
 sure, Durill. His uncle is Lord Farrington, and 
 his father is Sir Stock well Archer." 
 
 ** I don't care if his father is a king, it does not 
 make it any better, the fact still remains the 
 same. Lois Benton Drever is flirting in any- 
 thing but a lady-like manner with him." 
 
 " Then in that case it would be a desirable 
 match for dear Lois, mamma." 
 
 " Whatever are you talking about, Minnie? No 
 one is contemplating marriage. Who knows what 
 his family are ? His mother may have been 
 somebody's cook. He may be a scoundrel him- 
 self for anything we know to the contrary." 
 
 '^ Why, he is Crispin's friend, Durill ?" 
 
 " I know that ; so was Norton Gilbert's friend, 
 and look what came of that." 
 
 *' But that was Judy's fault, Durill. No one 
 asked her to fall in love with him." 
 
 '* And no one asked him to fall in love with 
 her, Minnie. It was poor Judy's misfortune, not
 
 88 WILD WOOD. 
 
 her fault. He was a Dice enough fellow, but a 
 mere adventurer ; he had not a penny, and his 
 family had cast him off for misconduct. Yet he 
 was of good family, and came here as Gilbert's 
 friend. No, I thank you, we will have no more 
 of that ; Lois has not got the sense of Judy, and 
 could not be brought to reason. It is a pity 
 though, if every fellow is to be analysed before he 
 is introduced, all because of a flirty little girl." 
 
 " Yes, I really think I will speak to Lois about 
 it. But, May, Minnie wants you to go and help 
 her with the children for a few days." 
 
 " Have you no nurse, Minnie?" 
 
 *'0h, yes, Durill, we have Janet; I should 
 never be able to get along without her." 
 
 " Then I don't see that you want May ; we have 
 two children here and not a very experienced 
 nurse." 
 
 " But there is Nurse Joyce, she might go, I 
 am sure, mamma?"
 
 WILD WOOD. SO- 
 
 " Yes, certainly, old nurse has nothing to do ? 
 you can have her, Minnie." 
 
 This was evidently not quite what Minnie 
 wanted. But big Durill looked stern, and de- 
 termined not to part with May. 
 
 " Thank you, mamma, but I really should pre- 
 fer May, because there is a dinner party at the 
 Rectory, and I wanted to go to town and see the 
 newest things. Have you had any invitations 
 here, May?" 
 
 '' Yes, as usual, all are invited ; but, of cour^, 
 are not going. Durill won't go, and I won't, 
 and I don't fancy Judy will, but Crispin and Lois 
 intend to." 
 
 ^* I daresay you would prefer May, Minnie, but 
 I cannot spare her ; besides, old nurse has had 
 no end of experience, and surely she and Janet 
 can manage. If not, you will be obliged to forego 
 your parties, Minnie, that is all." 
 
 ** That I don't agree to. Mark does not want to
 
 90 WILD WOOD. 
 
 go, but then, perhaps, he may alter his mind, 
 and a doctor's wife is generally obliged to go 
 alone, and say her husband is busy. So there is 
 nothing to prevent me." 
 
 "Then since all is satisfactorily arranged, I 
 will wish you good bye, Minnie. Tell Mark I 
 will drop in and have a look at him soon, perhaps 
 to-night." 
 
 Durill left the room, and almost immediately 
 Blake again appeared, with a highly-amused 
 twinkle in his eye, and said — 
 
 "Miss May, you are wanted." 
 
 Minnie was in the midst of an eloquent appeal 
 to May, " how free she would be, and how easy in 
 her mind, if May was there to overlook Janet 
 while the children were poorly, and then they 
 were so fond of Aunty May." 
 
 The sudden appearance of Blake stopped 
 Minnie, and May, with a hurried " excuse me,'* 
 escaped.
 
 WILD WOOD. 91 
 
 *^ Who wants me, Blake, papa?" 
 
 " No, Miss May, not the Squire, Mr. Durill 
 sent me in." 
 
 By this time the twinkle in Blake's eye had ex- 
 tended to his mouth, which was grinning from 
 ear to ear. There stood Durill squeezed in be- 
 tween two pillars. 
 
 " Yes, I want you. Miss May." 
 
 « What for, Durill ?" 
 
 ** Nothing particular, only I like your company 
 and assistance." ^ 
 
 " And is that what you sent for me for?" 
 
 " Precisely, and also because I was not going 
 to leave you to the tender mercies *of Madam and 
 Mrs. Calvert, who would pluck the peacock alive 
 if she wanted his feathers, and fancied they would 
 make her look prettier." 
 
 May did not reply to this speech, and when they 
 reached the cosy snuggery Judy met them with — 
 
 ** So you are not in bits, May ?"
 
 92 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " No, she is not, I took good care of her. But, 
 'pon my honour, Minnie has cheek enough for a 
 dozen. She actually wanted May to go and see 
 to her children while she disported her charming 
 person at various parties. Of course Madam 
 thought it perfectly correct. Bat I did not, so 
 they had to content themselves with old nurse." 
 
 " I suspected it would be that ; I am astonished 
 at Minnie." 
 
 " That is more than I am. I know exactly 
 what to expect from a yellow haired Drever now. 
 They are thoroughly selfish and greedy." 
 
 ^^ Let us be charitable, Durill." 
 
 " Very well. May darling, only don't forget my 
 plan in the midst of so much charity." 
 
 " Self, self, Mr. Durill." 
 
 " No, May, not self, only care. T cannot 
 afford to lose my labour ; that would be ^ wilful 
 waste,' and we are told it is generally succeeded 
 by ' woful want.' "
 
 WILD WOOD. 93 
 
 Durill Drever was educated for an engineer, 
 and although he was not compelled to follow the 
 business, he did so. He was extremely clever, 
 and made a handsome sum each year ; he was a 
 kind hearted, sensible man. He was always 
 ready to lend a helping hand in a good cause, but 
 he could not tolerate indolence. 
 
 One evening, just after dinner, May was talking 
 to the children by the fire before putting them 
 into their beds. Parker had gone to her supper. 
 May liked best to have them all to herself. She 
 was sittmg on a low chair, beside the old-fashioned 
 nursery grate, holding little Evelyn in her arms 
 warming her toes, and Ivo had a stool at her feet. 
 
 " Aunty May, do you hear the wind?" 
 
 " Yes, Ivo, it is high to-night*" 
 
 *' Evelyn is not afraid. Aunty May." 
 
 " No, I should think not. Evelyn is quite as 
 safe in the wind as in the sunshine." 
 
 ^' Is Heaven a long way off. Aunty May ?"
 
 94 WILD WOOD. 
 
 '* No, Ivo, it is quite near, much nearer to some 
 of us than we suspect. Why do you ask if it is 
 a long way off?" 
 
 *' Because I was thinking about it, and the 
 ^ Golden Ladder ' Jacob dreamt of. I wonder 
 when I shall run up that ladder. Aunty May ?" 
 
 " When our Father wants you, Ivo." 
 
 " And sha'n't I go too. Aunty May." 
 
 " Yes, dear, I hope so." 
 
 "Widyou?" 
 
 *^ No, perhaps not with me, Evelyn, but I hope 
 to come to you, if I do not go before." 
 
 '' My toe tickles." 
 
 " Does it? then you are too near to the fire, 
 Ivo." 
 
 '^ Then I will move. Look, Aunt May, here is 
 Uncle Durill." 
 
 " Yes, Ivo, Uncle Durill is here ; he has been 
 standing in the doorway listening to you little 
 people talking."
 
 WILD WOOD. 90 
 
 " Aunt May, are these children to be lifted into 
 bed r 
 
 *' Yes, please. Uncle Durill. They are nice and 
 warm now." 
 
 Both were laid down and tucked in comfortably. 
 The last kiss was repeated half a dozen times, till 
 Durill declared there would be no end to the "last 
 
 *^ Aunty May,'' called a small voice when they 
 had reached the door. " Aunty May." 
 
 " Yes, Evelyn ; what is it, love ?" 
 
 Evelyn had raised her sunny head off the pillow, 
 and her eyes shone like stars in the fire light. 
 
 " Aunty May, paps I won't be here in the 
 morning." 
 
 '^ Then where will you be, Evelyn ?" 
 
 *' Done to Heaven, Aunty May." 
 
 ** Well, that is not far away, and I shall know 
 where you are." 
 
 " But you will cry, won't you. Aunty May ?"
 
 96 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " I don't know, darling. I should cry if you 
 were lost, but you won't be lost there ; I shall 
 know where to find you. Now go to sleep, dear.'* 
 
 The child lay down quite happy and secure. 
 Angels spread their wings over that little white 
 bed, and Evelyn floated to dreamland. 
 
 Durill stopped when they were in the day 
 nursery. 
 
 " May, I heard what you said to the children. 
 I was listening. Do they always speak of 
 heaven like that ?" 
 
 "Yes, always. They did not know anything 
 when they came ; their mother or the nurse had 
 taught them a short prayer, but they knew noth- 
 ing about heaven or their Father." 
 
 '* But they seemed to speak so happily and 
 freely about it." 
 
 '^ Well, and why should they not ? Is it not 
 to be their home? I don't approve of always 
 keeping children away, making them stand off in
 
 WILD WOOD. 97 
 
 a respectful, awed sort of way. I like to lead 
 tliem to talk about it — to make them acquainted 
 with God and heaven. Those little things don't 
 dread the idea of going up there — they like the 
 thought. They know nothing to fear in death. 
 It is not death to them. They fully expect to find 
 themselves up there some morning instead of in 
 the nursery. Heaven is to them a charming 
 place, where we shall all be together like here." 
 " But, May, do you believe that, like here ?" 
 "Yes, certainly, Durill, why not? I believe 
 it will be a great deal nicer than here, but yet I 
 expect we shall all be together the same. What 
 do you imagine Ivo and Evelyn would do all by 
 themselves? If it is not going to be that way, 
 how do you think it is going to be ?" 
 
 " May, I don't know ; I never, to tell the truth, 
 thought about it. It was always represented to 
 my mind as too serious a subject to be weighed 
 and considered in a common way." . 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Precisely. The little things are told to 
 * Hush,' and they sit like mice with long faces 
 while the Scripture story is being told, which 
 to them is perfectly uninteresting and unintelli- 
 gible, for the reason that the characters are as 
 highly coloured as possible ; and they are much 
 too solemn personages to be thought about like 
 anyone else. There is not" a more difficult task 
 than to try and make a child understand anything 
 it has not seen and cannot be shown. That was 
 I believe why God sent his Son upon earth, that 
 by daily seeing and hearing Him, the people 
 might get interested and love Him. Now, I can- 
 not see how a child is to love anyone it does not 
 know, and the only way to make a child love 
 God, is by constantly talking to it, and allowing 
 it to talk of its Father — not in a serious, hushed 
 manner, but confidently and cheerfully, making 
 the little thing feel at home with Him. Letting 
 it know that He is near to it, listening to what it
 
 WILD WOOD. 5^^' 
 
 has got to say. What is so beautiful and rest- 
 ful as the thought that heaven is not far away, 
 and that we can reach our Father's hand by 
 stretching out ours ? That the journey is so 
 short, almost like these two rooms, only a door 
 between, which will open when we knock. Durill, 
 those children are never afraid to go to bed in 
 the dart , because they know they aro not alone, 
 I often hear them prattling away to each other 
 about heaven, and who they expect to have with 
 them. There is something wonderfully holy in a 
 child's trust. They never doubt anything I tell 
 them. They go to sleep each night with their 
 little heads running upon heaven, and I never 
 have any fears for them. They are not under 
 earthly protection." 
 
 " May, you are making me feel like the babies. 
 I wish I were one of them, to have you talk to 
 me so. But I must not forget what brought me 
 
 F 2
 
 100 WILD WOOD. 
 
 up after you. Mark has come in, and he is ask- 
 ing for you." 
 
 *'0h, and you have let me wander off, and 
 Mark waiting all this time. Where is he ?" 
 
 "In the library, he would not go into the 
 drawing-room ; he does not seem all right.** 
 
 They hurried down and found Mark leaning 
 with his arms on the mantelpiece, and his head 
 bent, looking into the fire. He turned at May's 
 entrance.
 
 WILD WOOD. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ^* How are you, Mark — anything the matter ?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so. May." 
 
 He stooped to kiss her bright young face. 
 They were brother and sister, and loved each 
 other dearly. 
 
 Mark Calvert was a good-looking fellow ; he 
 had a kind sweet face, and his lightish brown 
 hair was rather wavy. 
 
 *' Mark, you are tired; sit here?" 
 
 May wheeled a comfortable chair to the fire. 
 
 ^* Have you had any dinner, Mark?" 
 
 " No, May, I have not ; but I am not inclined 
 for any ?"
 
 102 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Well, you must have some tea. Durill and ' 
 I are very fond of playing truant from the draw- 
 ing-room ; so we three will have some tea here.'* 
 
 Durill rang and gave the orders. 
 
 " What is to do, Mark, are the children 
 worse ?" 
 
 '^ No, May, it is not that ; they are getting 
 better, thank heaven. But I feel weary and dis- 
 quieted; I want someone to talk to me and 
 <;heer me. It is so lonely at home." 
 
 ** Lonely, Mark ! Why, what has become of 
 Minnie?" 
 
 <' Oh ! she has gone to some party at the 
 Mortons. At least she told me she intended 
 going when I saw her in about two." 
 
 *^ Have you not been home since two, Mark? 
 Wherever have you been to ?" 
 
 ^^A long way. May. But to tell you the 
 truth, I had no horse to-day, and that has made 
 me so tired and late."
 
 WILD WOOD. 103 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 ^' Why, the new one fell lame, Durill, as you 
 prognosticated, and Minnie wanted the brougham 
 for this party, because she says the village flys 
 are so dirty." 
 
 May felt very much ashamed of her sister. 
 She, in her selfishness, would let her husband 
 work himself to death, but she would go to the 
 parties and take the only horse into the bargain. 
 
 " Why did you not send for a horse, Mark ?" 
 
 "I really don't know, Durill ; but if you 
 could lend me one I should be obliged." 
 
 " You shall have a horse by all means. Shall 
 I order a trap and take you home and send the 
 horse in the morning, or will you ride it?" 
 
 " Thanks, I will ride it. But I am so busy, 
 everyone is ill at once, and some such bad cases, 
 and old Tinley has goue away for a week or two. 
 I was called up three times last night. Minnie 
 declares the people do it on purpose.'^
 
 104 WILD WOOD. 
 
 '^ Why do you not have an assistant, Mark ?'* 
 
 '* Well, I don't care about them, May ; they 
 are a great nuisance, and if anythiug goes wrong 
 you are blamed. When I had Green half the 
 people would not have him, so I found it was of 
 no use. But I did think of asking Crispin to 
 help me just for a day or two with the light 
 cases, such as dressings. '■' 
 
 " Yes, Crispin could help you, I am sure ; it 
 would teach him too. But can I do anything 
 for you?" 
 
 " Well, May, if you would call and see some 
 of the poor things I should be glad ; of course 
 nothing infectious, but some of the old people. 
 Minnie does not like it, and I don't care to press 
 her. But you cannot imagine what a help it is. 
 A woman finds out so much quicker than a man 
 their wants ; besides, I have no time to stay and 
 talk to them. Then, if you would make a list 
 out I would see it attended to, Tinley told me
 
 WILD WOOD. 105 
 
 to get anything made or cooked at his house. 
 That is another thing Minnie does not like, 
 having soup and stuff made in the kitchen." 
 
 *^ How is the poor fellow who was crushed at 
 Ashworth, Mark ?" 
 
 " Going on capitally, Durill. (A little more 
 sugar, please. May.) The worst case on hand 
 just now is Mother Parfait." 
 
 " What is to do with her ? She was walking 
 in the village a few days since." 
 
 ^* Yes she was, poor old woman. But her son- 
 in-law. Mason, died a day or two back, and the 
 night before last she went to keep her daughter 
 company after the funeral. I suppose they got 
 some gin to soothe them in their grief, and the 
 consequence was they fell asleep. Mother Par- 
 fait must have been too near to the candle, for 
 the old creature succeeded in setting fire to her 
 head. Her daughter was so muddled that it was 
 some time before she could either put it out or 
 
 F 5
 
 106 WILD WOOD. 
 
 get assistance, and the old woman is fearfully 
 burnt. I don't expect her to recover." 
 
 " Oh, Mark, how dreadful ! How she must 
 suffer I" 
 
 " Kot so much, May ; that is one comfort. 
 She has been unconscious nearly all the time 
 since. But it would be a great blessing if God 
 would take her, for she cannot possibly get over 
 it. Her age is against her for one thing, even if 
 the burns had not been so severe. I really think 
 gin is woman's curse, I have more trouble 
 through that spirit than anyone knows of." 
 
 *' Yes, it is ; I agree with you, Mark. But 
 this is not an every-day occurrence, thank good- 
 ness, and perhaps it may be a warning to others." 
 
 "No; cases like Mother Parfait's are, com- 
 paratively speaking, few ; but there is, according 
 to my idea, even a more distressing case than 
 hers not far from here." 
 
 "Who is it, Mark?"
 
 WILD WOOD. 107 
 
 *^I don't think you know the person, Durill, 
 or, in fact, any of the family. They have only 
 just come. They live in that white house below 
 the mill." 
 
 " Yes, I know the place." 
 
 " Their name is Trotter ; they have been there 
 about three months, may be not so much. One 
 evening soon after they arrived I was sent for, 
 and when I got there I found it was to attend 
 Mrs. Trotter. She was in a high fever, and ex- 
 cessively irritable. I treated her accordingly; 
 but the fever still held its ground, and I could 
 not discover what ailed the old lady. I never 
 had had such a puzzling case before. Mr. 
 Trotter and the sons went to business each day, 
 and I could never catch them. They are very 
 well-to-do people. There is no daughter, but a 
 niece of Mr. Trotter's— a Miss Whitcher. Per- 
 haps you may have noticed her at church — a 
 pretty girl, with light hair ?"
 
 108 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Yes, I fancy I have." 
 
 " Well, I resolved to see Miss Whitcher pri- 
 vately, and accordingly called one morning about 
 ten, when I knew Mrs. Trotter would be in bed. 
 I saw Miss Whitcher, and told her exactly my 
 dilemma, and asked her to tell me if her aunt 
 gave way? She confessed at once; poor girl, I 
 felt for her. The woman drinks that cursed gin ; 
 does not take it to excess always, but systemati- 
 cally, and she is killing herself as fast as she 
 can." 
 
 '' And can nothing be done, Mark ? Why not 
 take it from her ?" 
 
 '* Ah, there it is. May ! Once let gin get hold 
 of a woman, and you can never take it away ; 
 they cannot do without it. Mr. Trotter did try 
 and she was dying inch by inch. She has no 
 appetite, and is never contented or happy, except 
 when she is muddled. So that there is nothing 
 for it, but to let her have it as long as she lives^
 
 WILD WOOD. 109 
 
 which will not be long ; softening of the brain is 
 going on rapidly, and she is killing herself slowly 
 but surely." 
 
 " What must those sons think of their 
 mother?" 
 
 " Nothing at all, May ; they never trouble 
 about her. When you cease to respect, you 
 cease to love. I daresay they will be thankful 
 when she is dead." 
 
 " What a shocking story. Let me give you 
 another cup of tea, Mark." • 
 
 *^ Half a cup, please. May. And how are your 
 children ?" 
 
 " My children ! They are as much Durill's as 
 mine. They are quite well, thank you ; I left 
 them going to sleep." 
 
 " They are sweetly pretty, and greatly admired. 
 May ; they have such nice manners. Lucy, I 
 fear, is getting cross ; she seems to me peevish. 
 I mentioned it to Minnie, but she had not noticed
 
 110 WILD WOOD. 
 
 it. I have an idea that a mother should be a 
 good deal with her children, and teach the little 
 things ; but my wife tells me that is a ' man's 
 notion.'" 
 
 " You are perfectly correct, Mark ; that is my 
 notion, too. When Ivo and Evelyn came here, 
 they were pretty tractable children, but they 
 were nothing like what they are now, and I at- 
 tribute it all to May's care and training." 
 
 " Nonsense, Durill ! Mark, you must not 
 heed him." 
 
 " But I do, May, and, what is more, believe it. 
 I wish I could send you my little ones." 
 
 He sighed wearily. Was it possible that his 
 eyes were getting opened to the faults and ina- 
 bility of his wife ? Did he guess that she cared 
 more for her own ease and comfort than the 
 welfare of her children ? Had she fallen short 
 where a wife ought to be ever ready — in cheering 
 and assisting her husband when things looked
 
 WILD WOOD. Ill 
 
 dark ; by her wise counsel strengthening him 
 and arming him again for the fight? Had he 
 found out that the greatest blessing a man can 
 have is not a lovely face ? Let us pull a veil 
 down and shut out bitter truths. We will not 
 pick to pieces pretty Minnie Calvert. God made 
 her. Ah me ! I wonder who or what is to 
 blame when a plant runs to seed ? 
 
 " It is time I was off. Is Crispin about. 
 May ? because I should like to see him." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, Crispin is in. But won't you 
 come to the drawing-room, Mark ? they are all 
 there, and papa would like to see you." 
 
 " Not this evening, I think, May ; though I 
 am very much refreshed, and all the better for 
 seeing your face. Lois is in the drawing-room, 
 of course ?" 
 
 " Yes ; don't you hear the piano ? She is 
 enchanting Archer with sweet melody." 
 
 ** Durill, don't sneer," laughed May.
 
 112 WILD WOOD. 
 
 The handsome mouth was sarcastically twisted, 
 and a wicked glitter in the large brown eyes. 
 
 " Well, May, I did not intend to sneer ; but 
 really Lois' music is one of the things I cannot 
 understand or appreciate. She sits gracefully 
 enough, never by any chance crushing the ar- 
 rangement of balloons at the back, and manages 
 to turn up her eyes and sigh divinely just at the 
 proper moment. But I can't admire the sounds 
 nor yet the art. Bad taste, I suppose. Archer 
 seems to like it, for I left him hanging over the 
 chair and looking unutterable things at the 
 sweet creature.'* 
 
 ^' Now, Durill, Lois is considered a great 
 beauty, only brothers are most ungrateful things. 
 They never can admire their own sisters. But I 
 will go and find Crispin for you, Mark." 
 
