"He shall never have the chance of insulting you again, mother. We shall soon be big enough to work for you, and then you needn't be afraid of anything or anybody."

The lad who spoke thus impetuously looked up into his mother's face as though for her dear sake he would war with the whole world.

"Never mind, Hughie boy," she answered soothingly. "It was a long journey for nothing, but as he wouldn't answer my letters, what else could I do?

"Ah well," she added, "so long as I have my children, and health and strength to work for them, I am not afraid," but nevertheless, though the mother uttered these brave words, there was a tremor of weariness and disappointment in her voice.

She had anticipated so much from a personal interview with Sir Matthew Rose—her father-in-law—but now all her cherished hopes were dashed to the ground.

Mrs. Rose was the widow of a clergyman, and since the death of her husband, about four years previously, she had had a hard struggle to support herself and her children.

The three eldest were boys, Hugh, Frank, and Ronald by name, whose ages varied from ten to seven. The youngest was a girl named Elsie, a little maid of between five and six summers, who was the pet and plaything of them all.

The house in which they dwelt (a roomy old residence known as The Gables) was the property of Mrs. Rose, bequeathed to her by a wealthy relative shortly before her husband's death. By means of letting a portion of the house, the widow managed to eke out her income sufficiently to provide for the actual needs of herself and her children, but there was little margin left for education and additional expenses. Not that the lack of regular lessons troubled her light-hearted laddies one jot; they were well content with the home tuition they received, but not so their ambitious little mother.

For this cause she had nerved herself to make one final appeal to their grandfather for assistance, and with what result we have already seen.

Her husband, Gilbert Rose, was the eldest son of a wealthy baronet, and for many years he was the apple of his father's eye.

At length came a day when their wills clashed, and in his wrath Sir Matthew vowed he would have nothing more to do with him, and he determined to make Wilfrid, his second son, his heir.

The cause of dispute was Gilbert's choice of a bride, who in his father's eyes was neither fitted by birth nor worldly treasure to become the wife of his eldest son.

Elizabeth Gilderoy (or Lisa, as Gilbert was wont to call her) was the orphaned sister of one of his curates. She was both good and beautiful, and it was little wonder that he loved her. Their married life was exceedingly happy, but all too soon it came to a close. After a brief illness he died, leaving his wife with four young children to battle against the winds of adversity.

The blow fell upon her with crushing force, but despite her bitter grief, her faith did not falter, for she realized that though earthly props might fall, yet around her were the Everlasting Arms of Divine love and tenderness.

Hugh's affection for his mother well-nigh bordered on worship, and the idea of her being slighted or insulted was intolerable to his proud spirit.

"It's no use being angry, my boy, we must talk things over calmly," she said. "But I'm afraid now, as matters stand, there is nothing but the Board school for you all."

"Oh, mother, as if you couldn't teach us all we want to know!" answered Hugh impulsively. "Besides, we shan't want much learning for the professions we've chosen."

Hugh's pleading look brought the sudden tears to his mother's eyes, though his words made her smile.

"Well, laddie, and what are the professions to be?" she said gently.

"Oh! I'm going to be a sailor, and you don't want to go to school to be taught the ropes; and Frank and Ronnie have made up their minds to be sheep-farmers abroad, so as to make a fortune quickly; and Elsie says—" here a broad smile came over Hugh's face—"she is going to keep a sweet-shop."

Mrs. Rose laughed, but she soon grew grave again.

"Hugh dear," she said earnestly, "you are old enough now to know that an ignorant boy has no chance in the world, and at a Board school you will all three get a good education. In this matter you must put your pride in your pocket, in the same way I did when I went to The Towers."

"Oh, mother, I hate being poor," cried Hugh, "and I hate—I hate grandfather with all my heart!"

With these words Hugh left the room, and in his agitation, he nearly ran into Miss Beaumont, the lady who occupied part of The Gables, and who cherished for Hugh a sincere affection.

"Why, Hugh, what is the matter?" she asked in surprise.

"Nothing at all, Miss Beaumont, thank you," answered Hugh, seeking to make good his escape.

But the lady was not to be put off in this manner. "Come into my room," she said authoritatively, "and tell me what has upset you."

Miss Beaumont's apartments were furnished with a view both to luxury and elegance, but Hugh took little heed of his surroundings as he sat, at the lady's bidding, beside her on the sofa.

