As Nellie was evidently reluctant to make a call at the farm, Rupert decided that he would stop, for the sake of having his own way. He was eight years old, a year younger than his sister, and he never allowed her, on the strength of seniority, to dictate to him. So he marched up to the door and rapped upon it sharply with his knuckles. To his disappointment, the rosy-cheeked servant—Sally—who answered his somewhat imperative summons, informed him that Mrs. Wills was not at home. She had driven to the nearest railway station, two miles distant, to meet her husband.
"I did not know Farmer Wills was away," Rupert remarked.
Whilst Nellie, who had been standing at a little distance with the dogs—a spaniel and a terrier, fearful lest they should dash into the house and bespatter the spotless kitchen floor with their muddy feet, drew nearer, her face suddenly becoming full of interest. Like most children brought up in the country, they were vastly curious about their neighbours' affairs.
"Master's been away for several days," Sally informed them, "in London."
"In London!" they echoed.
Had Sally mentioned Timbuctoo instead of the metropolis, they could not have looked more surprised.
"I never heard of Farmer Wills going to London before," Nellie said reflectively. "He told me once, he hadn't slept out of his own bed for nearly thirty years. I suppose he went for a holiday, Sally?"
"He went to see his brother—Colonel Wills. The poor gentleman died a few hours after master reached him."
"Oh, how very sad!" cried Nellie, much shocked. "I have heard father speak of Colonel Wills."
"Yes," chimed in Rupert, "he was a soldier—a splendid fellow! He fought in the South African War, and won the Victoria Cross."