"That's because you're ignorant, Bertie, and have no taste or ambition," Eddie replied. "You know what Doctor Mayson says: 'Travel improves the mind, and enlarges the understanding.'"
"Yes, but that's only in a copy-book!" Bertie exclaimed triumphantly. "Besides, papa is the cleverest man in the world, and he's happy enough here. Oh! the carriage at last. Come and welcome our new cousin;" and in a moment Bertie had vaulted over the gate and shouted to the coachman to stop, while Eddie followed in a more orthodox fashion, and both boys stood bowing, with their caps in their hands, to a little girl dressed in black, with a small pale face, and a quantity of light hair pushed back from her forehead. She clung to Mrs. Mittens nervously with one hand, while she extended the other first to Bertie, then to Eddie and said, "Thank you, cousins," for their welcome in the sweetest, saddest voice in the world. Then the carriage drove on before Bertie had quite recovered his astonishment at the fact that the little girl seemed no more than a baby, yet wore blue glasses, and spoke with the voice of a grown-up person. He had meant to spring into the carriage, give her a hearty kiss and a noisy greeting, and go on to the house with her; but such familiarities were entirely out of the question with the grave little lady in black. Turning round, he looked questioningly at Eddie, who had returned to the grounds. "Well," he cried, "what do you think?"
"I think Cousin Agnes is an ugly, sickly little thing, not more than seven!" he cried scornfully. "The idea of a girl in blue spectacles! Come and have a walk." For once Bertie followed instead of leading, though he was strongly inclined to return to the house. He did not think his cousin was ugly, and he pitied her for being so pale and sad-looking; but somehow he felt disappointed too, and out of humour with himself, and Eddie, and every one else, and in an unusually silent mood he set off for a ramble in the woods. Both boys were disappointed in Agnes, but in a different way.
CHAPTER II.—AGNES FINDS A FRIEND.
"I hope you will be very happy here, child, and make yourself at home. Take care of her, Mittens, and see that the boys don't tease her;" and Mr. Rivers kissed the trembling, nervous little girl on the forehead, and waved her out of the room. The interview had been brief, and conducted with absolute silence on the child's part. She was overpowered by the magnificence and awed by the solemnity of her new home.
"Is that grand gentleman Uncle Hugh, ma'am?" she asked timidly, as she clung to the good-natured housekeeper's hand.
"Yes, my dear; and very kind and good you will find him if you always do just as he tells you. Now you must come to my room, and have a cup of tea before dinner. Your cousins never have any luncheon, and dine with me at three o'clock. Your Uncle Hugh always dines in his own apartments: indeed, he seldom leaves them, except for a turn on the terrace. The children go in every evening to see him for half an hour, and you will go with them. We have breakfast at nine, and tea at seven. Your cousins drive in to Wakeley every day to Doctor Mayson's school; they leave at half-past nine, and get back by three. Sometimes they ride their ponies, but oftener they drive in the little dog-cart; and I dare say a young person will come to give you lessons, but the master has not made any arrangement yet. You're to sleep in the room next to mine; and Prudence Briggs, the under housemaid, will wait upon you. But the first thing you must do, my dear Miss Agnes, is to get well, and strong, and rosy. You have been ill, surely."
"No, ma'am, not worse than usual; but I have been up a good deal at night with father."
"You up at night, child! Dear, dear! what could folk be thinking of to let you?"
"There was no one else, ma'am, and father had to have his medicine regularly," Agnes replied gravely. "Even when Doctor Evans did send a nurse, she used to fall asleep at night, and forget poor father."