On the morning after Florence's arrival at Ashcroft little Wyn Warren
stood on the terrace of a pretty piece of walled garden on the south
side of the great house, with the wrigglesome puppy in his arms, waiting
for his master to come out and give him his orders for the day. Wyn was
devoted to Mr Edgar, and to all the birds and beasts and flowers, which
were the chief diversion of a very dull life. Edgar Cunningham was not
naturally given to intellectual pursuits. He had been fond of sport and
athletic exercises of all kinds, and there was a good deal of
unconscious courage in the way in which he amused himself as much as
possible, especially as there was no one but Wyn to care much about his
various hobbies. Winter was a bad time for the poor young fellow, but
in the summer, he was often well enough to get about in his pony chair,
and visit the water-fowl or the farm, or hunt about in the woods for
lichens, ferns, and mosses; sometimes, if he was able to sit up against
his cushions, stopping to sketch a little, not very successfully in any
eyes but Wyn's perhaps, but greatly to his own pleasure. Wyn managed to
lead that pony into very wonderful places, and he and his master liked
best to take these expeditions by themselves; for when the grave and
careful Mr Robertson, who waited on Mr Edgar, went with them, they
were obliged to keep to smooth ground, as he did not approve of Mr
Edgar being tired and shaken, and when they had once got stuck in a bog
it was difficult to say whether master or boy felt the most in disgrace
for such imprudence. But Wyn secretly thought that an occasional jolt--
and really he was so careful that it very seldom happened--was not half
so bad for Mr Edgar as lying all alone on his sofa, with no one to
speak to but the grave father, who always looked at him as if his
helpless state was such a dreadful disappointment and trouble that he
could not bear to see more of him than could be helped. Mr Edgar's
tastes opened a good deal of desultory information to Wyn, and though
the young gentleman was not of the sort to think much about teaching and
educating the boy, the study of botany and natural history seemed to
come naturally, books of travels interested them both, and Wyn got more
knowledge than he was aware of. Edgar was scrupulously careful not to
interfere with the boy's church-going and Sunday school, so that he did
well enough, and had a very happy life into the bargain. The garden in
which he stood was arranged according to Mr Edgar's special fancies,
and contained many more or less successful attempts to domesticate wild
flowers, and Wyn was noticing the not very flourishing condition of a
purple vetch when Mr Edgar came out from the open window of his
sitting-room, and, leaning on his servant's arm, walked slowly to a long
folding-chair at the end of the terrace, on which he lay down, then,
spying Wyn, called him up at once.
"Ha, Wyn, so you've got the puppy? Miss Geraldine will be out directly.
What a jolly little chap he is! Put him down on my knee. No--no, sir,
you don't eat the newspaper! Anything else new, Wyn?"
"Yes, sir, the wild duck's eggs are hatched, and there are seven of them
on the lower pond. Should you like to go and see them, sir?"
"Yes, I should. Get the pony round in half an hour. It's a lovely
day."
As he spoke a tall girl of about fourteen, in a blue linen frock made
sailor fashion and a sailor hat stuck on the back of her long dark hair,
came running up the broad walk in the middle of the garden, sprang up
the shallow steps that led to the terrace with one bound, and pounced on
the puppy.
"Oh! what a little darling! What a perfect pet! Oh, how jolly of you
to get him for me, Edgar! I'll teach him to walk on his hind legs and
to die--and to bark when I ask him if he loves me--"
"Have you got Miss Hardman's leave to keep him?" said her brother.
"No, not yet. I thought I'd put him in the cupboard in my room, and
introduce him gradually."
"He'll howl continually, Miss Geraldine, if you shut him up," said Wyn.
"Nonsense," said Edgar; "go and ask her if you may have him as a present
from me."
"Oh, must I? It would be such fun to have him in a secret chamber, and
visit him at night and save the schoolroom tea for him as if he was a
Jacobite," said Geraldine.
"More fun for you than for the puppy, I should say," said Edgar.
