## The Project Gutenberg eBook of Enemies

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Title: Enemies

A tale for little lads and lasses

Author: Marian Isabel Hurrell

Release date: February 13, 2025 [eBook #75364]

Language: English

Original publication: London: S. W. Partridge and Co, 1902

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75364

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENEMIES ***

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

"I HATE GRANDFATHER WITH ALL MY HEART!"

# E N E M I E S

A TALE FOR LITTLE LADS AND LASSES

BY

MARIAN ISABEL HURRELL

AUTHOR OF

"CECILY MORDAUNT," "A THREE-FOLD PROMISE," ETC.

"But I say unto you, Love your enemies . . . that ye may be the
children of your Father which is in heaven."

LONDON

S. W. PARTRIDGE AND CO.

8 & 9, PATERNOSTER ROW

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. HUGH'S WRATH

II. A COUNCIL OF WAR

III. UNCLE MATTHEW'S GENEROSITY

IV. THE BEGINNING OF THE FRAY

V. THE HOUSE OF YORK

VI. SCHOOL CONFLICTS

VII. A LITTLE SOLDIER

VIII. A TERRIBLE FALL

IX. SIR MATTHEW'S PENITENCE

X. A FRIEND INDEED

XI. PEACE AT LAST

E N E M I E S

### CHAPTER I

HUGH'S WRATH

"DO you mean to say, mother, that he wouldn't see you?"

"Yes, Hugh, I was turned away like a stranger from your grandfather's door."

"Then he's a wickeder old sinner than I thought he was, and I'm ashamed of belonging to him."

"That appears to be a mutual feeling, my son; on that one point you and your grandfather evidently agree."

"He shall never have the chance of insulting you again, mother. We shall soon be big enough to work for you, and then you needn't be afraid of anything or anybody."

The lad who spoke thus impetuously looked up into his mother's face as though for her dear sake he would war with the whole world.

"Never mind, Hughie boy," she answered soothingly. "It was a long journey for nothing, but as he wouldn't answer my letters, what else could I do?

"Ah well," she added, "so long as I have my children, and health and strength to work for them, I am not afraid," but nevertheless, though the mother uttered these brave words, there was a tremor of weariness and disappointment in her voice.

She had anticipated so much from a personal interview with Sir Matthew Rose—her father-in-law—but now all her cherished hopes were dashed to the ground.

Mrs. Rose was the widow of a clergyman, and since the death of her husband, about four years previously, she had had a hard struggle to support herself and her children.

The three eldest were boys, Hugh, Frank, and Ronald by name, whose ages varied from ten to seven. The youngest was a girl named Elsie, a little maid of between five and six summers, who was the pet and plaything of them all.

The house in which they dwelt (a roomy old residence known as The Gables) was the property of Mrs. Rose, bequeathed to her by a wealthy relative shortly before her husband's death. By means of letting a portion of the house, the widow managed to eke out her income sufficiently to provide for the actual needs of herself and her children, but there was little margin left for education and additional expenses. Not that the lack of regular lessons troubled her light-hearted laddies one jot; they were well content with the home tuition they received, but not so their ambitious little mother.

For this cause she had nerved herself to make one final appeal to their grandfather for assistance, and with what result we have already seen.

Her husband, Gilbert Rose, was the eldest son of a wealthy baronet, and for many years he was the apple of his father's eye.

At length came a day when their wills clashed, and in his wrath Sir Matthew vowed he would have nothing more to do with him, and he determined to make Wilfrid, his second son, his heir.

The cause of dispute was Gilbert's choice of a bride, who in his father's eyes was neither fitted by birth nor worldly treasure to become the wife of his eldest son.

Elizabeth Gilderoy (or Lisa, as Gilbert was wont to call her) was the orphaned sister of one of his curates. She was both good and beautiful, and it was little wonder that he loved her. Their married life was exceedingly happy, but all too soon it came to a close. After a brief illness he died, leaving his wife with four young children to battle against the winds of adversity.

The blow fell upon her with crushing force, but despite her bitter grief, her faith did not falter, for she realized that though earthly props might fall, yet around her were the Everlasting Arms of Divine love and tenderness.

Hugh's affection for his mother well-nigh bordered on worship, and the idea of her being slighted or insulted was intolerable to his proud spirit.

"It's no use being angry, my boy, we must talk things over calmly," she said. "But I'm afraid now, as matters stand, there is nothing but the Board school for you all."

"Oh, mother, as if you couldn't teach us all we want to know!" answered Hugh impulsively. "Besides, we shan't want much learning for the professions we've chosen."

Hugh's pleading look brought the sudden tears to his mother's eyes, though his words made her smile.

"Well, laddie, and what are the professions to be?" she said gently.

"Oh! I'm going to be a sailor, and you don't want to go to school to be taught the ropes; and Frank and Ronnie have made up their minds to be sheep-farmers abroad, so as to make a fortune quickly; and Elsie says—" here a broad smile came over Hugh's face—"she is going to keep a sweet-shop."

Mrs. Rose laughed, but she soon grew grave again.

"Hugh dear," she said earnestly, "you are old enough now to know that an ignorant boy has no chance in the world, and at a Board school you will all three get a good education. In this matter you must put your pride in your pocket, in the same way I did when I went to The Towers."

"Oh, mother, I hate being poor," cried Hugh, "and I hate—I hate grandfather with all my heart!"

With these words Hugh left the room, and in his agitation, he nearly ran into Miss Beaumont, the lady who occupied part of The Gables, and who cherished for Hugh a sincere affection.

"Why, Hugh, what is the matter?" she asked in surprise.

"Nothing at all, Miss Beaumont, thank you," answered Hugh, seeking to make good his escape.

But the lady was not to be put off in this manner. "Come into my room," she said authoritatively, "and tell me what has upset you."

Miss Beaumont's apartments were furnished with a view both to luxury and elegance, but Hugh took little heed of his surroundings as he sat, at the lady's bidding, beside her on the sofa.

"Mother says we must go to the Board school," he burst out impetuously.

"Very sensible too of your mother, if she is unable to send you elsewhere."

Hugh flashed an indignant look upwards.

"Oh! You think it isn't good enough for you, I suppose. Well, upon consideration, perhaps, the grandchildren of Sir Matthew Rose should have other advantages. Why doesn't your mother apply to him?" inquired Miss Beaumont.

"She has, but he refused to see her, and I've a good mind to write and tell grandfather what I think of him!"

"Well, then, I won't keep you any longer," responded Miss Beaumont, with a gleam of humour in her eyes. "If you should decide to write such an important letter, I will post it for you with some of my own."

"Then I will," said Hugh with great decision.

As soon as the lad had closed the door behind him, Miss Beaumont murmured to herself, "H'm! I wonder what Matthew will say to such an epistle. He'll be a little taken aback, I think, but it won't do him any harm in the end."

After which speech she sat down to her writing-desk, and wrote several letters, one of which was addressed to Sir Matthew Rose, Bart.

At the end of half-an-hour Hugh reappeared, with a sealed letter in his hand, which he gave into her keeping.

"This is a secret, I suppose, Hugh?" she said, interrogatively.

"Yes, please, Miss Beaumont."

"Ah, I understand; this isn't the first secret we've had, is it, my boy?"

"No," said Hugh; "you are very good to us, only I wish you would let me tell mother where the presents come from."

"No, Hugh, I'd rather not; perhaps she shall know some day, but not yet."

And with this Hugh was perforce content.

### CHAPTER II

A COUNCIL OF WAR

"OH, mummie dear, somefing so inciting has happened!"

"Run away, pet; don't you see how busy we are with lessons?" and Mrs. Rose, as she said these words, shook her head reprovingly at little Elsie, who with flushed cheeks and excited eyes had bounded into the room.

"But I must tell you the news—York House is took."

She had roused her listeners at length. What were reading, writing and arithmetic compared with such interesting information?

"That isn't all," she cried delightedly, "I've somefing more to tell you—the lady's name is Rose, Mrs. Wilfrid Rose, and she comes from 'Merica."

"How strange!" ejaculated the mother, a flush of colour coming into her cheeks. "It must be your Aunt Mary and her three children."

Intense excitement prevailed in the room, and as lessons were nearly over, Mrs. Rose thought it advisable to excuse the remainder.

The house in question, which was a detached one situated next to The Gables, was a large, handsome residence, but, on account of its high rent and sundry defects, it had stood empty for more than two years.

"I suppose," said Mrs. Rose, reflectively, "you won't be allowed to play in the meadow any more, as it belongs to York House."

"Mother!" cried four indignant voices.

"Well, darlings, you see the landlord has only given you permission to make use of it while York House was untenanted."

"We don't want them to come and take away our medder," said Elsie, plaintively.