 May went and found Crispin lolling, talking 
 to Madam, while Lois was making eyes at 
 Archer, and warbling *^ We may be happy yet."
 
 WILD WOOD. 113^ 
 
 Good looking Edward Archer was deeply in love 
 it was plainly to be seen ; he was on the brink of 
 desperation ; he only wanted a little push to send 
 him toppling over, and when he came to his 
 senses again he would find Miss Lois blushing, 
 and murmuring something purposely incoherent 
 about " papa." No doubt '* We may be happy 
 yet" was intended as a cowp de grace,ioT she was 
 an adept at flirting, and knew exactly the state of 
 her victim, how far he had gone in the " grande 
 passion,^ and how many beats his heart was 
 making to the minute. But the unexpected 
 entrance of May broke the spell, and Mr. Archer 
 turned to her politely and moved a chair. 
 
 ^' I am not staying, Mr. Archer ; don't disturb 
 yourself, I only want Crispin." 
 
 Lois shot an angry glance at May : well, it 
 was unfortunate. 
 
 « Want me. May? What is it?" 
 
 Crispin shook back his curls and raised hi&
 
 114 WILD WOOD. 
 
 pretty face. There was something visionary in 
 the sweet beauty of those yellow- haired Drevers. 
 They seemed never to cease being children ; 
 always wanting to be petted and caressed. Crispin 
 was a man well grown, yet his face expressed 
 weakness of intellect and indecision. His doting 
 mother had evidently been playing with those 
 golden curls. He had no moustache or whiskers, 
 and there was no show of them, even sideways. 
 His chin was beautifully white and delicate ; 
 his mouth was curved like a girl's, and his eyes 
 were cold, glittering, and hard, like polished 
 steel. Nature had forgotten nothing to make 
 Crispin Benton Drever beautiful. I cannot call 
 that style of beauty in a man handsome, but an 
 attentive observer would have found out that 
 there was something short. It did not exist in 
 face, form, or features, it was this — Crispin 
 Drever had no soul. He was heartless. It was 
 no use appealing to his feelings or sympathy.
 
 WILD WOOD. 115 
 
 he did not possess either. Tell hioi a touching 
 story, chain his attention for a few seconds, and 
 congratulate yourself that you had him. The 
 next moment he would wriggle through your 
 hands with glittering eyes, laughing and showing 
 his pretty teeth, and stroll away blowing you a 
 kiss on the tips of his taper fingers as he went. 
 Madam called it " a charming flow of spirits j 
 but the Bentons were always so irresistible.'* 
 
 ** Yes, I want you, Crispin, or rather Mark 
 does. Will you come ?" * 
 
 " When did Mark come. May ?" 
 
 " A little time since, mamma ; he has been a 
 long round, and he wants to speak to Crispin." 
 
 May put in the "■ long round " as a sort of 
 excuse. Madam was a great one for politeness^ 
 and no doubt she considered that Mark ought to 
 have come and paid his court to her. 
 
 ^^ Do you know what it is Mark wants me for. 
 May?"
 
 116 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Of course she does," chimed in Lois, who had 
 come, like all the rest of busy people, to hear the 
 news. " May is the receptacle for secrets, 
 especially those belonging to Durill, Mark, 
 Julius, and half a dozen more. Don't you per- 
 ceive how extremely wise she looks ?" 
 
 "Ah ! that accounts for you giving us so little 
 of your society, Miss May ?" 
 
 " How so, Mr. Archer ? I think I see a great 
 deal of you all, only sometimes T am occupied." 
 
 '* Yes, Mr. Archer," replied the Squire, " we 
 should all fare badly without May ; she is of great 
 assistance to me." 
 
 *^ Crispin, are you coming ?" again asked May ; 
 she feared to leave him, for then, perhaps, he 
 might not come at all. He liked the lounge and 
 pillows. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Determination ; lead the way." 
 
 In the middle of the wide hall Crispin called 
 out —
 
 WILD WOOD. 117 
 
 *' I say, May, stop a minute. What is it Mark 
 wants, because I hate being bored?" 
 
 May smiled. 
 
 *^ I know that quite well by this time. But I 
 don't think you will dislike it, or call it a bore." 
 
 " I don't know what May has brought me for, 
 Mark," said Crispin, as they shook hands, 
 " perhaps you will kindly explain. May is worse 
 than one of the ' Secret Brethren,' nothing can be 
 screwed out of her." 
 
 "And a great blessing, too, Crispin; nothing 
 is worse than a babbling woman. But this is no 
 secret, only I suppose May prudently adopts the 
 same rule for everything strictly not her own 
 property. The fact is, I want your help for a 
 few hours each day. I am dreadfully busy, and 
 if you would do a little for me in the mornings I 
 should take it as a great kindness. Tinley has 
 gone away for a few weeks, and I am quite thrown, 
 what with his patients and my own. The clubs
 
 118 WILD WOOD. 
 
 take up so mucli time, and the poor things must 
 be attended to.'* 
 
 " Why don't they have a doctor entirely for the 
 clubs, Mark ?" 
 
 " Because the poor fellows could never live, 
 May. The pay is wretched, and half you don't 
 get. Well, there are not sufficient of the better 
 class to support three of us, so there it is. It 
 would be all right if Tinley were at home." 
 
 " Yes, Mark, I will help with pleasure if the 
 people will let me.'* 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I will give you nothing dangerous 
 or responsible, but the indoor patients are the 
 worst. My surgery was chock full this morning, 
 and I could not make all the medicines up in time 
 as it was.'* 
 
 '* All right ; 1 will be down in the morning." 
 
 " Won't you come into the drawing-room, 
 Mark?" 
 
 "No, not to-night, Crispin. I must be off
 
 WILD WOOD. 119 
 
 home ; it is getting close upon nine, I see, so 
 good night." 
 
 " Good night ; my love to Minnie, and tell her 
 I shall be down to see her soon." 
 
 Crispin lounged away to the drawing-room, and 
 Mark indulged in a smile. 
 
 Mark Calvert had a wonderful smile, it was 
 like a sunbeam. It quivered and danced over his 
 face for long, and the light was a long while dying 
 out. May liked to get him to smile for that 
 reason. It was such a rare beauty, and little 
 Arnold had it ; his baby face would light up in 
 just the same way when anything pleased him. 
 Lucy was not so, she was like her mother.
 
 120 WILD WOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 ^* What has amused you, Mark ?'* 
 
 "Nothing much, Durill, only Crispin's face. 
 I never expected him to yield with so good a 
 grace. But I rather fancy he will be obliged 
 to turn up his sleeves yet, unless the Squire 
 means to buy him a swell practice at the West 
 End." 
 
 ** Ah, that won't be in your time or mine, 
 Mark. The Squire is one of the old school ; he 
 believes in young men showing themselves worth 
 something before they get promoted. And he 
 will not do what Crispin wishes I know. He 
 will give him a fair start, and the rest he must
 
 WILD WOOD. 121 
 
 do for himself. But if he does no better than 
 Gilbert why the start will be money wasted." 
 
 " Yes, by Jove ! Gilbert has made a nice mess 
 of it. I cannot think what he has been after.'' 
 
 '^ I can though ; he is just like the rest of the 
 yellow-haired ones, made to lie in soft places. 
 If poverty came to you, Mark, old fellow, you 
 would prove to your cost the truth of my 
 words. '* 
 
 " God forbid I ever should, Durill ; that would 
 be a bitter day to me. Yet I know perfectly 
 well what you say is true. But, God helping 
 me, I will never put her to the test." 
 
 Mark spoke solemnly, reverently. He would 
 fight the good fight to the last, and when did 
 God ever forget to reward any of his soldiers ? 
 Ah, Minnie Calvert, you had drawn a prize out 
 of the lottery, where so many draw blanks ! 
 
 *' Hush ! There's the court-yard clock calling 
 nine. I ought to have been home by now ; but I 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 WILD WOOD. 
 
 don't often indulge. Good night, May, love. 
 Come, Durill, is that horse ready ?" 
 
 ^' Yes ; I will go with you. May, don't go 
 away-'^. mean to bed; if you do, leave your 
 dressing-room door open, so that I may come in 
 when I return.'' 
 
 " Oh, I am not a go-to -bed-early, but I may 
 be up-stairs. I always keep a good fire up there. 
 Mark, you would laugh to see some of the sights 
 in my dressing-room. They all come flocking in 
 with something to say, and there's quite a meet- 
 ing. I dare not lock the door, else they would 
 go on tapping away for half-an-hour." 
 
 ** By the way, it's your room, is it not, where 
 there's ' hot coffee ' from half-past eleven till 
 one?" 
 
 May and Durill burst out laughing. 
 
 " May, I think it is time we did start the 
 coffee business again, it was awfully jolly !" 
 
 " Yes, I wanted some last night myself. So
 
 WILD WOOD. 123 
 
 you have heard of that, Mark? Well, it was 
 JuJius who comnienced it. He has it in his 
 chambers, and he asked me about it, so I got 
 •everything arranged, kettle and all, and I used 
 to make this said coffee every night. It was so 
 nice ; we three had it all to ourselves for some 
 time, and then the others found us out, and 
 would come too. Lois declared she smelt it. 
 After that I had to get more cups, and there 
 they used to come, one after the other, and 
 it was really capital fun. We kept it up all 
 winter. But one morning there were some lines 
 pasted on my door ; something about a * wayside 
 inn, kept by Dame May, who supplied excellent 
 hot coffee from eleven to one.' Julius wrote 
 them, and it caused such a laugh. Yes, Durill, 
 I really think I must tell Ellen to bring up the 
 things again." 
 
 "Do, by all means; to-night if you choose, my 
 dear." 
 
 G 2
 
 124 WILD WOOD. 
 
 They both went off to the stables, leaving May 
 alone, so she suddenly bethought herself that she 
 had not been into the drawing-room all the even- 
 ing, and Madam was straight-laced on some 
 subjects. So she bent her steps that way. May 
 was not a beauty, but still she was far from ugly. 
 Her face was rather brown, with a dash of pale- 
 ness through it. Her eyes were splendid, full, 
 large brown eyes. They were not those languish- 
 ing eyes that are thought so much about. They 
 lacked that dreamy expression, except at times. 
 But always they were clear and intelligent, with 
 a calm, steady light burning in them. 
 
 May was wonderfully calm, from a child she 
 had been so, and now as a woman it was more 
 noticeable. It amounted almost to fascination. 
 She was always neat, but never showily dressed, 
 and there was that repose of manner which alone 
 springs from a clear, unruffled conscience. She 
 was strong in mind, yet tender-hearted ; her
 
 WILD WOOD. 125 
 
 gentle firmness was a special gift of God*s, and 
 her common sense rendered her an able adviser. 
 To-night she wore a plain dress of black silk, 
 getting rather shabby, too, but it did not look 
 amiss on stately May. She entered the drawing- 
 room quietly, and did not want to attract atten- 
 tion. She enjoyed sitting in a corner and looking 
 on. There was one window that May always sat 
 in, if possible ; it was in one angle of the large 
 room, and quite an observatory ; it commanded, 
 by its peculiar position, a full view of the entire 
 room. 
 
 This evening, however, she could not reach it 
 because the Squire called her, and she had to 
 content herself with a seat in the midst of the 
 chattering people. Lois was radiant in a new 
 dress, and flirting away with Ted Archer ; but 
 she had taken good care to station herself out of 
 sight of the Squire. 
 
 '^ May, has Mark gone ?"
 
 126 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Yes, papa, and I think Durill has gone with 
 him ; to the stables, at least, to see about a 
 horse." 
 
 '* What about a horse ? Anything to do with 
 Mark's r 
 
 ^*Yes; one is sick, so Durill is going to lend 
 him one." 
 
 ^' Quite right ; but Durill is always kind and 
 thoughtful." 
 
 This was said for only May and himself to 
 hear ; but the first part Crispin had caught, and 
 he turned sharply and called — 
 ** May, I want you for a second." 
 "What is it, Crispin?" asked May, glancing 
 into his flushed face. 
 " Why has Durill gone to the stables ?" 
 " To get a horse for Mark ; did you not hear 
 me tell papa ?" 
 
 " Yes, but I did not clearly understand ; he 
 does not usually visit the stables so late."
 
 WILD WOOD. 127 
 
 ** Well, but there is a reason to-night." 
 
 ** What reason ?" asked Crispin, crossly. " I 
 wish you would speak out, May, and tell me the 
 truth. What has taken Durill to the stables ?" 
 
 This conversation was spoken rather low, and 
 they were not very close to the rest. May's eyes 
 flashed slightly, but she was quite calm, as usual. 
 
 " Crispin, you are sadly out of temper, and not 
 too polite to me. I have told you the reason 
 twice over, and I am not in the habit of speaking 
 anything but the truth. ^' 
 
 She gently moved away to her favourite win- 
 dow, and Crispin went to be petted by his 
 mother. 
 
 When Durill and Mark reached the court-yard, 
 there were several men going about with lanterns 
 and buckets, which at nine at night was unusual, 
 especially when there was no one going out, and 
 Madam had not had the carriage that day. In
 
 128 WILD WOOD. 
 
 fact, the entire place was alive, and the principal 
 scene of the commotion was a stable at the far 
 end. A lantern stood in the window, and the 
 door wide open, while several grooms with their 
 caps on one side and their hands on their hips 
 were bunting their heads together, as first one 
 and then another laid down the law, and stated 
 his experience. One suggested a pint of whisky, 
 another one of hot ale, but high above the rest 
 rose the voice of Jenkinson, the fat old coach- 
 man. He rarely drove now, but he was head of 
 the department, and appealed to on all occasions. 
 " I fear this will prove an uncommon bad 
 business, she looks so blowed. Bob, just you get 
 on the grey cob and go over for Patterson, and 
 bring him back with you ; and someone else step 
 over and ask Blake to send Mr. Durill here. 
 Won't he be wild though ! my stars ! but best let 
 him know at once. Be quick, whoever's going
 
 WILD WOOD. 129 
 
 for him. Miss May, too, how put out she'll be ! 
 Law's sake ! I would sooner had it any on 'em 
 than hers. Poor Gipsy ! poor lass — poor lass !" 
 
 At this stage in the performance Durill and 
 Mark entered. 
 
 " Why, Jenkinson, what is to do here ?" 
 
 " Eh ! Mr. Durill, glad to see you, sir. I was 
 just sending for you. We're in a mess, sir. 
 This 'ere Gipsy of Miss May's is taken bad, and 
 it is so sudden like ; she was all right at half-past 
 five, for I was in." ♦ 
 
 " I am afraid it is serious, Jenkinson ; have 
 you sent for Patterson ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, Bob has gone ; I sent him just 
 as you came in." 
 
 ^' Mark, what do you think about her," asked 
 Durill, stroking the poor beast. 
 
 It stood with head hanging down, starting 
 
 eyes, and expanded nostrils, while its sides were 
 
 going like a pair of bellows. Its breathing was 
 
 G 5
 
 130 WILD WOOD. 
 
 loud, and evidently the animal was in great pain. 
 Mark's answer was a prolonged whistle, and 
 he looked at Gipsy long and carefully. 
 
 ** I should say this mare has been over ridden, 
 Jenkinson." 
 
 *^ Over ridden, Mr. Calvert !" exclaimed plump 
 Jenkinson, catching his breath almost as badly 
 as the mare in his astonishment. " Why, bless 
 you, sir, Gipsy has never been out since Miss 
 May rode her along with Mr. Durill here, except 
 for exercise in the Paddock with one of the boys, 
 and me looking on all the while. No, sir, it's 
 not thatf I'll take my 'davy, though it is just like 
 it. And that is what is puzzling me so, 'cause 
 I never saw it except in cases of over riding." 
 
 " Well, Jenkinson, it really seems more like 
 
 that to me than anything else ; but since you 
 
 assure me the mare has not been out, why I must 
 
 give way to you." 
 
 ^' I agree with Mr. Calvert, Jenkinson. This
 
 WILD WOOD. 131 
 
 mare lias been shamefully pushed ; I should not 
 be surprised if she dies before morning. It is 
 that and nothing else that ails her." 
 
 " Law's sakes, Mr. Darill, sir, how positive you 
 are ; believe me, sir, the mare has not been out." 
 
 Old Jenkinson looked extremely hurt at being 
 doubted by Durill, whom he had taught to ride, 
 and taken his first day out with the hounds. 
 
 " Well, well, Jenkinson, I am not doubting 
 you, but I still believe this mare has been out. 
 Do you think it possible anyone could take her 
 without your knowledge ?" 
 
 Most of the men had slunk off when Durill 
 and Mark entered the stable, but when Durill 
 asked Jenkinson that question the two who were 
 there went out. It was a curious question to 
 put, and the men felt rather delicate about it, no 
 doubt. 
 
 Jenkinson assumed his gravest manner and 
 considered profoundly for a second.
 
 132 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " No, Mr. Durill, I think that would be quite- 
 impossible, because my cottage is at the bottom 
 of the court yard, and I always sits close at the 
 window, so that if anyone had passed while I 
 was at my tea I should have seen them go through 
 the gates. But I am inclined to your way of 
 thinking, sir. This mare puts me just in mind 
 of the Squire's Prince, as that London gentleman 
 killed that run with the Slapston Hounds. You 
 mind that, Mr. Durill?" 
 
 " Yes, very well, Jenkinson. Poor Prince I 
 The Squire was awfully cut up about that. The 
 man was a complete fool ; he rode like a mad- 
 man. Prince was a spleladid animal, but the 
 fellow had no sense. He did for him, any how." 
 
 " Aye, that he did. Well, this mare do put 
 me in mind of Prince, I must say ; but I cannot 
 imagine how it has come about." 
 
 Jenkinson scratched his bald head in his per- 
 plexity. It was enough to puzzle the old man,.
 
 WILD WOOD. 133 
 
 because he knew perfectly well it had not gone 
 out with his permission, neither had he seen 
 it go. 
 
 " I have kept order here these thirty years, 
 Mr. Durill, and never had such a thing to happen 
 before to me. I can't believe as any one of the 
 boys would dare to take it out without my orders : 
 why, they are all good lads, every one on 'em." 
 
 ** I believe that, yet I cannot otherwise account 
 for the poor thing's condition. I hope Patterson 
 will not be long coming. However, we can do no 
 good standing here, and you want to get home, 
 Mark. 
 
 " Jenkinson, have .the brown mare that used to 
 draw Madam's brougham saddled for Mr. Cal- 
 vert. She will carry you nicely, Mark, and go 
 in your brougham too." 
 
 *^ Thanks, that will do capitally. Durill, I 
 could take my oath this mare has been hardly 
 ridden."
 
 134 WILD WOOD. 
 
 They had both gone close up to the poor pant- 
 ing creature ; it was now lying on its side. 
 
 " Yes, I am certain we are correct, and I shall 
 have it sharply seen to, I can promise you. May 
 will be awfully grieved." 
 
 " Your horse is ready, Mr. Calvert, '* said Jen- 
 kinson, appearing at the door." 
 
 " All right. Jenkinson, look here, I wish you 
 to enquire from the grooms who has had this 
 mare out, and if Patterson comes before long 
 send for me, I want to see him." 
 
 ^' Certainly, Mr. Durill ; but I am very much 
 afraid it is a bad case ; she can't stand now." 
 
 Durill saw Mark ride off, and then crossed 
 over the court yard and into the gardens. He 
 walked up and down the gravel walk, puffing 
 away at his cigar. He was angry, and striding 
 about in the moonlight, he looked a very unde- 
 sirable foe for anyone to possess. He seemed to 
 forget his dress-boots, but then the ground was
 
 WILD WOOD. 135 
 
 frosty. Presently his quick ear caught the sound 
 of horse's hoofs in the court-yard, so he walked 
 back and met Patterson as he was getting out of 
 his gig. 
 
 Together they went to the stable, and Patter- 
 son looked at the animal in rather an astonished 
 manner, and then at those gathered round. 
 
 ** What is to do with the mare, Patterson ?" 
 
 '* The mare has been over-ridden, Mr. Drever. 
 She won't live half-an-hour ; I can do nothing. 
 What on earth have you been about, Jenkin- 
 son ?" 
 
 " Me ? Nothing ! I am just at my wits' end; 
 the mare has never been out of the stable. I can 
 swear she was all right at half-past ^yb, for I 
 was in here myself; and when I came again at a 
 quarter to nine she was blowing, and since then 
 she has got worse." 
 
 " There is something decidedly wrong here, 
 Jenkinson, and I will have it investigated at
 
 136 WILD WOOD. 
 
 once. Call the men. It is your opinion that the 
 mare is dying from over-riding, Patterson ?" 
 
 "Most certainly, Mr. Drever." 
 
 The men had not left, those who lived near or 
 on the premises, which most did, and they all 
 entered the stable looking extremely sheepish. 
 Durill spoke to them shortly and strangely. 
 
 " Mr. Patterson states this mare to be dying 
 from over-riding, and I want the man who rode 
 it to come forward and say so, or if anyone knows 
 about it let him come forward. I shall assuredly 
 find it out, so by telling now it will save a great 
 deal of trouble." 
 
 There was a deep silence for a moment, and 
 then a man pushed his way to the front. He 
 was a nice looking young fellow, very thin. 
 He twisted his cap about, and looked at Durill 
 in some fear. 
 
 " If you please, sir, I know who had Gipsy 
 out."
 
 WILD WOOD. 137 
 
 •^ Who was it? — speak, man." 
 
 ** Mr. Crispin, sir." 
 
 " Mr. Crispin ! — are you sure, Cummings T* 
 
 "Yes, quite, Mr. Jenkinson. He came into 
 the yard soon after the clock had gone seven, and 
 I met him, he told me to get this mare saddled 
 quickly. I did so, and him standing here watch- 
 ing me. I did not know I was doing wrong, as 
 it was for one of the gentlemen, sir." 
 
 "And Mr. Crispin went out on it?" asj^ed 
 Durill. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " But I will take my solemn oath he did not 
 go through the court-yard gate," almost shouted 
 Jenkinson, in his excitement. 
 
 " ISo, he did not go out that way, sir, he went 
 through the paddock and down the cart road." 
 
 " And what time did he return ?" asked Durill, 
 
 " About eight, sir, and I took the mare from
 
 138 WILD WOOD. 
 
 him in the paddock. He made me wait there till 
 he came back." 
 
 " And why did you not tell of this sooner, 
 when you heard me making enquiries ?" 
 
