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This item is lilmed at the reduction r«iio checked below / Ce document est tilmi au laux dt reduction Indiqui ci-destout. lOx l-Jx lex 22x 26x ^30x 12x 16x 20x 24x 28x 32x Th« copy filmed hare h69 been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: L'exemplaire filmA fut reproduit grace ou're here. He used to just pelt nie back again with leaves. But now he's trying to pretend he's grown up, because he goes to college and wears a collar so high that it nearly chokes him." "You little wretch!" Jack muttered under his breath. "I'll pay you back for this somehow or another!" Dick Dalton laughed aloud, as he lay on the grass looking up at the sky, and Marjorie, unrelenting, sang on: "Jack and Jill went up the UO To fetch a pail of water ; Jack Ml down and broke his crown. And JiU cane tmnbUng afierl" Marjorie broke off with a laugh, as she cried out: "Oh, wouldn't I love to see Jack tumbling down a hill. He's so mighty dignified and cca- ceited." All the children were laughing by this time, even Mary Lewis, who was what is generally described as a "sweet girl" and hated to hurt any one's feelings. "And you are a rude, a cstable child!" cried Jack, losing his temper completely. "You ought to have your ears boxed and be sent off to bed." 12 Mavfair. "Softly, Jack," said Dick, turning his head and looking up lazily at his chum. "I can't stand that, you know. I won't have you talking that way to my cousin." "You won't, eh?" roared Jack. "Well, stand up and let me thrash you as I can't thrash her." "I'll fight you any time you like," responded Dick sternly, "but not before girls." "Fight?" exclaimed Marie Lewis in distress. "Oh, surely, you wouldn't do that." "Oh, certainly not before you!" answered Jack. "I beg your pardon— I quite forgot myself." He took off his hat and bowed to her with his best college air. But Marjorie's sharp eyes saw ' from the tree-top the look Jack gave Dick and that which Dick returned, and heard the whisper: "After supper!" She promptly came down horn her perch, slim and dainty in her blue chambray frock, and walked straight up to Jack. "I was very rude and provoking," she said, hold- ing out her hand, "but I was only in fun and you mustn't be angry!" Jack's anger was very swift and sudden, but it never lasted. Marjorie had hurt his vanity by her ill-timed jests before these town-bred girls. Yet he Maypair. 13 was easily appeased, the more especially that he was already sorry for having got into a quarrel with his best friend, Dick, and with an uncertain prospect of results, too. For though Jack was no mean fighter and had plenty of pluck, Dick was noted for his strong arm and matchless coolness. "Oh, I suppose it's all right, Marjorie," he an- swered in an exaggerated tone of patronage ; 'Idds will be kids, but remember after this that children should be seen and not heard." "You are really a ridiculous boy," Marjorie ex- claimed, eyeing him critically, "but you hear, Dick, we've made it up. I take back all I sai^ about Jack's being nimble and a dandy and handy and falling to break his crown." There was the light of mirth in her eyes as she made the apologj"^ and added, speaking for her late opponent: "And Jack takes back, of course, all the rude things he said to me." "I suppose I must," Jack conceded; "and I havv, no quarrel with you, Dick," "That's all .ight, old fellow," responded Dick heartily, "and I'm glad of it There's always enough shindies with other chaps to keep one's hands in." "I wonder why boys are always wanting to Mayfah. fight," observed Marie, with her little, affected voice which she used on occasions. ''Why do puppies try to bark and dudes to swim?" answered Marjorie; "it's their nature; they don't seem happy without fighting and probably it does them good, once in a while." Marie opened her blue eyes very wide. "You surely are not in earnest," she cried. "Oh, you shocking child!" "Does that shock you?" Marjorie inquired. "I can't help it even if it does. I think some boys would grow into great big bullies if there weren't other boys to keep them in order. We couldn't do it, you know." "I should hope not!" exclaimed Marie, looking at the boys for sympathy, out of her large, light- blue eyes, but Dick was chasing a stray cat and Jade lodced gloomily abstracted. He was not sure that he had come well out of the affair. The thi-ee others were busy with their ball. "Girls are ever so much nicer than boys," Mar- jorie dedared; "I'm just as glad I've no brothers. Cousin Dick isn't so bad as soi.ie, but still he's not nearly so nice as if he were a girl." Florence Lewis, who had not the china-doll pret- tiness of her sister, but was of a sociable disposition Mayvais. and destined to become a great favorite with the Mayfair boys and girls before the tummer was over, answered prcmiptly in her cheerful fashion: "Boys have their good points, Marj lowing out an idea which had come to him when Hornby Hall. 27 he perceived the contrast between the aDpard of the two girls and was, moreover, aware that Mary saw and felt it. At last he spoke: "To prove that Mary Pemberton is not a prisoner, as many of you charitable country folk have conjectured, and that Hornby Hall is not precisely a jail, whatever you may believe to the contrary, Mary Pemberton shall accept whatever invitation you may see fit to extend to her." Mrs. Morton was silent a moment from sheer amazement, while the old man, leaning back in his cnair, toyed with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses suspended around his neck by a black ribbon, and regarded her sarcastically. Meanwhile Marjorie had entered into conversation with the strange child. "Do you go to school ?" she asked. Mary Pemberton shook her head. "No," she replied, and there was a wistful tone in her voice. This girl, she reflected, who had come in from the outer brightness attired like some bril- liantly colored bird she had seen flitting about the garden, had beai to school and had played all her life with other children. "But how — ^how do you lairn lessons, then?" Marjorie asked. 