"Mother says we must go to the Board school," he burst out impetuously.

"Very sensible too of your mother, if she is unable to send you elsewhere."

Hugh flashed an indignant look upwards.

"Oh! You think it isn't good enough for you, I suppose. Well, upon consideration, perhaps, the grandchildren of Sir Matthew Rose should have other advantages. Why doesn't your mother apply to him?" inquired Miss Beaumont.

"She has, but he refused to see her, and I've a good mind to write and tell grandfather what I think of him!"

"Well, then, I won't keep you any longer," responded Miss Beaumont, with a gleam of humour in her eyes. "If you should decide to write such an important letter, I will post it for you with some of my own."

"Then I will," said Hugh with great decision.

As soon as the lad had closed the door behind him, Miss Beaumont murmured to herself, "H'm! I wonder what Matthew will say to such an epistle. He'll be a little taken aback, I think, but it won't do him any harm in the end."

After which speech she sat down to her writing-desk, and wrote several letters, one of which was addressed to Sir Matthew Rose, Bart.

At the end of half-an-hour Hugh reappeared, with a sealed letter in his hand, which he gave into her keeping.

"This is a secret, I suppose, Hugh?" she said, interrogatively.

"Yes, please, Miss Beaumont."

"Ah, I understand; this isn't the first secret we've had, is it, my boy?"

"No," said Hugh; "you are very good to us, only I wish you would let me tell mother where the presents come from."

"No, Hugh, I'd rather not; perhaps she shall know some day, but not yet."

And with this Hugh was perforce content.

[CHAPTER II]

A COUNCIL OF WAR

"OH, mummie dear, somefing so inciting has happened!"

"Run away, pet; don't you see how busy we are with lessons?" and Mrs. Rose, as she said these words, shook her head reprovingly at little Elsie, who with flushed cheeks and excited eyes had bounded into the room.

"But I must tell you the news—York House is took."

She had roused her listeners at length. What were reading, writing and arithmetic compared with such interesting information?

"That isn't all," she cried delightedly, "I've somefing more to tell you—the lady's name is Rose, Mrs. Wilfrid Rose, and she comes from 'Merica."

"How strange!" ejaculated the mother, a flush of colour coming into her cheeks. "It must be your Aunt Mary and her three children."

Intense excitement prevailed in the room, and as lessons were nearly over, Mrs. Rose thought it advisable to excuse the remainder.

The house in question, which was a detached one situated next to The Gables, was a large, handsome residence, but, on account of its high rent and sundry defects, it had stood empty for more than two years.

"I suppose," said Mrs. Rose, reflectively, "you won't be allowed to play in the meadow any more, as it belongs to York House."

"Mother!" cried four indignant voices.

"Well, darlings, you see the landlord has only given you permission to make use of it while York House was untenanted."

"We don't want them to come and take away our medder," said Elsie, plaintively.

"Oh, well," said Ronnie, "I 'spect as we're all cousins, we shall play there together. That'll be fine fun."

But a troubled look came into the mother's eyes at his words.

"I don't want to disappoint you, dears," she made reply; "but I'm afraid your Aunt Mary may not care for you to be too friendly. However, we shall see. Now run and play in the meadow, and make the most of your opportunities."

Away scampered the children, and Mrs. Rose was left to her own reflections, which, to judge by her expression, were not altogether pleasing ones.

Once and once only had she met Mrs. Wilfrid, and the memory of that meeting gave her no cause for pleasure.

The two brothers, Gilbert and Wilfrid, who were married about the same time, were wide apart in many respects. Gilbert Rose had early chosen the "better part," but Wilfrid's overmastering characteristic was worldly ambition. The latter gave his father great satisfaction by his marriage with the grand-daughter of an earl, a lady who was possessed of both beauty and fortune. For a time all went well with the young couple, and by Sir Matthew's desire they took up their abode at The Towers, as the baronet's residence was named. Gilbert was forbidden to cross the threshold; and Wilfrid, to further enhance his own prospects, helped to poison his father's mind against his elder brother.

These facts came to Gilbert's knowledge, and gave him considerable pain, but nothing he could do or say had any power to counteract his brother's influence.

