"It wasn't father or mother that saw it?" asked Charles, quickly, as he recalled the injustice he had just experienced at their hands, under Robert's prompting.
"No, master Charles."
"Was it cousin Helen?" continued the boy.
"Yes, master Charles," answered Leonard Hust, with a knowing smile.
"O," said the boy, as a glow of pleasure lit up his features for a moment.
It was evident that the knowledge of the said cousin Helen's having seen his exertions to save the little favorite spaniel, gave Charles not a little satisfaction. Now cousin Helen—as a little blue-eyed child of eight years, the daughter of the family whose estate joined that of Bramble Park, was called—was no cousin at all, but the children had thus nicknamed each other, and they were most happy playmates together. Robert, who was three years his brother's senior, was more fond of little Helen than of anybody else; indeed, in spite of his ill temper, he was wont to try and please her at any cost. But the child, who was as beautiful as a little fairy, did not respond at all to his advances of friendship, while to Charles she was all tenderness and confiding in everything, kissing him with childish fervor and truth whenever they parted, a familiarity she never permitted to his brother.
The truth was, Robert to his great discomfiture, was aware that Charles's manly and courageous act of saving the dog had been witnessed by Helen, though his brother knew it not until told by Leonard Hust. This had aggravated Robert so much that he had hastened home, and fabricating a story of Charles having thrown the dog into the pond, and wet himself completely, preparing his parents for a rough reception of his brother when he should return, and hence the treatment he received. Leonard made his young master change his clothes, and after making him comfortable, left him to amuse himself in the open park with his ball, where the light-hearted Charles was soon thoughtlessly happy, and forgetful of the unkindness of Robert and the injustice of his parents. So light are the cares and mishaps of youth, so easily forgotten are its hardships, either seeming or real. Happy childhood!
Whether little cousin Helen had been on the watch for Charley, or whether she was there by accident, it matters not, suffice it to say that the two soon met in their headlong career of fun and frolic, and two more joyous or merry spirits never met on the soft green sward than these. Now they tire of the play at ball and sit down together close by the brink of the clear, deep pond, next the rich flower beds that shed their grateful fragrance around the spot. Cousin Helen, still panting from the exertion of the play, looked thoughtfully into the almost transparent water, and involuntarily heaved a sigh that did not escape her companion's notice.
"Art sick, cousin Helen?" asked Charles, quickly.
"Nay, not I," said the pleasant-voiced child, "not I, Charley."