LITTLE LADY WILMERTON.
By the Rev. P. B. Power, M.A., Author of "The Oiled Feather," Etc.
Hard by the village of Hopedale, away from railways and their whistles, and indeed pretty nearly from the world in general, was a very beautiful castle, surrounded by pleasure grounds, and gardens for both fruit and flowers.
The place had been well kept up, because old Lord Wilmerton, the grandfather of the little lady of whom I am going to tell you, was a proud man; and he would not have it said that any of his properties were allowed to go to ruin, or even to run wild. But the old Lord himself never went there nor did his son, the father of the present little Lady Wilmerton. The place was too dull for them; they liked the gaieties of London and the Continent, and the country had no charms for them.
Little Lady Wilmerton's father and grandfather were now both dead. Her father died first, and her grandfather soon followed him to the grave. And now our little lady was a Countess, for in her family the title did not die out with the males, but, when there were no sons, passed on to the daughters, if there were any. And as with the title went most of the estates, the little Countess, who was only twelve years old, became the mistress of Hopedale Castle, and the village and, indeed, the country for, I might almost say, many miles round.
The last thing that anyone in Hopedale would have ever thought of was her little ladyship's coming to live at the Castle. Great, therefore, was the astonishment of everyone when they heard that she was to live there for a large part of the year—and, moreover, that she was coming almost at once.