"Oh, well," said Ronnie, "I 'spect as we're all cousins, we shall play there together. That'll be fine fun."

But a troubled look came into the mother's eyes at his words.

"I don't want to disappoint you, dears," she made reply; "but I'm afraid your Aunt Mary may not care for you to be too friendly. However, we shall see. Now run and play in the meadow, and make the most of your opportunities."

Away scampered the children, and Mrs. Rose was left to her own reflections, which, to judge by her expression, were not altogether pleasing ones.

Once and once only had she met Mrs. Wilfrid, and the memory of that meeting gave her no cause for pleasure.

The two brothers, Gilbert and Wilfrid, who were married about the same time, were wide apart in many respects. Gilbert Rose had early chosen the "better part," but Wilfrid's overmastering characteristic was worldly ambition. The latter gave his father great satisfaction by his marriage with the grand-daughter of an earl, a lady who was possessed of both beauty and fortune. For a time all went well with the young couple, and by Sir Matthew's desire they took up their abode at The Towers, as the baronet's residence was named. Gilbert was forbidden to cross the threshold; and Wilfrid, to further enhance his own prospects, helped to poison his father's mind against his elder brother.

These facts came to Gilbert's knowledge, and gave him considerable pain, but nothing he could do or say had any power to counteract his brother's influence.

At length came an unlucky day for Wilfrid. The baronet, who was extremely irascible, took dire offence at some words spoken by his haughty daughter-in-law, and Wilfrid was consequently bidden to accept an influential post in America, which had just been offered him.

In less than a month, he and his wife bade good-bye to English shores, and Matthew, the third and youngest son, was named as his father's heir.

Matthew Rose was slightly deformed, but possessed withal such a bright, cheerful temperament that his physical defect had no power to sour or embitter his life.

Wilfrid Rose, after a sojourn of some ten or eleven years abroad, died suddenly of heart disease, and his widow shortly afterwards made her way to England, with her three children.

By a strange coincidence, or shall we not rather say by the overruling Hand of Providence, she took the very house next door to her despised sister-in-law. It is probable that had she been aware of it in time, not even the salubrious air of Linwell-on-Sea would have tempted her to take up her dwelling in such close proximity to Mrs. Gilbert Rose.

But the deed was done, and painters and paperhangers were set to work to make York House a habitable dwelling-place.

The day of their arrival was a most eventful one in the annals of The Gables. It was a wet afternoon, and Mrs. Rose was busy in the kitchen preparing some dainty for Miss Beaumont's late dinner. The three boys and Elsie, unable to go out and play, watched from the nursery window (which overlooked the front of the house) for the carriage to appear, for Ronnie had questioned the gardener and had thereby learnt that Mrs. Wilfrid Rose and her family were expected that same afternoon.

For a long time they watched and waited, Elsie, with her nose flattened against the window, anxious to be the first to communicate the tidings.

"Here they come!" she cried at last, and then four pairs of eyes full of intense interest peered over the blind.

Two lads of about ten and eight years of age were the first to alight from the carriage, and then a little girl stepped forth, followed by a respectable middle-aged woman, who looked like a housekeeper.

Shortly afterwards another carriage drew up, which contained Mrs. Wilfrid and a maid, who had charge of several boxes and packages.

But the children were the chief objects of interest to the four watchers at the nursery window.

"Shouldn't be surprised if we were regular enemies," said Frank; "they look as if they all thought a mighty deal of themselves."

"So they do," agreed Hugh. "I vote we show 'em we don't want their friendships. Now, I've just thought of something—we'll keep up the family feud."

"What's that?" said Ronnie. "Is it anything to do with breakfasts? 'Cause I'm getting so tired of bread and milk. We never have nice things like Miss Beaumont does."

"You are a silly, Ronnie," said Hugh, "a regular baby. Why, Elsie has more 'go' in her than you have."

Ronnie, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little lad, looked quite hurt, whilst Elsie, elated at her brother's praise, said in a chirpy voice—

"Yes, much more 'go.' I can run nearly as fast as Kitty." Kitty, by the way, was the little maid-of-all-work.

"Family feud, I said, not food," went on Hugh in an explanatory voice; "that means the same as a quarrel. The Rose family don't seem to have agreed very well in the past, so I vote we keep it up with these little jackanapes."

"The Wars of the Roses over again," said Frank, laughingly.

"That's a clever idea!" Hugh replied. "We'll just take them down a peg or two."

"The meadow 'll do for the field of Waterloo, where the Roses fought," said Ronnie vaguely, anxious to say something clever too.

"Hark at him!" cried Frank, with a roar of laughter. "Bravo, my boy! You shall have the first prize for history."

"I'll take the big chap, if he has any of his nonsense," continued Hugh; "you, Frank, can tackle the second one, and Ronnie, the girl."

"Men can't fight women," said Ronnie indignantly; "'sides, I don't want to fight."

"Then you've got to do so, and if the girl shows any of her high and mighty ways, you must stand on your dignity. I don't say you are to strike her, but just show her our family is as good as hers any day."

"I wish she was a boy," said Ronnie regretfully, slightly impressed by his brother's long speech.

"That won't matter," said Frank, in a would-be soothing tone, "you are more than half a girl yourself."

Ronnie looked so fierce for a moment that there was danger of war in the camp, but Elsie unconsciously saved the situation.

"Who am I to fight?" she cried distressfully, for she felt sadly out of it. No one appeared to have thought of Elsie joining the fray.

"You are too little for a soldier," said Hugh gently; "besides, there's nobody for you to fight. We must be equal, else it won't be fair." Then turning to his brothers, he added, "Now, boys, you must kiss the book."

"What book?" cried both lads in surprise.

"Oh! I'll soon find one; here's a Markham's history, that will do well. Now you've got to say, after me, 'I promise to fight in the Wars of the Roses, and do my duty as a brave soldier.'"

Hugh looked so serious that his brothers refrained from laughing, and little Elsie watched the scene in wonderment.

"I'm glad I'm not a soldier," she said in baby scorn. "Fancy kissing a silly old hist'ry! I'd rather kiss mummie."

"Grapes are sour, Elsie," said Frank loftily.

"They isn't. They are getting lovely and ripe, Miss Beaumont had some this morning."

No notice was taken of this speech, for Frank immediately broke in with a most important question.

"Well, what side are we going to be, York or Chichester?"

"Look here, now, Frank," said Hugh, his bright eyes gleaming with fun, "you're as bad as Ronnie. I suppose you mean Lancaster."

"Oh, well, it's all the same thing!" answered Frank hurriedly.

"Why, of course they are 'York,' 'cause of York House," said Ronnie, delighted at his own brilliance.

"Bravo, Ronnie!" cried his brothers.

At which praise he was so lifted up that he felt for the moment equal to carrying on the battle all by himself.

At this juncture the tea-bell rang, and in spirits the children scrambled downstairs to join their mother in the dining-room.

————————————

### CHAPTER III

UNCLE MATTHEW'S GENEROSITY

"HAVE you answered either of those letters yet, father?"

"No, Matthew, and I've no intention of doing so. I regard them both as highly impertinent."

The younger man sighed, but the baronet, Sir Matthew Rose, looked as cold and impregnable as a rock.

It was the close of a golden September day; the misty shadows were falling across the well-wooded park and meadow-lands which surrounded the old baronial pile known as The Towers.

"You will pardon me saying so, father, but I think you are wrong," went on Matthew fearlessly.

"That's all you know about it," answered the baronet testily.

But Matthew, heedless of his father's irritability, pursued the subject bravely.

"It is but fitting that one of Gilbert's boys should be your heir. My life, I sometimes feel, will not be a long one, and—"

"Nonsense, man, nonsense!" interrupted Sir Matthew. "I intend that The Towers shall be yours, and that after your death—and you'll make old bones yet, you mark my words! It shall descend to your son, for you must marry, Matthew."

A look of pain crossed the young man's features, which was not unnoticed by the baronet's quick eye.

"You think too much of your physical defect, you do, 'pon my word," said his father, but there was a tenderness underlying the irritation in his voice.

There was no answer to this speech, as at this moment a servant entered with the evening letters.

For a while there was silence as each perused his correspondence. Presently an exclamation of surprise burst from Sir Matthew's lips.

"Why, here's a letter from Mary! I thought she was in America!"

"Where does she write from, father?" inquired Matthew.

"Linwell—the very spot where Gilbert's wife and family have taken up their abode. That's very strange!" muttered the old man.

"'I am hoping to come and see you as soon as we are settled in our new home,'" he went on, reading the letter aloud.

"Well, I'm in no hurry," said he, ungraciously. "I had quite enough of Mrs. Wilfrid's airs and graces years ago."

"Ah well, dad, let bygones be bygones," said peace-loving Matthew; "remember she has passed through much sorrow since those days."

