Mildred was not present at Dr. Heriot's birthday party; she had preferred staying with her brother, but she found he had not forgotten her; the guests were surprised in their turn by finding a handsome gift beside each plate, a print that Roy had long coveted, Trench on Parables for Richard, Schiller's works for Olive, a neat little writing-desk for Polly, and a silk-lined work-basket for Chriss, who coloured and looked uncomfortable over the gift. Polly had orders to carry a beautiful book on Ferns to Aunt Milly, and a slice of the iced-cake with Dr. Heriot's compliments, and regrets that she had not tasted the omelette—a message that Polly delivered with the utmost solemnity.
'Oh, it was so nice, Aunt Milly; Dr. Heriot is so good and indulgent. I think he is the best man living—just to please us he let us serve up the coffee in those beautiful cups without handles, that he values so, and that have cost I don't know how much money; and Olive dropped hers because she said it burnt her fingers, and broke it all to fragments. Livy looked ready to cry, but Dr. Heriot only laughed, and would not let Cardie scold her.'
'That was kind of Dr. Heriot.'
'He is never anything but kind. I am sure some of the things disagreed with him, but he would taste them all; and then afterwards—oh, Aunt Milly, it was so nice—we sang glees in the twilight, and when it got quite dark, he told us a splendid ghost-story—only it turned out a dream—which spoilt it rather; and laughed at Chrissy and me because we looked a little pale when the lamp came in. I am sure Richard enjoyed it as well as us, for he rubbed his hands and said, "Excellent," when he had finished.'
Mildred looked at her book when the girls had retired, fairly wearied with chattering. It was just what she had wanted. How thoughtful of Dr. Heriot. Her name was written in full; and for the first time she had a chance of criticising the bold, clear handwriting. 'From a family friend—John Heriot,' was written just underneath. After all, had it not been a little churlish of her to refuse going with the children? The evening had gone very heavily with her; her brother had been in one of his taciturn moods and had retired to his room early; and finding the house empty, and somewhat desolate, she had betaken herself to the moonlighted paths of the churchyard, and had more than once wished she could peep in unseen on the party.
It was not long afterwards that Mildred was induced to partake of Dr. Heriot's hospitality.
It was the day before the Castlesteads Rush-bearing. Mildred was in the town with Olive and Polly, when, just as they were turning the corner by the King's Arms, a heavy shower came on; and Dr. Heriot, who was entering his own door, beckoned to them to run across and take shelter.
Dr. Heriot's house stood in a secluded corner of the market-place, behind the King's Arms; the bank was on the left-hand side, and from the front windows there was a good view of the market-place, the town pump, and butter market, and the quaint, old-fashioned shops.
The shops of Kirkby Stephen drove a brisk trade, in spite of the sleepy air that pervaded them, and the curious intermixture of goods that they patronised.
The confectioner's was also a china shop, and there was a millinery room upstairs, while the last new music was only procurable at the tin shop. Jams and groceries could be procured at the druggist's, while the fashionable milliner of the town was also the postmistress. On certain days the dull little butcher's shop, with its picturesque gable and overhanging balcony, was guileless of anything but its chopping-blocks, and perhaps the half-carcase of a sheep; beef was not always to be had for the asking, a fact which London housekeepers were slow to understand.