 The man looked terribly confused, and while 
 twirling his cap round, jerked out — 
 
 ** Mr. Crispin told me not to tell, sir.'* 
 
 " That will do my man, you may all go."
 
 WILD WOOD. 139 
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 It was no use questioning any further. That 
 Crispin had killed the poor thing there was not 
 the slightest doubt, but for what purpose had* he 
 taken such a ride, and where had he gone to ? 
 Durill's handsome face was quite pale, as he 
 turned to old Jenkinson — 
 
 "Don't say any more about it, Jenkinson. 
 No doubt Mr. Crispin can explain it, and it won't 
 do to fill everyone's mouth." 
 
 *' I understand, Mr. Durill ; I understand. 
 But law's sakes, what can have made Master 
 Cris ride like that ? Mr. Crispin, I should say, 
 but it seems only yesterday he was Master Cris.'*
 
 140 WILD WOOD. 
 
 No one answered Jenkinson's question. Durill 
 was not able to, and it was no business of Pat- 
 terson's. Gipsy was dying fast, and it was a 
 hard death, poor beast. How she laboured and 
 struggled for breath, her intelligent eyes almost 
 out with agony, as she fought with her grim foe 
 death. A few more moments, and Gipsy was 
 still ; so Patterson left, and drove home to the 
 bosom of his family. Durill wished old Jenkin- 
 son good-night, and walked to the house. It 
 was now twenty minutes past ten, and the piano 
 was still going. This time May was the per- 
 former, by desire of the Squire, who was just 
 napping a little. 
 
 Durill was in a towering rage, and his great 
 square shoulders looked broader than ever, as, 
 catching sight of Blake with the glasses, he 
 called out — 
 
 " Here, Blake, take my coat !" 
 
 The old man came with an anxious expression
 
 WILD WOOD. 141 
 
 on his face, and after taking a good look at tlie 
 stern face above him, he said — 
 
 " No offence, Mr. Durill, but it might frighten 
 the Squire if you was sharp with Mr. Crispin in 
 his presence, and he has not yet gone to bed, sir." 
 
 Durill glanced at the old man, and a smile 
 rose to his lips. 
 
 *' Don't be afraid, Blake, I am not going to 
 chastise Mr. Crispin, though 1 feel quite equal 
 to it ; but perhaps I had better not annoy . my 
 father by making a row." 
 
 Blake did well to speak, since Durill's feelings 
 agreed with his appearance. God help Crispin 
 if he had chastised him. 
 
 The news of the mare's death had reached the 
 servants' hall, and Blake ventured to remark how 
 Miss May would fret. 
 
 " Yes, poor girl, she is always getting put 
 upon, and she liked Gipsy so, she carried her
 
 142 WILD WOOD. 
 
 beautifully. Just ask Miss May to come to me 
 when you go in, Blake." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Blake seemed quite relieved that Durill was 
 not going into the drawing-room. 
 
 In a few moments May appeared. 
 
 " What a time you have been, Durill. Did 
 you go home with Mark ? " 
 
 "No, love, I did not, but I have been kept in 
 the stables. May, something has happened to 
 Gipsy, but I will buy you another, dear. " 
 
 " Oh I Durill, is Gipsy dead?" 
 
 " Yes, May, she is, and I am awfully distressed 
 about it, because the poor creature did not die 
 fairly." 
 
 May's large eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " I liked Gipsy so much — she was so gentle — 
 and also because you gave her to me. But what 
 do you mean by did not die fairly, Durill ?"
 
 WILD WOOD. 143 
 
 *' Why, it, I can't help it, May, I am just 
 
 wild. She was ridden to death." 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 " That young scamp, Crispin. He may thank 
 his stars I did not meet him just now, but for 
 Blake I should have given him a jolly good 
 thrashing. But it is better as it is, the Squire 
 might have been put out." 
 
 ^' Yes, Durill, I am glad it did not come to 
 that, it would have quite upset papa and mamma, 
 and made such a talk. But where did he go to, 
 and why take my poor Gipsy ?" 
 
 '' I don't know. May. I shall certainly speak 
 to Crispin in the morning, but I promise to keep 
 my temper. There is something very queer about 
 it. He sneaked off after dinner by the cart road, 
 and bribed one of the men, Cummings, or some 
 such name, not to tell. He came back about 
 eight, in time for tea, you see ; the groom put 
 the mare up, and never said a word to any one.
 
 144 WILD WOOD. 
 
 When Jenkinson went his nightly round, a little 
 before nine, she was blowing awfully, and when 
 Mark and I went over at nine the place was up. 
 Jenkinson was certain the mare had never been 
 out, and no one could make anything of it. But 
 when Patterson came he at once pronounced the 
 mare to be dying, and from the effects of over 
 riding. I had the men called, and this Cum- 
 mings confessed. Gipsy died just before I left 
 the stable. But, May, darling, don't grieve ; I 
 will go to town to-morrow and buy you another.'' 
 
 May looked at Durill quietly. 
 
 " Thank you, Durill, I will not have another." 
 
 " May !" 
 
 ^' No, I will never have another; I liked 
 Gipsy, and she has gone ; I will not have another 
 to go." 
 
 Her face was perfectly pale, and her pretty 
 white hands (one of her few charms) were 
 clasped tightly.
 
 WILD WOOD. 145 
 
 ^^ But, May love, I want you to go out with 
 me ; surely you won't refuse to do that ?" 
 
 " No, Durill, indeed I won't; but I can ride 
 anything that is steady. Jenkinson can find me 
 some old animal, I dare say, and it will do quite 
 nicely." 
 
 Durill was quite troubled. 
 
 " I would sooner anything had happened than 
 this. I knew how it would be with you. But 
 can't you put your afi'ections on another ? I will 
 get it as like Gipsy as possible." 
 
 "No, I can't. I shall like Gipsy just the 
 same when they have put her in a hole in some 
 field. I gave her all the love I could give to a 
 horse, and I cannot take it back. Never mind, 
 brother ; don't say any more about it." 
 
 Durill looked at her in astonishment, but she 
 had been so from a child. She could not transfer 
 her affections. He took her in his arms; he 
 knew her worth. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Little May , you are too true hearted ; if all 
 women were like you it would be a bad look out, 
 one half would be widows and the other half 
 disappointed maidens ; and what do you suppose 
 would become of a poor fellow like me ?'* 
 
 May laughed. 
 
 '' You stupid thing, there are plenty of girls 
 that would have you whether they had been dis- 
 appointed or not. But I can't spare you just 
 now, Durill, though I should like to see you 
 happily married." 
 
 They sat and talked till the others were going 
 up stairs, and reminded them that they ought to 
 go to. 
 
 " There is no coffee to-night, I suppose, 
 May ?" 
 
 " No ; I am sorry there is not. I quite forgot 
 to tell Ellen, but you shall have it to-morrow 
 night. By-the-bye, that reminds me ; when will 
 the instigator of that practice be here ?"
 
 WILD WOOD. 147 
 
 " Julius ? Oh, the end of this month. No, 
 what am 1 talking about ? That would be to- 
 morrow week — somewhere about the 17th of 
 December, I fancy he wrote me." 
 
 At breakfast next morning Durill said to 
 Crispin, " I want to say a word to you when you 
 have finished." 
 
 Crispin glanced up, a smile on his face, and 
 then devoted himself to a pie that was opposite. 
 Anyone would have supposed that he had not 
 the remotest notion of the nature of the business, 
 he seemed so happy and unconcerned. 
 
 When they rose from the table Durill caught 
 May by the arm and drew her out of the room 
 with him, calling upon Crispin to follow. Crispin 
 lounged after them in a few moments, and swing- 
 ing himself on to the table, sat warming himself 
 before the snuggery fire. 
 
 " Now then, Durill, be quick, because I pro- 
 mised to help Mark, and the patients come at ten." 
 
 H 2
 
 148 WILD WOOD. 
 
 It was quite evident that Durill had brought 
 May to help him keep the ,devil down, for there 
 was a lurid light in his eyes, as he leaned against 
 the chimneypiece, with his strong arm round 
 May. 
 
 "What made you take May's pad out, last 
 night, Crispin ?'* 
 
 " Oh, I wanted it, that was all." 
 
 This was said in a most indifferent off-hand 
 tone, and May felt the arm round her tighten 
 like a band of iron. 
 
 "That is no answer. I want to know why 
 you took that any more than any of the others?'* 
 
 " Well, I knew May had not been out on it 
 lately, and I thought it might be the better for a 
 little exercise." 
 
 " Crispin, don't tell lies; your reason for taking 
 Gipsy was because you imagined it would not be 
 found out ; it was a right down underhand trick, 
 and I should like to know where you went to ? "
 
 WILD WOOD. 149 
 
 " That's my business/' 
 
 *^ Come, young man, I'll just trouble you to be 
 civil, it is the least you can do after killing the 
 mare !" 
 
 "Killing the mare? Who killed it? I did 
 not !" 
 
 " Yes, you did ; Gipsy died last night, in my 
 presence, from being overridden. And the man 
 Cummings confessed it was you. You ought to 
 be ashamed of yourself, sir, to ride any anilnal 
 like that. You can have been after no good, 
 that is very certain. But I don't care to pry 
 into your affairs, or I could easily track you. 
 You sneaked off in the dark the cart way, and 
 bribed the groom not to tell; it does not look 
 too creditable, I must say, Crispin, independently 
 of having ridden the poor brute to death, and 
 deprived your sister of her horse. " 
 
 ** She will get another, I have no doubt." 
 
 "No," thundered Durill, "she will not get
 
 150 WILD WOOD. 
 
 another, because she will not have one ; but you 
 will get thrashed withio an inch of your life, sir, 
 if ever I catch you at the like game. Tf I had 
 met you last night you would have had reason to 
 repent it. Now, get out of my sight, quickly, 
 else I may forget my good resolution." 
 
 Crispin saw that in big Durill's eye that 
 warned him to be off ; besides he knew what a 
 poor chance he had with his womanly hands 
 against the man of iron. So muttering some- 
 thing about injustice, and telling the Squire, he 
 escaped from the room. 
 
 Durill paced up and down like a caged lion, 
 but presently he stopped before May, who stood 
 calmly waiting, tiil he should be cooled. A 
 softer light came into his eyes, and he smiled his 
 old genial smile. 
 
 '^ Do you think me a brute. May ?" 
 
 " No, Durill, you know I don't, and you did 
 keep your temper."
 
 WILD WOOD. 151 
 
 ** Yes, after a fasHon, but lie exasperated me 
 so, May; but for you, with that calm face of 
 yours, I should have administered a few taps of 
 correction. There is some devilment in it, I feel 
 convinced." 
 
 " Yes, I did not like his manner over it, it was 
 so dogged. But, Durill, to please me, let the 
 matter drop. I am the loser, and I will abide 
 by my loss, only don't let there be any disturbance 
 about it. I think it better not to probe, we might 
 find something we did not like." 
 
 " Why, May, you amaze me ; this is something 
 new, you used not to approve of bottling things 
 
 up!" 
 
 " Nor do I now, but this case is not a common 
 one ; and besides we have to deal with one of 
 our own — it makes a wonderful difference, Durill." 
 
 «^ But, come now, do you think it right to 
 smother a fire ? Don't you think it ought to be 
 effectually put out ? I do. If I had my way in
 
 152 WILD WOOD. 
 
 this business I would set to work and discover 
 what prompted Crispin to take that mysterious 
 ride last night. Who knows but what we might 
 prevent some pending evil ?" 
 
 " Very true, but here is another side to the 
 question. Do you imagine that Crispin will 
 have planned so badly that the motive will be 
 near the top and ready for you to unearth without 
 assistance ? No. Then by getting that assistance 
 and ferreting you will fill other people's mouths, 
 and make them regard Crispin with suspicion* 
 Durill, there is nothing so difficult to deal with 
 as cunning ; and at that Crispin is a match for 
 anyone." 
 
 *^ Yes, I know he is ; but that I would rather 
 try than wait. I dread anything when I cannot 
 see it ; nothing is worse than an imaginary 
 danger." 
 
 " Ah ! then upon that principle I suppose you 
 got into bed backwards way when you were a
 
 WILD WOOD. 163 
 
 juvenile, in case anyone might catch hold of you. 
 But 1 understand what you mean and I share 
 your feelings ; and at the same time console 
 myself with the thought that Crispin is so fond 
 of himself and so cunning that he will plot and 
 scheme and throw dust in people's eyes while he 
 lives. He will manage somehow to make things 
 appear smooth for himself, and those who want 
 to find anything out about Crispin will have to 
 dig a long way down." • 
 
 "But how about chance, May? You know 
 there is an old saying, ' Murder will out.' " 
 
 " Yes. Well, one cannot contend with chance- 
 But I feel perfectly certain of one thing, what- 
 ever was Crispin's errand last night, bad, good, 
 or indifferent, it will be hard work to bring it 
 home to him. And as for his college doings and 
 private scrapes, I don't believe his bosom friend 
 Ted Archer knows anything about them, or if he 
 does, Crispin has the whip hand of him, and he 
 
 H 5
 
 154 WILD WOOD. 
 
 will never tell. Depend upon it Oris will find a 
 way to stitch peoples' mouths up if they know 
 anything to tell. Therefore I feel pretty safe." 
 
 " Well done, May; that is a grand argument, 
 and since you understand him so well I shall 
 trust to you keeping your ^ weather eye open,' 
 and singing out when it is getting hot." 
 
 '* Yes, I intend to watch, no harm can come 
 of that, and when the time comes, I will stave 
 off the disgrace if possible, should there be any, 
 for the sake of papa ; but it is no use looking 
 for it." 
 
 '' In the meantime you will go on quietly and 
 regularly with your duties, prudent May! We 
 are also told to ^ work while we can,' and ^ im- 
 prove each shining hour.' That reminds me, 
 when are we to finish our talk ?' 
 
 ''What talk?" 
 
 " Why, the one Mark interrupted — our talk- 
 about heaven."
 
 WILD WOOD. 155 
 
 " Oh ! any time you choose ; all times are 
 good to talk about that." 
 
 " Then let it be the very first time we are 
 alone. It is useless trying over the coffee, 
 because they all come in. I wonder whether 
 Crispin will absent himself after this ?" 
 
 ** I hope not ; we won't allude to it again, for 
 it is past and gone." 
 
 " Very well, May; better let it die away."
 
 156 WILD WOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Gibbons Grove lay to the left of Wild Wood, 
 in a clump of trees, and the Downs at its back. 
 It was something like a Chinese house, and when 
 the sun was on it looked as if of gold. It was 
 ornamented with wood work and a verandah ; a 
 large field, on which grazed a goodly collection 
 of North American bulls, separated it from the 
 road. 
 
 The late William Calvert had been an attorney, 
 much respected and beloved. He was a good 
 husband and a good father. So when he was 
 called away it was a sore parting. He left a 
 wife and three children — Mark, comfortably settled
 
 WILD WOOD. 157 
 
 as a doctor ia the village, and to whom you have 
 already been introduced, and two daughters, Kate 
 and Ruby. 
 
 The hour is six, and being the end of Novem- 
 ber of course quite dark. The scene is the draw- 
 ing-room of Gibbons Grove. After the death 
 of Mr. Calvert there had been some retrenching, 
 such as fewer servants, horses, carriages, &c., yet 
 there was every comfort possible. 
 
 The house was not expensively furnished,* and 
 the things were getting the wors e for wear, but 
 by the light of the fire they looked extremely 
 well. Especially, as sitting in a low chair at one 
 side of the grate, was a pretty little thing curled 
 up like a kitten, and just as soft and warm. A 
 winsome little woman, with a pretty round figure, 
 two great, loving, blue eyes, which, by reason of 
 their long lashes, appeared violet, and a nose, 
 which no one, however charitably disposed, could 
 convert into anything more or less than a pug.
 
 158 WILD WOOD. 
 
 This little face was rather pale, not in consequence 
 of being delicate, but simply because she took 
 after her father, who possessed that ashy com- 
 plexion. 
 
 Ruby Calvert was the same age as May Drever, 
 and they were great friends ; they had both gone 
 to the same school, and learned to love each 
 other for pure worth. Ruby was a sensible, 
 tender-hearted little creature, though not so clear 
 in intellect and determined as May, who was a 
 shade taller, and in every way better able to 
 battle with the world. So Ruby sat comfortably 
 before the bright fire, silent, and with her soul 
 full of happiness. 
 
 The room was not still, for it was filled with 
 delicious melody. 
 
 Kate, Ruby's sister, was playing, and she could 
 play — play the soul to sleep, and fill the heart 
 with tender, loving thoughts. She was a won- 
 derful clever girl, small, like Ruby, but not so
 
 WILD WOOD. 159 
 
 plump. Considered by most people prettier, for, 
 in place of the pale cheeks, she had two rosy 
 ones, which irresistibly reminded one of two tempt- 
 ing apples. She was a blue-stocking, with all 
 the charms and with none of the faults. She 
 was not untidy or lazy. She was not always 
 dabbling in ink and going about with holes 
 in her stockings. She could make the puddings, 
 keep the house, laugh, play, sing, draw, speak 
 French irreproachably, feel for others, and go to 
 sleep with an easy conscience, with her rosy little 
 face peeping from between the pillows. She had 
 a most intelligent face, and it was helped out by 
 the eyeglass she was compelled to use, being 
 slightly short-sighted, and which earned for her 
 the name of " Professor." 
 
 Her music was decidedly of the superior kind ; 
 it was brilliant, and would bear scrutinizing ; it 
 was faultless. The touch was firm, without being
 
 160 WILD WOOD. 
 
 heavy, and each note was clear and distinct. 
 Combined with this was excellent execution and 
 natural talent. One minute she could make you 
 almost dancCj and the next hush you to a serious 
 turn of mind, softening down each trial and care, 
 and carrying you away with the exquisite music. 
 
 This evening she was playing -' Les Arpages'* 
 beautifully, and the firelight flickering up caught 
 Ruby's face and showed that Kate had indeed 
 played her soul away. Deep, deep down in the 
 heart of the burning coals she saw a picture — it 
 was sweet to her eyes. Suppose we look ? 
 
 There, in the centre of that red clump, we see 
 a road — a nice long, hard road, with woods here 
 and there — on the frosty air is borne the faint 
 tinkling of some far-off sheep-bell, while on that 
 ivy-covered stump sits a robin singing a melan- 
 choly little song, the burthen of which would 
 seem to be " A crumb, please, a crumb!" Com-
 
 WILD WOOD. 161 
 
 ing along briskly, is a big man, wrapped in a 
 brown top-coat, some papers in his hand, and a 
 huge cigar in his mouth. 
 
 It is a great, big, towering figure, and appears 
 above the hedges, but the handsome, kindly face 
 does not scare the robin. Had that robin been a 
 beggar, he would have received half-a-crown, in 
 case there might be any little people at home 
 with empty stomachs and blue limbs. 
 
 It is Durill Drever who has been to town, Snd 
 is walking from the station. Strange to relate. 
 Ruby Calvert has been walking, and they meet, 
 and exchange greetings. And this is the little 
 scene, only a few hours' old, that appears again 
 to Ruby's eye in the redhot coal. 
 
 Ah, pretty Ruby ! " Love's young dream !" we 
 have caught you at it, and it seems fitting, what 
 with twilight, music, a glowing fire, and the great 
 secret of all — nothing to do. Dream on about the 
 big man, who has turned your little brain, and
 
 162 WILD WOOD. 
 
 may that dream last lon^ — may there be no bitter 
 waking ; you have staked your all, poor child, in 
 the great game of life. May angels waft their 
 wings, and turn the wheel I 
 
 Presently the music ceased, and the fairies, 
 blowing soft kisses to Euby, vanished at the 
 sound of Kate's cheery voice. She was as merry 
 as a cricket when nothing serious was on hand. 
 
 " Dear me ! what time is it. Ruby ? Are you 
 asleep ?" 
 
 '' No, I am not." 
 
 ^' Well, next door to it, having only just awoke. 
 But I do so want some tea." 
 
 Ruby rose and stretched her short neck to see 
 the clock, whose golden hands showed the time 
 to be ten minutes past six, of which fact Kate 
 was duly apprised. 
 
 "Then tea must be ready, and I suppose 
 mamma is making it instead of calling one of 
 us."
 
 WILD WOOD. 163 
 
 " I wonder if Mark will come in to-night ?" 
 
 " No, I don't suppose so ; he is so busy just 
 now, with Dr. Tinley being absent.'' 
 
 " Kate, what a queer thing it is we have not 
 seen George Hardwick since he came down. 
 Captain Hardwick said he would be coming. I 
 really think it is extremely rude of him, don't 
 you?" 
 
 Kate was busy poking the fire, and did not pay 
 any attention to Ruby's remark, and the entrance 
 of Mrs. Calvert prevented it being repeated. 
 
 Mrs. Calvert was rather short and stout, and 
 decidedly fidgetty and nervous. Her health was 
 but poor, and she at times imagined herself one 
 of the most injured mortals on the face of the 
 earth. 
 
 Many people considered her a sweet tempered 
 woman, and she frequently took occasion to tell 
 her children how she was noted for amiability in 
 her youth. But, alas, they did not know her in
 
 164 WILD WOOD. 
 
 her youth, for Kate, Ruby, and Mark, were the 
 end of a large family, the boys all came first and 
 the girls last, and between Kate and Buby there 
 was a difference of three and a half years. Now, 
 in the decline of life, Mrs. Calvert's amiability 
 only visited her by fits and starts, and her daugh- 
 ters required some little patience to deal with 
 her. They were both good girls ; they would 
 take care and stand by their mother to the last, 
 but perpetual fault-finding, discontent, helpless- 
 ness, and censuring, had shown them their 
 mother's true character, and rubbed off a good 
 deal of the freshness of affection. They knew 
 exactly where the quicksands lay, and their life 
 was one continual endeavour to walk round them. 
 Mrs. Calvert was ridiculously sensitive, always 
 suspicious, and feeling hurt about nothing. Then 
 would follow a violent fit of weeping, and a fair 
 sprinkling of temper as she bemoaned the loss of 
 her husband, and the unfeeling conduct and
 
 WILD WOOD. 165 
 
 cruelty of her children. After these periodical 
 storms there came a lull, in which she would 
 maintain the most tragic dignity, assert her 
 authority, and pull the reins of government so 
 tightly as almost to render the lives of Kate and 
 Ruby wretched. She intended to do this, that, 
 and the other, and would have no interference 
 from anyone. *' Remember I'm your mother," 
 as if they were ever likely to forget. She had no 
 idea on two or three occasions how near she was 
 to being daughterless — how the bit had been 
 chucked a little too rudely, and cut their mouths 
 (which, by the way, were getting very hard). 
 But they were not the kind of girls to sneak off 
 with one of those wonderful little bundles which 
 appear to contain everything, for one never by 
 any chance hears of those much afflicted and 
 beautiful young ladies having any washing done. 
 There was a great deal to arrange before they 
 could leave their home and work for themselves.
 