28 Hornby Hall. "Mrs. Miles teaches me." "Oh, you have a governess!" Marjorie ex- claimed, and Mary did not undeceive her, though that title could scarce have been applied to the woman in question. "Well, it would be nice in some ways learning at home, but I think after all school is more fun." "I don't know," responded Mary Pembcrton vaguely, and her eyes sought the ground. "Mary Pemberton lias not experienced the joys you speak of, Miss Chatterbox," observed the old man, suddenly addressing Marjorie. She felt or fancied she felt a curious, pricking sensation, as if a snake had stung her, while her eyes were so at- tracted to the ha d old face that she felt they could never be withdrawn again. Marjorie had not known he was listening to her conversation with Mary. His attention had been apparently engrossed by what her mother was saying. But Mr. Pember- ton possessed the faculty of being able to heai two or three conversations at the same time. "She is therefore quite unlike your modern young person," the grandfather went on, "and I am afraid will not prove very amusing to a young lady of fashion like yourself." "Marjorie a young lady of fashion!" Mrs. Mor- Hornby Hall. 29 ton cried, with a laugh which sounded unnatural in th:i' gloomy room, "oh, you should see her climb- ing a tree or running a race with her cousin." "Ah !" said the old man, "I am afraid Mary Pem- berton will be left still farther behind in those achievements. She has not been permitted any such unfeminine performances. She has been ac- customed to measure her steps at Hornby Hall, to obey without question, to abstain from unseemly amusements, and in general to order herself by the laws that prevail here. The breaking of a law brings swift punishment and Mary has learned that the way of the transgressor is hard." He laughed the same mirthless laugh and looked at Mary, who sat motionless with eyes cast down, as though by any sudden movement or by an un- guarded glance she might make herself amenable to those unwritten, but ever present laws. "When can she come?" Mrs. Morton asked shortly. Her old dislike for the man was rising within her so strong that she could no longer dissemble. "I perceive that I have lost nothing of my old at- traction for you, my dear Lucy Watson," laughed Mr. Pemberton, '"but in answer to yovu- inquiry I may say that the c^e will permit the maiden to cs- 30 Hornby Hall. cape as early as to-morrow, which is, I believe, Saturday; and to prove how completely he has relaxed his grip, you may keep her, if you are so minded, for a week." Mrs. Morton could hardly believe her ears and Marjorie was delighted at the idea of a new com- panion, even though she was one so different from ordinary girls. So she whispered to Mary, quite gleefully, and almost as if the old man were not there: "Oh, won't it be nice to have you come to our house for a whole week. I have such a lot of things to show you !" Mary seemed dazed and did not answer. Ivir Pemberton, touching the spring again by addressing her, caused the girl to face liim, mechanically "Do you hear, Mary Pemberton ?" he said. "You are to bid Mrs. Miles get you ready for to-morrow. You will go from here at four o'clock in the after- noon and remain till that day week at precisely th same hour. See that you are not a minute late, do you hear? I will wait for you with my watch in my hand." Mary Pemberton only bent her head, but all present knew that the words were engraven on her mind, to be obeyed with the utmost exactitude. Hornby Hall. 31 "Don't speak to me on the subject, and don't let nie see your face aj;ain till you come back," com- manded Mr. Pemberton. "Shake hands with the visitors and go instantly to Mrs, Miles." She did as directed, gliding at once from the room after giving her hand to each of the guests. They were now standing up to go and Mr. Pem- berton gave Mrs. Morton two icy fingertips. "You will, I know, relax all discipline," he said, "and put into the girl's mind sentiment and the sense of color, which are mis hievotis. They are brjiished from Hornby Hall, with other pernicious things which deceive and blind the , Dung especially to the actual barrenness and drearinen of life. But I am not afraid to make the experiment. The discipline of Hornby will soon pluck up all such weeds. Mrs. Miles can be trusted for that." He laughed again, that laugh which was not good lo hear. "I myself do not interfere. I neither punish nor reward. I never praise and but seldom condemn. But I am convinced that Mary Pemberton will better understand what discipline means when she has been for a sufficient time surrounded by color and senti- ment. The young are best taught by contrasts.*' Mrs. Morton looked at him with a feeling of I 32 HOBKBY HaXX. deadly repulsion, as though he were some adder which crossed her path. This visit, this holiday, then, was to serve as a new species of torment, a wholesome discipline. Still, even a wedc would be scmiething, an oasis in a desert life. "I dnire her to grow up in a certain groove," Mr. Pemberton said, noticing and appraising at its full value Mrs. Morton's glance, which gratified him, as an acknowledgment of power. "She will, then, be free, I fancy, from vicissitudes, free from certain tendencies to pleasure and excitement, to gay apparel and ch'^erful company, which have mocked some lives v ithin these very walls. She will expect little of life and get, of cuui^e, i.otiiinj; " For one brief instant a feeling akin to pity entered into Mrs. Morton's mind. There was a suggestion of pathos, of the sad shipwreck which had befallen this man of commanding gifts, and almost a note nf explanation or of self-justification. But his icy words of farewell and the chill of his personality seemed to follow the mother and daughter out into the warm air full of life and colored sweetness. "I am afraid of him!" Marjorie murmured, as she clung close to her mother in the carriage. "He is like one of those dreadful old men in fairy-tales, and di, poor, poor Mary." Hornby Hall. 33 The h::-'"s to which it gave rise; and so had the widow McBain, a Scotchwoman, who sold needles and thread and other small wares in a very small shop which was a local headquarters for gossip; and William McTeague, the general dealer, and Maurice Burke, the carpenter, and Jim Waller, the cobbler. They formed a coterie of oldest inhabitants, and meeting, though not at May- fair, they recalled every old story, whether true or false, which had been in circulation during a score or more of years. Marjorie, however, had her audience, consisting of her own particular little set : the Lewis girls and Dolly Martin, who was Marjorie's chum at school and walked back and 'orth with her during ten calendar months of the year. Dolly was a plain, freckled, tall girl, in marked contrast to ^/etty Marie Lewis, but she was very clever at her studies and, because of unfailing good humor, a general favorite. There was also a thin, dark-{ale- yard and removed from the back of the carriage a large valise. Then the old coachman solemnly touched his hat and drove his lumbering van out the gate, leaving Mary bewildered at the foot of the steps. She stood still and looked about her — 48 The Coming of Mary Pemberton. looked at the flowers in the beds, and the broad, open field on the opposite side of the road, which served as a meeting-place for the small circle of boys and girls who were almost daily associates. They called the place Mayfair, for some unknown reason, and in Mayfair a certain number were even then assembled to watch this marvelous arrival. Mary at length drew a deep breath as one long shut up in a dungeon might have done when restored to the light of day. Then she turned to Marjorie and spoke the strangest and yet the most natural words: "I don't think I can ever go back there!" "What will you do?" inquired Marjorie, awe- stricken