"Poor Wilfrid!" murmured the baronet. "Who would have thought, to look at him, that he would have been cut off in the prime of his manhood!"

Again a silence fell upon them both; this time it was broken by Matthew.

"I should like to read those two letters—Alicia Beaumont's and Hugh's—once again, if you've not destroyed them."

"No, they are in my desk; here are the keys."

Matthew, with halting gait, stepped across the room, and soon obtained possession of the letters in question. The first one which he opened ran as follows—

"DEAR GRANDFATHER,
"I am sorry you treated my mother in such a way, by turning her from your doors like a beggar. It was very cruel of you, and you will never have the chance of doing it again. She was going to ask you to help us with our education, but it doesn't matter now a bit, because we are going to the Board school. Apolergizing for troubling you with a letter,
"I am,
"Your grandson,
"HUGH."

And this was the effusion sent off by an indignant lad, and regretted ten minutes later.

"Poor little chap!" said Matthew to himself. "He has a fine spirit, but a little more education won't hurt him."

The other letter, which was penned by Miss Alicia Beaumont (who was a distant connection of the late Lady Rose), was in this wise—

"DEAR SIR MATTHEW,
"You will doubtless be surprised at hearing from me, and more especially when I tell you that for nearly three years I have been living in the same house as your son's wife, Elizabeth Rose. In fact, to put it plainly, I am her lodger, and very comfortable indeed she makes me.
"But I am not writing this letter to inform you about myself, but just to give you some idea of what kind of woman your daughter-in-law has proved herself to be. She is a good mother in every sense of the word, and is seeking to train her children in the faith and fear of God.
"I am not a religious woman myself, but her example has gone far to prove to me the reality and beauty of a consistent Christian life.
"She finds it a struggle to make both ends meet, and how she is to educate her sons fitly, and place them out in the world, passes my comprehension.
"I ask of you, for the sake of their father whom you once loved, that this neglect of your grandsons shall not continue.
"Please forgive me if I have said too much,
"Believe me,
"Yours sincerely,
"ALICIA BEAUMONT."

"Something must be done, father," said Matthew with decision, as he laid the letters down on the table beside him.

"Then you must do it, for I shall not," was the abrupt answer.

"May I reply to these letters, father?"

"You may write to Alicia, but I desire that no notice whatever be taken of the lad's impudent epistle," and with these words Sir Matthew quitted the room.

The younger man then sat down to the writing-table, and hastily wrote off an answer to Miss Beaumont's letter, which same epistle gave great pleasure to the recipient.

Her face positively beamed with gladness as she read the few lines which Matthew Rose had inscribed.

The letter was to the point, and ran thus—

"DEAR MISS BEAUMONT,
"It is my desire to undertake the education of my nephews, and—if their mother be willing—I should like them to attend the County Grammar School, which is situated a few miles from Linwell. The master there, the Rev. Dr. Willoughby, is a personal friend of mine, and one in whom I repose great confidence. Kindly inform my sister-in-law of this offer, but refrain from mentioning my name.
"Thanking you for your letter to my father, and with kind regards,
"Believe me,
"Yours very sincerely,
"MATTHEW ROSE."

Five minutes after the receipt of this epistle a brisk tapping was heard at the door of the room wherein Mrs. Rose sat, darning the week's socks and stockings. Miss Beaumont was surprised upon entering to see that the usually calm, bright woman had evidently been giving way to a few tears. Beneath her somewhat forbidding exterior, Miss Beaumont possessed a very kindly heart, as her frequent anonymous gifts to the Rose family testified.

"Are you too busy to give me a few minutes, Mrs. Rose?" she asked.

"Oh, no," answered the widow, laying aside her work. "I hope nothing is wrong," she added, for a visit from Miss Beaumont was of rare occurrence.

"Nothing whatever. I merely came in to tell you that a friend who wishes his name to remain unknown is desirous of undertaking the cost of the education of your boys at the County Grammar School."

For a moment Mrs. Rose was too overcome to answer.

"Forgive me," she said brokenly, "I did not mean to be so foolish."

"Well, I must say, my dear good woman, I don't see anything to cry about," said Miss Beaumont brusquely.

"No, no; I am only so glad and thankful. Would you believe it, I had actually thought that God had not seen fit to answer my prayers about this matter. Wasn't it foolish of me?" she asked, smiling through her tears.

Miss Beaumont made no reply; the fact was that an uncomfortable lump in her throat prevented her calm utterance at that moment.

"If I might only know who my kind friend is—" said the widow.

"You see, he doesn't wish to be known," answered Miss Beaumont decisively.

"Can it be possible that Sir Matthew has at last relented?" said Mrs. Rose reflectively.

"I can gratify your curiosity on that point—it certainly is not their grandfather."

A shade of disappointment crossed the widow's face.

"I would give much to be able to grasp the hand of my unknown friend, and say, 'God bless you.'"

As tears threatened to dim the mother's eyes once more, Miss Beaumont, who dreaded a scene, hastily bade her good-morning, and departed to her own room.

But she need not have feared. Mrs. Rose very rarely indulged in the luxury of giving way to such womanly weakness, and it was with a very light and thankful heart that she finished the remainder of her pile of work.

————————————

### CHAPTER IV

THE BEGINNING OF THE FRAY

"THAT'S a silly old hat you've got on!"

The little girl to whom this rude remark was addressed looked at the speaker for a few seconds in hurt surprise before replying.

She was peering through the garden gate which opened on to the meadow, wherein the children at The Gables had been wont to play, in undisturbed enjoyment, for the past two years.

"You're a very rude boy, and you've no right in that meadow—it belongs to us, and if you don't go away, I'll tell nurse," said the little girl indignantly.

"You shan't call me names; if you do I'll pull your pussy's tail."

The speaker, who was Ronald Rose, eyed the little girl aggressively, mindful of Hugh's instructions.

The kitten, which the child was clasping in her arms, suddenly took fright at the small dog by Ronnie's side, and scrambling away from its little mistress, it ran across the meadow as fast as its small legs could go. Immediately the dog was in full pursuit.

"TAKE YOUR HORRID, WICKED OLD DOG AWAY."

Opening the garden gate, the little girl rushed after her treasure, with Ronnie following close on her heels.

If Ronnie had one weakness, it was a love for kittens, and all enmity was forgotten in the common bond of protecting the helpless.

But pussy was soon in safety; with marvellous agility she scrambled into the branches of a tall tree at the end of the meadow, and there her little palpitating heart beat in security.

"Take your horrid, wicked old dog away, the then come and help me get my kitty down," said e child tearfully.

Ronnie thus imperiously addressed, humbly obeyed, and in less than ten minutes a little lad and lass were seated under the shade of the tree, with the kitten safe in its owner's arms.

"Why did you say just now, mine was a silly old hat?" questioned the girl, when at last she could think of something else besides her pussy.

Ronnie looked shamefaced for a moment.

"Oh! Because we're enemies, you know," he said, flushing redly.

"Enemies! How funny! I never knew before what an enemy was like! But why are you my enemy?" she inquired.

"Oh—" Ronnie hesitated, trying to think of a sufficiently dignified answer. "'Cause we've got to keep up the family food."

"Whatever do you mean?"

The round eyes opened their widest, as the little maid put this question.

Then the boy, thus thrown as it were upon his last resources, sought to explain the situation.

"We're cousins, you know, you and me," he began.

This was indeed news to the child, who had not at present even heard the name of the next door neighbours.

"Are we 'really?'—What is your name?" she inquired.

"Ronnie Rose," was the prompt answer. "What is yours?"

"Gwennie Rose, and I'm seven years old."

"So am I," answered the boy, "and we know lots about your family, though you've only been here two days, and Hugh says we are enemies, and we've got to fight."

"What a wicked boy he must be!" exclaimed Gwennie.

Ronnie was up in arms in a moment. How dare the girl with the big eyes call his brother wicked!

The kitten at this moment showed signs of wishing to make friends with Ronnie, and as he had no desire to resist its overtures, he took the fluffy little ball into his arms.

"You won't hurt my Fluffy, will you, Ronnie?" she asked pleadingly.

"No, I love kittens," he answered, stroking the soft fur to pussy's supreme content. Then he proceeded, though in a more gentle tone—

"Hugh is going to fight your big brother, and Frank the younger one, and I am to fight you."

The little girl, really alarmed, got up from her seat and was about to run home.

"Don't run away, Gwennie, I won't hurt you. Hugh says I am not to strike you, only just to let you know our family is as good as yours."

"As good as ours!" said Gwennie. "Oh no, I don't think so, 'cause I've got an uncle who preaches in a church, and makes lovely sermons."

"Oh! That's nothing—my father did just the same."

