There was a minute's pause, then Mrs. Vaughan looked straight at the boys. "Who told you about him?" she asked slowly.
"I'm afraid it was me. I didn't——" began Donald.
"Mother, don't listen to him, it wasn't him," burst in Peter; "at least, just at the end, he told us that was who the photograph was of. But we've suspected something all along. Brownie's knowing something, and trying so hard not to let us twig, that's what has given it away. Then up in the attic there's Hooker's things!"
"Hooker?" Mrs. Vaughan started, "what have you found out about him?"
"Only that if there is an Uncle Derrick, he was Uncle Derrick's friend; that he was keeper in Grandfather's time, and that he was dismissed. And—Brownie won't tell us where he is," Robin spoke slowly.
"Also that he was a jolly sporting sort, the room's got ripping little engines and machinery sort of things about; he ought to have been a Scout. And that he could take jolly snapshots when you come to think that this has been lying round for fifteen years; and——" Peter stopped and held out the picture. "We found this, Mother," he said.
"Yes … it's poor Uncle Derrick," said Mrs. Vaughan; she looked sadly at the picture for a minute, then she turned to the group. "Your father and I did not tell you," she said, "we wanted to keep sad things from you as long as we could. But perhaps we were not wise; Donald and Dick have evidently been told more than you know. Brown and his wife, too, know all the sad story, but—oh, I cannot tell you now, this is neither the time nor the place. Donald may tell you what his mother has told him; and you may ask Brownie. For every one loved your Uncle Derrick, and you will hear the story just as lovingly told by the old servants as I can tell it to you myself." Mrs. Vaughan turned, and still holding the little picture, she walked towards the Chase without turning, while the boat was rowed silently back to the other side of the water.
It was not until after tea that old Brownie's story was told; all day the campers had half dreaded and half longed to hear the tale, for Donald knew little more than he had told them already, that there had been an Uncle Derrick, that there was an Uncle Derrick. Beyond that, the story was a mystery to him and Dick, as well as to the Vaughans. "Mother said we should know more some day," he told his cousins, "but I've never liked to ask."
"Oh, my dears," said old Brownie when they gave her the message, "tell you? Oh, my dears. But happen it's better not to keep the sad things hid, for they cut so deep, so deep! Your Uncle Derrick, my dears,—oh! he was the gayest, most open-handed that the sun shone on, handsome, kind and good to rich and poor. Aye, and true," the old woman nodded her head, "aye and true!
"Him and Hooker was the same age; friends they'd been, though Hooker was but a village lad, from babyhood as you might say. But Master Derrick was like that. Together always, like David and Jonathan, both with the same passion, as boys, for fitting together bits of machinery, engines and such like, and all so clever. Your grandfather was proud of him, aye, and so were we all, servants too, but your grandfather was fonder of him, aye, perhaps than of either of the other two; pardon me, my dears, them being own father and mother to some of you. But so life is, sometimes. Master Derrick was like a Benjamin, so he was, to the Squire, coming late in life to him and all; he'd do anything for Master Derrick, would Squire. Gave the keeper's house to young Hooker, did he, young as Hooker was for to be keeper, just to please Master Derrick.