One Maid's Mischief. George Manville Fenn
Two—Chapter Twenty Four.
Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Five.
Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Six.
Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Seven.
Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Eight.
Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Nine.
Volume Three—Chapter Thirteen.
Volume Three—Chapter Fourteen.
Volume Three—Chapter Seventeen.
Volume Three—Chapter Eighteen.
Volume Three—Chapter Nineteen.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty One.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Two.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Three.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Four.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Five.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Six.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Seven.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Eight.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Nine.
Volume One—Chapter Two.
A Dangerous Visitor.
Miss Mary Rosebury left her chair at the breakfast-table and hurried out to the rose-covered porch as a heavy step was heard upon the gravel; and directly after a sturdy-looking man, with half-a-dozen leather bags slung from his shoulder, appeared at the door.
“Fine morning, miss. Two letters—three letters—four letters. ‘Stan’ard,’ ‘Gar’ner’s Chronkle,’ ‘Beekeep’s Junnel;’ that’s all, miss;” and before the little lady had had time to speak, the heavy step was receding over the gravel. “Four letters for you, Arthur. Shall I open them?”
“Please, my dear Mary,” said the Reverend Arthur, without evincing the slightest interest in the arrival of the post, for he was carefully filling up the holes in some well-made dry toast with the freshest of fresh butter.
Miss Mary Rosebury laid the letters upon the table while she fished a spectacle-case from her pocket, balanced her glasses upon her rather decided-looking nose, gave the two little bunches of curls on either side of her white forehead a shake, and opened the first letter, reading aloud:
“ ‘Messrs Spindle and Twist beg to call your attention to a very curious sherry, and’—um—um—um—um—Ah! you don’t want to lay down sherry, do you, Arthur?”
“No, my dear Mary,” said her brother; and letter number two was opened.
“ ‘Mr. Hazelton is now prepared to make advances upon personal security to the clergy, gentry—’ Bah! money-lenders!” exclaimed Miss Mary Rosebury, throwing aside the second letter. “I wish these people wouldn’t bore us with their applications. What’s this?”
As she spoke she took up a large blue official-looking envelope.
“Looks important, my dear Mary,” said the Rev. Arthur, displaying a little more interest.
“Yes,” said his sister, turning the letter over. “Oh! Arthur, suppose it means preferment at last—a vicarage somewhere.”
“I don’t think I should be very much pleased, my dear Mary. I am very happy here.”
“Oh, yes, of course we are, Arthur; but as I have often said, there does seem to be a something wanting, and—‘The directors of the New Polwheedle and Verity Friendship Tin Mining’—Oh, dear, dear, just as if we had money to throw down Cornish mines. What’s this? I don’t know this hand. There’s a crest upon the envelope, and ‘H.B.’ in the corner. Oh! it’s from Doctor Bolter.”