“Oh! no,” said Di; “only Jack and Phil go to school. They’d be there now if scarlet fever hadn’t broken out.”
“Yes, it was awfully slicey for us,” chimed in the brothers, “for, as we didn’t catch the fever, we got off that and the lessons too.”
“Yes,” said Hubert, “it was jolly fine fun for them.”
Whether their natural protectors considered the arrangement “jolly fine fun” too, our readers may perhaps gather from the letter which that week’s Indian mail carried to Mrs. Kenyon, touching the matter:
“My dear Julia, how true it is that troubles never come singly. The outbreak of fever at your boys’ school was tiresome enough, as it forced us to begin the holidays for the children at home sooner than was intended, and upset all our arrangements for the summer; however, we resigned ourselves very happily to the inevitable, and I had made arrangements with dear old Pattie for receiving us all at the farm, and we were actually starting thither this morning, when a wire from Edinburgh arrived at breakfast, summoning me to my mother-in-law. She is very ill, and old Mr. Durand begs me to come at once, so I am obliged to let the children go down to Gaybrook without me.
“There was, moreover, such indignation when I proposed sending Sarah in charge of the party—your boys resenting the idea of having a nurse tacked on to them so bitterly—that, after consultation with Faith, who is as trustworthy as if she were thirty instead of thirteen, I decided to let the young people take care of themselves; besides, I knew, what my young rebels did not, that Pattie has already secured a very efficient nursery-maid in disguise, namely, her niece, Ruth Argue, who used to be nurse at the Rectory, and who is to be at the farm as long as our party is there. And so, about an hour ago, they set off, a merry troop on the whole, though poor Fay looked rather oppressed by the sense of her responsibility, whilst Andrew, I regret to add, looked decidedly peevish. If Fay were not there I should feel rather anxious about him. No doubt your schoolboys will do him good with their wholesome chaff, but unfortunately his aunt, with whom he has been at the seaside, has so spoilt him and allowed him to think so much of his health, that I’m afraid he is not likely to prove an acceptable companion. I hope he will soon be strong enough to go to school, for then he will lose his priggishness, but there is no question that he is very clever, and takes real interest in subjects that most boys don’t care about. I sometimes think if only the others would try and learn a little from him about natural history, for instance, instead of always jeering him when he mentions it, it would be better for all parties. Altogether, if I could only have kept Andrew with me, I should feel happier about this expedition. Still, they all started, rich in good intentions of showing consideration both to Mrs. Busson and each other, so we can only hope that they will fulfil one tenth of them.
“Always your affectionate sister,
“Agatha Durand.
“P.S.—I forgot to mention that the children will find a playfellow at the farm, the grandson of old Madame Delzant, who, you remember, used to live at Gaybrook. Both his parents, neither of whom lived in England, are dead, and when old Madame died, some months ago, not long after the child had arrived in England, Pattie took possession of him, and is keeping him till it suits an uncle in Paris to come and fetch him. I am wondering whether the presence of this small stranger will conduce or otherwise to the harmony of the party.”
CHAPTER III.
NOTES AND QUERIES.
WHETHER the new-comers would contribute to the harmony of his life, was troubling Gaston’s mind, when he emerged from his hiding-place behind the clock, and made a cautious survey of the intruders.