The Children of Wilton Chase. Meade L. T.
handsome eyes, They sparkled with pleasure.
"Well, puss, what is it?" said Mr. Wilton.
"Only I do so wish I could come out now."
"Now? How old are you?"
"Fourteen – really, quite – "
"We'll talk about it, Ermie, when you are seventeen. Eighteen is a better age, but as your poor mother is not living, and I – I – want a companion, I – we'll see about it."
"Father, I do hate Aunt Elizabeth."
"Pooh, what harm does she do you? You mustn't have such strong likes and dislikes, Ermie. You are exactly like me. I was awfully headstrong in my time. Your aunt is an excellent woman. I wonder what I should do without her. There must be some woman at the head of a house, you know, puss."
"When I come out, you'll let me take care of your house for you, won't you, father?"
"What a chit it is."
"But won't you? Do say you will, father. I should so love to govern!"
"I daresay. Here we are quite close to the station now. Easy, Macnab, don't force the horses up this steep bit. Well, puss, what are you looking so eagerly at me for? So you'd like to govern, eh?"
"Oh, shouldn't I? Dearly, dearly! I'd send Aunt Elizabeth and Miss Nelson away."
"Indeed! A nice household I'd be likely to have."
"Father, I wish you would not laugh at me!"
Mr. Wilton's face generally wore an expression of somewhat kindly sarcasm. Now a sudden look of tenderness came into his dark eyes. He turned and looked at the handsome, restless, dissatisfied girl at his side.
"I don't want to laugh at you, Ermie," he said, "but the fact is, I don't profess to understand half-fledged creatures. If your mother were alive, all would be different. Well, child, well, I'll see what can be done when the time comes; I want you to help me, of course, when the time comes; that is, if you have the real stuff in you, if you are a true Wilton. All the women of our house are women of honor."
"Honor?" repeated Ermengarde vaguely.
"Yes. Truthful, and above-board, and brave. Marjorie is a Wilton, every inch of her. Hullo! the train is in, and there come my scamps. Well, Basil, here you are, sir – and Master Eric, too! Sorry to be home, eh? I make no doubt you are. Now, look here, you villains, you are not going to tear my place to pieces. How many more pets, I wonder?"
"Only some rabbits, gov – father, I mean," said Basil.
"That's right, Basil – you know I don't allow you to 'governor' me – I like the old-fashioned word best. So there are some rabbits, eh? How are they to get home?"
"Oh, they can go with the pigeons and the ferrets," chimed in Eric, a small boy with a freckled face, and bright ruddy-gold hair.
"Isn't the dogcart here, father?" asked Basil.
"No, you're to come home in state in the family coach. A cart ought to be somewhere round for your luggage. The beasts can go in that."
"Oh, not the ferrets," said Eric. "I think perhaps I had better walk home with the ferrets. They might eat through their basket, and get at my fantails."
"Nonsense! stow them away under this seat, and jump in, lads. Do you see Ermie? She's all in a flutter to kiss you."
"How do, Ermie?" said Eric. "Stick your legs well out in front, or the ferrets may bite 'em."
Basil didn't say anything, but he clasped Ermengarde's slim fingers in his big brown hand. Basil's squeeze signified a good deal, and Ermengarde colored up, and her heart swelled with pride and pleasure.
"Jolly weather, isn't it?" said Basil. "I say, aren't we going to have a time! How are all the others? How's Maggie? Are you going to have holidays, too, while we are having ours, Ermie?"
Ermengarde's face flushed again.
"It is unfair," she said. "I wish you'd speak to father about it, Basil. We are only to have half-holidays. Lessons all the morning, and the afternoons with you. I do call it a shame! It's Aunt Elizabeth's doing. She arranged it with Miss Nelson a week ago. I do wish, father, you'd interfere."
"My dear, I never dream of interfering with your Aunt Elizabeth. – A pretty mess I'd get into if I did [sotto voce]. – I make no doubt, Ermie, it's a very wise arrangement, and you fellows can have the mornings quite free for long expeditions or anything of that sort."
"Oh, we'll have lots of the girls in the afternoon," said Eric. "I do hope that big ferret isn't making his way out. He is a stunner, sir; why, he killed – Ermie, keep your legs away – he has teeth like razors, sir, and once he catches on, he never lets go. He'll suck you to death as likely as not. Now, what's up?"
Ermengarde started from her seat. She felt slightly frightened, and very cross.
"You bring home horrid pets, Eric," she said. "And you have no sympathy, not a bit, and you are selfish, too – "
"Oh, he's a scamp," interrupted Basil; "never mind him."
Again he stretched out his hand and took Ermengarde's.
"Tell me all about the young'uns," he said. "How are the bees? Did you make a good sale of the honey? I want to buy out my share – come close, I've a secret to whisper to you."
Ermengarde and Basil talked in low excited tones to one another all the rest of the way home. Eric entertained his father with the exploits of his favorite ferret, and the prodigious feats of prowess performed by a certain pouter-pigeon of rare lineage. Mr. Wilton laughed and encouraged the boy's chatter. The whole party were in high spirits when they drew up at the lodge gates.
CHAPTER II.
SHARK
"Hullo, here's Marjorie!" exclaimed Eric. He vaulted out of the carriage, and flung his arms round Marjorie's little squat figure, lifting her off the ground, and squeezing her in an ecstasy of delight. "Here I am, Mag, and there are two pouters in a cage, and four new fantails – they're coming with the luggage – and I've got a lop-eared rabbit with black spots, and my ferrets – there are two of them in the carriage. Wait until you see Shark's teeth – I call him Shark, he's such a good 'un at biting. We'll have some fun these holidays; don't you make any mistake!"
"Yes, yes, of course we will! I'm delighted, Eric, delighted! Where are the ferrets? When can I see them? Oh, how are you, Basil? Have you on a tight boot to-day? Does your corn pinch you?"
"No, I've got over those small ailments," said Basil. "What a roundabout you are, Marjorie," he continued, pinching her cheek. "Now, what's the matter? You are quite frowning."
Marjorie's round good-humored freckled face wore an expression of consternation.
"I made some slippers during the term for you," she said. "They're large, and I wadded them so that they are most comfortable. But – it isn't that – the slippers are in your room, I put them there – Ermie, won't you get out?"
"No," said Ermengarde. "I'm going to drive down to the house."
Marjorie frowned more than ever.
"They are all coming up from the shore; Miss Nelson, and all of them; and they'll see the horses and they'll run. Even Miss Nelson will run, she's so fond of Basil, and – "
Mr. Wilton, who still remained in the carriage by Ermengarde's side, now interposed.
"We won't wait for the small fry," he said. "We'll drive on to the house at once. Oh, yes, Eric, you can go to meet the party from the shore of course, if you like, and Basil too."
"I'll stay with Ermie," said Basil.
He jumped into the carriage again, and they drove down the long winding avenue to the house.
Great elm trees shaded the avenue, and Basil pushed back his cap and looked up into the green. He was a dark and handsome lad, and his expression was unusually thoughtful for his years.
"How grand those old trees are!" he said. "Whenever I think of home while I'm away, I remember the old elm trees in the avenue, and