“Why does he carry his father’s medicines? Hasn’t Dr. Brenton a proper person—?”
“Max thinks he is a proper person.”
“What does he do about them when he’s at school?”
“He doesn’t come to school, except for a few hours in the week. He learns classics and mathematics with us—his father has taught him the rest. Dr. Brenton couldn’t possibly get on all day without Max. You’ll soon understand why. Now, Frances, we’ll be in Woodend directly. I hate crawling down a hill when I’m hot, so I’m going full pelt till I get to the bottom of this one. Don’t you hurry. I’ll wait for you there.”
“Will you, though?” demanded Frances with scorn. And Austin’s last fears about the effects of Haversfield vanished when his sister darted forward, overtook him easily, passed him triumphantly, and made her entry into Woodend at a speed which showed no concern either for her sailor-hat or her dignity.
“I said she was the Frances!” murmured Austin, as with a great affectation of indifference he jogged along behind.
CHAPTER II.
BOYS AND GIRLS TOGETHER.
Though he counted the Doctor’s son as first and chief, Austin undoubtedly had plenty of friends; and since the time of his coming to Woodend he had done his best to prepare the way for Frances by industriously singing her praises. The young people who had managed hitherto to exist in the village without either Austin or Frances might have been severely bored but for the agreeable curiosity roused by Austin’s descriptions of his absent sister. The Woodend boys were really anxious to make the acquaintance of so remarkable a girl. The Woodend lassies, having a good opinion of Austin, were willing to expect great things of Austin’s sister. Both boys and girls indulged the hope that the new-comer into their little world might rouse in it some pleasant stir.
They knew that they needed badly a stimulus of some sort to give fresh energy to their rather monotonous lives. They had their games and pastimes, like other youngsters; but these suffered in attraction for want of competition. The cricket-team and tennis-club rarely found rivals with whom they might contend in honourable warfare. Woodend was not exactly remote; but it had a special population of upper-class residents, who loved its pure air and fine scenery, and had no neighbours of like tastes and habits in the villages near at hand. The young folks played and worked contentedly enough among themselves as a rule; but they were growing just a little tired of each other, and there was nobody to lead.
The girls—poor things!—were in worst case. The boys, when they had turned fourteen or fifteen, were usually sent to a public school. The girls remained at home, with so much time on their hands that they could not even enjoy the luxury of being idle—it was too common an experience.