At length came an unlucky day for Wilfrid. The baronet, who was extremely irascible, took dire offence at some words spoken by his haughty daughter-in-law, and Wilfrid was consequently bidden to accept an influential post in America, which had just been offered him.

In less than a month, he and his wife bade good-bye to English shores, and Matthew, the third and youngest son, was named as his father's heir.

Matthew Rose was slightly deformed, but possessed withal such a bright, cheerful temperament that his physical defect had no power to sour or embitter his life.

Wilfrid Rose, after a sojourn of some ten or eleven years abroad, died suddenly of heart disease, and his widow shortly afterwards made her way to England, with her three children.

By a strange coincidence, or shall we not rather say by the overruling Hand of Providence, she took the very house next door to her despised sister-in-law. It is probable that had she been aware of it in time, not even the salubrious air of Linwell-on-Sea would have tempted her to take up her dwelling in such close proximity to Mrs. Gilbert Rose.

But the deed was done, and painters and paperhangers were set to work to make York House a habitable dwelling-place.

The day of their arrival was a most eventful one in the annals of The Gables. It was a wet afternoon, and Mrs. Rose was busy in the kitchen preparing some dainty for Miss Beaumont's late dinner. The three boys and Elsie, unable to go out and play, watched from the nursery window (which overlooked the front of the house) for the carriage to appear, for Ronnie had questioned the gardener and had thereby learnt that Mrs. Wilfrid Rose and her family were expected that same afternoon.

For a long time they watched and waited, Elsie, with her nose flattened against the window, anxious to be the first to communicate the tidings.

"Here they come!" she cried at last, and then four pairs of eyes full of intense interest peered over the blind.

Two lads of about ten and eight years of age were the first to alight from the carriage, and then a little girl stepped forth, followed by a respectable middle-aged woman, who looked like a housekeeper.

Shortly afterwards another carriage drew up, which contained Mrs. Wilfrid and a maid, who had charge of several boxes and packages.

But the children were the chief objects of interest to the four watchers at the nursery window.

"Shouldn't be surprised if we were regular enemies," said Frank; "they look as if they all thought a mighty deal of themselves."

"So they do," agreed Hugh. "I vote we show 'em we don't want their friendships. Now, I've just thought of something—we'll keep up the family feud."

"What's that?" said Ronnie. "Is it anything to do with breakfasts? 'Cause I'm getting so tired of bread and milk. We never have nice things like Miss Beaumont does."

"You are a silly, Ronnie," said Hugh, "a regular baby. Why, Elsie has more 'go' in her than you have."

Ronnie, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little lad, looked quite hurt, whilst Elsie, elated at her brother's praise, said in a chirpy voice—

"Yes, much more 'go.' I can run nearly as fast as Kitty." Kitty, by the way, was the little maid-of-all-work.

"Family feud, I said, not food," went on Hugh in an explanatory voice; "that means the same as a quarrel. The Rose family don't seem to have agreed very well in the past, so I vote we keep it up with these little jackanapes."

"The Wars of the Roses over again," said Frank, laughingly.

"That's a clever idea!" Hugh replied. "We'll just take them down a peg or two."

"The meadow 'll do for the field of Waterloo, where the Roses fought," said Ronnie vaguely, anxious to say something clever too.

"Hark at him!" cried Frank, with a roar of laughter. "Bravo, my boy! You shall have the first prize for history."

"I'll take the big chap, if he has any of his nonsense," continued Hugh; "you, Frank, can tackle the second one, and Ronnie, the girl."

"Men can't fight women," said Ronnie indignantly; "'sides, I don't want to fight."

"Then you've got to do so, and if the girl shows any of her high and mighty ways, you must stand on your dignity. I don't say you are to strike her, but just show her our family is as good as hers any day."

"I wish she was a boy," said Ronnie regretfully, slightly impressed by his brother's long speech.

"That won't matter," said Frank, in a would-be soothing tone, "you are more than half a girl yourself."

Ronnie looked so fierce for a moment that there was danger of war in the camp, but Elsie unconsciously saved the situation.

"Who am I to fight?" she cried distressfully, for she felt sadly out of it. No one appeared to have thought of Elsie joining the fray.

"You are too little for a soldier," said Hugh gently; "besides, there's nobody for you to fight. We must be equal, else it won't be fair." Then turning to his brothers, he added, "Now, boys, you must kiss the book."