but sympathetic. "They will come to get you." A frightened look passed over Mary's face, as she said wearily : "It is no use my saying I won't go back, for, of course, I shall be forced to go." "You might hide somewhere," suggested Mar- jorie, doubtfully. "Mrs. Miles would find me anywhere," declared Mary, turning still paler, as if the search had al- ready begun. "Who is Mrs. Miles?" Marjorie asked, breath- The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 49 lessly. She remembered how the old man had uttered that name. "Ah, she is — " began Mary, checking herself ab- ruptly with a shudder. "Perhaps she will hear even here." Marjoric looked around her uneasily. It was quite like living in a story-bode with evil enchanters or wicked fairies. Decidedly this strange girl had brought a new and mysterious at- mosphere into Marjorie's happy but somewhat prosaic life. At that moment Mrs. Morton ap- peared upon the teps. "Welcome, ^* ry, welcome, my dear, for your dead mother's sv.zt and for your own." As she kissed her, she added: "Forget all your troubles for this one week, at least. Try not to remember that you have any." "But after that?" inquired Mary, fixing a pair of solemn eyes upon Mrs. Morton. "After that, who knows? Something may happen," cried Marjorie ; "don't let us lose a minute of your time here. I have so much to show you and all the girls and boys want to know you and we're going to do all sorts of jolly things while you stay." Marjorie was rather breathless from talking so 50 The Coming of Mary Pemberton. last, but she held Mary's hand in hers and led her tip to a pretty room, next to Marjorie's own. It had pink and vvhite curtains, a chiffonier of the same colors, a long mirror in a bright frame, half a dozen pictures, and an atmosphere of brightness such as Mary had never breathed. She looked about her with much the same bewildered air as she had worn on alighting from the carriage. Her face twitched as if from pain, and the tears forced themselves frOTi her eyes and fell down her chedcs to her ugly, dingy ^frock. "We will never let you go back !" cried Marjoric impulsively. "You can just let Mr. Pemberton keep his old money and everything and if Mrs. Miles comes here — well, I'll get the boys to throw stones at her." This was an awful threat but it made Mary laugh in the midst of her tears. "You don't know Mrs. Miles!" she cried. A young maid came in to open the valise, which Jerry had brought up, and to know if there was anything else she could do. Pleasant bright faces everywhere. The gloom and darkness and dreari- ness all gone, and color, gay, bright color all around. Marjorie left Mary for a little while to give her an opportunity to change her clothes, bid- The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 51 ding her come down to the front steps just as soon as she was ready. Mary's sallow face grew red as she turned over her dingy frocks. She had not even so much as a ribbon with which to brighten them up. And yet she was only a girl, with a girl's natural love of pretty things. The feeling had b^n to awaken within her the moment she had stepped out of the Pemberton carriage, in sight of the gay-colored flower beds. She sighed as she brushed out her long hair, which was glossy and abundant. She never thought of Ltting it fall loose about her, after the fashion of Marjorie's. She braided it up very tightly, as Mrs. Miles had instructed her to do, drawing it back from the temples. The eyes that looked out of the pale face were soft brown, like those of the picture, with yellow lights in them. The mouth was large and the nose somewhat out of proportion, defects which were also visible in the portrait. Having completed her toilet, Mary went slowly downstairs. She paused on the broad landing to stare out from the cheerful window, shaded by bright-hued curtains and giving view upon a lovely garden, so unlike that dreary spot which the girl had known by that name. On the staircase walls hung pictures, before each of which Mary paused. 52 The Coming of Mary Pembertoh. Everything here was a revelation to her. At last she reached the outer steps, where Marjorie sat impatiently waiting. "Oh, ist that you, Mary, at last?" she cried. "Come and sit down a minute till wc decide what we shall do first" Mary seated herself beside Marjorie, but it did not take her very long to decide what she would prefer to do. "I would like to go into the garden," she said, "if it's all the same to you." This decision came partly from force of habit, for almost the only pleasure in the girl's dull life, hitherto, had been her daily walks in that dreary patch of ground dignified by the name of garden at Hornby Hall. But it also came from the glimpses which Mary had had from the stair win- dow of delightful paths, winding amongst glowing masses of variegated color, which had made the Mortons' garden seem like some enchanted region. "We'll go there first," cried Marjorie, "and, then, I want you to see my pony. You may ride him some day, if you're not afraid ; and the rabbits and the new piggies in the farmyard behind the stables, and my own big dog, Nero. He's just splendid." The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 53 Talking thus, Marjorie reached the garden gate and presently the two found themselves amongst the glories of rose-laden bushes, pink and white and yellow and deep crimson. Carnations were there in clustering masses, and tulips made rich spots of color, while lilies of the valley, hyacinths, heliotrope, and sweet pea, vied with each other in perfuming the atmosphere. A garden, indeed, is a wonderful place even to the ordinary observer, but to this child it was as a new Eden, the dawn- ing of a new world. **Pick as many flowers as you like,** Marjorie exclaimed, "for the gardener says it's better for the btishes." "Pick them?" echoed Mary in amazonait "Do you mean thi-t I can pluck them off the bushes?** She had not thought it possible to so much as touch one of these radiant objects. At Hornby it had been a crime to pick so much as a leaf from a tree. Once Mrs. Miles had come up suddenly be- hind the girl and had bent her fingers backward till she screamed with pain, for the simple offence of touching the soft, green leaves of a young tree. The tree had shot up unaccountably, as is some- times the case, and had seemed to thrive in the un- promising soil. Mary had loved it as if it were 54 Th« Coming of Mary Pembi»tok. a living thing. But after that occurrence Mrs. Miles caused the tree to be uprooted, and the tender green of the leaves met the tired eyes no more. "I think I will take one of these," Mary ventured, pointing to a dark red rose with heart of fire. The vivid coloring charmed her. "Take a lot, as many as you like!" cried Mar- jorie. "And wait, I'm going to fasten a bunch of them in your frock. They will look so well against the brown." Mary blushed, partly with mortification at the plain appearance of her dress, partly with