THE BEGINNING OF THE FRAY
"THAT'S a silly old hat you've got on!"
The little girl to whom this rude remark was addressed looked at the
speaker for a few seconds in hurt surprise before replying.
She was peering through the garden gate which opened on to the
meadow, wherein the children at The Gables had been wont to play, in
undisturbed enjoyment, for the past two years.
"You're a very rude boy, and you've no right in that meadow—it belongs
to us, and if you don't go away, I'll tell nurse," said the little girl
indignantly.
"You shan't call me names; if you do I'll pull your pussy's tail."
The speaker, who was Ronald Rose, eyed the little girl aggressively,
mindful of Hugh's instructions.
The kitten, which the child was clasping in her arms, suddenly took
fright at the small dog by Ronnie's side, and scrambling away from its
little mistress, it ran across the meadow as fast as its small legs
could go. Immediately the dog was in full pursuit.
[Illustration: "TAKE YOUR HORRID, WICKED OLD DOG AWAY."]
Opening the garden gate, the little girl rushed after her treasure,
with Ronnie following close on her heels.
If Ronnie had one weakness, it was a love for kittens, and all enmity
was forgotten in the common bond of protecting the helpless.
But pussy was soon in safety; with marvellous agility she scrambled
into the branches of a tall tree at the end of the meadow, and there
her little palpitating heart beat in security.
"Take your horrid, wicked old dog away, the then come and help me get
my kitty down," said e child tearfully.
Ronnie thus imperiously addressed, humbly obeyed, and in less than ten
minutes a little lad and lass were seated under the shade of the tree,
with the kitten safe in its owner's arms.
"Why did you say just now, mine was a silly old hat?" questioned the
girl, when at last she could think of something else besides her pussy.
Ronnie looked shamefaced for a moment.
"Oh! Because we're enemies, you know," he said, flushing redly.
"Enemies! How funny! I never knew before what an enemy was like! But
why are you my enemy?" she inquired.
"Oh—" Ronnie hesitated, trying to think of a sufficiently dignified
answer. "'Cause we've got to keep up the family food."
"Whatever do you mean?"
The round eyes opened their widest, as the little maid put this
question.
Then the boy, thus thrown as it were upon his last resources, sought to
explain the situation.
"We're cousins, you know, you and me," he began.
This was indeed news to the child, who had not at present even heard
the name of the next door neighbours.
"Are we 'really?'—What is your name?" she inquired.
"Ronnie Rose," was the prompt answer. "What is yours?"
"Gwennie Rose, and I'm seven years old."
"So am I," answered the boy, "and we know lots about your family,
though you've only been here two days, and Hugh says we are enemies,
and we've got to fight."
"What a wicked boy he must be!" exclaimed Gwennie.
Ronnie was up in arms in a moment. How dare the girl with the big eyes
call his brother wicked!
The kitten at this moment showed signs of wishing to make friends with
Ronnie, and as he had no desire to resist its overtures, he took the
fluffy little ball into his arms.
"You won't hurt my Fluffy, will you, Ronnie?" she asked pleadingly.
"No, I love kittens," he answered, stroking the soft fur to pussy's
supreme content. Then he proceeded, though in a more gentle tone—
"Hugh is going to fight your big brother, and Frank the younger one,
and I am to fight you."
The little girl, really alarmed, got up from her seat and was about to
run home.
"Don't run away, Gwennie, I won't hurt you. Hugh says I am not to
strike you, only just to let you know our family is as good as yours."
"As good as ours!" said Gwennie. "Oh no, I don't think so, 'cause I've
got an uncle who preaches in a church, and makes lovely sermons."
"Oh! That's nothing—my father did just the same."
"Then we're just as good as each other; so don't you think, Ronnie,—"
and here a wistful look came into the big blue eyes—"you and me might
be friends?"
Ronnie hesitated. "I should like to be," said the young traitor, "only
I kissed the book, you know."
More wonderment still shone in Gwennie's eyes. "What's that got to do
with it?" she inquired.
"I don't quite know, only that is how we all promised to fight in the
Wars of the Roses."
"I don't think," said Gwennie, slowly and reverently, "that the angels
up in Heaven would like to see us fighting."
This was a new idea to Ronnie, but he was not to be vanquished in this
way.
"Oh, I'm sure they wouldn't mind!" said he. "Why, the Israelites in
the Bible slew a thousand of their enemies with the jawbone of a
donkey." Ronnie, as will be seen, was wont to be somewhat mixed in his
statements.
"Oh, you bad, bad boy to tell such stories!" exclaimed the child,
really shocked.
"That's true, 'cause it's in my 'Line upon Line,'" said Ronnie in
perfect good faith. "I'll bring the book to-morrow afternoon, as it
will be Sunday, and show you under this tree."
The little diplomatist was not only desirous of proving his words, but
of once more meeting his foe in single combat.
"Do, then I'll believe you. But, Ronnie, do you think Jesus would like
it? I promised nurse I would always try and please Him."
There was an earnestness in her tone which touched Ronnie, and he had
no answer ready this time.
"I don't think He would, you know," continued the child, "'cause I've
got a picture of Him at home, as a little baby, and it is called, 'The
Prince of Peace.'"
At this moment the clanging of the tea-bell caused Ronnie to start.
"That's our bell ringing, I must go," he said abruptly, but Gwennie's
words had sunk into his mind, and he began to have serious doubts as to
whether the fight upon which they had entered was a righteous one after
all.
At any rate, if the Wars of the Roses must be fought, he was sincerely
glad that he was "told off" to combat Gwennie.
"Good-bye, Ronnie, don't forget to-morrow," she said, taking the kitten
from his arms.
"No, no, I'll remember," he answered confidently. Then bidding good-bye
in a friendly fashion, he ran homewards across the meadow.
Indeed he was not likely to forget his tryst, for the first battle had
been so agreeable that he quite looked forward to the next conflict.
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