"Well, I think a secret prisoner would be delightful--like the `Pigeon
Pie.' Edgar, didn't you ever read the `Pigeon Pie'?"
"No," said Edgar, "I haven't had that pleasure."
"Please, ma'am," said Wyn with a smile, "I have. My sister Bessie
brought it me out of her school library."
"I'm sure," said Geraldine, "it's a very nice book for you to read, Wyn.
But what shall I call the puppy?"
"Please, ma'am, we calls them Wriggle and Wruggle."
"Rigoletto?" suggested Edgar.
"No," said Geraldine, "it ought to be Star or Sunshine, or something
like that, for I'm sure he'll be a light in a dark place. I know--
Apollo. I shall call him Apollo. Well, I'll take him and fall on my
knees to Miss Hardman, and beg her and pray her. And oh, Edgar! it's
holidays--mayn't I come back and go with you to see the creatures?"
Edgar nodded, and Geraldine flew off, but was stopped in her career by
her cousin James, who came out of the house as she passed, and detained
her to shake hands and look at the puppy. He came up to Edgar's chair
as Wyn went off to fetch the pony.
"Good morning, Edgar," he said; "pretty well to-day? I see you are
teaching Geraldine to be as fond of pets as you are yourself."
"Poor little girl! she has a dull life," said Edgar. "I wish she had
more companions."
"She is beginning to grow up."
"She is. She ought soon to be brought more forward, I suppose. But we
never see anyone, or do anything. I don't see much of Geraldine--
often--and she is kept very tight at her lessons."
"It's dull for you, too," said his cousin compassionately.
"Oh, I don't care when I get out and about a bit."
"My uncle doesn't look well, I think?"
"Doesn't he?" said Edgar quickly. "Ah, I haven't much opportunity of
judging."
There was a touch of bitterness in his voice, and a look that was not
quite pleasant in the bright hazel eyes, that were usually wonderfully
cheery, considering how much their owner had to suffer, and keen as a
hawk's into the bargain.
"I say, Edgar," said James Cunningham, sitting down on the wall near
him, and speaking low, "people do get into the way of going on and
taking things for granted. It's a long time since the subject was
mentioned, but do you really think my uncle doesn't know where poor
Alwyn is?"
"I don't know," said Edgar, flushing. "I've no reason to think he
does."
"It has always seemed to me," said James, with some hesitation, "that if
not, some one ought to find out."
"Do you think I should rest without knowing if I could help it?" said
Edgar, starting up so suddenly, that the pain of the movement forced him
to drop back again on his cushions and go on speaking with difficulty.
"I did ask my father once, and he forbade me to mention him again.
Don't talk of him."
James Cunningham was silenced. The situation was an awkward one. The
estate had always gone in the male line, and he would have liked to know
what had become of the next heir, after whom only a life as fragile as
Edgar's stood between himself and the great estates of Ashcroft. He did
not even know how deep in the eyes of father and brother was the
disgrace that rested on the exile. But Edgar did not look approachable,
and any attempt at further conversation was checked by the appearance of
Mr Cunningham himself, a tall, pale, grey-haired gentleman, with dark
eyes and long features, like his son and daughter.
He spoke to Edgar, rather distantly, but with a careful inquiry after
his health, and Edgar answered shortly, and with a manner that was
remarkably repellent of any sympathy his father might be inclined to
offer. Geraldine came rushing back with Apollo clasped tenderly in her
arms, but she stopped and walked demurely down the terrace at sight of
her father.
"Miss Hardman says I may have him, Edgar," she said, "if I don't let him
distract my attention at lesson-time."
"That's all right then," said Edgar, "and here is Wyn with the pony, so
we had better come and see the wild duck."
