"We'll ask him."
That afternoon Sheila Pat was ready first.
"Nell, may I go and ask Tommy?"
"All right, only don't dawdle."
Sheila Pat trotted off.
Mrs. Barclay hesitated; she looked worried.
"Please may he come?" Sheila Pat repeated.
"I should like him to go, dear, but--but--" Suddenly she bent down and
kissed the serious little face passionately. "Be good to him, Sheila
Pat! He isn't strong--he has a good deal to bear. Sometimes he gets
into a bad temper, because he can't be quite like other boys. To-day he
won't speak. He hasn't spoken since breakfast."
"Please may I go up to him?"
"Yes, dear. He is in the schoolroom."
She turned and walked staidly out into the hall, and opened the
schoolroom door.
Stewart was huddled up in the window doing nothing.
"Good mornin'," she said.
He took no notice.
She tiptoed across the room, an oddly worried look on her small face.
"Tommy, will you come to see the horse guards with us?" she almost
whispered.
He stared out of the window.
"Denis is comin', too. And we're goin' on an omnibus, and you and me
will get front seats, and--and it's very windy," the soft little voice
went patiently on, enumerating all the delights of the expedition. "Do
come, Tommy, won't you?"
He drummed on the window pane with thin little fingers.
"I 'spect our hats will blow right off, and the horses and soljers are
grand, and--and p'raps it will rain, too--and--and--and Mrs. Barclay
says she would like you to go--"
Suddenly he turned on her, the brilliant colour leaping to his cheeks.
"_You_!" he cried stormily. "_You_! Why don't you sneer at me? Why
don't you call me names? _You_!"
A little puzzled frown settled on her brows.
"I--don't--know why I don't," she said slowly.
"Go away! Go now! Go _at once_!" and before she could move he had
burst into a perfect storm of tears. Sheila Pat backed across the room
till she reached the opposite wall, and stood staring, wide eyed, at the
shaking little figure in the window, at the fair head prone on the
outstretched, despairing arms.
Presently he raised his head.
"Why don't you go, you hateful, beastly little pryer? Why don't you?
Oh, I don't mean it," he added wildly, "only--you--you'll despise
me--more'n ever--" His voice dropped dejectedly. He began fumbling
vainly for his handkerchief. Sheila Pat produced a clean folded one of
her own, and came across the room and handed it to him. "You'd better
go--they'll be waiting for you won't they?"
"Please come, too, Tommy."
He turned wondering eyes on her.
"Look here, I--I'm going to tell you! It was a beastly boy--I went to
post a letter for mother this morning, and he--" his face flushed
scarlet, "he imitated me--he pertended to be lame like me, and I--I
tried to go for him, but he just ran, you see--and he--laughed--"
Sheila Pat's face quivered. There was a little silence.
"And--and he made me feel--wild--"
"Please, Tommy, don't talk about that boy," her voice shook, "please
don't."
He stared moodily out of the window again. She stood by, a queer little
motherly look on her serious face.
"Will you come now, Tommy?"
A loud rat-a-tat-tat-tat-_tat_ echoed through the house.
"That's them!" exclaimed the Atom, with ungrammatical excitement.
"Oh, Tommy, please be quick!"
A minute later they ran down to the hall, where they found Denis
declaring he wouldn't wait any longer.
Stewart gave his mother a shy little nod, and they started.
*CHAPTER XVII*
Nell hardly paused to breathe. Standing before her easel, the easel
dragged into the window, the curtains tugged back, she worked away with
a rapid brush.
"Mr. Lancaster, missansir!" Sarah announced with an air.
"Oh, how are you? Do you mind waiting a minute?" She did not even
glance round.
Silence reigned.
Then she flung down her brush with a sigh, stepped back and into Ted
Lancaster's arms.
"Oh!" She gave a little laugh and turned round. "I've been rude,
haven't I? But I did so want to catch that bit of grudging daylight.
Denis is out with the others. He got off early to-day."
"Yes, I know. I thought I'd catch him. I wanted to ask him if he'd
come round this evening."
She held out painty fingers.