"Then we're just as good as each other; so don't you think, Ronnie,—" and here a wistful look came into the big blue eyes—"you and me might be friends?"

Ronnie hesitated. "I should like to be," said the young traitor, "only I kissed the book, you know."

More wonderment still shone in Gwennie's eyes. "What's that got to do with it?" she inquired.

"I don't quite know, only that is how we all promised to fight in the Wars of the Roses."

"I don't think," said Gwennie, slowly and reverently, "that the angels up in Heaven would like to see us fighting."

This was a new idea to Ronnie, but he was not to be vanquished in this way.

"Oh, I'm sure they wouldn't mind!" said he. "Why, the Israelites in the Bible slew a thousand of their enemies with the jawbone of a donkey." Ronnie, as will be seen, was wont to be somewhat mixed in his statements.

"Oh, you bad, bad boy to tell such stories!" exclaimed the child, really shocked.

"That's true, 'cause it's in my 'Line upon Line,'" said Ronnie in perfect good faith. "I'll bring the book to-morrow afternoon, as it will be Sunday, and show you under this tree."

The little diplomatist was not only desirous of proving his words, but of once more meeting his foe in single combat.

"Do, then I'll believe you. But, Ronnie, do you think Jesus would like it? I promised nurse I would always try and please Him."

There was an earnestness in her tone which touched Ronnie, and he had no answer ready this time.

"I don't think He would, you know," continued the child, "'cause I've got a picture of Him at home, as a little baby, and it is called, 'The Prince of Peace.'"

At this moment the clanging of the tea-bell caused Ronnie to start.

"That's our bell ringing, I must go," he said abruptly, but Gwennie's words had sunk into his mind, and he began to have serious doubts as to whether the fight upon which they had entered was a righteous one after all.

At any rate, if the Wars of the Roses must be fought, he was sincerely glad that he was "told off" to combat Gwennie.

"Good-bye, Ronnie, don't forget to-morrow," she said, taking the kitten from his arms.

"No, no, I'll remember," he answered confidently. Then bidding good-bye in a friendly fashion, he ran homewards across the meadow.

Indeed he was not likely to forget his tryst, for the first battle had been so agreeable that he quite looked forward to the next conflict.

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### CHAPTER V

THE HOUSE OF YORK

MRS. WILFRID ROSE'S face was puckered into a frown. She was an extremely handsome woman, and were it not for the look of pride and discontent in her eyes, she would have made a fair picture to look upon.

It was the breakfast-hour at York House, and the family had seated themselves at the table.

Gwennie had been giving a detailed description of her encounter with Ronald, to the amusement of her brothers and the intense vexation of her mother.

"To think that after travelling these thousands of miles, we should actually have settled down next door to these objectionable Roses," she said irritably. "Well, I suppose we must keep up a semblance of friendship for the look of the thing," she continued, "but I do beg of you children not to get too intimate."

"Don't you be afraid, mother," said the second son (Montague by name, usually called Monty); "we'll soon lick 'em into shape—Wars of the Roses indeed!"

"They must be original children," said Mrs. Rose languidly; "their idea is somewhat novel, but I The hope you will not get mixed up in any fight, Monty. The last one you had, you came home, I remember, with two black eyes."

"Two lovely black eyes!" hummed Monty indifferently.

"It's Sunday, Monty! You forget," said Gwennie in a shocked voice.

"Yes, so I did, little Miss Prig. Here, pass me the marmalade."

Gwennie obeyed, but she was too taken up with the subject in hand to eat much breakfast; but not so Reginald, the eldest son, to whom the matter was beneath contempt.

He was an utterly spoilt lad, the pride of his mother's heart, and partaking more of her disposition than either of the other children.

Seeing that his mother disdained the whole family at The Gables, he did likewise, and summed up his three unknown cousins as "cads."

"There's a little girl too," said Gwennie, "'cause I saw her face at the window."

"I think we've discussed the subject long enough," said Mrs. Wilfrid with decision; "get on with your breakfast, children, or we shall be late for church."

There was no fear of any member of "The House of York" being late for church on their first Sunday at Linwell, so intense was their curiosity to see their unknown aunt and cousins.

Mrs. Wilfrid, clad in mourning, followed by her three children, was ushered by the verger into one of the very best seats, for the old man realized at a glance that the stately-looking woman was "one of the quality."

She was not above the feeling of curiosity herself, and when Mrs. Gilbert Rose and her family took their place in close proximity to the pulpit, she immediately recognized in the widow's sweet, worn features the woman whom she had last met as a happy bride.

She could not see the lads' faces, as they were hidden by a massive pillar, but little Elsie, who was sitting close beside her mother, looked so sweet and winsome, that despite herself, Mrs. Wilfrid's heart went out to the child.

To Gwennie's delight, from her seat beside her two brothers, she could occasionally get a peep at Ronnie, but whether from shyness, or because he thought he had already been too friendly, he refused to meet the blue eyes which he felt instinctively were gazing at him.

Only once did he glance at his little cousin, but at this moment her eyes were fixed upon the clergyman with intense interest, for the text he had just given out were these few words:

"Love your enemies."

During the sermon heavy clouds gathered, and ere the words of the benediction were uttered, the rain descended in a drenching shower.

Mrs. Wilfrid, in her widow's weeds, felt sadly the lack of an umbrella, and whilst waiting in the porch, bade her son Reginald run home to York House—which was but a short distance—to fetch her one.

His answer was audible to those around.

"It won't hurt your bonnet, mother, more than it will hurt me," he said in a grumbling voice.

At this moment a little lad touched her hand.

"Please will you take this umbrella," he said shyly.

"Thank you so much," she answered, with a smile radiating her beautiful face, which smile so subjugated Frank Rose, whose umbrella it was, that he was her humble admirer from thenceforth. "I will return it this afternoon, if you will tell me where I can send it," she said graciously.

"To The Gables," answered Frank, flushing a little as he spoke.

The lady's manner stiffened, but as she could not well decline the proffered loan, she merely repeated her thanks, and prepared to make the best of her way homewards.

Whilst waiting in the porch, Gwennie found an opportunity to whisper a few words to Ronnie.

"I can't come out this afternoon, 'cause of the rain. Will you show me about the donkey next Sunday instead?"

"Yes, p'raps," said Ronnie, who with Hugh's eyes upon him felt it incumbent not to be too friendly.

"I liked the text this morning," went on Gwennie unabashed, "'bout loving your enemies, didn't you?"

"Didn't notice it much," answered Ronnie, with more indifference in his tone than veracity.

"Oh, Ronnie!" The hurt voice aroused all his latent chivalry.

"Well, it was rather a nice one," he admitted half unwillingly, and with this poor little Gwennie had to be content, as her mother's voice was heard at this moment bidding her to hasten homewards.

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### CHAPTER VI

SCHOOL CONFLICTS

THE advent of five lads, each bearing the surname of "Rose," was a matter of mingled interest and amusement at the County Grammar School on the day of the commencement of the September term.

The school was situated about five miles from Linwell, and therefore it necessitated the lads dining at school. To avoid the long walk and to ensure punctuality, Mrs. Rose took three railway season-tickets for her boys, and as Mrs. Wilfrid did the same, the lads came into very frequent contact.

Reg's open avoidance and supercilious manner so aggravated Hugh that on the first morning at school he had a keen desire to "have it out" with him. But acting on his mother's counsel, he restrained his temper, and contented himself by returning Reg's cold stare with interest. It chanced that Hugh and Reg were placed together in the same form, Frank and Monty in the next one lower, whilst Ronnie found himself in the class for very little boys, a fact which did not trouble him in the least. Although he was very backward in his lessons, he was of such a sociable temperament that it more than compensated for his want of knowledge. He made friends with wonderful rapidity, and in a very short space of time he came to the conclusion that school was a very "jolly place" after all.

A month passed away, and nut-brown October took the place of ripe September. The leaves, of gold and crimson, were falling in prodigal luxuriance, whilst on their stems the few remaining autumn flowers shivered tremulously as though they heard in the distance the footsteps of King Winter.

Mrs. Rose, as in duty bound, duly paid her call at York House, which same, after a short lapse of time, was returned in proper form. Beyond these acts of courtesy there had been no great advance on either side save for the friendship which existed between Ronald and Gwennie, which, despite their occasional quarrels, grew and flourished.

Mrs. Wilfrid had given gracious permission for the children at The Gables to continue to make use of the meadow, but Ronnie and Elsie were the only two who had at present taken advantage of the offer.

During his first month at school, Hugh had shown a decided talent for arithmetic, and had more than once earned the praise of his master, whose name was Mr. Deans.

Reg, who was not particularly clever at anything, was intensely jealous, not only of Hugh's superior abilities, but of his popularity; and he sought out a way by which to humiliate Hugh in the eyes of the whole school.

