The sprain to the little girl's ankle did not prove a severe one; but, much to her dismay—for she soon tired of playing the role of an interesting invalid—it tied her to the sofa for several days, and she begrudged the time thus wasted indoors. Therefore, when one evening Cousin Becky made a suggestion that she and the young people should remain at the Mill House until the middle of September, whilst Mr. and Mrs. Trent and Louisa returned to Beaworthy at the date which had previously been arranged, Polly's delight was boundless. "Jabez and Sarah Triggs will look after our comforts," Cousin Becky said when Mrs. Trent began to demur, "and if I want further help I can get it from the village. It seems a pity to take the children home just at present."
"But will it not appear as though we are presuming on your friend's good-nature?" began Mrs. Trent doubtfully; then, catching the humorous expression in Cousin Becky's dark eyes, she paused and looked at her inquiringly.
There was a brief silence, during which everyone gazed curiously at the old lady, who had grown rosy red and seemed more than a little confused.
"I can answer for my friend," she said at length. "She will not think you in the least presumptuous."
"She must be a dear old thing!" exclaimed Polly. "I should like to see her and tell her what I think of her."
"So should I," agreed Roger.
"I am not certain we have not all seen her," Mr. Trent said in a deliberate tone. "I am not certain that we do not know her very well." Then, as Cousin Becky started and looked at him quickly, he continued: "Isn't it time for the good fairy to reveal herself? Surely she might show herself in her true colours now?"
"Oh, Martin, you have guessed?" cried the old lady.
"I have suspected you ever since we came to the Mill House," he replied gravely. "I have heard you spoken of in the village as the owner of this place, and Jabez always mentioned you as though you were his employer. I have never asked any questions; and Sarah, being deaf, has been unable to converse with any of us, or doubtless we should have learnt the truth from her. You are the mistress of the Mill House, Cousin Becky, and we are really your guests; we have no one to thank but you."
"Yes," Cousin Becky acknowledged, "that is so. My secret has been a harmless one, and I have enjoyed keeping it. No wonder you all look puzzled!" She laughed as she met the bewildered glances of Mrs. Trent and the young people. "Let me explain. You took it for granted I was poor, and I did not undeceive you, for your sympathy was very sweet to me, and I was very lonely and sad. One may be rich in pocket and very poor in other ways. If you had known me to be well off, you would not have invited me to visit you or offered me a share of your home, and I should have been the loser then. You have known me hitherto as 'poor Cousin Becky,' but you will not love me the less now, will you, because you know I am not poor? You will let me keep the places in your hearts which I believe I have won; and, because you have given to me, you will not deny me the happiness of giving to you?"