"What box?" asked Henry.
"This house, Master Fairchild," she answered; "you might put the whole place into the hall at The Grove."
"What an immense hall!" said Henry in amazement.
"Poor Betty, as I tell her," said the maid, "will be quite out of her place amongst so many servants; she can't bear to hear it talked of."
"What talked of?" answered Henry. "But please not to gather the rose-buds; mamma does not like them to be gathered."
"To be sure, Master Fairchild," said the maid, "and that is just right. In a small garden like this one should be particular; yet, at The Grove, a few rose-buds would never be missed. But you are a very good young gentleman to be so attentive to your dear mamma; I am sure I shall delight our people by the account I shall have to give when I go back; and I am to go back when Mrs. Johnson comes, and that will be in a few days. I shall tell them there that you are not only very good, but vastly genteel, and so like pretty Miss Ellen—and she was quite a beauty—dear young lady! You will see her picture as large as life in the drawing-room at The Grove, Master Fairchild."
Henry did not understand one-half of what the maid said to him, and was very glad when he heard the step of someone coming round the little mound of rose-bushes. It was Emily's step; she came to call him to breakfast; she was dressed with a clean white pinafore, and her hair hung about her face in soft ringlets; she looked grave, but, in her usual way, mild and gentle.
When she saw the maid, she, too, said, "Good-morning."
"That young lady is your sister, no doubt, Master Fairchild," said the maid.
"It is Emily," said Henry.