 166 WILD WOOD. 
 
 and during that period there was time for reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 Their father was dead ; if they left their mother 
 what would become of her ? She would be left 
 to the care of strangers. She would have no one 
 to find fault with or worr}^, and that seemed to 
 be the very prop of her existence. I wonder 
 what a cow would do if it were deprived of its 
 cud ? Pine away perhaps. At any rate, it was 
 intended to have it, so with Mrs. Calvert, and it 
 might be dangerous to take it away, after she 
 had chewed it so many years. And besides, they 
 recollected very well the father who had worked 
 for them, and always been kind and tried to 
 please them. It would be but a poor return to 
 forsake the mother he had left to their care. So 
 they used to strap their burthen upon their backs 
 again, and hope things would be better when 
 their mother's health improved. 
 
 *'And besides, Kate," little Ruby would say,
 
 WILD WOOD. 167 
 
 with her pug nose dreadfully swollen with crying, 
 which made her look anything but pretty, ''papa 
 knows all about it, and he will love us all the 
 more when we go to him." 
 
 You see, May had been whispering this happi- 
 ness into Ruby's ears ; and that father, looking 
 down upon his " babies," saw their struggle, and 
 as his little Ruby said, " loved them all the more." 
 
 ''What are you doing in the dark?" asked 
 Mrs. Calvert, rather sharply. ' 
 
 *' Nothing, mamma ; I have been playing, and 
 Ruby has been warming herself, I believe." 
 
 " And you leave everything to me ; but it has 
 always been the same. I have had all to do ; 
 you don't know you're born, either of you." 
 
 '* I am sorry, mamma, that I did not come to 
 make tea." 
 
 " Ah, you'll think of it, when I am gone. I 
 shall have spasms to-night, Kate; I feel them 
 coming on."
 
 168 WILD WOOD. 
 
 Neither Kate nor Ruby made any response to 
 this communication ; it was no use, since she had 
 made up her mind to have spasms, spasms she 
 would have. Once Ruby got into terrible dis- 
 grace by enquiring at '^ What o'clock they were 
 to commence ?'* Mrs. Calvert walked out of the 
 room, Kate and Ruby followiDg, to partake of the 
 tea about which there had been a slight passage 
 at arms. 
 
 " The old women had been busy plucking their 
 geese " all day for the first time that season. 
 The ground was covered with pure fluffy snow, 
 while the trees looked as though someone had 
 been sugaring them. Uncle Durill and Aunt 
 May had been having a sham fight with the 
 children, much to the amusement of all beholders, 
 and the profound contempt of Miss Lois and Mr. 
 Crispin in particular. They had nothing to do 
 but sit by the fire. Lois's time hung especially 
 heavily on her hands in consequence of Ted
 
 WILD WOOD. 169 
 
 Archer having gone up to town for the day on 
 business. But the next best thing to having 
 him to talk to, was to talk about him, and she 
 did not know anj'one so likely to pick that bone 
 with her as Crispin. He had come into the room 
 without any purpose, and finding Lois there had 
 stayed. Presently he had been attracted to the 
 window by little shrill shrieks of delight which 
 heralded the beginning of the ^^ great battle," 
 and he was still lolling against the shutter with 
 a half smile on his lips watching Evelyn, who 
 stamped about with her sturdy little red legs and 
 cheeks trying to catch Durill, who dodged her in 
 the bushes. She was quite out of breath, and 
 tumbled round with her little fists full of snow, 
 but at last, finding she was getting the worst of 
 it, the small tyrant commanded Uncle Durill to 
 " 'toop down," and coolly tossed the two little 
 cakes of snow into his face, which of course stuck 
 in his beard and moustache, whereupon she set 
 
 VOL. I, I
 
 T70 WILD WOOD. 
 
 up another yell of delight, and called Aunty May 
 and Ivo to look what she had done. 
 
 " I wonder how Durill has the patience to play 
 with those children," remarked Crispin, as he re- 
 turned to his seat by the fire. 
 
 He did not know that Durill had cut short his 
 ride on purpose to please those same children. 
 
 " So do I, and as for May she is absurd over 
 them. I never expected they would keep it up, 
 but they do, and positively seem to grow fonder 
 of them each day." 
 
 " Yes, the children don't trouble you much, 
 Lois, I must say, or me either," added Crispin, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 '^ Well, dear me, it is not everyone that would 
 make the fuss about them May and Durill do ; 
 the children may well like them. Why, it was 
 only the other night I went into the nursery to 
 see May, and found Durill actually playing * little 
 piggies' with Evelyn's toes I"
 
 WILD WOOD. 171 
 
 *' Indeed! Twenty minutes to four — it is 
 almost time I got the trap ready, and went to 
 the station to fetch Archer." 
 
 " Yes, it is. Will Mr. Archer remain long, 
 Crispin r 
 
 Crispin was in the middle of a long yawn, so 
 Lois had to wait till he got his mouth shat. 
 
 " Stay long ? I really don't know — most likely 
 not — his cousin will want him." 
 
 " His cousin, who is he ?" 
 
 " It is not a ' he' at all, it is a ' she,' and an 
 uncommon pretty girl she is too." 
 
 " What is her name, and how do you know she 
 is so pretty ?" 
 
 Crispin stretched his neck. 
 
 " I had no idea your hump of curiosity was so 
 largely developed, Lois. In reply to your first 
 question her name is Aggie Russell, and the way 
 I know she is pretty is because Ted told me so, 
 and showed me her carte." 
 
 I 2
 
 172 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Crispin, don't you think it would be polite to 
 invite him to stay a little longer, and I will poke 
 mamma up about those parties ?'' 
 
 *' Possibly, but I don't expect he will. But 
 what do you want to keep him for, Lois ?" 
 
 "I want to keep him? How can you be so 
 ridiculous, Crispin ? I only thought he has had 
 so little enjoyment since he came that it might 
 be as well to give him a taste before he goes, so 
 that he may retain a pleasant remembrance of 
 us." 
 
 '^ Us ; I like that. Ah ! ah ! I see the motive, 
 Lois. But I'll tell you a secret, sister mine, it is 
 ^ no go,' so you had better not waste your valu- 
 able time.'* 
 
 Crispin's tone of derision cut Lois to the quick, 
 and tears mounted to the pretty eyes, while she 
 proceeded to defend herself. 
 
 " Cris, you are a disagreeable fellow. I hope 
 you will bring no more of your friends here. I
 
 WILD WOOD. 173 
 
 only want to be civil to the man, and you imme- 
 diately turn it into something else." Lois 
 gathered up her dress as if to rise. 
 
 " Stay a moment, Lois, I want to say some- 
 thing to you. You have been flirting away with 
 Archer ever since he came, so don't pretend you 
 haven't; but this time you have found your 
 match, young lady. There is not a bigger flirt 
 than Ted Archer in England ; Pll back he'll not 
 make you an offer if he stays here six months, 
 and if ever he marries it will be his cousin. Miss 
 Agnes Russell. Now I am off to the station. 
 I'll ask him to stay, but after what I have told 
 you, I don't suppose you'll care to remind Madam 
 about the parties." 
 
 With a sly laugh, Crispin swung himself out 
 of the room, and slammed the door to. 
 
 He was delighted to have discovered Lois' 
 little plot, it made him feel so superior, now that
 
 174 WILD WOOD. 
 
 he had a rod to hold over her head, and his face 
 beamed again as he walked to the court yard. 
 
 Lois had not a particularly long head, but 
 after Crispin's departure something very impor- 
 tant seemed to have possession of her nearly 
 addled brain, for her eyes were fixed, and the 
 smooth fingers twined themselves amongst the 
 yellow hair. But that did not help to solve the 
 problem, for, starting up, she stamped, and the 
 tears again rushed to her eyes. 
 
 " I wish the man had never come near the 
 place. I wonder why on earth Crispin could not 
 have told that about his cousin before ? Minnie 
 will be sure to laugh, and mamma thought it 
 would be such a capital match, and I — " 
 
 A shower of tears drowned the end of the angry 
 beauty's speech. Poor Lois I you had played 
 with fire once too often, and got your fingers 
 burnt this time !
 
 WILD WOOD. 175 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 '^ May, do you know Lois has gained the day ?" 
 "Gained the day, Judy? What do you mean, 
 
 I don't understand ?" 
 
 " Why, we are to have a party before Mr. 
 
 Archer goes, and that reminds me I think we 
 
 ought to have new dresses, May, Mamma does 
 
 not like to see us in the same things too often. 
 
 What shall you get ? " 
 
 May lifted her head out of the cupboard. 
 " What are you saying, Judy, new dresses ?" 
 " I don't believe you have listened to me, 
 
 May." 
 
 *'WelI, not very carefully," laughed May. 
 
 *< But I beg, your pardon, Judy ; if you will
 
 176 WILD WOOD. 
 
 kindly repeat it I will pay more attention. Only 
 lam so bothered, I can't find Rugg's bill. Durill 
 has lost it, and it must be paid to-morrow. I 
 can't bear having such a lot of things about, it 
 makes me fidgetty. Well, go on, please, Judy; 
 what about the dresses ?" 
 
 " Why, I suppose we must get new ones ; 
 what will you have ?" 
 
 " Black." 
 
 ^' Nonsense, May ; you have heaps of black 
 dresses, you can't have another. " 
 
 '^ Oh, yes I can. I shall not go to much 
 expense, either. I shall tell them to make me a 
 stylish black grenadine, to wear with one of my 
 low black silks. It is really a great nuisance; 
 I wish Lois would get married and leave us in 
 peace." 
 
 Judy smiled. 
 
 " I have a notion these parties are with that 
 object."
 
 WILD WOOD. 177 
 
 '^ Is that so ? Well, then, I shall submit 
 with a better grace, and perhaps put a little 
 colour on ray dress if it will hasten the 
 process/' 
 
 '' I am afraid it won't, May ; they will be so 
 taken up with each other that they will never 
 notice you." 
 
 " Indeed ! How wonderfully polite you are, 
 Miss Judy. And pray who are asked to this 
 show?" 
 
 ^' I don't know ; I don't suppose it is decided 
 yet. I left Lois and Crispin making out the 
 list, which will have to be shown to mamma. 
 There is to be no dancing, but ^ coffee at half- 
 past seven.' " 
 
 ** And carriages at eleven, I suppose," chimed 
 in Durill, who had entered just in time to catch 
 the close of Judy's sentence. " What's it all 
 about?" 
 
 " A party, Durill, at which you are to be 
 
 I 5
 
 178 WILD WOOD. 
 
 dressed as a Scotchman, and dance the * High- 
 land Fling' for the amusement of the audience. 
 I fancy I see you." And they went off in a roar 
 of laughter. 
 
 ** A party ! One of those nondescript affairs ; 
 coffee at half-past seven, indeed ! Such rubbish; 
 the person who invented that fashion ought to 
 be banished. I shall impose banishment upon 
 myself for that evening. It is Lois' notion, of 
 course? And when is it to come off?" 
 
 *^ They have not decided yet ; soon, I believe ; 
 at any rate before Mr. Archer goes.'' 
 
 " Humph ! That will be never, according to 
 my reckoning ; he seems to like his quarters." 
 
 " Yes, so I think ; but I am determined of one 
 thing, since this party is to come off (I should 
 have said parties, for I believe this is only the 
 beginning of a series), I will see the lists each 
 time and suggest any alterations I think proper. 
 I have not forgotten that awful party at which
 
 WILD WOOD. 179 
 
 I was victimised by the Rev. Mr. Booth. Do 
 you recollect, May ?" 
 
 *' Oh dear yes. Poor Judy ! I felt for you." . 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Booth alluded to was the curate, 
 one of those thin limp curates that always seem a 
 necessary appendage to a fat old rector. The 
 Rev. James Booth (or Bottle, as Durill called 
 him once, soon after he was imported) was a par- 
 ticularly lean young man, straight up and straight 
 down, thereby raising a question in Julius 
 Drever's mind, as to " How that fellow kept his 
 clothes on?'* The reverend gentleman had a 
 great aptitude for asking most astonishing riddles, 
 and when no one could or would guess them, 
 informing the company in general that he was 
 extremely fond of " light cakes." In fact, he 
 was highly suggestive of a " light cake" him- 
 self, as what there was of him was particularly 
 ** flabby and dabby," and looked very much in 
 need of a little " baking." . '
 
 180 WILD WOOD. 
 
 The dreadful ordeal she had passed through at 
 the hands of the above-mentioned gentleman 
 seemed to have returned to Judy's mind with 
 double force^ for she left the room at once to 
 inspect the list, and scratch out his name if it 
 chanced to be there. 
 
 " May, have you found that bill ?" 
 
 ** No, not yet; I can't imagine where you have 
 put it ; but it must be in one of those drawers." 
 
 " I forgot to tell you I met your friend Ruby 
 Calvert the other day, and she sent her love to 
 you." 
 
 " Did she ? Dear little Ruby I where did you 
 see her ?" 
 
 "On the Dorking Road ; she looked very 
 pretty." 
 
 " Well, don't look so serious about it, Durill !" 
 exclaimed May, who was watching him rather 
 narrowly. 
 
 He laughed.
 
 WILD WOOD. 181 
 
 '^ See, it is all gone ; only a passing cloud, 
 little May. But I am certain you cannot see if 
 you put your hand on Rugg's bill ; it is getting 
 quite dark, so bundle the things in, and talk to 
 me a bit." 
 
 Durill pulled two chairs to the fire, and sat 
 down on one. May took the other, saying — 
 
 ^' This seems always my time to be idle, it 
 used to be so at school, only we used to sit on 
 the rug. Moments of idleness between light and 
 darkness ; someone calls it ' The children's hour.' 
 I like that expression, don't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, May ; and that someone is Longfellow, 
 He says — 
 
 " * I have you fast in my fortress, 
 And will not let you depart, 
 But put you dovm into the dungeon- 
 In the round tower of my heart ! 
 
 * And there I will keep you for ever : 
 
 Yes, for ever and a day ! 
 Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 
 And moiilder in dust away !'
 
 182 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " I have got you down there. May, though you 
 are not a child." 
 
 "And am I all alone, Durill? I don't think 
 I should like a dungeon quite by myself." 
 
 " No, you are not alone, May ; there's a very 
 small person with you." 
 
 "Who is it, Durill?" 
 
 " No ; I cannot tell you. May." 
 
 '* Why not?" 
 
 " Because, perhaps she would not like to be 
 down in my dungeon. She may be there against 
 her will, so I sha'n't tell anyone till I find out 
 whether she likes it." 
 
 " And if she does not like it, will you let her 
 out?" 
 
 " No, May ; 1 will keep her there — 
 
 * Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 
 And moulder in dust away.' " 
 
 " Cruel Durill ! how unkind of you I But you 
 might tell me who it is."
 
 WILD WOOD. 183 
 
 " So I will some day, May. May, don't think 
 me a wicked fellow, but do you suppose that God 
 has to do with all our affairs ?" 
 
 '*Yes, certainly, to a great extent. We are 
 responsible for our own actions, but He knows 
 what we are about to do, and very often He puts 
 us in a difficult position purposely, to try us.** 
 
 '* Do you think that He has to do with love ? 
 I mean with our fallinof in love ?" 
 
 ' Yes. There is no true love that God is 
 
 absent from. He has to do with everything." 
 
 " Then why does He take our loved ones away 
 sometimes, because, seeing all, He must know 
 how necessary they are to us ?" 
 
 " Because He does not choose that anyone or 
 anything should be of more consequence to you 
 than Himself. He will not let his people make 
 idols ; so don't you go and make an idol of that 
 small creature you keep in your dungeon, else 
 may be He will take her from you."
 
 184 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Surely not, May, — surely not ; at least, not 
 before we have had a little time together. He 
 would not take my darling from me for ever I If 
 that came to pass, May, I don't think I should 
 believe in * His tender mercy ' and ' loving kind- 
 ness ' again !" 
 
 " Hush, Durill ! hush ! don't say that. Why 
 it would be out of ' tender mercy ' He would 
 take her. Is not a mother kind who takes a 
 sharp knife out of her child's hand. An idol is a 
 sharp knife, for it severs the chain that binds you 
 to God, and so you lose your inheritance. So He 
 will take your idol away, and compel you to draw 
 near unto Himself by means of that idol. It will 
 act as a magnet, and you will follow after your 
 lost darling till you reach Heaven, as the shep- 
 herds did after the star in the East, till they 
 found the * baby cradled in a manger.' Therefore, 
 bereaved ones should never lose sight of those 
 who are gone before ; they should never let go of
 
 WILD WOOD. 185 
 
 the ' golden cord ' which dangles from the clouds. 
 Each dear one is a cord unto Heaven, stepping- 
 stones unto everlasting glory. You speak of 
 your darling being taken ' for ever.' It would 
 not be for ever^ if God did take her. He would 
 only put her safely away on a high shelf, and you 
 would find her there when you went !" 
 
 ^* But, May, when we see them laid in their 
 graves, they are lost to us, we shall never have 
 any more intercourse or companionship with 
 them !" 
 
 " Oh ! Durill, how miserable you must be 
 with that idea in your head. Poor fellow ! Do 
 you think we are all going to be strangers in 
 heaven ? Do you think that fathers and mothers, 
 sisters and brothers, husbands and wives, will 
 stand next to each other and not know one 
 another ? What a horrible notion ? to die, and 
 so part from all we love, to leave our dear one& 
 for ever — for eternity ! That is an impossibility*
 
 186 WILD WOOD. 
 
 Why, would God have given us homes and rela- 
 tions, and let us love them, if he intended to 
 divide us suddenly some day, and take us all 
 away by ourselves ? Are we not told that God*s 
 works are everlasting ? Therefore, Love must be 
 lasting, for it is one of them. Do you think we 
 are to stand up there for ever and ever, without 
 being nearer to those dear ones whom God took 
 to himself so early ? I cannot see that there 
 would be any happiness in that — I should be 
 wretched if I thought it, and dread very much 
 the idea of dying. Who could get reconciled to 
 the notion that when we get to heaven we should 
 be — alone ? Think for a moment — for ever alone ! 
 If such were the case, how could death be a gain ? 
 And yet we are told that it is. When God calls 
 for first one and then another, we should not 
 regard them as gone for ever—ihej are only lost 
 to us until such time as we shall join them. 
 They belong to us just the same up there as they
 
 WILD WOOD. 187 
 
 did down here. Our Father does not wish us to 
 look upon death as a dreadful calamity. Take, 
 for instance, our worldly belongings — don't we 
 prize some of them very highly, and seek to 
 keep them from harm — put them in a drawer, 
 and lock them up ? But we know where they 
 are, we know that by taking the key we can 
 open that drawer and look at them. And we do 
 not say, 'I have lost such and such a thing!' 
 Now, that is precisely what our Father does with 
 some of his precious ones— He takes them and 
 puts them in a place of safety— He locks them 
 up out of the reach of grief, pain, sickness, and 
 want. But He tells us where we shall find the 
 key. And having found that key, we have 
 nothing to do but wait, and in God's good time 
 we shall be summoned to the ' golden gate,' 
 which will be opened to let us in — you and me, 
 Durill — and we shall find there our treasures
 
 188 WILD WOOD. 
 
 that God took into His safe keeping, aod they 
 will not be locked from us ever again V 
 
 Some redhot cinders dropped out of the grate 
 and broke the silence. Durill sat with his eyes 
 steady, he was realizing the truth of what May 
 said. Presently he murmured — 
 
 " You and me, Durill ! Yes, May, child," and 
 he took her wee hand, ^' we'll try to knock at 
 that gate together, but I think I shall be obliged 
 to hold on by the hem of your garments to reach 
 it !" and he sighed a great big sigh. 
 
 May smiled a tender, loving smile at the great 
 man who was trusting to her to lead him. 
 
 ^'Durill, you don't need me, for does not the 
 Lord say to us each separately, ^When thou 
 passest through the waters I will be with thee ; 
 and through the rivers they shall not overflow 
 thee.' So that you are safe if you only believe, 
 you see I"
 
 WILD WOOD. 189 
 
 *^ How pleased you seem, May, are you quite 
 sure you are safe ? " 
 
 "Yes — whyDurilV and the calm face turned 
 to him confidently, "• Who shall separate us from 
 the love of Christ ? Oh, who indeed ? What a 
 challenge ! Neither kings, queens, noblemen, 
 nor statesmen, can interfere between Christ 
 and one of His children.'* 
 
 " May, you are showing me my weakness — 
 my blindness, child." 
 
 " Well, the Lord won't let you be blind long, 
 Durill ; he'll take you by the hand soon, and 
 guide you." 
 
 Durill gazed at the still face, with the firelight 
 dancing on it, and the thought crossed his mind, 
 " Surely the Lord has taken you by the hand." 
 May was the first to break the silence. 
 
 " It must be very late ; the dressing bell will 
 be sounding soon. Come, Durill."
 
 190 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Very well, love ; kiss me, May." 
 
 " You tyrant," laughed May, "you should ask 
 my pleasure." 
 
 Durill stooped and fondled her, and almost 
 carried her up the stairs that tired poor little 
 Evelyn's fat legs so.
 