The latter by his love of fun and sport soon won for himself many friends and admirers, and this fact was gall and bitterness to Reg, who, ere his first week at school was out, had earned for himself the title of "Thorny Rose."

One morning the head-master, the Rev. Dr. Willoughby, took his place at his desk with a heavy frown on his brow, which was a sure token that some one had offended.

After he had touched the bell for silence, he spoke a few sharp decisive words, to the effect that a key to a certain book of arithmetic was missing.

"I trust I am dealing with gentlemen," said he with awful solemnity, "and that not one of you would be guilty of such a mean action as to make use of any such book to assist you with your work."

"Boys in the Third Form," he added, with a keen, searching glance at the faces of the lads, "give up the keys of your desks. I desire Mr. Deans to search for the missing book."

Why the Third Form should be thus adjured did not transpire, but the fact of the matter was, that the day previously Mr. Deans had made inquiries for the self-same key, and Reginald Rose had volunteered the information that he had seen it in the hands of his cousin Hugh.

The keys were at once given into Mr. Deans' keeping. As it happened two of them were exactly alike, a fact of which only Reg was cognizant.

Hugh watched the proceedings with a look of amusement, never dreaming for one moment that his desk would contain other than his usual school-books, with a judicious admixture of toffee, string, etc.

But to the lad's utter astonishment and horror, Mr. Deans, after rummaging amongst the contents of his desk, came upon the missing book, which he held up to the gaze of the whole school.

For a moment there was dead silence, and then Hugh, rising from his seat without a trace of guilt in his honest, fearless eyes, said excitedly, "I never put it there, sir! Some mean—"

"Silence!" thundered Dr. Willoughby. "This then, Rose, is the meaning of your excellent arithmetic."

The satire did not crush Hugh in the least, he only felt a burning desire to thrash somebody. The injustice of it all had aroused his wrath, and only by rigid self-control, and wholesome dread of his master combined, did he manage to keep silence.

Some of Hugh's partisans looked sorry for him, but there were not a few who bestowed contemptuous glances on the offender. In the eyes of the entire school, the high-spirited lad was humiliated, and Reg's triumph was complete.

At mid-day, Hugh's conduct was the chief topic of conversation, and Frank, whose devotion to his brother was very great, was absolutely boiling over with indignation. So much enraged was he, that he threatened to fight any one of the boys who dared cast a slur on Hugh's character in his presence. His cousin Monty being rather an adept with his fists, quite enjoyed the idea of picking a quarrel with his classmate.

"We know now why Hugh is so clever with his sums," he said, sneeringly.

"Do you?" retorted Frank. "So do I—it's because he has more brains than you and your brother put together."

"H'm, that remains to be proved," said Monty irritatingly; "but it's funny that the book should find its way to his desk. I suspect it walked there in the night."

A group of lads, Reg amongst the number, gathered round the angry lads. Hugh in another part of the playground was doing his utmost to comfort Ronnie, whose distress at his brother's disgrace was unbounded.

A sudden thought flashed into Frank's mind, and without pausing to reflect, and scarcely crediting his own words, he said, "Hugh never put the book in his desk, I know. It's far more likely that Reg out of jealous spite hid it there himself."

Monty was beside himself with rage at these words, but they had struck home to Reg, for he turned visibly paler.

"If Reg did such a mean thing as that, I'd break every bone in his body," said the young pugilist; "but as he didn't, I'll make you suffer for your words."

And with his clenched fist Monty struck Frank a blow in his face. With interest Frank returned it, but his adversary being considerably stronger, the lad soon had the worst of it, and before Hugh could interpose, Frank was the possessor of a black eye, a bleeding face, and torn garments.

Monty Rose, after the first flush of victory was over, was considerably disturbed by his opponent's wretched appearance. For this breach of discipline, both lads were severely reprimanded. Frank was placed in the care of the housekeeper, who dressed his wounds and soothed him to such an extent that in the course of an hour or two, he did not feel so very much the worse for his conflict.

But the three Lancastrians felt heavy-hearted at the idea of facing the loving, tender mother who always awaited their home-coming with smiles of welcome. Alas! They had suffered a great reverse that day, and the "Yorkists" ignobly triumphed over their discomfiture.

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### CHAPTER VII

A LITTLE SOLDIER

"HUGH, dear lad, it is getting too chilly for you to do your lessons out of doors; besides, the breakfast bell has rung twice already."

"I know, mother, I heard it, but my sums were simply awful! I believe old Deans picked out the worst in the book."

Hugh spoke bitterly, and his mother's face took a troubled look.

It was a beautiful October morning, and Hugh, who had worked in vain at his lessons the night before, arose early and took up his position on the swing in the garden. This was his favourite place when he had any very tiresome problem to do. He was wont to say that the air cleared his brain and that the slight swaying movement helped with the "toughest" bit of work.

"How have you been getting on this morning?" asked his mother anxiously.

"I've got them right at last, I believe," he said exultantly; "that donkey Deans shall see for himself I can work without a key."

Despite the courage in Hugh's voice, the quick eyes of love could see the trouble on his brow. However, later on, Mrs. Rose started them off with her usual smile and bright good-bye.

"God will prosper the right, my boy," she said to Hugh in parting; "brave it out like a man; only a guilty conscience need fear to face the world."

Hugh, cheered by her words, felt somehow fully an inch taller. "Yes, he would brave it out, and show the whole school that he was not afraid," thought he.

Mr. Deans, with whom Hugh, despite his frequent acts of daring and mischief, was really a favourite, seemed remarkably pleased with his pupil's home lessons that morning.

"You've worked at your sums well, Rose," he said, whereat Hugh coloured with pleasure.

Reg was by no means gratified to see the three big R's scribbled across Hugh's arithmetic, and he puzzled his brains to think in what way he could annoy the cousin of whom he was so bitterly jealous.

"I say, old chap," said one of his classmates, when school was over, "tell us the secret of your getting those beastly sums right."

Reg standing by heard Hugh's laughing reply.

"You all thought yesterday it was because old Deans found that book in my desk, but you made a mistake," he said triumphantly; "it's our old swing in the garden that helps me. I sit there and think and think and the thing is done."

Light words were they and lightly spoken, but little did Hugh reck what would be the consequences of his speech.

Elsie felt very lonely while her brothers were at school, for Gwennie Rose, whom she would gladly have had for a companion, was busy with her governess all the morning, and in the afternoon when Mrs. Rose was not too much occupied with other matters, Elsie had her own little tasks to do.

Strange to say, between Elsie and her Aunt Mary a warm friendship gradually came about.

One morning it chanced that Elsie threw her ball accidentally into the next garden, and upon her asking in sweet childish fashion if she might come in and look for it, she won the heart of the stately-looking lady who heard her making her request to Rachel, Gwennie's nurse.

"Let her come in, Rachel," said Mrs. Wilfrid, and forthwith Elsie, who all her life had been accustomed to being petted, came fearlessly into the room where her aunt was sitting.

"And so you are little Elsie Rose!" said the lady graciously.

"Yes, and you are my Aunt Mary," answered the child, putting up her rosy lips for a kiss.

After a little pause Elsie said softly, "Shall I tell you somefing what Frank said 'bout you?"

"Which is Frank?" questioned her aunt.

"He's my brother what lended you the 'brella."

"Yes, dear, if you like," said Mrs. Wilfrid with languid interest.

"Frank said you was beautiful, like a picksher, and I think so too."

A sudden rush of tears came into Mrs. Wilfrid's eyes. Since the death of her husband, whom she had dearly loved, such sweet incense of praise had been a thing unknown, and coming as it did from baby lips, the sincerity of it was undoubted.

Elsie chatted away for a little while, and then she said quaintly, "I must go home now and help mother, 'cause she's very, very busy."

Mrs. Wilfrid laughed, and after making the little one promise to come again she bade her good-bye.

Nearly every morning after this, even if only for a few minutes, Elsie would trot in to see "Aunt Mary," who grew to look for her coming with interest.

"They won't let me fight in the Wars of the Roses," she said one day in her pretty baby fashion, "and I'm ra'ver glad, after all, 'cause I love you very much."

"You are too little for a soldier, Elsie," said Mrs. Wilfrid in an amused tone.

"Yes, I 'spect I am. Mother says it is very wrong to quarrel and fight, and that we must try to love one another."

"Your mother is quite right, little one," answered her aunt gently.

At this moment a visitor called, and little Elsie was bidden to go upstairs and talk to Rachel, who was busy at needlework.

"Rachel," she said, after they had chatted on various subjects, "did you know my three brothers were soldiers."

"No, little missie, I never heard tell of it before," replied Rachel.

