"Now, kiddie, let me take you home, will you? Give the stepmother a fair
show, anyhow."
Charling reflected. She was very tired. She stroked Harry's hand
absently, and after a while said--
"I will if you will."
"Will what?"
"Go back and give your chap a fair show."
And now the boy reflected.
"Done," he said suddenly. "After all, what's sauce for the goose is
sauce for the gander. Come on."
He stood up and held out his hand. This was about the time when the cook
packed her box and went off, leaving it to be sent after her. Public
opinion in the servants' hall was too strong to be longer faced.
The shadows of the trees lay black and level across the pastures when
the two children reached the lodge gates. A floral arch was above the
gate, and wreaths of flowers and flags made the avenue gay. Charling had
grown very tired, and Harry had carried her on his back for the last
mile or two--resting often, because Charling was a strong, healthy
child, and, as he phrased it, "no slouch of a weight."
Now they paused at the gate of the lodge.
"This is my house," said Charling. "They've put all these things up for
_her_, I suppose. If you'll write down your address I'll give you mine,
and we can write and tell each other what _they_ are like afterwards.
I've got a bit of chalk somewhere."
She fumbled in the dusty confusion of her little pocket while Harry
found the envelope of his sister's letter and tore it in two. Then, one
on each side of the lodge gate-post, the children wrote, slowly and
carefully, for some moments. Presently they exchanged papers, and each
read the words written by the other. Then suddenly both turned very red.
"But this is _my_ address," said she. "The Grange, Falconbridge."
"It's where my sister's gone to live, anyhow," said he.
"Then--then--"
Conviction forced itself first on the boy.
"What a duffer I've been! It's _him_ she's married."
"Your sister?"
"Yes. Are you _sure_ your father's a good sort?"
"How dare you ask!" said Charling. "It's your sister I want to know
about."
"She's the dearest old darling!" he cried. "Oh! kiddie, come along; run
for all you're worth, and perhaps we can get in the back way, and get
tidied up before they come, and they need never know."
He held out his hand; Charling caught at it, and together they raced up
the avenue. But getting in the back way was impossible, for Murchison
met them full on the terrace, and Charling ran straight into his arms.
There should have been scolding and punishment, no doubt, but Charling
found none.
And, now, who so sleek and demure as the runaways, he in Eton jacket and
she in spotless white muslin, when the carriage drew up in front of the
hall, amid the cheers of the tenants and the bowing of the orderly,
marshalled servants?
And then a lady, pretty as a princess in a fairy tale, with eyes as blue
as Harry's, was hugging him and Charling both at once; while a man, whom
Harry at once owned to _be_ a man, stood looking at the group with
grave, kind eyes.
"We'll never, never tell," whispered the boy. The servants had been
sworn to secrecy by Murchison.