 WILD WOOD. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The brothers Hardwick were both gentlemen 
 possessing good forms and handsome faces. 
 Captam Godwin Meredith Hardwick was the 
 elder by ten or twelve years. He was rather 
 like Durill Drever, but not quite so handsome, 
 though good looking enough. His face had not 
 such a genial look, and his eyes were more 
 piercing, not so soft ; his hair was darker, being 
 black and almost straight, while DurilPs formed 
 itself into charming little rings and curls round 
 his head. Both were fine, handsome men. Cap- 
 tain Hardwick was a little older than Durill ; he 
 had sold out of the army, and taken up his
 
 192 WILD WOOD. 
 
 quarters at Felton Cottage. It was situated in 
 the centre of the village, down one of those 
 curious lanes which a stranger finds so difficult 
 to discover, and which seem to abound in a rustic 
 village. There was a quarry close to, all over- 
 grown with bushes and trees, and by following 
 the narrow path, only protected by a crippled 
 rail, you came out at the side of the village inn. 
 The place was a perfect " maze ;" it had no 
 less than six entrances, with lanes branching off, 
 but whichever you took you invariably landed at 
 the quarry. In truth, it was just a ring, with 
 pretty little nests round, and the old quarry in 
 the middle. But it was very charming ; being 
 slightly elevated, you commanded a good view of 
 the roofs of the old-fashioned cottages with the 
 pigeons clustering round the chimneys. There 
 in the early morning during the hot summer 
 months you would see the pretty village en- 
 veloped in a haze, which gradually cleared off as
 
 WILD WOOD. 193 
 
 the sun rose to assert his superiority, and flashed 
 his scorching rays upon the parched earth. Then 
 the cocks would commence to crow and the cows 
 to low, and one by one the kitchen chimneys be- 
 longing to each cottage would emit a faint curl 
 of blue smoke, as the village awoke to the busi- 
 ness of the day. 
 
 There, in the still winter's night, when the 
 ground lay covered with snow, and the trees were 
 wrapped each in a mantle of white, the moon 
 would shed forth its glorious light, which seemed 
 to be but the reflection of God's face in its purity, 
 and through the long still night keep watch over 
 the sleeping village. 
 
 It would see each candle put out, and knees 
 bent, while girlish lips asked in simple words for 
 protection and God's blessing on themselves and 
 those they loved. Later on, when it took an- 
 other peep into the small rooms, it would see the 
 occupants sleeping sweetly with their young 
 
 VOL. I. it
 
 194 WILD WOOD. 
 
 faces turned towards the friendly light, while a 
 much-loved name or tender word dropped from 
 their smiling lips, or a happy tear glittered like a 
 diamond on the long lashes. And the moon- 
 beams, stealing softly to them, would kiss and 
 bathe their faces in its silvery light, then glide 
 away, wishing that " Love's young dream " was 
 not so short, and leave them sleeping ! 
 
 One day the tranquility of Felton Cottage had 
 been broken into by the arrival of George 
 Henry Hilton Hardwick, the Captain's younger 
 brother, a wild, handsome, spoilt fellow — 
 lieutenant in a dashing Highland regiment. 
 Both were extravagant, but George, having the 
 advantage of his elder brother for example, soon 
 reflected great credit upon his teacher, and passed 
 him. Then the Captain commenced to remon- 
 strate gently with the spoilt fellow, whom he 
 regarded with the most fatherly affection, and 
 considered a boy.
 
 WILD WOOD. 195 
 
 Their father had died, leaving young George a 
 legacy to his big brother. Captain Godwin 
 Hard wick was the next heir to a title and estate, 
 and failing him George came in for it. 
 
 But it seemed an unconscionable long time 
 coming to those two gentlemen. Their uncle 
 was very tenacious. 
 
 George was stretched full length on the sofa 
 in their pretty sitting-room, smoking, and occa- 
 sionally relieving the monotony by singing 
 snatches of the last new comic songs. The 
 Captain regarded the dear boy attentively for a 
 few seconds, with his long, supple limbs, as lithe 
 as an Indian's — in fact, there was no telling how 
 much Indian blood there was not in Master 
 George, for they were but half-brothers — and 
 George had been born out in India, where it was 
 aaid his mother died, poor lady ! leaving to her 
 husband a little wiry baby, with a particularly 
 
 K 2
 
 196 WILD WOOD. 
 
 dark skin, and a pair of the largest brilliant 
 black eyes possible. He was wonderfully like 
 an Indian in coraplexion, eyes, and hair, also in 
 his flexibility of body. Lying there, full length 
 on his back (which, by the way, seemed to be a 
 favourite position of his), he was a pleasing 
 picture to behold, in his uncommon beauty. 
 
 Captain Hardwick appeared satisfied with his 
 survey, when he said, in the mildest tone pos- 
 sible — 
 
 " George, don't shout quite so loudly." 
 
 George's reply was to languidly turn his head^ 
 and flash a blinding look out of his black eyes at 
 his elder brother. George was always " so tired," 
 but he could rouse up to some purpose at times. 
 He was particularly attached to the Captain, 
 whom he always spoke of as *' my brother." 
 
 Both the Hardwicks had a wonderfully low- 
 toned voice when speaking, which contrasted
 
 WILD WOOD. 197 
 
 somewhat oddly with their warrior-like appear- 
 ance. Presently George roused himself and con- 
 fronted his brother. 
 
 " Godwin, when are you going to see about 
 getting me a move on ?" 
 
 "A move on? Oh! a step higher. Well, 
 soon, George. But, really, you have been so 
 extravagant lately, George, that I must see what 
 is to be got." 
 
 George flung his long legs about, and muttered — 
 
 *^ Bother the money," and something about a 
 "long-winded old gentleman,'* who, in all pro- 
 bability, was his venerable uncle. George asked 
 his brother mildly — 
 
 " A.re you going to this party at Wild Wood ?'* 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so ; it is so awfully slow there 
 is nothing for a fellow to do here. Are you ?" 
 
 " Certainly. I met Durill, and he said it 
 would not be very enjoyable he was afraid — but 1 
 shall chance that."
 
 198 WILD WOOD. 
 
 George suddenly got animated. 
 
 " I wonder whether the Cal verts are going? I 
 say, Godwin, do you know ?*' 
 
 " Know what, George?" inquired the Captain, 
 who had the patience of Job with him. 
 
 ^^ Why, whether the Calverts are going, to be 
 sure ?" 
 
 "No, I don't; but I think it most probable." 
 
 " Then I shall go. Here, where's the ink ? — 
 give me some paper Godwin — look sharp !" 
 
 " You will find all you want in that drawer," 
 replied his much enduring brother. 
 
 The pen sputtered under George's frantic 
 strokes, and at last the note was ready, and 
 George rose and intimated his intention of going 
 out. No doubt the Captain was rather glad to 
 be rid of him, for he returned to his easy chair 
 with a sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 He was settled down now, and enjoyed the 
 quiet of the pretty village. He had been rather
 
 WILD WOOD. 199 
 
 like George once, though not quite so mad, but 
 he had dashed and flashed about a good deal in 
 his time. But like all fast men he arrived at the 
 end of the string too soon, and found a good 
 piece of ground on the other side to be walked 
 over, and it is not pleasant to walk alone, there- 
 fore he wished to have a companion who would be 
 as "a light unto his path," till such a time as he 
 might reasonably expect to be called to his fathers. 
 
 George went along indolently, as 'was his wont, 
 and after posting the note, turned into the 
 " Stork,'' and electrified the waiter by asking 
 him " What he thought of the internal policy 
 of Japan ?" 
 
 *' Sir?" exclaimed the astonished waiter. 
 
 " Oh ! never mind, it will do another day — it 
 is of no consequence." 
 
 To his friends he would remark — 
 
 " I think the people in this village consider 
 me mad — my brother says he is sure of it."
 
 200 WILD WOOD. 
 
 And not much wonder either if they did. 
 
 The night of the hated party at Wild Wood 
 came all too soon to please some of its occupants, 
 and May was as good as her word, and at six 
 o'clock was attiring herself at express speed in 
 the promised black gauze. She was fastening 
 the band round her not too small waist, as Judy 
 entered, ready dressed. 
 
 Miss Drever had treated herself to a new gar- 
 ment, a rich purple silk trimmed with white 
 duchess lace. It was a handsome dress, and 
 suited her remarkably well. She swept up to 
 May with her staid walk and inspected her rather 
 critically. But May stood the scrutiny well ; 
 though she had but a black dress on it was good, 
 the silk thick, and the gauze fine. Her well- 
 shaped shoulders and arms showed through it, 
 and the black imparted a whiter look to her skin. 
 She was well put together and not too shorty 
 while her bearing gave her a decidedly striking
 
 WILD WOOD. 201 
 
 appearance. The glass reflected back a pale, 
 calm face, nay, a fine, handsome, intelligent face, 
 with its speaking eyes and determined mouth, 
 which, when she smiled, gave her very much 
 the look of handsome Durill. May was always 
 considered the plainest of the Drever family, bat 
 only by those who were short of discernment. 
 What beauty May had would last for ever — she 
 had beauty of mind and a peaceful conscience. 
 There were two or three who would have been 
 only too glad to have taken stately, calm May 
 by the hand and placed her at the head of their 
 table. 
 
 Judy smiled as she looked at May ; perhaps 
 she was aware that she, decked out in a bran 
 new silk, at 16s. a-yard, would pass for nothing 
 beside the calm, pale girl in plain black. May 
 was the sort of girl that people would turn round 
 to look twice at, and although they would not 
 ejaculate '^ How beautiful !" they would ask 
 
 K 5
 
 202 WILD WOOD. 
 
 *^ Who is she?" Over weaker minds she held 
 wonderful control, and drove them before her 
 like a flock of geese ; and the strong ones were 
 fascinated by her. So that May was a dangerous 
 opponent in the matrimonial field, when she 
 chose to exert her powers, but that was rarely ; 
 she scarcely ever admired a gentleman enough to 
 devote herself entirely to his conquest. Even 
 when talking agreeably to any one she only gave 
 them one eye and ear, the other two were pick- 
 ing up everything that went on. Her faculties 
 were particularly acute ; at one glance she saw 
 all and understood it. 
 
 Judy's smile deepened, and presently she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " May, what a queer girl you are ; dressed all 
 in black you look like a widov7 or a nun. Surely 
 you are going to introduce some colour to 
 relieve it ?" 
 
 " Now, Judy, just have patience ; wait till you
 
 WILD WOOD. 203 
 
 have seen the others. Thej are sure to be 
 dazzling, so that before the evening is over many 
 people will thank me for putting on this black 
 dress to rest their eyes." 
 
 " But why not put a little colour?" 
 
 *^ So I intend to." 
 
 She opened a draw and took out some cases 
 containing jewellery, all dead gold, perfectly 
 plain but exceptionally good. These she put on, 
 and turning to Judy asked, " There, is that 
 better?" 
 
 " Yes, a great improvement, but — ^*' 
 
 A rap at the door stopped Judy's remark. May 
 opened it. There stood Blake, a splendid red 
 rose in one hand and a small box in the other- 
 
 " Mr. Durill has sent you these. Miss May, 
 with his love, and will you please to wear the 
 rose to-night ?" 
 
 "Ah! yes. How kind of Durill. Thank you, 
 Blake."
 
 204 WILD WOOD. 
 
 May put the lovely flower down, and Judy 
 took it up. 
 
 " What a beauty ! I wonder where Durill got 
 it; we have not one out yet. I heard Lois asking 
 King only this afternoon. I suppose he got it 
 in London. Covent Garden, most likely." 
 
 May did not reply ; she was gazing at the con- 
 tents of the mysterious box brought by Blake. 
 There on a bed of soft white wool reposed a small 
 thing that glittered and danced, winked with its 
 brilliant eyes, and shot forked fire from its red 
 mouth. 
 
 Judy came up, and, standing, looked over her 
 shoulder. Her breath was all gone, but the first 
 use she made of it when it returned was to give 
 vent to one deeply-breathed "Oh !" which spoke 
 volumes. 
 
 " How splendid !" said May, her face beaming 
 with pleasure, as she tenderly lifted the wicked 
 serpent so cunningly coiled into a ring out of its
 
 WILD WOOD. 205 
 
 snowy bed, and slipped it on to one of her pretty 
 short finge rs. 
 
 '^ Yes it is, indeed, splendid ! How fortunate 
 you are, May ! Darill never tires of giving you 
 pretty things ; and no wonder, you are his right 
 hand in nearly everything." 
 
 Judy felt very proud of her young sister, who 
 seemed to have been sent to help them all with 
 her fresh young brains, common sense, and 
 loving heart. 
 
 The old Squire always made a point of calRng 
 for May when anything was amiss, and it had 
 become to them all quite natural now, though 
 when first she came into notice Judy did not 
 quite like it. But then May was so quiet, and 
 took upon herself no airs, always seemed to 
 have plenty to do, able to amuse herself, never 
 felt lonely or depressed, or pushed herself 
 forward.
 
 206 WILD WOOD. 
 
 All this helped to make the hold she had 
 got already firmer, and little May, with her 
 paltry twenty years, was appealed to and re- 
 spected by everyone, from the Squire to the 
 youngest servant. The older ones — Mrs. Morri- 
 son, the housekeeper, Blake, and old Nurse 
 Joyce — looked upon Miss May as something out 
 of the common, and decidedly above the average. 
 Nurse Joyce used to inform them in the servants' 
 hall— 
 
 " That blessed lamb gave me no trouble — 
 never y 
 
 "Now, May, here's your rose, pin it in." 
 
 " Which side, Judy ?" 
 
 " The left, I suppose ; at any rate, you cannot 
 be far wrong, if any, for that is generally where 
 Minnie and Lois put theirs." 
 
 May did it, perhaps a little awkwardly, but at 
 any rate naturally. And the mirror showed a
 
 WILD WOOD. 207 
 
 very nice girl, indeed, according to Judy's notion. 
 Suddenly there was a fluttering at the door, and 
 something floated into the room radiant and 
 dazzling. It was the beauty Lois, bewitching in 
 a wonderful work of art called a dress. It was 
 pale green tulle, tucked, frilled, and flounced, 
 with white ; it had come from Regent Street that 
 day in a wooden box smothered in silk paper. 
 But, dreadful to relate. Madam Rento had made 
 it rather too tight for the trim little waist, and 
 Lois came fluttering in, her pretty face all awry, 
 and her mouth pinched like a baby's when it is 
 on the point of afibrding someone the privilege 
 of testing the power of its infantine lungs. 
 
 " Oh, May, do try and pull me to; Parker can- 
 not manage it, clumsy thing, and Demont is with 
 mamma." 
 
 She wisked round and displayed to Judy and 
 May a good wide breach that the dress would not 
 stride over.
 
 208 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** It wants a steady pull. May ; do try, there's a 
 good girl !" 
 
 Judy looked at May in consternation. 
 
 " Yes, I will try, Lois ; but the dress is made 
 too small. However came Madame Rento to 
 make such a mistake ?" 
 
 *^ Oh, it is not her fault. It was Minnie, who 
 said I ought to make my waist smaller, and I 
 ordered Madame Rento to do so ; but she might 
 have used her own judgment." 
 
 *^ No ; if that be the case, the fault is your own, 
 not Madame Reato's. Come a trifle nearer, 
 please, Lois.'' 
 
 May pulled with all her might, and the poor 
 dress cracked and started ; but it came to, to the 
 infinite joy of Lois, who showered thanks with- 
 out number upon May, who was occupied atten- 
 tively regarding the tips of her fingers, which 
 smarted considerably. 
 
 Lois walked to the glass, put it back as far as
 
 WILD WOOD. 209 
 
 possible, and commenced that peculiar dance 
 that ladies are so often engaged in when they 
 desire to see how their train hangs, and have 
 only a short glass. I really don't think there can 
 be a more aggravating thing than a fruitless 
 endeavour to see your own back. There you go,, 
 prancing about, so intent upon seeing, that if the 
 room be not particularly large, you in all proba- 
 bility run the off-side of your face against some- 
 thing hard, and are rudely reminded that there 
 are more things in the world than the set of your 
 skirt, or that your cheek-bones must be very 
 prominent. Lois was just now occupied in this 
 said dance, and May and Judy regarding her 
 with no little amazement. Really, it required 
 everyone to look twice before they could be quite 
 sure what they saw. The small figure, the shim- 
 mering hair that looked as though it had gold- 
 dust sprinkled over it, the bewitching eyes, and,
 
 210 WILD WOOD. 
 
 last but not least, the united efforts of Madame 
 Rento and her assistants, the wonderful green and 
 white dress. While looking at this vision, your 
 mind hovered between a princess in a fairy tale, a 
 spirit, and one of those lovely creatures that spend 
 ten weeks of their existence during the winter 
 nightly swung up in gilt a basket, or appearing in 
 a cloud out of the sea, riding on a pearl shell at 
 Covent Garden or Drury Lane. But it was, you 
 found out at the second look, Lois Benton Drever, 
 only marvellously "got up.'* 
 
 Unobserved by the three, Durill had entered, 
 and immediately became transfixed by the figure 
 before the mirror. 
 
 " Bless me !" he ejaculated, at last, which pro- 
 claimed his presence. 
 
 And May went forward to thank him for his 
 presents. 
 
 " Don't mention it, darling ; you know you
 
 WILD WOOD. 211 
 
 would not have another Gipsy, so I thought I 
 would give you something that no one could ride 
 to death. But how nice you look !" 
 
 And he held her at arm's length, to get a better 
 view, then kissed her fondly. The " Bless me !" 
 was intended for Lois, and he followed it up by 
 saying — 
 
 " Really, you petrified me, Lois ! You should 
 give us timely notice when you intend transform- 
 ing yourself into a gauze balloon, so that we 
 might come prepared for the astonishing sight. 
 Well, if you don't achieve the grand object to- 
 night, and carry all before you I shall be sur- 
 prised. The man must be iron that could resist 
 that garment, without taking into consideration 
 the time and expense required to put it together. 
 When I am engaged, if my young lady does not 
 get herself up like that I shall take it as a mark 
 of great disrespect. Only I should be compelled 
 to admire her at a distance, my arms not being
 
 212 WILD WOOD. 
 
 long enough to reach. No one could get within 
 two yards of you, Lois ; you put me in mind of 
 those pen-wipers they had at the bazaar last 
 year. I bought one, and positively I find black 
 and red cloth ladies' petticoats most useful !" 
 
 Judy and May were both shaking ; it was 
 quite a picture to behold big Durill standing 
 there looking as handsome as paint, with a 
 comical twinkle in his eye, and Lois spread out 
 like a ship in full sail, and every hair bristling 
 with anger. 
 
 " Durill, you are positively insulting ; you are 
 most ignorant ; you cannot understand or appre- 
 ciate anything. This dress was copied from one 
 worn by the Countess of Perth at a ball last 
 week. The only difference being that mine has 
 no real lace and flowers. It is a sweet thing." 
 
 Durill made a courtly bow. 
 
 " You resisted the flowers and real lace I You 
 astonish me. Well, it is a sweet thing !'*
 
 WILD WOOD. 213 
 
 Lois had tact enough to see that Durill was on 
 the eve of laughing, so she made her escape from 
 the room. And a happy thing she did, for no 
 sooner had the tip of the six yards behind, called 
 a train, vanished, than he gave way, and, in com- 
 pany with Judy and May, laughed heartily. 
 
 " Ton my word, Lois is a caution ! The idea 
 of getting herself up so strong. If Minnie has 
 done likewise, there will be no moving about. 
 Why did you not put on something like. hers. 
 May?" 
 
 " The idea, Durill ! Imagine plain me attired 
 like a fairy princess ! My skin's too muddy, and 
 my arms too fleshy. Those things would not set 
 on me." 
 
 " Well, I am not so sure about that ; it seems 
 to me they would sit anywhere, providing you 
 put bustle enough under them. But I like you 
 very much better as you are, * my lady.' " 
 
 '^ Don't call me ' my lady,' pray."
 
 214 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Why not? you are very fitted to be one.** 
 
 " Nonsense ; are you trying to make me con- 
 ceited ? If so you have commenced rather late 
 in the day ; I have had too many opportunities 
 of looking at myself in the glass." 
 
 " No, lam not wishful to make you vain, and 
 I could not if I tried ; but don't abuse yourself. 
 May. Though your skin is not too clear, there 
 is plenty of white under it, and it contrasts very 
 well with your hair and eyes." 
 
 He was leaning his great body against the 
 wall staring at May, who stood with a highly 
 amused expression before him. Judy was sitting 
 near the toilet table smiling, 
 
 *' May, you make me feel frightfully aged ; 
 you, the child, and looking so old. It is a good 
 thing I don't care about getting married, for I 
 stand a very poor chance when you are pointed at 
 as the youngest. You are getting quite worn 
 looking. May."
 
 WILD WOOD. 215 
 
 " Worn looking ! Surely not. But I think 
 you are right, too, Judy ; she does look old. You 
 are worn with the care of others, May, love." 
 
 " No, Durill, I am not, only we dark Drevers 
 always age sooner than the light ones." 
 
 *' Age ! who talks of age at twenty ?" 
 
 " I do. T left twenty years behind me long 
 ago, according to my own feelings. OnJy some- 
 body awoke me one morning and told me I was 
 twenty that day." ^ 
 
 " Ah ! '' sighed Judy, " some people do feel 
 older than others. But wait till you are my age, 
 and then talk about ageing." 
 
 Miss Drever rose and announced her opinion 
 that it was time they went down. 
 
 ** All right, Judy ; go along, we'll follow. 
 Come, May." 
 
 He took her on his arm, and they went along, 
 saying clever things to each other and laughing. 
 They enjoyed each other's society ; it rested them.
 
 216 WILD WOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 By twos and threes the people arrived, and 
 located themselves accord inor to their taste. In 
 one corner sat little Ruby Calvert, in white 
 muslin dotted with blue. Pretty she looked, 
 little thing; and Crispin seemed to think so, 
 for he was chattering into one small ear very 
 earnestly. She half listened and smiled, now 
 and then saying a few words, but her eyes were 
 roving over the large room. She wanted to find 
 something, and she ought to have been able to, 
 for it was by no means a little thing. What 
 lonely eyes they were ; they can be best described 
 in the words of De Musset — 
 
 " Sweeter eyes in this world were never made 
 To scan blue heavens and reflect their shade."
 