"What book?" cried both lads in surprise.

"Oh! I'll soon find one; here's a Markham's history, that will do well. Now you've got to say, after me, 'I promise to fight in the Wars of the Roses, and do my duty as a brave soldier.'"

Hugh looked so serious that his brothers refrained from laughing, and little Elsie watched the scene in wonderment.

"I'm glad I'm not a soldier," she said in baby scorn. "Fancy kissing a silly old hist'ry! I'd rather kiss mummie."

"Grapes are sour, Elsie," said Frank loftily.

"They isn't. They are getting lovely and ripe, Miss Beaumont had some this morning."

No notice was taken of this speech, for Frank immediately broke in with a most important question.

"Well, what side are we going to be, York or Chichester?"

"Look here, now, Frank," said Hugh, his bright eyes gleaming with fun, "you're as bad as Ronnie. I suppose you mean Lancaster."

"Oh, well, it's all the same thing!" answered Frank hurriedly.

"Why, of course they are 'York,' 'cause of York House," said Ronnie, delighted at his own brilliance.

"Bravo, Ronnie!" cried his brothers.

At which praise he was so lifted up that he felt for the moment equal to carrying on the battle all by himself.

At this juncture the tea-bell rang, and in spirits the children scrambled downstairs to join their mother in the dining-room.

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[CHAPTER III]

UNCLE MATTHEW'S GENEROSITY

"HAVE you answered either of those letters yet, father?"

"No, Matthew, and I've no intention of doing so. I regard them both as highly impertinent."

The younger man sighed, but the baronet, Sir Matthew Rose, looked as cold and impregnable as a rock.

It was the close of a golden September day; the misty shadows were falling across the well-wooded park and meadow-lands which surrounded the old baronial pile known as The Towers.

"You will pardon me saying so, father, but I think you are wrong," went on Matthew fearlessly.

"That's all you know about it," answered the baronet testily.

But Matthew, heedless of his father's irritability, pursued the subject bravely.

"It is but fitting that one of Gilbert's boys should be your heir. My life, I sometimes feel, will not be a long one, and—"

"Nonsense, man, nonsense!" interrupted Sir Matthew. "I intend that The Towers shall be yours, and that after your death—and you'll make old bones yet, you mark my words! It shall descend to your son, for you must marry, Matthew."

A look of pain crossed the young man's features, which was not unnoticed by the baronet's quick eye.

"You think too much of your physical defect, you do, 'pon my word," said his father, but there was a tenderness underlying the irritation in his voice.

There was no answer to this speech, as at this moment a servant entered with the evening letters.

For a while there was silence as each perused his correspondence. Presently an exclamation of surprise burst from Sir Matthew's lips.

"Why, here's a letter from Mary! I thought she was in America!"

"Where does she write from, father?" inquired Matthew.

"Linwell—the very spot where Gilbert's wife and family have taken up their abode. That's very strange!" muttered the old man.

"'I am hoping to come and see you as soon as we are settled in our new home,'" he went on, reading the letter aloud.

"Well, I'm in no hurry," said he, ungraciously. "I had quite enough of Mrs. Wilfrid's airs and graces years ago."

"Ah well, dad, let bygones be bygones," said peace-loving Matthew; "remember she has passed through much sorrow since those days."

"Poor Wilfrid!" murmured the baronet. "Who would have thought, to look at him, that he would have been cut off in the prime of his manhood!"

Again a silence fell upon them both; this time it was broken by Matthew.

"I should like to read those two letters—Alicia Beaumont's and Hugh's—once again, if you've not destroyed them."

"No, they are in my desk; here are the keys."

Matthew, with halting gait, stepped across the room, and soon obtained possession of the letters in question. The first one which he opened ran as follows—

"DEAR GRANDFATHER,
"I am sorry you treated my mother in such a way, by turning her from your doors like a beggar. It was very cruel of you, and you will never have the chance of doing it again. She was going to ask you to help us with our education, but it doesn't matter now a bit, because we are going to the Board school. Apolergizing for troubling you with a letter,
"I am,
"Your grandson,
"HUGH."

And this was the effusion sent off by an indignant lad, and regretted ten minutes later.

"Poor little chap!" said Matthew to himself. "He has a fine spirit, but a little more education won't hurt him."