"Yes, they are, their army is called the Wars of the Roses, 'cause, you see, Hugh made Frank and Ronald promise to fight—"

"Then, dearie, if I may make so bold," interrupted nurse, "Master Hugh is old enough to know better."

"Is wars very wicked?" questioned Elsie eagerly.

"There's one battle we must all fight, lassie," said the old nurse, speaking half to herself and half to the child.

"No, I can't, 'cause I'm too little—Hugh says so."

"No one is too little, my dear, to be a soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ."

"What does that mean?" questioned Elsie, with wide-opened eyes. She had often heard from her mother's lips of Him who is the friend of little children, but the idea of being Christ's little soldier was an entirely new one.

"It means," said Rachel reverently, in answer to the child's question, "that we all must fight in the battle against sin, under our great Captain."

Much of this was unintelligible to Elsie, but grasping as much as her childish mind could understand, she said thoughtfully, "I should like to be His soldier. Are you 'quite' sure I'm big enough."

"Yes, my dear, there's only one way of enlisting in His army; you must ask Him on your knees to make you His faithful soldier unto your life's end."

"A faithful soldier!" repeated Elsie. "I'll ask Him to-night when I say my prayers. Good-bye, nurse—my cat's got two kittens," she added as a sudden thought struck her, "I must go in now and give pussy her milk."

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### CHAPTER VIII

A TERRIBLE FALL

"I AM sorry for many reasons, Mrs. Rose, because you have made me very comfortable, and have borne with my cantankerous ways as few would have done."

"You have been very good to us, Miss Beaumont, and we shall miss you sadly. I sometimes think we are indebted to you for more than one generous gift."

Miss Beaumont shook her head. "You've little to thank me for," she said in a kindly voice, "while I have reason to be grateful to you for much; you have taught me lessons of faith and patience, which I trust I may never forget."

Here her eyes grew misty for a moment. "When I am in a foreign land," she added, "I should be very glad if you would occasionally let me know of your welfare."

Mrs. Rose willingly promised, and after a little further conversation, she left Miss Beaumont's apartment, to busy herself as usual in domestic matters. To lose such a profitable lodger as Miss Beaumont at a month's notice was no slight matter in a household like The Gables, where the purse was slender enough already.

The winter too was coming on, with its increasing expenses, and how they were to be met, unless another lodger could be found to take Miss Beaumont's place, Mrs. Rose could not imagine.

The foregoing conversation took place about a week after Hugh's trouble at school, and was an added load to her burden of anxieties.

Whilst she was busy in the kitchen a message seemed borne to her. It echoed like music in her heart:

"'Cast thy burden upon the Lord.'"

"Yea, Lord, I will," was her voiceless answer to the Divine injunction; "I am oppressed, undertake for me."

And then her spirit grew lighter, and she smiled brightly on her little Elsie, who, with her dollie in her hand, had just entered the kitchen.

"I am going to give dollie a swing, mother," she said in her clear, childish treble. "Good-bye, we're going up ever so high, dollie and me; we aren't a bit afraid."

"Don't go too high, darling, for fear you tumble."

"I wouldn't tumble, mother, 'cause of hurting dollie."

And with this speech the little maiden departed towards the garden. Presently however she retraced her steps, and looking into the kitchen window, she said pleadingly—

"May Kitty come and swing me, just a little while?"

"Kitty is too busy, darling; run and play by yourself," answered her mother.

"But I'm lonely wi'vout the boys; do spare Kitty just for five minutes!"

And unable to resist the plea, Mrs. Rose called Kitty (who was by no means unwilling) from her work, to swing her little daughter "just for five minutes."

Mrs. Rose having finished her cooking stood at the window for a while, to watch the little maid as she ascended higher and higher.

"Kitty must leave off now," she said to herself, and was just about to call her in, when to her terror and anguish, the rope of the swing suddenly broke, and little Elsie was thrown with considerable force to the ground.

THE ROPE OF THE SWING SUDDENLY BROKE,
AND LITTLE ELSIE WAS THROWN TO THE GROUND.

There had echoed one sharp scream of fear from the childish lips, and then followed a sudden silence, which seemed to paralyze the mother's footsteps.

Quickly recovering herself, she flew to the spot where her darling lay, and lifting her gently from the ground she carried her indoors, bidding Kitty at the same time run with all possible speed for a doctor. After waiting as it seemed to the agonized mother an eternity, the doctor arrived, and examined the still unconscious little girl.

"Doctor," said the poor mother, "I beseech you to tell me, is there serious injury?"

Dr. Webster, who was himself the father of a little child about Elsie's age, looked compassionately at the widow's white, strained features.

"I fear, Mrs. Rose," he answered, "the back is somewhat injured, and there has been a great shock to the system; but keep up heart and hope, she is young and her constitution is good. I will call again this evening and bring my partner with me."

Shortly after this the doctor took his leave, and Mrs. Rose, with a sorely burdened heart, watched beside her darling. It was the first anxiety she had known in connection with her children.

From their babyhood upwards, save for slight childish ailments, their health had hitherto been robust, a fact which their bright eyes and bonny looks had testified.

Voiceless prayers went up from her heart as she bent over her unconscious child.

"Oh, God!" she pleaded. "Spare me my little Elsie, my baby girl, for I cannot live without her."

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### CHAPTER IX

SIR MATTHEW'S PENITENCE

"FATHER, I'm going to Linwell!"

"Gracious, Matthew, you must be mad! You haven't taken a railway journey for months; and besides, whatever do you want to go there for?"

A look of irritability came across the old man's face as he spoke these words. Somehow of late he had been in the habit of giving up his will occasionally to his sole remaining son.

There was a strength and decision in Matthew which he could not altogether resist, and moreover the baronet realized the fact that he was growing old, and he could not afford to quarrel with Matthew, as he had in past days with his sons Gilbert and Wilfrid. Matthew with his lameness and consequent weakness was very dear to the old man's heart, and it was still his darling wish that Matthew might yet marry, and have a son who should inherit The Towers.

But Matthew thought otherwise, and his heart yearned over his eldest brother's children. Of their mother, he knew but little, as all intercourse had long ago been forbidden, and to please his father, he had given way in this respect, though now he sorely blamed himself for such weakness. Of Mrs. Wilfrid Rose he had no particularly pleasant recollections; in the days of the past she had been an intensely proud woman, and her departure from The Towers was rather a relief than otherwise, He had almost fancied that she scorned his weakness, and Matthew on this point was very sensitive.

Heedless of the cloud on his father's brow, he pursued his subject fearlessly.

"I want to see Hugh's wife and her children," he said.

"Then you'll do it in direct opposition to my will," was the angry retort. "I repeat, you must be mad to think of such a thing."

"It is not such a very long journey, father, after all—I suppose about forty miles—and besides, I shall take Hickson with me," answered Matthew soothingly.

"Well, if you've made up your mind, of course it's no use for me to seek to alter it, only understand I am not going to have a troop of unruly children here."

"I understand, father," said Matthew; "you must just humour this little whim of mine, because I have a feeling that good will come of my visit to Linwell."

"H'm!" was all the baronet retorted. But nevertheless a kindly gleam came into his eyes after Matthew had left the room.

"He's a good lad, is Matthew," he muttered. "I shall miss him sorely."

Prophetic words were they, for no sooner had Matthew departed with his trusted valet, than the blankness of desolation seemed to fall on the old man's heart.

He grew positively nervous and morbid, and the silence oppressed him strangely.

"The house wants children's voices, it is as still as the grave," he thought drearily, as looking out from the window one chill October morning (the day following his son's departure), he noted how the mists were hanging over the meadows. It seemed to him as though they were enwrapping his heart and soul in their chill, white folds.

He sat down to breakfast, but he could not enjoy the meal as usual. His mind kept reverting to the past, and he realized as he sat at his lonely repast, how bitterly hard he had been in the bygone days.

"I must be getting weak or childish," he thought irritably; "pshaw! I'm sick of myself."

During the day, his self-reproach grew deeper and deeper; he thought of Gilbert as a bonny lad, of Gilbert in the Land where nothing may enter to defile, of his widow left desolate, of her helpless bairns. Then his thoughts roamed to Wilfrid, of his lonely grave in a foreign clime, and actually his fierce old eyes grew misty, with mingled pain and regret.

"Pride and anger have been my bane," he said bitterly.

The shadows at length gathered round; it was the longest day he had ever known. He fought against the depression, the sorrow, the regret, against all his nobler feelings, until at length he was vanquished, and at night-fall, in the silence of his room, a cry went up to the gates of Heaven from a broken and contrite spirit:

"God be merciful to me, a sinner."

* * * * *

Matthew Rose had settled himself at the best hotel Linwell could boast, and was anxiously biding his time to make the acquaintance of his young nephews and nieces.