 WILD WOOD. 217 
 
 The object she was in search of was at the end 
 of the room, lolling over a couch, talking polite 
 rubbish to a decidedly smitten lady, with at least 
 ^VG pounds' worth of somebody else's hair on 
 her head, and a camelia twisted in on the very 
 top as large as a cabbage. Whenever she bent 
 there was a very ominous creak, which brought 
 back to Durill's mind the fate of a rather sloppily 
 made young lady who was present at a social 
 gathering at Mrs. Calvert's one evening. Sfce 
 oame attired in a white skirt and black velvet 
 short bodice, and about eight yards of tartan 
 plaid broad ribbon, which was twisted in a won- 
 derful manner, under her arms, over them, across 
 her chest, round her waist, and eventually formed 
 a sash behind. A roller towel would have looked 
 just as graceful, and have answered the purpose 
 better, that of pulling her together into some- 
 thing like shape. She rejoiced in one of those 
 figures that are the bane of poor dressmakers' 
 VOL. L L
 
 218 WILD WOOD. 
 
 existence. She was like a badly stuffed doll, too 
 limp ; she wanted more bran and a stitch putting 
 through each limb, they hung as if on a thread. 
 While sitting at supper every one was startled 
 by a sudden wrench and explosion, and an 
 immense pin flew violently to the other side of 
 the room. Without the least assistance the sash 
 (or more correctly the binder) slowly unwound 
 itself, and Miss Bridget got as red as a poppy. 
 Kate Calvert and a few more kind young ladies 
 off'ered their aid, and with the help of several 
 pius they got her together again, much to the 
 amusement of the rest. Possibly it was the 
 exertion of eating that caused her to burst, or 
 more probably singing *' The Lover and the 
 Bird," which she considered she did to per- 
 fection. 
 
 The fate of big Miss Bridget rose vividly to the 
 memory of Durill, and he thought how extremely 
 inconvenient it would be if one of the merry
 
 WILD WOOD. 219 
 
 cracks the Jady of the cabbage camelia was 
 giving should end in an explosion. But he 
 resolved to stand his ground till he really saw 
 something alarming, and then depart. At no 
 great distance from him sat Kate Calvert, May, 
 and the two Hardwicks, and scraps of their con- 
 versation kept reaching his ear from time to 
 time. 
 
 " Do you frequently go to London, Captain 
 Hardwick?" • 
 
 •** Yes, about twice a week now, since George 
 has been with me; he is so restless. But it 
 seems rather strange to have myself called 
 Captain Hardwick. 1 dropped if when I left the 
 army. I don't care about it on account of those 
 skippers, you know." 
 
 " Ah, then I will remember in future," replied 
 May, " but I am used to hearing you called so by 
 Durill." 
 
 L 2
 
 220 WILD WOOD. 
 
 *^ I like it well enough when you use it, only 
 it would be a nuisance to be taken for a skipper." 
 
 George turned his brilliant eyes. 
 
 " So Godwin is giving you a lesson, Miss 
 May?" 
 
 " Well, not quite that, only stating his dislikes 
 and likes." 
 
 " And Mr. George is telling me that he is 
 getting weary of Maldon.' 
 
 " Well, you see, Miss Calvert, it is all very 
 well for my brother, but for me it is awfully slow. 
 And I am certain the people think me mad, 
 my brother says he is sure of it." 
 
 ''How is that?" 
 
 a Why, I like a little fun ; and no one knows 
 me down here, you know, and so I donH care. 
 When we were at Perth we used to have such 
 fun, I was turned out of the Concert Room in 
 the Town Hall there for making a noise. We
 
 WILD WOOD. 221 
 
 used to go on purpose to upset the audience, you 
 know." 
 
 '^ I am afraid you are a bad character, Mr. 
 Hard wick." 
 
 " Do you really think so ?" and the black eyes 
 flashed unutterable things at little rosy Kate, who 
 sat very demurely, looking very bewitching in a 
 blue silk with white muslin over. 
 
 Durill came up then, saying, " They are 
 clammering for more music, would you favour Jis, 
 Miss Calvert ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, with pleasure, Mr. Drever." 
 
 The people opened their ears when Kate Cal- 
 vert commenced, and George Hardwick admired 
 both the player and the playing. Big Durill 
 found his way to Ruby, and began to entertain 
 her very successfully. Ruby looked quite content 
 to have it go on for ever, and Durill forgot the 
 existence of the rest. 
 
 They talked of a wood where violets grew, with
 
 222 WILD WOOD. 
 
 the river dancing through it, where someone went 
 fishing for trout. It was quite close to home ; it 
 was natural they should speak of it. They loved 
 every wood and old gate. They each stood on a 
 separate path, but they ran side by side ; they 
 would journey together for company, and if a 
 brook crossed their path, strong Durill would lift 
 Ruby over it. God has made those two paths to 
 meet at the end, but it is a long road^ night will 
 overtake them by the way. Supposing they get 
 divided ? What then ? Ah ! they will turn about 
 with a dull pain at their hearts, and retrace their 
 steps through the wood, looking amid the tangled 
 brushwood for each other. But they will not be 
 able to call out for fear anyone should hear 
 them, and ask them what they had lost. They 
 could not tell. How did they know that the two 
 roads met at the end, they had got out of the 
 track. How could they tell that the angels were 
 crying over them because they were weary
 
 WILD WOOD. 223 
 
 wanderers, and had no place to rest. God help 
 all seekers in that wood ! 
 
 A day or two after the party, Judy and May 
 were talking to Lois, who had come into the 
 nursery. May was getting some things ready for 
 the children's dressmaker. Ivo was to be pro- 
 moted into knickerbockers, and May and Judy 
 did not quite agree about the length of the legs. 
 Judy wanted them to be a shade below the knee, 
 but May was determined that Ivo's should only 
 extend half way down the thigh — that there 
 should be a lace ruffle, at least to the velvet 
 ones. 
 
 *' Why, Judy, the child has such splendid legs 
 it would be a shame to hide them ; and besides, 
 it is more distingue. What with his curls and 
 lace frills he will look like a young prince." 
 
 " Yes, it is very true; all that I know, but he 
 will be chilly, I am afraid." 
 
 *^ Not in the house; his others shall button at
 
 224 WILD WOOD. 
 
 the knee during the winter ; what do you think^ 
 Lois?" 
 
 " Make them that way by all means. I detest 
 those other things, they are so dreadfully common 
 now. But have you heard the news ? ' 
 
 "News? No; what is it? A birth, marriage, 
 or death?" 
 
 " Neither. A dinner party to be given by 
 Mr. Archer on Thursday night at the Stork. A 
 bachelors' affair, of course ; it is very kind of 
 him, is it not ?" 
 
 '* Kind ! Well, 1 don't know ; I suppose it 
 suits his purpose." 
 
 " There you are again, Judy, forever ready to 
 have a pick at some one." 
 
 ^' Not at all, Lois, only I really don't see any- 
 thing kind about it ; if he had taken himself off 
 a little sooner it would have been far kinder,, 
 according to my opinion." 
 
 Lois' cheeks were scarlet.
 
 WILD WOOD, 225 
 
 *^ Whatever do you mean by that, Judy ? 
 Surely mamma can have anyone she chooses here 
 without any interference from you." 
 
 '^ Lois, Lois," said May, gently. 
 
 '^ I don't care, May ; it is no use Loising me. 
 I shall speak out when I have a mind to. Jndy 
 is always damping all our little pleasures, just 
 because she is too old to care about them herself. 
 I suppose you are angry that we have come out of 
 our shells once or twice since Mr. Archer has 
 been here, and had a few parties." 
 
 " Lois, you know perfectly well it is nothing 
 of the kind. That my reason for wishing he 
 had gone coocerns one person alone, and that 
 person is yourself." 
 
 May lifted her head in astonishment, and turned 
 to Lois. 
 
 " Surely we are not going to have a second 
 edition of Charles Blacket, Lois? Have you 
 
 L 5
 
 226 WILD WOOD. 
 
 forf^otten what papa said to you about that ? 
 Pray are you eogaged to this Archer?" 
 
 '^ No.'* 
 
 *' Engaged I" exclaimed Judy, " I should 
 think not. May, if you had seen and heard 
 what I did in the conservatory last night you 
 would not ask that. 1 am heartily ashamed of 
 you, Lois, to behave as you have done. You 
 foolish girl, could you not see that he was just 
 amusing himself at your expense in that cool, 
 gentlemanly way of his, pretending to make 
 love to you and sneering all the time. I may 
 well wish he had gone sooner, but I do hope 
 while he is here that you will content yourself 
 with ordinary politeness." 
 
 The bubble had burst before the conceited 
 Lois' eyes, and like the generality of weak girls, 
 she commenced to cry like a baby, and by gasps 
 upbraid Judy as a mean thing to act the spy.
 
 WILD WOOD. 227 
 
 '^ Act the spy, indeed ! There was not much 
 spying about it. Mr. Archer knew I was there 
 if you did not, because we looked at each other. 
 The trees are not so high as all that. And he 
 has a pretty good idea of what I think of him 
 too. But I can't and don't blame him ; men are 
 all alike, and like to have their vanity fed, and 
 you made a dead set at him from the first. Fire 
 is a dangerous thing to play with, Lois ; all flirts 
 find that out sooner or later." 
 
 " Excellent advice, Judy, but given a little bit 
 too late. Lois is burnt already." 
 
 May looked on with a sorrowful face ; pre- 
 sently she went ap to the sobbing Lois, and said 
 gently— 
 
 " Don't grieve, Lois; Judy won't tell; you'll 
 get over it, and it is a lesson well learnt I see. 
 Go and bathe your face ; your eyes will be as 
 red as ferrets' presently, and then everyone will 
 want to know what is the matter."
 
 2!<!8 WILD WOOD. 
 
 Lois left the room with her handkerchief to 
 her pretty eyes. It is not at all agreeable to 
 find that you have been made a fool of, and Lois 
 shed tears on that account, also because she had 
 really taken a fancy to the gay Archer, and most 
 determinedly banished from her mind the ex- 
 istence of his cousin Aggie RusselL And if she 
 remembered it, it was only to draw comparisons 
 and speculate whether Miss Eussellwas as pretty 
 as herself. Besides, is not ** possession nine 
 points of the law ?" and had she not got him in 
 the house, and as many opportunities of talking 
 to him as she desired. So Lois lulled herself to 
 sleep, and from that sleep she was rudely 
 awakened by plain-spoken Judy. May was the 
 first to speak as the door closed upon the figure 
 of Lois. 
 
 " Judy, I am very sorry for this !" 
 
 *' So am I, May, and what is more, I am 
 ashamed. But, between you and me, I consider
 
 WILD WOOD. 229 
 
 Minnie has a great deal of the blame on her 
 shoulders. Both she and mamma have talked 
 and puffed Lois up. What a capital match it 
 would be, etc., etc., till positively Lois has got to 
 regard it as a certainty ; little fool.'*' 
 
 Judy's indignation was very natural, and May 
 bent over the basket of little socks with a hot 
 flush on her face. Presently she raised her clear 
 eyes, and looked at Judy — 
 
 *^ I think we must be gentle, and have patiepce 
 with Lois over this, Judy. I feel sorry for her, 
 I fancy she has got to like Mr. Archer, and I am 
 afraid it will go hardly with her, and I believe 
 kindness will answer best. I don't fancy she will 
 take her trouble to mamma." 
 
 ** Why not. May ?" 
 
 *' Well, I don't quite know, only I could not 
 fancy anyone imparting their sorrows to mamma, 
 least of all a sorrow like that." 
 
 '' I am not surprised at that. May, you never
 
 230 WILD WOOD. 
 
 were a mother's girl, or I either. But Minnie 
 and Lois were always whispering their secrets to 
 mamma; such a pack of rubbish to!" 
 
 May laughed. 
 
 ''Poor Minnie and her love passages with 
 Mark, how often I incurred her displeasure by 
 laughing, and then mamma used to take me to 
 task. Bah ! I am sick of love, Judy, thank 
 heaven Lois is the last. But I am right down 
 sorry about this Archer business.'' 
 
 " Being sorry won't do much good that I can 
 see. I mean to give him a regular set down 
 the first chance I get. Durill would do it to 
 perfection. What do you say to telling him, 
 May?" 
 
 " Oh ! I will see about it. He is not quite 
 ignorant of the state of affairs, Judy, because we 
 had a talk about it when first he came." 
 
 '* I might have known that. You two wise 
 ones are always observing other people's short-
 
 WILD WOOD. 231 
 
 comings. But really, Lois deserves this, slie is 
 such an incorrigible flirt.'* 
 
 ** I had rather she had been punished some 
 other way though, Judy. Thank goodness to- 
 day is Tuesday; and he goes on Friday ?" 
 
 "Yes, that is a comfort. Well, I must go. 
 Why don't you let Parker repair the children's 
 things, May?" 
 
 ** So I do, only they are so brisk they get 
 through such a quantity ; and, besides, I like 
 to do for them, dear little things. And if I 
 always work with my head, I shall forget how 
 to use my hands." 
 
 "Not you, indeed. You are a good girl, May. 
 I believe you were sent to prop us all up, and 
 keep us in order. That calm face of yours is 
 worth anything to us poor wavering mortals." 
 
 Judy stood looking down at May's busy fingers. 
 May lifted her head —
 
 232 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ^' Judy, what is the matter — anything wrong 
 with you ?" 
 
 ^* No, May, not anything more to-day than any 
 other day. The ghost of my old trouble comes 
 back to me sometimes, May, that is all." 
 
 There was a sad ring in poor Judy's voice ; 
 she kept her grief bottled up, but at times the 
 cork came out. There was a mighty old tree 
 opposite the nursery window, and it waved its 
 naked limbs in tune to the bleak wintry wind. 
 Judy was very like that tree — she was there, but 
 stripped of all her green leaves. The oak would 
 get them again, but she never would. The sun- 
 shine of Judith Drever's life had passed away. 
 
 May laid the little stocking down, and put her 
 hand on Judy's. 
 
 " If it does, you need not look so dismal over it, 
 Judy. Do you know the truest safeguard against 
 unhappy reflections is a contented, cheerful mind.
 
 WILD WOOD. 233 
 
 Come into this room oftener when the children 
 are here, their society will do you good ; their 
 minds are always so fresh, they will entice you 
 out of the gloom." 
 
 Judy glanced at May's cheerful face. She knew 
 she was right, but then it is hard to part with 
 anything that one has become accustomed to. 
 Indeed, to some people there is pleasure in brood- 
 ing over and nursing their griefs — a decidedly 
 grim pleasure. It is the same with delicate 
 people, or, I should more properly say, hipped 
 people, for balf their ailments are fancied, and if 
 not fancied, exaggerated. They consider them- 
 selves too weakly to do anything, consequently 
 through the long, long day they are on the look 
 out for some ache or pain. The least twitch is 
 magnified into the commenceraentof some serious 
 complaint, till at last they get so used to being 
 nursed, pampered, and coddled, so used to this 
 soothing drink and that delicate morsel, so used
 
 234 WILD WOOD. 
 
 to take their breakfast in bed, and lie there in 
 state till ten or half-past, till in the end they can- 
 not get up. Then the excuse is, '' I have such 
 bad nights, T do not sleep.'* Not likely; they 
 never exert either mind or body, therefore they 
 don't want so much rest. Imagination will 
 almost accomplish anything, and with delicate, 
 nervous people it is always particularly vivid in 
 conjuring up diseases. Therefore the best thing 
 for them is to keep them constantly employed, 
 whether they like it or not, and to procure for 
 their companion a very unsympathetic person. 
 Hipped people invariably begin with nothing, but 
 they nearly always end with a great deal.
 
 WILD WOOD. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " May, you don't know, you have not suffered 
 as I have." 
 
 *' No, that is true ; but yet I cannot see that 
 you need be miserable with it." 
 
 " Do you want him back, Judy ?" 
 
 « Oh ! no, May, indeed I don't." 
 
 " Then why do you hanker after him ? You 
 could not marry him, because he is only an 
 aristocratic scoundrel, and if you had married 
 him you would have been obliged to decamp from 
 each place as it got too hot to hold you, or come 
 back here and played the ' Cross Widow.' " 
 
 Judj slightly winced at this.
 
 236 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ^* May, you take a too practical view of the 
 case; it is not right to reduce love in that way." 
 
 ** Isn't it? It seems to me just the very thing 
 we ought to do. Half the girls are blinded; they 
 think it is all to be sunshine, and that food, etc., 
 will drop from Heaven, and when they come to 
 their senses again it is too late. I don't see how 
 you are going to love if you don't respect, and I 
 am certain you would not have done that when 
 you found his true character out. Ko^ Judy, I 
 consider that you have had a very narrow escape 
 from a life of wretchedness, and instead of looking 
 upon it as a great sorrow, you ought to regard it 
 as a special mercy." 
 
 ^' May, do you know where he is ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he is abroad living on his wits. But 
 don't you go thinking about him any more, Judy. 
 I would not keep a bad thing in my heart. I 
 wonder what the Lord thinks of you, cherishing 
 a wicked idol? Judy, be wise and put it away
 
 WILD WOOD. 237 
 
 from you; you will be sorry some day if you 
 don't." 
 
 " May, I cannot argue with you ; you are too 
 far away for me, I cannot follow you. But I hear 
 little feet pattering, so good-bye." 
 
 The children rushed into the room, quite rosy 
 with the keen frosty air. 
 
 '' Aunty May, we have had such a nice ride on 
 Moppet. Evelyn did not want to come home." 
 
 *^ Indeed ! Don't you care to come back to us, 
 Evelyn ?" 
 
 '^ Ris," answered Evelyn, tugging at her seal- 
 skin turban, the elastic of which had got fast in 
 her curls. " Me like to come home ; you dot a 
 cake for Evelyn ?" 
 
 '^ A cake ? No ; tea will be up directly, darling ; 
 but you can have some bread and butter if you 
 like. Ivo, will you take some ?" 
 
 ^* No, thank you, Aunty May." 
 
 Girls are generally more forward than boys in
 
 238 WILD WOOD. 
 
 speaking, but in this case it was not so. Ivo 
 spoke perfectly well for his age, whereas fat little 
 Evelyn made a dreadful mess of the Queen's 
 English. May had arrived at the end of the 
 holey stockings, so she put them right, and pre- 
 pared to leave the nursery. 
 
 " Don't do. Aunty May ; Evelyn wants to sit 
 on your knee." 
 
 " But I hear Parker with the tea things ; don't 
 you want your tea, Evelyn ?" 
 
 " Kis, wid you.'* 
 
 " I do not want any now, dear, so get on 
 my lap and tell me all about your ride on 
 Moppet" 
 
 Evelyn jabbered through the account, helped 
 out by Ivo, who stood patiently till his sister had 
 finished. He was a a noble boy — so gentle and 
 yet so high-spirited — he was like a young war 
 horse when he shook his curls back. May 
 thought there was not such another boy in the
 
 WILD WOOD. 289 
 
 world. He was so independent, no one thought 
 of nursing him like they did little roly poly 
 Evelyn. 
 
 "Now you both want washing and making 
 neat, and here is Parker waiting for you, and so 
 you must kiss me and say good-bye for the pre- 
 sent, darlings." 
 
 A great many hugs and kisses and May was 
 permitted to depart, on condition that she would 
 come and tell them a story, or that uncle Darill 
 would give them some '^ pig-a-baggies" round 
 the nursery before they went to bed. 
 
 May had made up her mind to speak to Crispin, 
 and sound him about Mr. Archer. Poor Lois 
 had indeed been caught, for she had confided it 
 all to May between gasps and sobs. 
 
 " But, May, indeed I thought he was in earnest, 
 I had no idea he was amusing himself, and I 
 don't believe he was. It is all Judy's ill- 
 nature."
 
 240 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Lois, that is extremely foolish of you, as if 
 Judy would mind anythin^^; about it , she only 
 spoke for your own good." 
 
 It was no use trying to convince Lois, her 
 senses were never too acute at the best of times, 
 and now this little trouble had quite overturned 
 them for the time being. So May resolved to go 
 to work her own way. She was friends with 
 Crispin, of course, but nothing more than mere 
 friends. They did not suit each other ; but Cris- 
 pin reverenced May, nevertheless. She had 
 shown great forbearance with him about poor 
 Gipsy — never made the slightest difference in 
 her manner towards him — and it had rather 
 astonished Crispin, and raised May in his eyes. 
 What could his narrow, mean mind make of 
 May's superior noble one ? Nothing. 
 
 Thursday evening was the dinner party at the 
 " Stork," and May watched Crispin, and way- 
 laid him as he was going to dress.
 
 WILD WOOD. 241 
 
 ^' Crispin, can you spare me a few moments ; 
 I want to speak to you ?" 
 
 " Yes, May, certainly." 
 
 She stepped into his room with him, and closed 
 the door. Crispin stood looking just a little un- 
 comfortable ; DO one cared to be taken to task by 
 May. She never spared them while she was 
 about it ; that sharp tongue of hers cut right and 
 left. 
 
 " Crispin, has Mr. Archer said anything to 
 you since he has been here, or bpfore ?" 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " His prospects, his intentions, or his love 
 affairs, for, I presume he is not without them ?" 
 
 ** Oh, no, he is not free from them — Ted flirts 
 right and left. Look here. May, I know what 
 has brought you here, you come on behalf of 
 Lois. It serves her just right. 1 told her some 
 time since that he loved his cousin. Miss Russell, 
 but she is so conceited she imagines she can carry 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 WILD WOOD. 
 
 all before her. I also told her what a flirt he 
 was, and if she put her finger in the fire after that, 
 it was her own look out." 
 
 Crispin threw his shoulders back with a great 
 air of gratification, and waited for May to 
 speak. 
 
 ** I did not tell you Lois had got burnt, Cris- 
 pin, but my object in asking you the question 
 was this : I have noticed how things have been 
 going for some time, and I wanted to be con- 
 vinced whether my impression of him was 
 correct." 
 
 '^ And what is your impression ?" 
 
 '' That he is a villain." 
 
 '' A villain ! that is coming it too strong, 
 
 '^ Well, what do you call him ? 
 " Call him ? nothing ; I cannot see why you 
 should either." 
 
 " No ; I did not expect that you would see,
 
 WILD WOOD. 243 
 
 Crispin ; we rarely view things from the same 
 position. I won't trespass on your time any 
 longer; you will want to dress for the dinner." 
 
 May opened the door and walked out, leaving 
 Crispin with an uneasy doubt in his mind as to 
 what she meant to do. Her quiet manner and 
 complete absence of temper had told him 
 nothing. He was afraid of her: he knew that 
 her brown eyes saw a great way down ; and he 
 took to wondering how she would look in a wit* 
 ness box. It would take a great deal to upset 
 that self-possession of hers, it would take a 
 clever man to baffle May, and he gave it as 
 his private opinion — and very private it was, 
 too seeing that it was not spoken — that it would 
 go hard with the opposite party when May's 
 time came. Meanwhile May thoughtfully dressed 
 herself for the home dinner. Durill had been 
 much engaged the last few days, and he often 
 only had time to rush to his room before the last 
 
 M 2
 
 244 WILD WOOD. 
 
 bell. His engineering was progressing rapidly, 
 and be was frequently making flying visits to 
 London. " But it will soon be settled, May, and 
 tlien I can see to borne duties for a bit." 
 