The other letter, which was penned by Miss Alicia Beaumont (who was a distant connection of the late Lady Rose), was in this wise—

"DEAR SIR MATTHEW,
"You will doubtless be surprised at hearing from me, and more especially when I tell you that for nearly three years I have been living in the same house as your son's wife, Elizabeth Rose. In fact, to put it plainly, I am her lodger, and very comfortable indeed she makes me.
"But I am not writing this letter to inform you about myself, but just to give you some idea of what kind of woman your daughter-in-law has proved herself to be. She is a good mother in every sense of the word, and is seeking to train her children in the faith and fear of God.
"I am not a religious woman myself, but her example has gone far to prove to me the reality and beauty of a consistent Christian life.
"She finds it a struggle to make both ends meet, and how she is to educate her sons fitly, and place them out in the world, passes my comprehension.
"I ask of you, for the sake of their father whom you once loved, that this neglect of your grandsons shall not continue.
"Please forgive me if I have said too much,
"Believe me,
"Yours sincerely,
"ALICIA BEAUMONT."

"Something must be done, father," said Matthew with decision, as he laid the letters down on the table beside him.

"Then you must do it, for I shall not," was the abrupt answer.

"May I reply to these letters, father?"

"You may write to Alicia, but I desire that no notice whatever be taken of the lad's impudent epistle," and with these words Sir Matthew quitted the room.

The younger man then sat down to the writing-table, and hastily wrote off an answer to Miss Beaumont's letter, which same epistle gave great pleasure to the recipient.

Her face positively beamed with gladness as she read the few lines which Matthew Rose had inscribed.

The letter was to the point, and ran thus—

"DEAR MISS BEAUMONT,
"It is my desire to undertake the education of my nephews, and—if their mother be willing—I should like them to attend the County Grammar School, which is situated a few miles from Linwell. The master there, the Rev. Dr. Willoughby, is a personal friend of mine, and one in whom I repose great confidence. Kindly inform my sister-in-law of this offer, but refrain from mentioning my name.
"Thanking you for your letter to my father, and with kind regards,
"Believe me,
"Yours very sincerely,
"MATTHEW ROSE."

Five minutes after the receipt of this epistle a brisk tapping was heard at the door of the room wherein Mrs. Rose sat, darning the week's socks and stockings. Miss Beaumont was surprised upon entering to see that the usually calm, bright woman had evidently been giving way to a few tears. Beneath her somewhat forbidding exterior, Miss Beaumont possessed a very kindly heart, as her frequent anonymous gifts to the Rose family testified.

"Are you too busy to give me a few minutes, Mrs. Rose?" she asked.

"Oh, no," answered the widow, laying aside her work. "I hope nothing is wrong," she added, for a visit from Miss Beaumont was of rare occurrence.

"Nothing whatever. I merely came in to tell you that a friend who wishes his name to remain unknown is desirous of undertaking the cost of the education of your boys at the County Grammar School."

For a moment Mrs. Rose was too overcome to answer.

"Forgive me," she said brokenly, "I did not mean to be so foolish."

"Well, I must say, my dear good woman, I don't see anything to cry about," said Miss Beaumont brusquely.

"No, no; I am only so glad and thankful. Would you believe it, I had actually thought that God had not seen fit to answer my prayers about this matter. Wasn't it foolish of me?" she asked, smiling through her tears.

Miss Beaumont made no reply; the fact was that an uncomfortable lump in her throat prevented her calm utterance at that moment.

"If I might only know who my kind friend is—" said the widow.

"You see, he doesn't wish to be known," answered Miss Beaumont decisively.

"Can it be possible that Sir Matthew has at last relented?" said Mrs. Rose reflectively.

"I can gratify your curiosity on that point—it certainly is not their grandfather."

A shade of disappointment crossed the widow's face.

"I would give much to be able to grasp the hand of my unknown friend, and say, 'God bless you.'"

As tears threatened to dim the mother's eyes once more, Miss Beaumont, who dreaded a scene, hastily bade her good-morning, and departed to her own room.

But she need not have feared. Mrs. Rose very rarely indulged in the luxury of giving way to such womanly weakness, and it was with a very light and thankful heart that she finished the remainder of her pile of work.

————————————

[CHAPTER IV]

THE BEGINNING OF THE FRAY

"THAT'S a silly old hat you've got on!"