A great sorrow hung over The Gables; the boys with softened tones and noiseless footsteps moved about the house, as though the Death Angel had already entered. There was sorrow too at York House, for Mrs. Wilfrid dearly loved her little niece; the child with her winsome ways had completely vanquished the heart of the worldly-minded woman.

Reg was strangely moody and silent in these days. He would watch for his mother's return after one of her frequent visits to The Gables, with a white and anxious face.

"How is she to-day, mother?" he inquired one morning with intense eagerness, seeing an expression of deep sadness on her face.

"She is conscious, Reg, but I have seen the doctor, and he gives little hope that she will ever be strong and well again, even if her life is spared, which is doubtful." Tears checked further utterance, and she hid her eyes with her handkerchief.

Reg's expression of terrified grief would have frightened her, could she have seen it. A groan of anguish escaped his lips, which caused his mother to look at him with surprise.

"Why, Reg, I didn't know you took any notice of the child," she said.

"Oh, mother!" he cried, utterly broken down. "If she dies, I am her murderer."

"My dear boy, what are you saying?"

"I can't bear it, mother, I can't! The doctor 'must' make her well!" he sobbed.

"Reg," she replied, with unusual reverence in her tones, "Elsie is in God's hands, we must pray for her recovery."

At this moment Monty and Gwennie entered the room, each anxious to know the latest news of their little cousin. Reg paid no heed to their entrance, so overcome was he with the intensity of his emotions.

"I can't pray, mother, God wouldn't hear me."

"My dear child, don't give way so, you really must not," she said at length.

"Oh, you don't understand," he cried hopelessly. "Mother, I cut the rope of the swing partly through, so that Hugh should fall when he did his sums there."

Mrs. Wilfrid understood at length, and she looked terribly grieved and disappointed in her son; but there was, alas! more to follow.

"I must tell you all now, mother," he went on. "I hid that book in Hugh's desk, so that Mr. Deans should think he copied his sums."

Monty's rage burst forth at this last admission.

"And you let me fight Frank because of it, and black his eyes, Reg! I'll never forgive you!" And with these words the lad, with tears of mortification in his eyes, rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Gwennie, whose tender heart was touched by her brother's remorse, drew near him and laid her hand gently on his arm.

"Poor Reg," she said softly, "don't cry! Tell God you're sorry, and p'raps if you ask Him, He'll make Elsie well."

It was at this juncture, that Matthew Rose was ushered into the room. Having heard of the sorrow at The Gables, he refrained from calling there, until he had ascertained from Mrs. Wilfrid the particulars of the accident, which had taken place two or three days previously.

Quickly recovering herself, the lady welcomed her visitor graciously.

Bidding Reg and Gwennie leave the room, she presently gave him an account of the little sufferer's condition, in accents of such tender feeling that Matthew was deeply touched.

Needless to say, she refrained from mentioning the sad part which Reg had played in the accident.

### CHAPTER X

A FRIEND INDEED

"MOTHER!"

"Yes, darling!"

"What makes my head feel so funny?"

"You are tired, my little one," answered Mrs. Rose with infinite tenderness to Elsie's plaintive questioning.

"Yes, so tired, mother; put your hand on my head a little while."

Mrs. Rose obeyed, and her cool hand seemed to soothe the little sufferer.

"Mother," she continued, half wandering, "Hugh says I'm too little to fight."

"Yes, my pet, so you are; mother's little Elsie doesn't want to be a soldier," she answered, thinking the child's mind was reverting to "The Wars of the Roses," which occasionally she had heard discussed amongst her children, though never, be it said, without expressed disapproval.

"Yes, I do," she answered half petulantly, "Rachel says I'm not too little; she told me—" and here the child's eyes, with a clear light in their depths, sought her mother's face anxiously—"I might be a soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Yes, darling, so you may," answered Mrs. Rose, a rush of tears nearly blinding her sight.

"Then ask Him, mother, to let me be His little soldier," said Elsie eagerly. "Say it out loud, mummie dear," she pleaded, using in her excitement the pet name which came most naturally to her lips when she was particularly desirous of some favour.

Mrs. Rose hesitated.

"Say it now, 'cause I'm going to sleep presen'y."

The well-nigh broken-hearted mother fell on her knees, and for a while there was silent pleading.

"I can't hear, mummie," she said fretfully.

Then with a strange calm coming over her spirit, Mrs. Rose said slowly and clearly—

"Dear Lord Jesus, make Elsie Thine own little soldier, for Thy name's sake. Amen."

"Thank you, mother dear, that's all right now. Good-night—I'm getting ra'ver sleepy."

The sweet eyes closed wearily, and through the long night-watches, the devoted mother never once left her bedside. Morning dawned, and the spark of life was flickering just a little stronger, and the doctor in a more cheery voice bade her take heart.

"While there's life there's hope," he said, using the time-worn words with an expression of deep sympathy in his kindly face, and from that day it seemed the child slowly but surely began to mend.

* * * * *

"Tell me, Miss Beaumont, is there anything I can do for Lisa?"

"Yes, Matthew, there is much that you can do—I think you are raised up to help her in a time of bitter need and adversity."

Matthew's delicate features wore an expression of tender sympathy, for Miss Beaumont's speech had touched him.

Hitherto he had been unable to obtain an interview with his sister-in-law, as when she was not engaged in nursing, she was taking the necessary rest.

Miss Beaumont did all in her power to render assistance; it was she who superintended the household, looked after the boys, mended torn garments, and soothed to her utmost the sad-hearted mother.

But the time of her departure was drawing near, there remained but a little while ere she would have to bid farewell to The Gables. Her brother had need of her in a foreign land, otherwise she would not have deserted the Rose family in their extremity.

In a few well-chosen words, she gave Matthew an outline of the widow's circumstances, and right nobly did the young man rise to the occasion.

At Miss Beaumont's instigation, he procured a nurse to assist the tired mother, and he determined that no comfort which money could procure should be lacking. It was through Miss Beaumont that Mrs. Rose knew of Matthew's goodness and generosity.

It was on the fourth morning after his arrival at Linwell that he obtained the much-desired interview with Mrs. Rose.

"Matthew," she said gently, as she took his hand with both her own, "God bless you for your goodness to me and mine. I can guess now who befriended me with my boys' education!"

"Oh, that's nothing, Lisa! What we want now is to get the little one well," he said cheerfully, albeit he was touched by her words.

As Matthew gazed at the sweet worn face of his brother's widow, his heart reproached him terribly for all the neglect of past years.

He had been afraid to combat his father's strong will, but no longer had he any fear; then and there he registered a vow before Heaven that never more should Elizabeth Rose struggle against the rough winds of adversity.

After a prolonged conversation, Matthew rose to take his leave, and the mother with renewed hope and courage went back to her little one's bedside.

Matthew's young nephews and nieces soon became greatly attached to him—all save Reg, who held himself strangely aloof; a fact which gave Matthew a certain amount of regret, and he made up his mind by consistent kindness and forbearance to win the lad's heart. And he won it at last, in a most unexpected manner.

Hugh in a moment of confidence had told his uncle the miserable story of his humiliation at school, and of the consequent coldness of the head-master, Dr. Willoughby.

Elsie's sad accident had for a while driven the trouble out of his mind, but as soon as a ray of hope pierced the gloom of the household, Hugh's thoughts again reverted to his disgrace.

Matthew was a good listener, and his wise counsel comforted Hugh more than a little.

Monty Rose, in the consciousness of his brother's guilt, felt very burdened and downcast, but until Reg's sense of honour bade him make what reparation lay in his power, the lad felt bound to secrecy.

Gwennie shed many tears about it, and it was almost the only secret she withheld from Ronnie, who, despite their occasional wordy warfare, was still her best and dearest friend.

One Saturday afternoon Matthew, when calling at York House, chanced to find Reg at home alone; after a kindly greeting, he looked at the lad critically.

"You're not looking up to the mark, my boy!" he said kindly.

"I've got a headache," answered Reg, flushing beneath his uncle's gaze. He might more truly have said a "heartache."

During the conversation which ensued a sudden inspiration flashed into Matthew's mind.

"I have been talking to Hugh," he said thoughtfully, "and he is very unhappy about this trouble at school. I wonder if you could help me. I want to clear his name before I return to The Towers, for I feel sure he is innocent, and that an enemy has done him this wrong."

Matthew unconsciously had sent an arrow straight to his listener's heart. He had no idea in his mind of fixing the guilt on Reg, and his astonishment was unbounded when the lad, hitherto so calm and self-contained in his presence, suddenly threw himself full length upon a couch, and hiding his face in his hands burst into tears.

Then in an instant the truth dawned upon Matthew.

"Reg, my poor boy," he said, gently laying his hand upon the lad's shoulder, "what is it?"