The servant came out, Edgar was helped into the pony chair, on which
rather pitiful process Mr Cunningham turned his back and walked away,
discussing the morning news with his nephew; and presently they started
off, Wyn leading the pony along the broad walk with Geraldine and Apollo
frisking beside it. They turned down a shrubbery, stopping at intervals
to admire the gold and silver pheasants, the doves and pigeons, and rare
varieties of foreign poultry, which all had their separate
establishments in what Geraldine called the Zoological Gardens. Wyn
hunted them into sight, fed them, and discussed their growth, plumage,
and general well-being; while Geraldine smothered the puppy in the
carriage rug to keep him from frightening them with his barking and
yapping.
Then they came out into an open space, where the pea-hens had their
nursery--several of the ordinary coloured sort, and one rarer white one,
whose two little white chicks were watched with much anxiety; while, to
Geraldine's delight, the great white peacock himself appeared with his
wide tail, with its faintly marked eyes like shadows in the whiteness,
spread in the sun.
Then round towards the back of the farm-buildings, where, in a little
square court, lived a yellow French fox, tied up with a long chain--a
savage and unhappy little beast, which "might as well have been back in
France for all the pleasure he gave himself or anyone else," as
Geraldine said.
"Who's to take him?" said Edgar. "He was funny when he was a little
cub. Being tied up isn't soothing to the temper."
A family of hedgehogs, fenced round into their own little domain, amused
Geraldine mightily, as she watched the smallest curl himself up into a
ball at the approach of Apollo, who thought him a delightful plaything
till the prickles touched his tender tan nose, and he fled howling.
There was no time to-day to visit all the varieties of poultry, and the
horses were in another direction, and formed another object for Edgar's
drives; for though he could never mount one of them, the love of
horseflesh was in his nature, and he liked to have them led out for his
inspection, and had always plenty to say about their condition and
management. To-day the little party crossed over the open turf of the
park to a large pond, where Edgar cultivated varieties of aquatic birds.
He was very proud of the black swans and the beautiful Muscovy ducks,
the teal and the widgeon, which he had induced to breed among the reeds,
rushes, and tangled grass that clothed its banks. Geraldine stood at
the pony's head, while Wyn plunged into the rushes, waded and scrambled
till he had driven the little flock of tiny dark ducklings into his
master's range of vision.
Edgar was pleased; but his attention was less free than usual, and
presently he said abruptly to Wyn:
"So you've got a cousin come to stay with you?"
"Yes, sir. Mother's got her to see what she's made of, and get her
suited with a place."
"What's her name? Where does she come from?"
"Florence Whittaker--leastways, she says it's Maud Florence Nellie,
which is a many names, sir, for one girl, don't you think?"
"Will she come to the Sunday school?" asked Geraldine.
"I don't know, ma'am. Shall I say as you desire her to come, Miss
Geraldine?"
"Yes, do. There are never any new girls in Ashcroft. She isn't too
old, is she?"
"She's only going in her fifteen, ma'am, but she's very big."
"Oh, well, Bessie Lee and Grace Elton are sixteen, quite. Yes, tell her
to come."
"Thank you, ma'am, I will," said Wyn. "Do you want to go home, sir?"
"Yes, I'm tired this morning. Go straight back. I don't want to go
round the wood."
He fell into silence. Geraldine played with her puppy, and Wyn trudged
cheerily at the pony's head, thinking of an expedition he wanted to
propose some day when Mr Edgar was very well and fresh, and there was
no one to interfere with them. Mr Edgar had been so weak all the
spring, and had had so many headaches and fits of palpitation--once he
had even fainted after an attempt to walk a few steps farther than
usual--so that he and Wyn had not been trusted to make long excursions
alone together.
But now that he was better again, and the weather was so fine, Wyn
longed to take Dobbles to a certain spot recently laid open to his
approach. He had been thoroughly imbued with his young master's tastes,
knew the haunts of every bird and beast in the wood, every hollow in the
old ash-trees where owls or squirrels could nest and haunt. He watched
the growth of all the wild flowers, and at the autumn cottage show
intended to win the first prize for a collection of them--a new idea in
Ashcroft which had been recently suggested by a lady whose husband, Sir
Philip Carleton, had just taken Ravenshurst for the shooting.