"I can't even shake hands! And why did you stand there all the time?"
"I've been watching you."
"I hope you found it interesting."
"I did. I like the little dabs you do with your brush on the front of
your pinafore up at the right-hand side."
She laughed.
"I make myself very painty."
He was studying her painting earnestly.
"It's just a study of an old white horse a milkman--a friend of Sheila
Pat's--has. I spent the morning in his stable. He's invalided home on
account of a lame leg. I was just putting a few finishing touches from
memory."
"He's splendid."
"He was a glorious model--but difficult. There's any amount of drawing
in him. I'm going again to-morrow, only you see, if Aunt Kezia were to
find out, I feel sure she'd forbid me, and--well, I suppose there would
be ructions then, because she'd forbid me to go, and I'm going to finish
him down to the last hair on his tail. I know she'll catch me. I walk
out, canvas and easel, paint-box and all, as bold as Larry Hoolahan
himself. Only Aunt Kezia's worse than any shape the fairies ever took!"
"Who's the gentleman?"
"Oh, he was a piper who was afraid of nothing." She picked up her brush
again, and worked a little on the head. "He wasn't afraid even of the
fairies, and actually won the good-will of the chief of them on
Knocksheogonna."
"Would you mind saying it again?" he suggested.
She smiled.
"It means 'the Hill of the Fairy Calf.' I'm spoiling this," she put
down her palette and brush. "I'll show you my rendering of some of the
shapes the fairy took to scare the poor herdsmen away. They resented
cattle being herded on their ground, you see."
She started rummaging in a big old untidy portfolio. She handed him a
sheet of paper covered with rough sketches in water colour.
"By Jove, that Hooligan must have had a good nerve to stand those."
"You're not to call him that. I like him. That's where she turned
herself into a man with a lame leg and a bull's head, with flames
playing all round it. There she's a big horse, with eagle's wings and a
dragon's tail, with fire coming out of her mouth."
"This beats them all, I think!"
"Oh, yes, she's a huge ape with a turkey's tail and duck's feet, there."
"I don't need explanations, thanks," he observed with dignified
politeness.
"No? What is that, then?"
She pointed to a sketch.
He studied it earnestly.
"Er--it's a conglomeration--boots--" he paused, reddened, "and a
collar."
She laughed.
"It's meant for a salmon with a cravat round its neck, and a pair of
top-boots, only I can't draw a salmon to save my life!"
He looked injured.
"I knew what all the rest were!"
She took the sheet from him. He moved towards the door.
"Will you give O'Brien my message?"
"You're not going! Please put up with me till the others come in. I'll
just go and wash my hands. Sit down."
She came back presently, gave a piece of coal a poke with her foot, sat
down, looked into the red heart of the fire, then across at him.
"Do you really like a motor better than a horse?" she said.
He stared at her, astonished.
"A motor--better than a horse? Great Scott, no! What made you ask?"
"Well, you drive about in a motor."
"Oh, yes, the governor has a ripping car. And for getting about the
country--real long trips, you know--they're splendid. But of course,
they don't come under the same heading as horses at all."
"I've been hoarding that up against you," she declared frankly.
"Have you?" He looked amused. "It seems so queer to me--I never look
upon them in the same light at all."
"Motors are horrid things."
"I don't think so."
"The dust--the smell--"
"Don't affect you when you're in one."
"But they affect other people."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"They're real selfish things!" he laughed. "When you're motoring, you
don't care a hang for that sort of thing. You just go tearing
along--monarch of all you survey."
"And--dogs?"
He smiled. "I've never run over one yet, unless they die like martyrs
without a groan."
"Well, they may be _useful_," she conceded. "But the feeling can't be
anything like the glory of a gallop--a canter--"
"No, it isn't. Nothing can come anywhere near a decent mount, and a
good stretch of country before you."
They fell silent for a while.
Nell, furtively studying him, as he sat forward in his chair looking
into the fire, broke out at last.
"Mr. Lancaster, you've no business to look so--so pale--so done up!"
He flushed.
"Do I? Overwork, perhaps."