pleasure at Marjorie's idea, and she readily submitted to be decorated by her new friend with some of the choicest of the red roses. "I would like to let down your :i'»ir," went on Marjorie, emboldened Sy the success of her first experiment; "oh, may I, please? it is such a pretty color. It will show so much better if I shake it out loose." Mary drew back, at first, in terror. What if Mrs. Miles should see her with loosened hair and roses at her throat? But she remembered presently that it was scarcely possible for Mrs. Miles to see her in the Mortons' garden, and she gave a sigh of relief. The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 55 "You are free here and can do as you please," urged Marjorie. Mary hesitated for only another minute; then she sat down upon a garden bench and let Marjorie unfasten her hair. Down it came rippling and shimmering over the brown frock, amid many exclamations of delight from Marjorie. "Oh, you are such a dear, and you do lo<^ so pretty now," cried the impulsive girl. "Pretty, oh, no!" objected Mary. "Yes, you do look pretty, doesn't she, papa?" repeated Marjorie, appealing suddenly to a man who just then came toward the two girls. Mary started to her feet in terror, while the man stood looking. She had not yet got over the habit of being terrified. "Eh, what?" said the newcomer, advancing neai-er. ".What did you say, Marjorie, and who is this?" Before Marjorie could say a word he answered his ©wn question. "Bless my soul, I need not ask. Come and j^ivc me a kiss, Mary ; your mother was my dearest cousin." "Cousin!" cried Marjorie, astonished; "I never, never knew Mary was a relation of ours." "Yes, she is," declared Mr. Morton, "and, egad, how the years do pass. I saw you a toddling 56 The Coming of Mary Temberton. infant and now you are just Bessie over again, eyes and hair and all." He mentally added : "Only not so pretty." For Bessie, though no beauty in reality, had been beautiful in the eyes of her boy cousin, who had dearly loved her. "And you have come to make a long stay, I hope." "Just a week, sir," Mary answered. Though not shy, she was more timid with Mr. Morton than with either Marjorie or her mother. "A week, and then to go back to Hornby?" Mr, Morton exclaimed. "We must see if we can not get a c(»nmutation of sentence." He laughed and presently added: "We must really turn the week into a month, if any magic can do it. Meanwhile, Marjorie, take good care of my little cousin. Let her have all the amusement she wants, and, of course, she must have some pocket-money." Mary blushed. She had never handled a penny in her life. "Old men like your grandfather forget they were ever young," went on Mr. Morton, "but I know what it is to be left short of funds. So, my dear, you'll have to let Cousin Harry play fairy god- father, or he won't be pleased at all." The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 57 So saying, Mr. Morton todc from his podwt a couple of bills and forced them into the girl's hami. "You may want them in some of the frolics which Marjorie is going to get up," he dbaerved; "money always helps along the fun." He stood thoughtfully a moment with his hands in his pockets, then suddenly roused himself from the reverie to say: "I remember, as if it were yesterday, when your grandmother, dear old soul, tipped me when I went to spend my Christmas at Hornby. Dear me ! Dear me!" As Mr. Mortem spoke, the sdfsame thing happened as before in the room upstairs. The big tears streamed down Mary's cheeks, falling upon her dull frock. "What, you don't mind, I hope!" cried Mr. Morton, in consternation. "And you will keep the bills?" "Oh, no, I don't mind," cried Mary; "it isn't that at all. I will keep the money, because I know you want me to do that and I will be happy for this week, at least." "That's right," said Mr. Mortor, a little uneasy at this outburst, "and I'm to be your banker if you want any girl's fixings." 58 The Coming of Mary Pemberton. As Mr. Morton passed on, Mary stood fingering the bills and smiling softly after the retreating figure: "You ought to be very happy, living with people like that," she said to Marjorie. "So I am," agreed Marjorie, "except when I get cross sometimes and imagine that the world's all upside down." CHAPTER V. MARY IS INTKOOUCED TO MAYFAXE. THERE was intense curiosity amongst the May- fair boys and girh, as they called themselves, to see the new arrival. Any one from Hornby was a novelty not to be ignored and Ironton. like other villages, was ever on the lookout for anything new. So that many of the folk who made up its popu- lation found they had business in the direction of the Morton house that evening and passed there in groups, keeping sharp eyes open for a glimpse of the girl who had been kept ^ many years a virtual prisoiwr at Hornby. Why, even the ticket- of-leave man who had passed through the village a few days bei^. '- was not a greater curiosity, ani every boy had managed to interview him and every girl had peeped at him fr<»n secure places, irhile 59 , 6o Mary is IntkoduoMI to Matvah. their elders had stare, curioosly at the puor wretch. Popular sentiment being thus arotised in that rustic corner of the w€H*ld, it is little wondc that the frequenters of Mayfa'r, which was the priv. e pr vuitcd. Jack and Die, . who were older and hamers. i / reis ir-n ^ ail ihe o 1 tales, some of thetn '.lood-cun' ini,' and of r irse, man^ false, whicii were told < f iii iby Hall. So that it was as well the sun was shining and the birds singing on that lovely d iiemoon of Mary' coming, or there would have been shivers an* shakes amongst the s^rls, and possibly sonv th boys would have run home a little mor it y than usually and declimd to linger in uit spots. "I guess Jaci and I v re pretty th- ; igiiiy scared one night when wc \ve^ arou. ' here." honest Di < declared, w-ind 4 iij .1 thr. ui nar- rative: "1 tell yuu, we cut .ut and ran for 1 Masy is Iwt«ooucid to Mayfaol 6i Hut T • lour^v 'yny< were never afruiJ," put in ;.inc LcA'is . Ay, "I thought it was only girls." Not all girls " '-orrectcd Dick. "Marjorie is plucky as any boy It \v(Md be pretty hard to fric ten I but I gu-ss t cn she would be afraid at i lornby.' "It wasn i exac hai ve were afraid," . ck expla red : "it ' rt nervous feeling 'h, t came o u^ old okery. There's , ! > of ibout the platv Some say it's ha f »^ .h«u there was a murder corns itted A r cried Marie Lewis. "How -er- 'v '\n ui!" "Hu 'lispered Dick, "they're coming Ja er .yes turned upon the two just g furth frwn the Mortons* gate. ^ ow; asity overcame his desire still further to tere and terrify the city girl beside him. For er SHiart clothes and young lady airs appealed to more than to any other boy in Ironton. He jr< nis feet with his con.i i^nions, who were all ed now. All eyes were turned upon the sal . faoe and slender fieure of Mary Pemberton. "Not so bad-looking after all," Dick whispered. 