 Ted Arcber and Crispin rattled down to tlie 
 "Stork," leaving Durill to take bis dinner at 
 bome, but be promised to look in later on. Lois 
 appeared pale and beavy eyed, and made tbat 
 ever convenient and mucb-abused excuse of a 
 '' bad headacbe," wben questioned by Madam. 
 Judy sat rigid and stiff, only condescending to 
 sboot a swift glance at May. Du'-ill, however, 
 was too sbarp, be saw it all, and partly under- 
 stood, and wbat be did not be got May to ex]3lain 
 to bim. 
 
 "So that's it, is it? Well, it's very nice, I 
 must say. Lois wants smacking." 
 
 " Yes, she is to blame, I know, yet I do feel 
 just a little sorry for her; you see it is sucb a 
 ^ let down.' Judy blames mamma and Minnie
 
 WILD WOOD. 245 
 
 for a great portion of it, and I believe she is quite 
 correct.'' 
 
 ^^ So do I ; Minnie is a little fool, with her 
 infernal nonsense, and the mother's not much 
 better. I am awfully glad the fellow goes to- 
 morrow. I don't suppose anyone will be much 
 the wiser, unless one of us tells, and that's not 
 very likely." 
 
 " Good gracious, Durill, no. I am ashamed 
 of it, I can assure you. Is this party to be^a 
 late affair?" 
 
 "Most likely ; when these fellows get together 
 they seem inclined to sit for ever. Are you 
 going to sit up for me, love ?" 
 
 *' If you want me to. I will keep a good fire 
 in my dressing-room, and leave the door open, 
 so that if I do go to bed you can warm yourself. 
 But I shall sit up as long as I can, because I 
 have something to do."
 
 246 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " That's a kind little sister. Never you get in 
 love, May ; recollect I cannot spare you." 
 
 ** Well, don't squeeze me so hard, you monster, 
 and do go, if you intend to." 
 
 " Why, your face is red ! Come, Mademoiselle 
 May, what is that for ?" 
 
 "Oh! my face is red, is it? and no wonder, 
 after the awful hug you treated me to just now ; 
 you will give me a fit some day." 
 
 Durill laughed, and turned to go. 
 
 " Durill, stay a second," called May. " The 
 children made me promise that one of us would 
 go and see them to-night before they went to bed. 
 They would like you to give them a few * pig-a- 
 baggies * round the nursery, Durill. Do go; a 
 little play will do them so much good." 
 
 " All right. It will do when they are in their 
 nightgowns, won't it?" 
 
 " Yes, quite well, 1 dare say they will enjoy it
 
 WILD WOOD. 247 
 
 more too, but don't keep them out of bed too 
 
 long." 
 
 " No, but you had better come, and then you 
 
 can guard your chicks." 
 "I'll see." 
 
 About a quarter of an hour after the most 
 extraordinary sounds echoed through the west end 
 of the house, and May rightly surmised that it 
 was Durill at play with the children. When she 
 arrived on the ground she found Parker and old 
 Nurse Joyce shaking with laughter in the door- 
 way of the night nursery. There was big Durill 
 jumping about like a great elephant, and making 
 the room rock again, with fat little Evelyn on his 
 back, and her two short pink legs sprawling over 
 his broad shoulders, while Ivo ran with a whip 
 making the horse go. Both were in their night- 
 clothes, and their pretty curls flying in wild 
 disorder. Nurse Joyce turned to May — 
 " It is like old times again, Miss May. Lor !
 
 248 WILD WOOD. 
 
 how you two do love these babies. It is a pity 
 but what Mr. Durill had some of his own." 
 
 May smiled at the old woman — 
 
 " All in good time, Nurse. I dare say you will 
 live to see one of them." 
 
 Durill gave one terrific plunge by way of a 
 grand finish, and then dropped into a chair quite 
 out of breath. Evelyn was fast locked in his 
 arms. What a contrast! The strong man, with 
 his short dark curls, just like a little fringe, and 
 the lazy, brown eyes, holding a small creature in 
 a snow-white gown, with light chesnut curls and 
 starry eyes, with her face pressed close against 
 his. Her little hand was patting and fondling 
 him, and twisting in and out of the long beard, 
 while every now and then she would slyly blow 
 in his ear, which event would be followed by a 
 shrill shriek of laughter, and a convulsion of the 
 plump little body, which entirely prevented the 
 night-gown from accomplishing its purpose, after
 
 WILD WOOD. 249 
 
 eacli wriggle it being discovered twisted under 
 her arms. Ivo had had his ride, so May pro- 
 nounced it time for them to be put into their beds, 
 
 *' Well, have you enjoyed your * pig a baggie,' 
 Evelyn ?" asked Durill. 
 
 " Kis, very much, tank you. You lift Evelya 
 into bed V 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ; come along, large party, I 
 can take you too." 
 
 Ivo was lifted on the other arm, and in state 
 the two pretty babies were carried to their beds 
 by Durill, May following. 
 
 ^' Now I suppose it is time I betook myself 
 to this gathering, eh May ?'* 
 
 " Yes, it is, Durill." 
 
 May felt very proud of the great big hand- 
 some kind-hearted fellow, so ready to amuse and 
 help others, especially little people. She went 
 with him to the court yard, wrapped in a big 
 woollen shawl, to see him off, and watched the 
 
 M 5
 
 2^ WILD WOOD. 
 
 last bit of the plain do^ cart, with a strap 
 ixistead of a rail for the back of the seat, disap- 
 pear. The night was raw and cold, the frost bad 
 partly gone, but there was every appearance of 
 snow. The sky had been like lead all day, and 
 now and then one black cloud would set out on 
 a voyage across* the heavens. May shuddered, 
 and hailed the cheerful and well-lighted rooms 
 with a feeling of profound satisfaction. Mean- 
 while Darill was making the best of his way to 
 the village. He got down the hill safely by 
 great care and repeatedly requesting the brown 
 mare to " hold up." Gibbons Grove showed a 
 light or two, but looked particularly dull and 
 chilly, standing back from the road with scarcely 
 any trees in front of it. The weather was not 
 considered sufficiently cold to put the North 
 American bulls under cover, though Durill felt 
 his face getting cut and hacked by the keen 
 fijnowy wind, and they were congregated round a
 
 WILD WOOD. 251 
 
 not by any means picturesque field pump close 
 to the hedge, and occasionally giving out a deep 
 bellow. Near this elegant pump there nearly 
 always reposed a waterino: cart, evidently designed 
 by the same architect — the village wheelwright — 
 and both these decidedly uncommon construc- 
 tions were perpetually getting out of order. 
 
 Durill dashed up to the Stork, and gave his 
 horse and trap to an ostler. The bar was to the 
 right, a snug little place. Durill was well 
 known there, for he repeatedly called in to have 
 something hot when he came by the last train — 
 the quarter to eleven. He strode in, and saluted 
 the smart barmaid with " How are you, Jenny ? 
 The wind's very biting to-night." 
 
 ** Yes, indeed it is, Mr. Drever ; can I get you 
 anything, sir?" 
 
 *' No, thanks ; I am bound for this bachelors' 
 party. Can you tell me where it is going 
 on?"
 
 252 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " This way, sir ; FU show you," and Miss 
 Jenny tripped away. 
 
 I don't believe my knowledge of the Stork 
 will enable me to direct you, notwithstanding 
 the many " Penny Readings" I have attended 
 under its roof. On those occasions we used to 
 mount no end of stairs, and tramp along a pas- 
 sage till we found ourselves in the room. This 
 you must please to remember was the way to the 
 reserved seats. The unreserved were reached by 
 means of a wooden staircase out of the stable 
 yard. But under the able guidance of smart 
 Miss Jenny. Durill found it, and was immediately 
 passed on to a most officious waiter, who bowed 
 and scraped and, amid plenty of *^ This way if 
 you please, sir," threw open a door and an- 
 nounced him. 
 
 Dinner was over, of course, but the gentlemen 
 were warming to their wine, and a peel of mirth 
 met Durill in the doorway. Archer rose and
 
 WILD WOOD. 253 
 
 welcomed him, and the rest exchanged nods. 
 They were all friends ; it was not a particularly 
 large party, but amongst them there were some 
 decided specimens. The brothers Hardwick 
 were there, Mark Calvert, Chandos Stilwell, the 
 brewer's son; the Rev. James Booth, the lean 
 curate; Andrew Arckw right, a gentleman staying 
 in the village to recruit his health after a pro- 
 tracted sojourn in India ; Archer, Crispin, Durill, 
 and last, but not least, two dear young men, 
 named respectively Thomas (but better known a» 
 Tommy) Chuckels, and Augustus Gradwell. 
 
 Dear Tommy was the only son (at home) of a 
 doating father and mother. They believed there 
 never was such a boy as Tommy, and in return 
 for this belief he gradually developed into a 
 complete muff. In fact, he was but one remove 
 from an idiot ; only, of course, they had not the 
 slightest notion of it. He wore coats made by
 
 254 WILD WOOD. 
 
 some antiquated tailor, and slunk about like a 
 young recruit. He followed his mother up and 
 down the house bleating "Ama, ama," like a 
 great sheep.
 
 WILD WOOD. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A SMALL boy in a Sunday school was once 
 asked — 
 
 " What is the chief end of man ?" 
 
 To which he replied — 
 
 " The end what's got the head on." 
 
 That most certainly was not the chief end of 
 Tommy Chuckels ; he might as well have had it 
 on the other end for all the use it was to him. It 
 was by no means a bad looking head, though. 
 As far as shape went it promised great things ; 
 but, alas I it all ended in promises. He could do 
 nothing but " wear out his shoes," as a lady once 
 said of him. He had a Shakspearian face, a long 
 pointed face, which was, however, robbed of all
 
 256 WILD WOOD. 
 
 its beauty by the soft expression that belono^ed to 
 it. To improve matters he had a sniggering sort 
 of laagh, that many a time, when at the height, 
 was extremely like the bray of a donkey, and just 
 about as musical. Tommy was blessed with a 
 sister, who, thanks be to Providence, possessed a 
 little more sense than himself, and upon the 
 strength of it she sought to protect Tommy, who 
 proved at times extremely unmanageable. 
 
 Ellen was dark — a Spanish beauty — of a ner- 
 vous, irritable temperament; she had long, thin 
 fingers, which, when she was labouring under 
 any strong excitement, twisted and twined them- 
 selves together with extraordinary rapidity, and 
 she could wring her hands after a fashion rarely 
 equalled. She was delicate, but according to her 
 own idea she was about to depart at least once a 
 fortnight. The head of this sweet little family 
 was Septimus Chuckels, Esq., a retired merchant, 
 but he did not take upon himself the cares of the
 
 WILD WOOD. 257 
 
 household or family. He left that to his wife, a 
 handsome, energetic woman, but penny wise and 
 pound foolish. To make amends for sundry acts 
 of wilful extravagance and slippery deeds, it was 
 Mrs. Chuckels's habit to rake up her family and 
 grand relations, in a soft, lady-like, winning way^ 
 that never failed to take. If ever there was 
 fascination in any woman it was Mrs. Chuckels. 
 She was a " shoot '* from a good old tree, but she 
 seemed to be under a cloud, as none of th|it 
 highly respectable family orits numerous branches 
 ever paid her a visit, and Tommy had to waste 
 his marvellous abilities — doing nothing. He was 
 waiting for one of those important personages 
 whom his mother was always writing to, and who 
 had handles to their names, to get him a Govern- 
 ment or Staff appointment, to be tacked on to 
 the extremity of some great man's garment, and 
 run after him like a poodle. Tommy could not 
 seek for such employment as is in the reach of
 
 258 WILD WOOD. 
 
 any man, and try with his hands (you perceive I 
 ignore his head), because his grandfather was 
 Sir William Walton, and his uncles Sir Somebody 
 This and Sir Somebody That. So he was waiting 
 for better times, and thinking he had done a good 
 day's work when he had shuffled to the post-office 
 after letters. Indolence predominated in the 
 Ohuckels family, but then they were waiting for 
 " better times," and running up long bills any- 
 where and everywhere meanwhile. In all prob- 
 ability dear Tommy is waiting still. 
 
 Archer's dinner party made quite a stir at Peak 
 Hill, because Tommy was asked. 
 
 ** But I don't think Tommy ought to go, A'ma," 
 said wise Ellen. 
 
 However, Mrs. Chuckels thought it would be a 
 capital opportunity of bringing him out, so to the 
 party at the " Stork " Tommy went in a violent 
 perspiration. 
 
 The other hopeful, Augustus Gradwell, was the
 
 WILD WOOD. 269 
 
 youngest son of a gentleman who had business in 
 London, and to which he went every day, accom- 
 panied by his sons. There were some Miss 
 Gradwells, washed-out looking females, and not 
 too young, poor things. Augustus was uncom- 
 mon, most assuredly. Eis face was like a girl's, 
 round, and covered with a soft, kittenish down, 
 which he proudly thought of as whiskers and 
 moustache, a downy little dab for a nose, and a 
 mouth pinched up into the form of the letter 0. 
 This young man considered himself nothing 
 short of perfection, and alwaj's attired himself in 
 the latest fashion. For one thing he squeezed 
 his spindles of legs into the tightest possible 
 trousers, and his spider body into garments to 
 correspond. Thererefore, sitting perched up 
 driving, or in the back seat behind his father in 
 their double gig, with a flower in his coat, and an 
 eyeglass screwed into one of his pale eyes, 
 nothing ever resembled a dressed-up monkey
 
 260 WILD WOOD. 
 
 more than Augustus Gradwell. He was per- 
 petually falling deeply in love, and would throw 
 little bunches of flowers, tied with a blue ribbon, 
 into the garden of the house where dwelt his 
 angel. The two things desirable to women in 
 his eyes were an aquiline nose and a long 
 cervicle vertebrae, which, in comprehensible lan- 
 guage, means a long neck. He had dipped into 
 the medical dictionary once or twice, and got off 
 a few astonishing words, which he ignorantly 
 thrust into people's faces upon every possible 
 occasion, and thought that he had impressed them 
 with a sense of his great learning ; it was his 
 habit to expound at a great length upon subjects 
 which he knew nothing on earth about, with a 
 most absurd lisp, which was borrowed of course, 
 and after a fair quantity of unsuitable words and 
 bad grammar, wind up with "And that sort of 
 thino:, vou know." He earned for himself the 
 title of "Sweet Fellosv," and it was quite a
 
 WILD WOOD. 261 
 
 matter of opinion as to which was the biggest 
 fool, he or Tommy Chuckels. 
 
 When Darill arrived on the field, Tommy had 
 already had quite as much wine as was good for 
 him, but he of course had no idea of it, and no 
 one else liked to suggest it. He sat jabbering 
 like a magpie, and relating his wonderful expe- 
 rience and marvellous escapes — from what he did 
 not explain — but it ought to have been, if it was 
 not, from the nearest lunatic asylum. ^ 
 
 Augustus Gradwell sat fanning himself with a 
 dinner napkin, a pleased smile on his baby face, 
 and his small eyes turned up. 
 
 The rest of the party were jolly enough, but 
 perfectly sensible, and enjoying themselves 
 amazingly. Somebody asked for songs, and 
 Durill was called upon. It was a rare treat to 
 listen to Durill Drever sing; his rich baritone 
 was just splendid, and his ear perfect. He gave 
 them " The Vagabond," in a truly artistic style.
 
 262 WILD WOOD. 
 
 and the tender part was rendered faultlessly. 
 George Hard wick followed him with a comic 
 song, which was received with bursts of applause. 
 The time went on, and Tommy had occupied it 
 in drinking everything he could lay his hands 
 on. Mr. Booth started a discussion on theology, 
 but his words were sent back where they came 
 from by Tommy, who scrambled up and informed 
 the company that Booth knew nothing about it, 
 but that he did. And immediately commenced 
 one of the most ridiculously senseless discourses ; 
 hiccupped, slavered, and stammered, and finally 
 fell in a bundle headlong under the table. No 
 one else could get a word in edgeways while he 
 was talking, and at the finish they were all 
 roaring, and George Hardwick pronounced 
 Tommy the best sport out. The clock in the 
 Round House chimed midnight, and directly 
 after the church, and the one in the bar. Then 
 arose the question how was Tommy to be got
 
 WILD WOOD. 263 
 
 into the *^ bosom of his family." Someone 
 must take him, that was quite evident. Captain 
 Hardwick and Durill took hold of him, and 
 commenced shaking him, at the urgent request 
 of Ted Archer, who did not want him to go 
 home in that state. 
 
 " I tell you there's nothing like a good shaking ; 
 go on, Durill, he'll come to presently.'* 
 
 The shaking he received at the hands of those 
 two strong men was merciless; his teeth chat- 
 tered, and his addled head rolled so, that short 
 stout Chandos Stilwell, who was as strong as an 
 ox and uncommonly like a prize-fighter, sug- 
 gested the probability of its coming off. But 
 Archer proved correct ; it had the desired effect. 
 His few senses being wound up, and the first use 
 he made of them was to yelp '' A'ma ! A'ma !" 
 
 Captain Hardwick informed him in the mildest 
 manner possible that he was not his A'ma ; but 
 that no doubt his A'ma would be expecting him.
 
 264 WILD WOOD. 
 
 and he had better go home. Chandos Stilwell 
 and Andrew Arckwright agreed to take hira, in 
 company with the Hardwicks, whose place was 
 not far from Peak Hill. The rest betook them- 
 selves off, laughing and wishing them joy of dear 
 Tommy. They succeeded in getting him to his 
 home between them, and then came the momen- 
 tous question — who was to present him to his 
 family ? 
 
 The Hardwicks laughed and begged to be ex- 
 cused, but promised to hold one of the gates open 
 and watch over the palings. So Arckwright and 
 Stilwell had to do it. Now, waiting up for 
 Tommy were his sister Ellen and a friend— Miss 
 Bickersteth. They were reading by the fire, or, 
 at least. Miss Bickersteth was, for Ellen had 
 fallen asleep on the sofa with her hair all down. 
 Miss Bickersteth was deep in " Red Court Farm," 
 when a fearful falling and fumbling commenced 
 in the hall ; the door was opened, and in came
 
 WILD WOOD. 265 
 
 Tommy staggering. Miss Bickersteth jumped 
 up, exclaiming, *^ Mr. Chuckels !" in reply to 
 which he made an attempt to throw his arms 
 round her neck, which of course she resisted, and 
 at the same time gave him a push, which, in his 
 helpless condition, sent him sprawling on the 
 floor. 
 
 Up got Ellen, wailing — 
 
 " Oh, Tommy ! I knew how it would be. I 
 told A'ma. Oh, Tommy !" ^ 
 
 At the door appeared fat Chandos, grinning 
 from ear to ear, while smothered bursts of laughter 
 came from the front door, and a voice called out — 
 
 " Better carry him up, Chandos.*' 
 
 Chandos needed no second bidding, but took 
 Tommy up as though he had been a baby, and 
 followed by Ellen and Miss Bickersteth, put him 
 on his bed, and said good-night. 
 
 In came Mrs. Chuckels in her night-gown, and 
 immediately Ellen pounced upon her with — 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ** Oh, A'ma, look at Tommy I See, A'ma I I 
 told you so ; Tommy ought not to go out. Oh, 
 Tommy!" 
 
 The chorus of " Oh, Tommy ! Fie, Tommy ! 
 For shame. Tommy !" was highly amusing, and 
 Miss Bickersteth enjoyed it. 
 
 The upshot of it all was that Tommy was 
 seriously indisposed for the space of two days 
 with what his fond family styled a *' biUous 
 attack, dear Tommy not being at all strong." 
 
 That dinner party, without doubt, brought 
 Tommy out. 
 
 Felton Cottage was once more in a state of 
 commotion. George's regiment was ordered out 
 to India. Captain Hardwick made everything as 
 smooth as possible, and gratified George's every 
 whim. Yet he seemed ill at ease and restless, 
 his great eyes turned incessantly, and fidgetted 
 his calm elder brother dreadfully. But nothing 
 could be drawn from George as to the cause of
 
 WILD WOOD. 267 
 
 his trouble. He put no end- of obstacles in the 
 way, to prevent his going, and nearly drove his 
 brother distracted. 
 
 *^ George, what are you about ? The ' Princess 
 Alice' sails on Saturday, and you are not half 
 ready.'* 
 
 " Never mind, Godwin, it's all right. Let the 
 ^ Princess Alice ' go without me ; I wish to the 
 Lord she would !" 
 
 " And then you would be tried by count 
 martial, George, and get into no end of bother. 
 Come, you must go, ready or not ready, so you 
 had better set to." 
 
 The " set to " was commenced, but it was a 
 poor one ; every ten minutes he would take a rest 
 and have a pipe or upset the ink-stand amid his 
 papers. Suddenly forget where he had put a 
 most important thing, and waste half a day 
 looking for it, or seize his French horn, upon 
 
 M 2
 
 268 WILD WOOD. 
 
 which he could not play a note, and blow such 
 awful sounds from it as to send the little colony- 
 round the quarry nearly mad. At last Thursday 
 arrived, the last day, for he had to meet his regi- 
 ment at Gravesend on the Friday. To most of 
 the people round Maldon he had said adieu, but 
 when it was close upon five, and quite dusk, he 
 jumped up, and astonished his brother by telling 
 him that he was going out for an hour. 
 
 *^ ril come with you, George." 
 
 " No, thank you, Godwin ; 1 would rather go 
 alone. I sha'n't be long, old fellow.*' 
 
 He turned out, whistling the " Organ Grinder." 
 
 It had been raining, and George splashed into 
 numerous puddles on his way past the quarry. 
 But he heeded them not, and marched steadily 
 on down the Dorking Eoad till he reached Gibbons 
 Grove. Then he stopped, and for a second hesi- 
 tated, but it was soon overcome, for he made a
 
 WILD WOOD. 269 
 
 dash at the gate, and opened it. He reached the 
 front door, and gave a pull at the bell, which was 
 answered by a neat maid. 
 
 ^' Can I see Miss Calvert ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Hardwick ; step this way, sir, 
 please." 
 
 She evidently understood the difference between 
 Mrs. and Miss, and showed him into the drawing- 
 room without another word. 
 