"Don't touch me, Uncle Matthew, I'm not fit. I am the most miserable boy in the whole world!" cried Reg, his voice quivering with emotion.

"Tell me all about it, from beginning to end," said Matthew firmly, yet with compassion in his tones.

Then the whole miserable story was told, even to the sad part he had played in Elsie's accident. For a while Matthew was silent, and then with a swift, silent prayer for guidance, he said quietly—

"That's well spoken, my boy; you have gained a victory over self, this afternoon, which is one step at least in the right direction. Now the first thing to be done, is to ask forgiveness of One whom you have grievously sinned against. Go to your room, Reg, and tell Him all, as you have told me, and ask for pardon. Then come to me again, and we will consider the next step."

THREW HIMSELF FULL LENGTH UPON A COUCH.

Reg, now utterly humbled, obeyed, and after a little while returned to his uncle looking sad and subdued, albeit a great load was lifted from his heart.

Matthew realized that now was Reg's opportunity, and mindful of the truth of the proverb, he made up his mind to "strike the iron while it was hot."

"I want you to come with me, Reg, this afternoon," he said, "to see Dr. Willoughby."

"I will do anything you think right, Uncle Matthew," he answered sadly.

"We will go at once—that is, if you don't mind suiting your steps to mine," said Matthew, mindful of his lameness. The tenderness with which he spoke, and the entire absence of scorning, utterly won the lad, and in his heart, he both loved and revered the man who was thus leading him into the paths of truth and honour.

————————————

### CHAPTER XI

PEACE AT LAST

MATTHEW had returned to The Towers, having fulfilled his mission well. His leave-taking on the Monday following Reg's confession was somewhat unexpected. It was owing to the fact that he had received a letter from his father, who, feeling himself to be growing old and feeble, and likewise weary of his own society, desired his son's immediate return.

Thus was Reg left with the hardest battles to fight, namely, to confess his grievous faults to his Aunt Elizabeth, and to suffer his humiliation at school. It was almost more than he knew how to contemplate, but having started on the upward path, he determined to proceed, however difficult the way.

It was all over at last. Hugh's name was cleared, and Reg, feeling as though life had no longer any hope or gladness, hid himself away in his bedroom and refused to be comforted. He had written his confession to his aunt, and the note was blistered with tears of genuine penitence.

For a while Mrs. Rose felt her heart to be hardened against the lad who had wrought so much sorrow. And not until the evening of the day, when on her knees she breathed the petition,—

"'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us,—"

was she softened towards the culprit.

Hugh and Frank were indignant. The former could far more easily forgive the wrong done to himself than the cruel act which had occasioned his little sister so much suffering. They were ready to wage any amount of warfare in harsh words and bitter upbraidings, but they soon realized the "Yorkists" had no longer any spirit to fight.

"It takes two to make a quarrel," said Frank, "so I suppose, as the Yorkists have given up the fight, the victory is ours."

"They are not even worth having for enemies," answered Hugh, with supreme contempt.

Ronnie sought out his little friend Gwennie next morning, and told her of his brother's decision to end the battle.

"Hugh says that you are none of you even worth having for enemies," he said.

Gwennie looked hurt, and Ronnie to comfort her slipped his hand into hers.

A sad little smile came over her face as she said wistfully, unconscious of the exquisite sweetness of her words—

"No, Ronnie, p'raps not, but don't you think we might be worth having as 'friends?'"

This was a good idea, thought Ronnie, and very clever of Gwennie.

"I'll tell Hugh what you say, Gwennie," he said. Then he added, drawing out of his pocket a round, rosy apple, "I've been saving this for you—it's such a beauty."

"Thank you ever so much, Ronnie; don't forget to tell Hugh what I say. Now I must go, for nurse is calling me," and with these words away ran Gwennie in obedience to the summons.

Mrs. Rose, on the morning following the receipt of Reg's penitent letter, wrote in answer these few words, which were long treasured by the lad.

"DEAR REG,
"I forgive you from my heart as I would myself be forgiven by our loving Heavenly Father.
"Will you come and have tea with Elsie and me this afternoon? Miss Beaumont is superintending the dining-room tea, so we shall be quite by ourselves. Please come.
"Your affectionate
"AUNT LISA."

Mrs. Wilfrid herself shed secret tears over the short note, and came to the conclusion that after all, notwithstanding her poverty and lack of "long descent," there was a great deal in Elizabeth Rose, and from henceforth she decided to cultivate more of her society.

Elsie, who was daily growing stronger, was delighted at the idea of receiving a visitor, and Reg, who brought with him a lovely picture-book as a gift from his mother, was a welcome and honoured guest.

The injuries which Elsie had received were happily not of a permanent nature, as was feared, although many weeks, perhaps months, must elapse ere she would be able to run about as usual.

Owing to their mother's influence, the three boys gradually received Reg into favour, and acting upon little peace-loving Gwennie's suggestion, they found to their surprise that the young cousins at York House were after all worth having as friends, and thus ended "The Wars of the Roses."

* * * * *

The morning of Miss Beaumont's departure drew nigh, and with tears and mutual regrets she bade good-bye to The Gables, and set her face towards the New World.

There appeared to be no prospect of any one taking her place, and the question of ways and means at times sorely troubled the widow's heart, but still her faith did not fail her.

One morning, when the future was weighing somewhat heavily upon her mind, the post brought her a letter from Sir Matthew Rose. Opening it with trembling fingers, for it was the first communication she had ever received from him, she read as follows—

"MY DEAR ELIZABETH,
"My son and I are lonely at The Towers, and I feel myself to be growing old and feeble, and in need of a daughter's care.
"I am asking you, therefore, as a favour to come (you and your family) and take up your abode with us. Please do not let pride stand in the way. I am only too well aware that this is a tardy recognition, but remember to err is human, and to forgive—which is your prerogative—divine. We are 'needing' you, and realize that your presence will do much to brighten our lives. Your little daughter shall have the best medical attention, and I will gladly undertake the future of your sons, for Gilbert's sake and your own.
"Anxiously awaiting your reply,
"Believe me,
"Yours affectionately,
"MATTHEW ROSE."

"'We are needing you.'" This phrase in the letter completely won the widow's heart, and thankfully she accepted the baronet's generous offer.

When the news reached York House, for a while Mrs. Wilfrid was both resentful and rebellious.

"Who is Elizabeth Rose," thought she, "to be thus favoured?"

But her better nature at length prevailed, and as the time of departure drew nigh, she manifested much kindliness of spirit.

Gwennie was inconsolable; but a letter received one morning, about a week later, from Sir Matthew Rose, greatly comforted her.

It was an invitation to the entire family to spend the Christmas holidays at The Towers.

Elsie's removal had necessitated great care, and special invalid appliances were brought into requisition at the baronet's expense.

Hugh alone of all the party felt a certain shamefacedness at the idea of meeting his grandfather, and at his first opportunity, he made ample apology for his impertinent letter.

With a graciousness to which in past days he was a stranger, Sir Matthew freely forgave the impulsive lad, and from thenceforth Hugh was his devoted adherent.

The weeks rolled on, and the blessed season of Christmas drew nigh. And what a Christmas-tide it was too! Such a time of merry-making, rejoicing and thanksgiving surely was never known in the grey old Towers, and the baronet's heart grew young again as he gazed at the bonny faces of his grandchildren. Little Elsie, in her convalescence, was as gay as any.

"Peace on earth, good-will to men," rang out the Christmas message, finding an echo in the glad hearts of those who assembled around the Yule-tide fire in the wainscoted dining-room at The Towers. Matthew, in his joy at the family reunion, in which he had taken so noble a part; was intensely happy, whilst his father's face actually beamed with gladness.

"Glory to God in the highest!"

Ah! This was the theme of Elizabeth Rose's rejoicing as she gave praise to Him who throughout her chequered pathway had never once failed her.

All too rapidly the holidays flew away, and Mrs. Wilfrid and her family once more returned to York House.

It was the twilight hour, and the children in their spacious play-room were amusing themselves contentedly.

The baronet, with Matthew and his daughter-in-law Elizabeth, sat talking beside the dining-room fire.

"The house seems a different place, Elizabeth," said Sir Matthew gently, "since you have come to us."

She smiled brightly as she replied, calling him by the name which he loved best to hear—

"Dear father, you are very, very good to us. I only trust that we shall never disappoint you."

"There is little fear of that, my child," he answered. "God has bestowed upon you 'good' children, and they have rich blessing in their mother.

"I came across some lines the other day," he added, after a little pause, "which made me think of you."

"What were they?" she said, smiling through a mist of happy tears.

"They were these," he answered, regarding her with true fatherly affection—

"'A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath,
Than my son's wife, Elizabeth.'"

THE END

—————————————————————————————————
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.

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