62 Mary is Introduced to Mayfair. The crimson roses and the excitement had given color to the dark face and the eyes were glowing, too, with the influence of the new, happy life around her. "She lodes somewhat different frwn what I ex- pected," replied Jade in the same low voiw, "and from — ^the rest of the girls," He spoke slowly, meditatively, and Mary Pem- berton having drawn near caught the boy's gaze fixed upon her. She did not smile, but regarded h»m gravely and silently. Her eyes travelled from him to Dicky Dalton, who felt a sudden chivalrous pity for the poor maiden escaped for this brief holi- day from the ogre. She next fixed her glance of quiet scrutiny upon Hugh Graham, who flushed uncomfortably imder it, and upon the three other boys, who stood leaning over one another's shoul- ders to get a good look at her. Marjorie, leading her forward, introduced her first to the girls, who all greeted her effusively, offering her a seat amongst them on the bench and holding her hand, each in turn, while warm-hearted Dollie Martin put an arm about her. Then it came the turn of the boys to be severally presented to her. She again observed them with a gaze of deliberate ob- servation. Then she turned to Marjorie, with a Mary is Introduced to Mayfahl 63 laugh which was low and tremulous, for lat^ter was new to her though she had inherited fran her mother a keen sense of humor. "I never saw a boy before," she remarked, "and they certainly are odd-looking!" The boys looked at one another uncomfortably. Even Jack was disconcerted and the others shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. It was so singular, this being inspected by a creature who had never seen a boy before. "You,' she said, addressing Jack, "are quite tall, almost a man." This speech ticklea Dick so much that he nearly choked in trying not to laugh alond. He regained his composure only by a mighty effort which left him red in the face. "I wonder," Mary said next, with the same calm air of one desiring information, "why boys should wear anything so very tight and high around tfieir necks. It must be very unccnnfortable, especially in hot weather." Her remark was directed with special reference to Jack, who looked wrathfully around, and seeing Dick convulsed with laughter managed to give him a kick. Marjorie clapped her hands in delight and laughed outright 64 Mary is Introduced to Mayfair. "Oh, Mary!" she cried, "Jack is awfully proud of his high collar; he thinks it makes him a man." "Do you ?" inquired Mary, fixing her grave eyes steadily upon Jack. She had no thought of turning him into ridicule, and when the boy's keen glance had told him that such was the case, he answered her with the air of jiood-humored patronage he always used to girls: "Marjorie will always have her jcAst. You mustn't mind her. She's such a kid." "A kid?" Mary repeated, looking around help- lessly at Marjorie. The boys, with the exception of Jack, were all laughing by this time and engaged in various ex- pedients to conceal the fact. They had never heard any one talk like this girl before and it struck them as so very droll that they simply could not restrain their merriment. "Mary doesn't know any slang," said Marjorie; *'I don't suppose she knows even what slang is." "I know hardly anything," said poor Mary, look- ing piteously round upon the group, and again the tears came from her eyes and rolled down her chedcs, "I have lived so differently from any one of you." Let it be set down to the credit of the Mayfair Mary is Introduced to Mayfaik. 65 boys and girls that the smiles vanislwd from thdr faces. Every boy present was, moreover, ready from that moment to be her champion and, as they expressed it, "to punch any fellow's head that h" 1 a word to say against her." "Never mind, Mary," spoke out Dick, "we can soon tell you whatever you want to know and we're all going to have a jolly time together this week, anyway." Mary's face brightened. "Everything here is lovely and I know I shall like every one of you," she said, more impulsively than one would have supposed she could have spoken. "If only you knew what it is to see the world for the first time." This was a view of the case which had not be- fore presented itself, and scnne of those present began to r^rd Mary with a new interest, not untinged with envy. It is to be regretted, too, that Miss Marie Lewis was omscious of a slight resent- ment at being thrust into the badcground, whereas she had for some weeks enjoyed the proud position of a new arrival fresh from the city, dressed in lov-'y clothes, and 1 very pretty little girl besides, the most correct boarding-school manners, it is rather nice to feel as though you saw I, .1 III 66 Mary is Introduced to Mayfair. everything for the first time," remarked Dollie Martin, who sat close beside Mary and already felt very kindly toward her. "You see most of us are rather tired of everything about Ironton." "But, imagine, I had never seen a girl till Marjorie came the other day. And I do think they are so nice, much prettier than boys." She said this in a low voice, not meant for the boys' ears, but gleeful Marjorie at once announced it aloud with a flourish of trumpets. The boys were, however, very tolerant about it and Mary did not sink at all in their good graces because of her preference for girls. "If only I hadn't to go back!" Mary said with a sudden pang at the recollection that all this pleasant warmth and light and cheerful companionship would soon disappear as i! by magic "Boys," cried Marjorie, "if only we could invent a plan to keep Mary here always." "Oh, look here, you," said Jade, "you'll get into trouble. They've the law and Miss Pemberton's natural guardians." "Unnatural, you mean!" exclaimed impetuous Marjorie. "Hush!" whispered Dollie Martin, for she saw a flush rising to Mary's cheek. Masy is Introduced to Mayfaik. 67 "Of course/' went on Mary, **what I mean is it's very lonely at the Hall, with only my grand- father, who is old, and there is Mrs. Miles — " She had spoken with a curious dignity which sat so well upon this grave young girl with the air of unusual distinction about her, even in her plain and homely garb, v'lich dwarfed Marie Lewis' pretti- ness into insignificance and made even Marjorie seem hoydenish and unformed. But when she came to the name of Mrs. Miles she stopped, grow- ing pale and casting a troubled lode about her. "Who is Mrs. Miles? Oh, do tell us about her?" cried Ihe girls, while the boys likewise drew near, with an expressive movement of eager interest "Oh, she's just Mrs. Miles. No ont could describe her. She's hateful and terrible. She sees everythmg, even in the night I bdieve she is like a cat and can see in the dark. She hears the smallest sound and comts creeping, creeping, catch- ing you wh«i you least expect it and hurting you in whatever way she can." The children listened with fascinated interest, their eyes growing rounder and wider. It was like some tale of witches that had charmed or terrified their childhood. Though Mary