 It was not lighted except by the fire, and that 
 was low, too. 
 
 " Miss Calvert ! Miss Kate ! Ma'am, are you 
 there? Here's Mr. Hardwick, ma'am." 
 
 Kate came forward in the dim uncertain light, 
 and gave her hand to George Hardwick.' 
 
 " Mamma is not well, Mr. Hardwick, and Ruby ' 
 is dressing ; but she will not be long, pray sit 
 down." 
 
 " Thank you ; don't disturb your sister, Miss 
 Calvert. I — I — came to see you."
 
 270 WILD WOOD. 
 
 " Did you," said Kate, with a nervous little 
 laugh, " how kind of you." 
 
 The black eyes looked searchingly at her, and 
 then he said, in a low tone — 
 
 " I go away to-morrow, Miss Calvert, and I 
 sha'n't be back for two years ; many things may 
 happen in two years, Miss Calvert." 
 
 " Yes, many, Mr. Hardwick. I don't suppose 
 you will find things as you leave them on your 
 return." 
 
 ^' No, I suppose not ; but I trust I shall find 
 you the same." 
 
 Kate laughed. 
 
 " No, indeed, you won*t, Mr. Hardwick. By- 
 the-bye, do you know Julius Drever comes to 
 Wild Wood in a day or two ? He is one of the 
 nicest — " 
 
 *' Indeed !'' answered George Hardwick, stiflly. 
 His voice had a queer rasping sound to Kate, and 
 she turned to him ; but he was not looking at her.
 
 WILD WOOD. 271 
 
 They exchanged a few more common-place words, 
 and then he said he must really go, because God- 
 win would be fidgetty. 
 
 " Good-bye, Miss Calvert. I hope that what- 
 ever change you make during my absence may 
 be for the better." 
 
 He held her hand firmly, then, as if he had 
 suddenly recollected, bowed and turned to the 
 door. 
 
 Kate watched his figure disappear down the 
 avenue in the raw, sleety wind, and the tears 
 came into her eyes, and trickled down her rosy 
 cheeks. One slide had dropped in the magic 
 lantern, and shut out the view. 
 
 Then Ruby came in with her soft little hands 
 and plump figure, and Kate turned and looked at 
 her with envy in her eyes. Ruby seemed quite 
 contented. Her presence imparted a homely, 
 soft tone to the room, and gave Kate something 
 more to see than a tall, well-knit figure battling
 
 272 WILD WOOD. 
 
 its way in the cold, dim night, while the trees 
 sang a mournful lullaby, as if in memory of isome- 
 one departed. The North American bulls came 
 to the iron hurdles that fenced off the fields that 
 formed the park, and bellowed miserably. They 
 must have seen the fire light, for Ruby had given 
 it a most energetic poking when she came in, and 
 the ruddy flame went flickering and flashing up 
 the chimney. 
 
 " Ruby, will you shut the shutters, dear ?" 
 Kate did not fancy the bulls staring at her,. 
 somehow, to-night. 
 
 "Yes, presently, Kate; but I like to see the 
 darkness coming on. What a pity it is we cannot 
 see when evil is coming to us, and shut it out 
 like the night. But May says it is never night, 
 because God gives everyone a light within their 
 own soul." 
 
 Kate shivered; she was thinking about her own 
 light that had just been put out.
 
 WILD WOOD. 273 
 
 Euby went on, with her small paws crossed 
 demurely before her, and enjoying the warmth of 
 the fire — 
 
 " I fancy I heard the hall door go to a few 
 minutes before I came down." 
 
 " Did you ? The wind blew one of the others 
 to, most likely; it seems to be rising to-night." 
 
 Kate shivered again. 
 
 " Are you cold, Kate ? Come and sit here, 
 love. Mamma won't come down, and I am not 
 sorry; she is so cross. So we will have tea 
 together, and fancy it is twenty years hence, 
 when we shall be two angular old maids in 
 earnest." 
 
 " Good gracious. Ruby, how you go a-head. 
 If you please I prefer to keep my flesh." 
 
 ** Then you shall, my dear. Do you know, 
 Kate, I could scarcely help laughing when I went 
 in to see mamma just now. There she is, with an 
 immense poultice of porridge made in a singlet, 
 
 N 5
 
 274 WILD WOOD. 
 
 spread over her chest, and as far as it will go 
 almost steamed to death, I should say, from the 
 look of her face, and giving out the most dismal 
 moans every now and then, and her eyes turned 
 up till there's nothing to be seen but the whites. 
 Butler told me she nearly scalded herself to death 
 this morning ; she turned the huge poultice over, 
 and the boiling porridge came out. She must be 
 awfully fond of it, she uses it inwardly and out- 
 wardly." 
 
 Kate smiled. 
 
 " Our mother is queer, Euby." 
 
 Ruby gave a grunt, which signified a great deal. 
 
 " Kate, play me something, there's a dear girl." 
 
 *' I^ot just now, Ruby, I will after tea, which, 
 by the way, I should imagine to be ready. I 
 wonder if mamma could not take some ?" 
 
 ^' Bless you no, it would never do for her to 
 come round too soon, she has not punished 
 us sufficiently for our cruelty yet."
 
 WILD WOOD. 275 
 
 ** No, she will refresh herself with a basin of 
 slops and an inward poultice, and come down 
 to-morrow in a stately manner, followed by a 
 pillow and a hot bottle." 
 
 ** You will be like her someday, Euby." 
 " God forbid," replied Ruby, solemnly. " I do 
 not desire it; I trust He will take me soon, 
 rather than let me become like mamma."
 
 276 WILD WOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 They went into the dining-room and sat down 
 to a cosy old maid's tea. Kate managed to par- 
 take of some in spite of her sorrow that the 
 owner of the black eyes had gone, and in a pet 
 too. It is only in romances that young women 
 take to starving themselves when the object of 
 their tender affections deserts them. At any rate 
 the hot cakes and sundry other good things 
 proved too strong for Kate's feelings. But then 
 she was eminently practical, and did not take to 
 dreaming dreams or seeing visions. Moreover, 
 it would rather discourage any young creature, 
 when indulging in a flight of imagination, to be
 
 WILD WOOD. 277 
 
 asked very suddenly and snappishly, " What are 
 you thinking about?" Mrs. Calvert was es- 
 pecially fond of doing that ; she seemed to con- 
 sider it part of her maternal duty to be vigilant, 
 prying, turn her daughters' minds and hearts 
 inside out if possible, and when they remonstrated^ 
 inform them that ** they ought to tell their mother 
 everything.'* Nature made a great mistake when 
 it did not make Mrs. Calvert either a ferret or a 
 detective. 
 
 Kate and Ruby were enjoying their tea famously, 
 it had been unseasoned with such intelligence as 
 ** Kate ! Ruby ! ring the bell ; run, tell them the 
 bulls are in the garden ! " 
 
 *' But mamma !" 
 
 " Hush, Kate, I can tell by my feelings ; and 
 there won't be a bit of parsley in the morning. 
 Oh, dear ! I don't know what would become of 
 you without me.^' 
 
 In the midst of the enjoyment of the second
 
 278 WILD WOOD. 
 
 cup the door opened, and in walked Mrs. Calvert, 
 followed by Butler, pillows, shawls, smelling 
 bottles, etc., etc. 
 
 Kate and Ruby rose, and wheeled her easy 
 chair to the fire, into which she sank in an 
 exhausted state, and was comfortably settled by 
 the invaluable Butler. 
 
 After a few seconds, during which time her 
 nose had been thrust into the fat smelling bottle, 
 Kate ventured to speak. 
 
 ** We did not expect you down this evening, 
 mamma." 
 
 " That is just why I came ; I might have been 
 dead for all you cared, ungrateful children ; as it 
 is there is no telling how it will end. Dear me I 
 there's a dreadful draught from that window." 
 
 Neither Kate nor Ruby ventured any difference 
 of opinion to this dismal announcement. The 
 presence of their mother in such an unhappy 
 state of mind acted upon the two girls like a
 
 WILD WOOD. 27^ 
 
 chilling blast, and Kate shivered for the third 
 time that night. 
 
 " Kate/' said Mrs. Calvert, in a decided tone 
 of voice, " my chest is in a wofal state. I am 
 convinced, I feel sure I am coughing my lungs 
 up; I told Butler so." 
 
 Ruby's eyes opened to their fullest extent. 
 This was a new feature in her mother's list of 
 ailments, and she had not become used to it. 
 Mrs. Calvert lay back with her eyes closed. She 
 knew she had given them something to digest. 
 
 '* I think you had better see a doctor to- 
 morrow, mamma ; I will speak to Mark.'* 
 
 " Doctors! No, indeed; I have no faith in 
 doctors, I can do as well for myself. What 
 with homohopathy and hydrophobia — "[" hydro- 
 pathy, mamma," suggested Kate, mildly, while 
 Ruby almost choked, but Mrs. Calvert was 
 riding her hobby and took no notice] *' they kill 
 half the people. I only hope and trust I shall
 
 Ji80 WILD WOOD. 
 
 let you see what I can do ; if I take after my 
 mother I shall do, who lived to be eighty-three." 
 Mrs. Calvert need not have distressed herself ; 
 she appeared very likely to follow her mother's 
 example. By degrees Mrs. Calvert got better 
 tempered, and Kate rang to have the things 
 removed. The trim maid brought a message 
 from the cook—" Would misses be so kind as to 
 let her go to the village for an hour or two, her 
 mother was going to Dublin, and set off the 
 first train in the morning and wished to see her." 
 " Yes, Mrs. Calvert would, but she must 
 return by ten." 
 
 Ruby bent her steps to the drawing-room and 
 commenced playing. She could not play like 
 Kate but she had some little talent. In a few 
 moments Kate came in with some wool work, and 
 the small fingers stopped, and their owner 
 wheeled round on the stool and faced her. 
 
 "There, I did it on purpose; I knew you
 
 WILD WOOD. 281 
 
 would come and stop my miserable strains. Play 
 for me please, Kate ; mamma has rubbed me the 
 wrong way.'* 
 
 " Poor pussy cat, what shall I play for it ?" 
 
 " Anything you choose, only make haste, for 
 there is no telling how long we shall be left in 
 peace, and I will do some of your work for you. 
 How many stitches on this side, Kate V 
 
 " Twenty-four and then twelve chain ; mind 
 you keep it even." ^ 
 
 Euby's hands went to work, and the needle 
 went on rapidly. She could work well, indeed it 
 was one of the principal features in the charac- 
 ters of Kate and Ruby that whatever they did 
 they did well, and what they could not do 
 perfectly they left for those who could. Ruby, 
 for instance, always declined to play or sing 
 before people. She would do it to amuse 
 herself or to please Kate, but she would not 
 sit down to perform before a room full of
 
 282 WILD WOOD. 
 
 people. Some persons respected little Ruby Cal- 
 vert for that it showed great sense ; it showed 
 also that her musical perception was keener than 
 other people's, because she could detect the least 
 fault, and she could not think of inflicting hers 
 upon others. What a pity it is there are not a 
 few more of Ruby Calvert's way of thinking. 
 What a deal we should be spared. How often 
 one's ear is offended and one's nerves set quiver- 
 ing by wrong notes, or a harsh, unfeeling render- 
 ing of some exquisite melody. You are asked 
 out to spend the evening and find the room filled, 
 and of course a piano in one corner. Then 
 comes the demand for some music, and according 
 to the rules of society in this highly educated 
 age, the daughter of the house sets the example, 
 whether she can or not. Now this fair damsel 
 has been educated at '^ The Misses MacSparlin's 
 seminary for young ladies (the daughters of 
 gentlemen), Bclgravia, Brighton." There they
 
 WILD WOOD. 28S 
 
 are supposed to acquire a " superior bearing," 
 as the mother of one of these fortunate young 
 ladies told a girl who was not being educated at 
 Brighton, and then requested one of her daughters 
 present to '' draw down the blinds lest any one 
 should be attracted by the valuable pictures on 
 the walls." No doubt she sought to impress 
 the young girl by her side, whose position in 
 life, as regards money, was a step lower, with 
 a sense of their greatness and her inferiority. 
 But in that she did not succeed. Two feel- 
 ings had taken posssession of that girl — con- 
 tempt and pity. Contempt for the woman 
 who would be a lady, and whose mind, alas f 
 was so small, and pity for those pictures — 
 the offspring of true genius and toil — whose fate 
 it was to adorn walls where they were neither 
 understood nor appreciated, except for the actual 
 money that had been paid for them. So she 
 rises, without a word of remonstrance, and
 
 284 WILD WOOD. 
 
 spreads herself out before the tortured instru- 
 ment. There's a terrific crash, and with a 
 splutter and dash she sets off. 
 
 For the first page or two you are unable to tell 
 what she is trying to play, but after a bit you get 
 more accustomed to the agonizing sounds, and 
 discover it to be the well-worn *^ Mazurka des 
 Traineaux ;" but, from some cause or other, she 
 never strikes the correct note through the marked 
 part. She keeps the loud pedal pinned down 
 throughout, and pounds away indefatigably. At 
 last it ends, and the piano goes " Burr, burr;" 
 but the torture is not over. A young lady is 
 asked to sing — one who has great knowledge of 
 music, and a constant member of the church 
 choir. Wet or fine, she is there, because they 
 could not possibly get along without her. So she 
 stands up in a subdued sort of style (no doubt 
 befitting a member of the choir), and sings 
 ^^ Adaliedia" throuo:h her nose. At the close of
 
 WILD WOOD. 285 
 
 this soothing performance her fjxther makes a 
 circuit of the room, and tells several young ladies, 
 amid no end of grunts, who are sitting on pins, 
 that he thinks they had better go with Harriett 
 to the choir ; it is such good practice, and would 
 improve them so much. 
 
 There's a young man standing there who wants 
 very much to sing, talks about this song and that 
 song, and in the end, as a matter of course, is 
 asked if he will sing one. 
 
 " Well, really, I don't think I can, but I will 
 try. I really have got a shocking cold." 
 
 By this time he is at the piano, and selects one, 
 which he tells them is "a beautiful thing — very 
 difficult." Then he commences with his addled 
 head thrown back to howl, " Alice, where art 
 thou?" The young lady who has innocently 
 volunteered to play his accompaniment cannot 
 keep up with him. He warms to his work, and 
 his cracked voice comes in bursts like the wind
 
 286 WILD WOOD. 
 
 through a barn door. After this great effort he 
 is left without any breath for the next bar, and a 
 red face. He cannot even pronounce the Queen's 
 English properly, what with affectation and 
 ii(norance, but tells us " The bards (birds) sing- 
 ing gently." What a pity it is someone does 
 not tell that young man he cannot sing ! In all 
 probability he has been told, and been rude to 
 the teller for her or his pains. His self-conceit 
 won't allow him to see for himself. There is 
 nothing like self-conceit for producing blindness 
 and deafness, but it only exists when there is a 
 deficiency of common sense, and what is the use 
 of ^^ knocking when there's no one at home ?" 
 
 It would be a much better plan for people, 
 when they give those stupid parties and require 
 music, to engage a professional, or only ask those 
 of their guests who can play and sing. Music is 
 no music in the hands of some people. 
 
 So Kate Calvert commenced to play because
 
 WILD WOOD. 287 
 
 she could play, and the blue and white fluffy cap 
 dropped upon Ruby's knee. 
 
 Time sped on, and still the cook did not return, 
 so the housemaid went to bed, and Butler had 
 to attend to Mrs. Calvert. Presently she 
 worked herself into a complete fume, and rushed 
 in upon Kate and Ruby. 
 
 " What are we to do ? Cook has never come 
 back, and it is half-past ten, and washing-day 
 to-morrow. Supposing anything has happened 
 to her? Supposing she has been killed?" 
 
 " Oh ! don't frighten yourself, mamma; she is 
 all right." 
 
 '^ That is jf'ws^ like you. Ruby: thoughtless as 
 ever. I wonder what would become of you all if 
 /had not had more courage and determination. 
 To think what I have gone through ; how I 
 nursed you all when you had measles, and the 
 baby with croup at the same time ! Let me see
 
 288 WILD WOOD. 
 
 — yes — that would be you, Kate, and Mark used 
 to hold on by the bed-post. I am quite of a 
 tremble; I might be going on a journey. But 
 you — neither of you — will ever be half the woman 
 your mother was!** 
 
 " Mamma, don't you think you had better go 
 to bed ? Butler, Ruby, and I will stay up and 
 let cook in." 
 
 ^* A likely thing, indeed ! I am surprised at 
 you proposing it, Kate!" 
 
 And Mrs. Calvert swept out of the room, the 
 picture of injured dignity. 
 
 " Dear me !" exclaimed Kate, " why, I thought 
 it was the best thing for her to go to bed." 
 
 "So it is, only she is on her stilts to-night; 
 better leave her alone. / don't care if cook stays 
 out till two in the morning ; it is far nicer here 
 than up-stairs in the cold." 
 
 " But the fire will burn out."
 
 WILD WOOD. 289 
 
 " No it won't ; I know where to find the coals. 
 Go on playing, Kate." And Ruby settled her- 
 self comfortably. 
 
 About eleven there was a ring at the front 
 door ; the back was made up for the night and 
 no one could get round. In came Mrs. Calvert. 
 
 '' One of you two go ; Butler is putting the 
 hot bottle in my bed, and it is cook." 
 
 Kate went and opened the door, and in stag- 
 gered the cook, to use a slang term, " as drunk 
 as a lord.^' 
 
 " My mother^s on the stormy ocean (crescendo 
 of course) ; my poor old mother." 
 
 " Miller, you are not in a fit state to come into 
 anyone's house," said Mrs. Calvert, keeping as 
 far from her as possible. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, bless you, ma'am, quite fit. I have 
 seen my poor old mother off to Dublin. " 
 
 <' Don't let her have a candle, Kate," whis- 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 WILD WOOD. 
 
 pered Mrs. Calvert, " or we shall all be burnt 
 in our beds." 
 
 Kate nodded, and followed her into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 *^ Kow, Miller, yuu are to go to bed; I will 
 put the lamps ouu" 
 
 " You're very kind, Miss, but I must go for 
 some coals." 
 
 Sbe reeled roiunl and iii;idc ji '!ive at the coal 
 scuttle, the handle of which was, luckily, stand- 
 ing erect. The coals were kt-pt in a cellar, down 
 which there was an ioimense flight of stone 
 steps, very steep, and not the ^host of a rail. 
 Kate tried to stop hor, bat it was of no use, go 
 for the coals she would. iiiil>y had, of course, 
 followed Kate, while Mrs. Calvert stood at the 
 door leading in'o the servants' offices with 
 clasped hands, ejacnlatin<r crcy on us!" 
 
 !Now, however, that she saw her i-c^au her perilous 
 descent, she bravely tunnMl ' ck and, catch-
 
 WILD W17OD. 291 
 
 ing hold of the handle of the door, commenced 
 repeating the Church service and prayers in a 
 way that would have shamed many a Church 
 clerk. Miller got down safely, wisely perform- 
 ing the journey sitting down mostly, the coal 
 box, of course, going on its own account. After 
 a good deal of scuffling she reappeared, and 
 cleverly crawled up, holding each step with her 
 hands. The coal box contained two small pieces, 
 no doubt it was very well filled when she left the 
 coal heap. Kate and Raby were thankful when 
 she reached the kitchen. By this time Butler 
 had arrived, and she and Mrs. Calvert relieved 
 themselves of sundry ^' Disgracefuls," " Abo- 
 minables," &c. Miller refused to go to bed, 
 and began chanting some Irish song. Mrs. Cal- 
 vert had a pet dog, a sensible curly little creature, 
 very old ; he reposed in a drawer at one side of 
 the dresser on a blanket. It was very like a 
 Pantaloon at times, particularly when fright-
 
 292 WILD WOOD. 
 
 ened, for then his bottom jaw moved up and 
 down incessantly. Toby lay calmly inspecting 
 the scene, and all at once Miller spied ^' her 
 darling." So she went to him and lifted him 
 out of his bed, saying, ^* My Mary Ann, in spite 
 of all thy faults I love thee still," and set to 
 work kissing and hugging him violently, much to 
 poor Toby's astonishment and horror. After a 
 great deal of persuasion Miller was got 
 upstairs, having fallen six times by the way, 
 and Mrs. Calvert exclaiming repeatedly, '' To 
 think I have lived to see this." 
 
 When George Hardwick left Gibbons Grove 
 he dashed through the pools and mud, mutter- 
 ing angrily, " So Miss Chuckels was right after 
 
 all, and she does like that Julius Drever, 
 
 him ; and before 1 come back she will be married 
 to him ; bad luck to it all." 
 
 " George, wherever have you been to ? You
 
 WILD WOOD. 293 
 
 are splashed all over. Surely the village street 
 is not so bad as all that." 
 
 '* I don't know, I am sure, Godwin ; I never 
 noticed it, to tell the truth." 
 
 " Then where did you go to ?" 
 
 '' The Post Office," answered Mr. George, com- 
 posedly, without blinking an eyelid. 
 
 He was very surly, sat smoking and drinking 
 far into the night, and then left the little village 
 by the early train — half-past six. His brother 
 saw him off, and then returned to the quiet of 
 his little cottage, quite satisfied that he had not 
 neglected George in any possible way, and think- 
 ing he was rather a strange fellow after all. And 
 the train flew on to London, <^arrying in one of its 
 first-class compartments a tall, dark man, with 
 black, straight hair combed flat against each side 
 of his head, and looking not unlike some noted 
 violin player, but for the unmistakeable military 
 cut about him. He sat very still, sometimes
 
 294 WILD WOOD. 
 
 nibbling his moustache and looking at his watch. 
 Then he thought of his passage to India — the life 
 he would lead out there — and what when he came 
 back. He had once said to Kate Calvert — 
 
 " If I don't marry and settle down when I 
 come home, I shall go to the dogs." 
 
 His ideas would not carry him past the time 
 when he should come home — he saw Kate Mrs. 
 Julius, and his tanned face turned a yellowish 
 white — he seemed to meditate springing away 
 from his misery, and opened the window to get 
 some air, the carriage felt so close. Then he saw 
 he was at London Bridge, and the people stirring 
 about, and when the door was unlocked with a 
 click, he got out and stood on the platform in the 
 chilly morning air. 
 
 END OF VOL. L 
 
 T. C. Newby, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square, London.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI9-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 042258894