thus discoursed freely of Mrs. Miles, she felt an odd and newly 68 Mary is Inteoduced to Mayfair, awakened sense of loyalty, which impelled her to say nothing against her grandfather, who terrified her indeed almost as much as did this formidable woman and was the power behind Mrs. Miles, in- spiring her acts or, at least, sanctioning them. "I wish you all could see her and hear her speak and feel her bony fingers catching you, when you don't even know she's near," went on Mary. "I just wish we could catch her!" cried Hugh Graham, speaking out suddenly, his fair face aglow with indignation. "I should just like to come up behind her when she had seized y "That would be jolly," said Dick; "I should like to see her forced to dance a witch's dance." "Or ducked in a horse pond, as they used to do with witches," added Jack. "Oh, wouldn't it be fun!" cried the others. But Marjorie here made a diversion. *'l don't think it's good for you, Mary, to be thinking so much of that awful wcmian," she said. "It would be far better to play while you are here and enjoy every moment of the time. Let's pUy Hide and Sedc." "Yes, and make believe Mrs. Miles is after each one of us," suggested Luke Morris. "It wouWn't be much fun if she were," said Ned Mary is Introduced to Maypair. 69 .Wallace, "but it will give a creepy feeling to the game." "I know I shall shriek if any one catches 1 Marie Lewis declared ; "I shall fancy it is she. ' "Let two or three of us hide together," Dolly said ; "then we can't get nervous. There, Dick hat to find the rest of us. Come on, Maryf* The girls acted upon Dolly's suggestion, two or three of them grouping together in the various places of hiding they selected and where Dick found them all in good season and came upon them with a terrific whoop to represent Mrs. Miles. So that all the girls did shriek lustily, exceptMary, who was accustomed to the very useful habit of self-repression. Jack did not join in the game. He thought it undignified and that he was getting too big for such frolics. He took a book out of his pocket and began ostentatiously lo read, but in spite of himself his eager eyes would follow every move- ment of that jovial game in which he had been wont to join with gusto. And so came Mary's first visit to Mayfair to an end, leaving her much exhilarated by the air and exercise and the society of tiiose of her own age. "I love Mayfair," she said; "I think it is so nkc for you all to have this big f^ce to run in." 70 Mary is Introduced to Mayfair. "Mother says we're all getting to be too Wg for those games, and that very soon we'll have to be quite staid and dignified," Marjorie confided to her new friend. "Won't it be tiresome?" "Indeed it will," agreed Mary heartily; "I know what that is, because I always have to be as quiet as if I were an old woman." CHAPTER VI. MR. AND MRS. MORTON RECALL THE PAST. NOW while Mary was being introduced to her young fnends in Mayfair, Mr. Morton tat smoking upon tiie veranda. His wife was near, enjoying the beauty of the summer's evenhig and smiling now and then at tiie sounds of merriment which readied her from the field opposite. As they sat thus tiidr talk turned naturally upon Mary. "There never was a child more to be pitied!" Mrs. Morton declared emphatically. "I guess you're about right there, Lucy," assented Mr. Morton ; "old Pemberton always did make my flesh creep, even as long ago as my college days. ' And yet he was very different then from what he IS now. Mr. Morton, becoming reminiscent, blew out a cloud of smoke, tmder cover of whidi he let his thOHg^Vi wander back to ^e days when he had 7« 72 Mr. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past. been a fresh-cheeked, fair-haired youth, coming out of college for his vacation. Now he was stout and middle-aged, his fresh cheeks had become florid and his hair had a hint of gray about the temples, but he liked to recall the past, as, indeed, all the world does. "Harry," asked his wife, after the pause had lenghtened as such pauses do between members of the same family, "do you believe these stories that are told?" ''Well," said Mr. Morton, "I can't say that I be- lieve ail of them. In a coimtry place like this there is stare to be exaggeration. But some of them we know to be true and we can guess at others.*' He dropped his voice and looked about him cautiously as he spoke. "Of course," said Mrs. Morton, "if we hadn't known some of them to be true, there would never have been a break between the families. For instance, we know or suspect how Bessie was treated after her husband's death and how fiercely bitter Mr. Pemberton was against her." "Poor Bessie!" Henry Morton murmured, knocking the ashes off his cigar. From the field beyond came the babel of merry voices, which broke upon the summer dusk, with the mbably have been dc-tr<}yf-(\ even if Phil ever made it." "I am sure he made it," Mrs. Mortor. persisted, "his look and one were -olemn, an 1 do n^t think it has been desi.f y.u. Fo even if the g-andfather is as bad as people say, he would be afraid that the original of such . document might be preserved in some law ofiice and turn up un- expectedly at any time to cause a scandal. He 76 Mr. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past. would more likely content himself with hiding it away, saying that its existence had been unsuspected till it was called for." "Well reasoned out, little woman," said Harry idmiringly, "but it doesn't make things much better for Mary or for us." "Harry, I believe that will might be discovered by diligent search." "But who is to search? Fancy any one invading Hornby and looking for anything in the teeth of old Pemberton and that Argus-eyed old witch he keeps to do detective duty." "Stili," said Mrs. Morton, "it seems very dread- ful to think of this child's going back to that house. My visit there the other day only confirmed the fearful impressions I had carried away on that night long ago. I felt that we should not have left Bessie's child there all these years without even an effort to protect, to befriend her. Oh, I can't talk of it, Harry. I can't sit still and think of it I am full of self-reproach." Mr. Morton looked grave. "My dear," he said, "you are unjust to yourself and to me. It was a very delicate matter to inter- fere in. Then we were abroad for some time. You were ill after that, and even now I fail to see what Mr. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past. 77 we can do. Old Pembcrton is not to be thwarted and he has the legal advantage on his side." "Harry," whispered the wife, bending toward her husband so that her voice could reach him alone, "I do not think he would if all were known." Harry looked startled. "Lucy," he cried, "do you mean — ? But that is impossible. Think of the scandal, the publicity. My, the Pembertons and the Mortons would be a nine days' wonder in Ironton and far beyond. There is talk enough already." "But have we the right to sacrifice this child to any idea of that sort?" Mrs. Morton inquired. Mr. Mcrton pushed back his chair, with a move- ment of impatience. "What are you driving at, Lucy?" he said. **You women are so reckless of consequences, and this diild has cotm to no harm so far. llie old man can't live forever. By your own showing, he looked the other day as if he couldn't hang on much longer, and then I will be Mary's guardian and all will come right without any raking up of dead ashes." Mrs. Morton sighed, saying presently in a subdued tone, for Harry, like other men. had his moments when it is not safe to venture too far in argument : 78 Mr. and Mks. Morton Recall thx Past. "Could you not hold out some threat which would make him give Mary up?" Harry Morton laughed scornfully. "Threats, indeed. I thought you knew old Pem- berton better than that. And besides, where are the witnesses, that woman who used to be about there — I forget her name — ^not Miles, but the other?" "Hester Primrose," suggested Mrs. Morton. "Well, she's gone and so is the Irishman, who used to work in the garden. He was a fine fellow and I never believed the trumped-up charge against him." "Poor Malachy O'Rourke! I remember him well," exclaimed Mrs. Morton — "a cheerful fellow, full of kindliness and good will, with a song always on his lips. How different everything was in those days!" There was a long pause; then Mrs. Morton spdce, slowly and deliberately. She was a brave and resolute little woman, but she knew that her husband was of the easy-goincr and very practical stamp. So she hesitated to put her idea into words. "If that will is non-existent, or if there is no hope of gcttinjx it — " '^lic hetjan. "Weil, what then?" iiujuirt^d Ikt hn-ihand, !""!. ing at her with an indulgent smile. He had a high Mr. AND Mbs. M<»ton Recall thb Past. 79 opinion of her qualities, menta} and moral. She was so honest, so full of sterling rectitude and of faith, so exact in her religious duties, hence a model wife and mother, training up Madge in htr own footsteps. "I should be in favor of keeping the child here," she said firmly, "and of letting Mr. Pembertcm take what steps he will." "Lucy!" cried Mr. Morton agha^, " yoa know you would never do that!" "I know that I can not allow that child to go back and be subjected, as I fear she has been, to ill usage or, at all events, to dreariness unspeak- able and the terrors of that dreadful Hall. Now that I know her, the eyes so like Bessie's would haunt me, and we are morally certain that both her father and mother wished her to be with us." Mr. Morton whistled, a long, ast against this bugaboo Mrs. Miles," said the father, con- fidently. "So don't worry, little girl. As I said, if all goes well we shall have our celebration, with Mafy Pembcrtoj gfuest of honor." With this Mai rie had to be content, and giving her father a parting hug, she ran off to join her friends, followed with great bounds by Nero, who barked his appreciation of the fun and leaped the garden fence as if to have his share in the game. CHAPTER X. THE LONG BARN. NOW Mr. Morton, to prevent all anxiety on the part of parents, had telephoned to each of the boys' respective households that he was taking the lads with him on a certain expedition and that if they were delayed after the usual hour of return- ing there was no cause for anxiety. He was a little fearful of the responsibility he was taking, but he felt that the cause was a good one, justify- ing some risk, and that there was scarcely a chance of any harm coming to the devoted little band. The terrors which they should have to face and which gave zest to the undertaking would be chiefly those of the imagination. The night appointed for the proposed expedition was as dark as the most romantic lover of ad- venture could have desired. There was no moon 114 The Long Barn. "5 and the stars, faint in the haze of heat, gave little light. The air was still and sultry, as if somewhere a storm might be lurking, and flashes of sheet light- ning occasionally lit up the heavens. The boys set out, resolute and brave, all intensely in earnest, though they had no idea that anything of conse- quence was at stake. A stout stick was provided for each one of the party, and these, with a couple of dark lanterns and a rope which Mr. Morton fancied might bt useful, constituted the equipment. They met, with much secrecy, under the trees in Mayfair, talking in whispers and feeling generally as if they belonged to some desperate association and were setting out upon an expedition of awful import. Mr. Morton gave the word to move: "Are all here?" he asked, in a cautious whisper. "Steady then, lads, and away. Keep close together, talk little, and be prepared to obey orders.'* There was a delicious thrill in the breast of every boy, as they all plunged into the darkness, Jack and Dick walking ahead with Mr. Morton, whiie Hugh and the elder Wallace followed close upon tiieir steps and Luke and George Wallace brought up the rear. "Isn't it prime?" whispered Luke. "Mr. Morton's a brick." ii6 The Long Barn. "You bet !" answered Med Wallace sententiously. "I wonder where we're going!" "To Hornby Hall," promptly answered Hugh Graham. "Not to the house!" chorused the three others with some awe. "No, I think net/' admitted Hugh; "I wonder what we're going to do?" "We're going to a mighty creepy place, any- way!" Ned Wallace declared, with a note of exal- tation iu his voice. "Have any of you fellows been there after nightfall?" It transpired that they all had been there, taking observations from various points. "I'm not funking, nor anything of that sort," went on Ned, "but I'm glad we're not going into the house." "I don't know," Hugh said, "I almost wish we were. It would be so exciting." For this shy lad had a bold and daring spirit which would stop at nothirf^. "Oh, it will be excitini; enough, aH right, when we get there," Ned predicted with confidence. "Mr. Morton's lantern and slouched hat make him look like a burglar," whispered George Wal- lace to Luke Morris. The Long Barn. 117 Luke giggled. "I know we're going in somewhere or we wouldn't need lanterns," observed Hugh Graham. "Into some outhouse, I guess," said Ned Wal- lace, with faint uneasiness. Ned was no coward, but he did not want to run too great a risk. As the party neared its destination, all conversa- tion ceased and the boys pushed on after their leader in a silence which was full of excitement. The air grew cooler somewhat as they proceeded, and along Jie way they were met by the odors of many gardens and the scent of blossoming trees. Suddenly, at a turn of the road, Hornby Hall came into sight, standing far back amongst the trees, white and cold and ghostly in the tmcertain light. The band of adventurers stood still a moment, and after that their movent jnts became more cautious and furtive. They did not proceed up the avenue with its stiff rows of poplars, but struck into a stubble-field which flanked it. They had now to advance slowly and with the greatest care, for the ground was uneven and there were many pitfalls and snares for the footsteps of the unwary. They reached a point presently where they had a rear view of the house, the stables and outhouses, and the high-walled garden. iiS The Long Barn. Here they stopped and took observations, each boy with bated breath and beating heart. Every- thing lay ghastly white and still. Not a point of light anywhere, not the slightest movement. Had Hornby Hall been deserted, it could not have been more fearfully quiet. "So far so goodl" said Mr. Morton. "And now, my lads, over that hedge, and if the courtyard gate be open our path is clear. If not, we will have to make a considerable detour to reach the long bam." "The long barn!" the boys simultaneously ex- claimed in a whisper which despite them was tremulous. "I can take you there with absolute certainty if we are not discovered. I know every inch of the ground. I spent my holidays at the Hall when I was a boy at college." The boys looked at him as if this circumstance gave him a new and strange interest "And now, soft and still. I will get over yonder hedge first to see if the gate is open. If I wave my lantern, you will all follow at once, and then comes the greatest point of danger. Inside the gate there is a passage, rather narrow, leading past some of the side windows of the house to the courtyard. The Long Bakn. 119 We have to pass through that, with the fear of Argus eyes being upon us or our movements over- heard by ears trained to catch the slightest soimd. So, soft and still. Hold your very breath !" Mr. Morton vaulted lightly over the hedge and instantly waved his unlit lantern. The gate st'~jd open, a gaunt shape in the darkness, and through it they passed, with a feeling in the breast of every boy that he was going to his doom. For the shadow of the house was upon them, that house of mystery and horror, and it was so near, so appallingly near. The windows seemed to look down on them like frowning, sullen faces. There was the thrill of a forlorn hope in their veins as they followed Mr. Morton, with cautious, creeping footsteps, through that narrow passage, feeling each moment as if a hand might be outstretched to catch them or a harsh voice sound in their ears. At last they reached the courtyard, where, at least, there was breadth and they could avoid close contact with the house. Mr. Morton breathed more freely. The Argus eyes, he thought, must be closed in a deeper sleep than normal. Still he did not relax his vigilance. The one who might be watching them was cunning and would give no sign. The party passed through the courtyard, however, sciil I2C The Long Barn. undisturbed by sound or sight. Presently there was the outline of a long, low building, remote from all the other outbuildings. "That is the long bam!" announced Mr. Morton, "and we have come to search the long barn." There was something delightful and mysterious in the idea of a search, implying possible strange discoveries and hidden treasures. "Keep close now!" commanded Mr. Morton, "and follow me! The long barn might chance to have a tenant." His face looked grim as he said those words and he grasped the rope more tightly in his left hand. "A tenant!" he repeated, having before his mind's eyes the one who might be there. To the boys the idea suggested was one of nameless horror. It might be any one or any thing, they thought, with shivers of the old creepiness which had alwajrs come over them in their expeditions to Hornby Hall. The atmosphere seemed suddenly to have a chi?1 ' ■ it, unwholesome, fetid, as from a swamp. M.. Mor- ton paused to listen. All was still. He lifted the latch, while the boys could almost hear the beating of their own hearts, fearful of w -at might be dis- closed on opening the door. Even their grown-up leader felt that it would be, to say the least, un- The Long Basn. 121 comfortable should he find himself confronted by the face of Mrs. Miles. Mary had said that she often visited this place by night. Still, he had in his mind the plan of action to be adopted in such an emergency. When he actually opened the door, the place was dark and silent. No ray of light came out into the night, only the smell of hay and flying particles of grain or dust stirred by the sudden entrance of the air. Mr. Morton hastily stepped across the threshold, signaling for the boys to follow him. Wiien the door was closed again, he cautiously lit one of the lanterns and took a hasty survey of the big, empty bam, with its bare walls, its dusty floor, and the roof overhead, gloomy and impenetrable, wrapped in darkness. "We must place a couple of sentries outside," Mr, Morton said; "it would never do to let our- selves be approached unawares." For Mr. Morton reckoned all the time upon Mrs. Miles, being desperately cunning, and knew that she might have been observing their movements for some time and might, consequently, play them a trick. "Who will volunteer for sentry duty ?" he asked. Now, this was a very hard part of the service, for 122 The Long Barm. the curiosity of all the boys was at fever heat zsA they burned to explore this mysterious long bam, the very name of which was ominous, just as its interior was sinister and forbidding. Moreover, it was not the plcasantest thing in the world to be stationed outside in that chill, unnatural atmo- sphere, with the chance of being discovered by one of those dreaded shapes which they vaguely believed to belong to Hornby Hall. After a moment's silence, Hugh Graham, who had the spirit of a hero in him, stepped forward. "If it is necessary, sir, I will do it," he declared, simply. "Thank you, Hugh," Mr. Morton said, with a grateful glance at the boy's resolute face. "I know it is hard on you not to be in at the death, when we have, so to say, run the fox to earth. But, be- lieve me, you shall know and see whatever we may discover as soon as that is possible. You will take the end of the bam near the house and one of t'. ;se other lads will take the other. You are the tallest and strongest, Luke Morris, apart from Jack and Dick, whom I require in the bam." Luke reluctantly consented to take up a post at the other end of the barn, and followed Hugh out into the chill of the night. The Long Barn. 123 The landscape looked more dreaiy than ever. There was no smell of flowers or of blossoming trees to sweeten the air. The wind had freshened into gusts which sent eddies of dust into the boys* faces. "I hope they won't be long in there,'' observed Luke to his fellow watcher. "I feel as if I'd like to cut and run." "A soldier can't desert his post," declared Hugh, stoutly, "and we're soldiers for the time being. I don't feel a bit like running. I feel like fighting and as if I would be rather glad if some one should come along that a fellow might tackle." "Don't I" cried Luke. "There isn't any one round here that could be tackled," and he looked around him in the darkness as if he fancied that si^ a wish as his