The little girl to whom this rude remark was addressed looked at the speaker for a few seconds in hurt surprise before replying.

She was peering through the garden gate which opened on to the meadow, wherein the children at The Gables had been wont to play, in undisturbed enjoyment, for the past two years.

"You're a very rude boy, and you've no right in that meadow—it belongs to us, and if you don't go away, I'll tell nurse," said the little girl indignantly.

"You shan't call me names; if you do I'll pull your pussy's tail."

The speaker, who was Ronald Rose, eyed the little girl aggressively, mindful of Hugh's instructions.

The kitten, which the child was clasping in her arms, suddenly took fright at the small dog by Ronnie's side, and scrambling away from its little mistress, it ran across the meadow as fast as its small legs could go. Immediately the dog was in full pursuit.

"TAKE YOUR HORRID, WICKED OLD DOG AWAY."

Opening the garden gate, the little girl rushed after her treasure, with Ronnie following close on her heels.

If Ronnie had one weakness, it was a love for kittens, and all enmity was forgotten in the common bond of protecting the helpless.

But pussy was soon in safety; with marvellous agility she scrambled into the branches of a tall tree at the end of the meadow, and there her little palpitating heart beat in security.

"Take your horrid, wicked old dog away, the then come and help me get my kitty down," said e child tearfully.

Ronnie thus imperiously addressed, humbly obeyed, and in less than ten minutes a little lad and lass were seated under the shade of the tree, with the kitten safe in its owner's arms.

"Why did you say just now, mine was a silly old hat?" questioned the girl, when at last she could think of something else besides her pussy.

Ronnie looked shamefaced for a moment.

"Oh! Because we're enemies, you know," he said, flushing redly.

"Enemies! How funny! I never knew before what an enemy was like! But why are you my enemy?" she inquired.

"Oh—" Ronnie hesitated, trying to think of a sufficiently dignified answer. "'Cause we've got to keep up the family food."

"Whatever do you mean?"

The round eyes opened their widest, as the little maid put this question.

Then the boy, thus thrown as it were upon his last resources, sought to explain the situation.

"We're cousins, you know, you and me," he began.

This was indeed news to the child, who had not at present even heard the name of the next door neighbours.

"Are we 'really?'—What is your name?" she inquired.

"Ronnie Rose," was the prompt answer. "What is yours?"

"Gwennie Rose, and I'm seven years old."

"So am I," answered the boy, "and we know lots about your family, though you've only been here two days, and Hugh says we are enemies, and we've got to fight."

"What a wicked boy he must be!" exclaimed Gwennie.

Ronnie was up in arms in a moment. How dare the girl with the big eyes call his brother wicked!

The kitten at this moment showed signs of wishing to make friends with Ronnie, and as he had no desire to resist its overtures, he took the fluffy little ball into his arms.

"You won't hurt my Fluffy, will you, Ronnie?" she asked pleadingly.

"No, I love kittens," he answered, stroking the soft fur to pussy's supreme content. Then he proceeded, though in a more gentle tone—

"Hugh is going to fight your big brother, and Frank the younger one, and I am to fight you."

The little girl, really alarmed, got up from her seat and was about to run home.

"Don't run away, Gwennie, I won't hurt you. Hugh says I am not to strike you, only just to let you know our family is as good as yours."

"As good as ours!" said Gwennie. "Oh no, I don't think so, 'cause I've got an uncle who preaches in a church, and makes lovely sermons."

"Oh! That's nothing—my father did just the same."

"Then we're just as good as each other; so don't you think, Ronnie,—" and here a wistful look came into the big blue eyes—"you and me might be friends?"

Ronnie hesitated. "I should like to be," said the young traitor, "only I kissed the book, you know."

More wonderment still shone in Gwennie's eyes. "What's that got to do with it?" she inquired.

"I don't quite know, only that is how we all promised to fight in the Wars of the Roses."

"I don't think," said Gwennie, slowly and reverently, "that the angels up in Heaven would like to see us fighting."

This was a new idea to Ronnie, but he was not to be vanquished in this way.

"Oh, I'm sure they wouldn't mind!" said he. "Why, the Israelites in the Bible slew a thousand of their enemies with the jawbone of a donkey." Ronnie, as will be seen, was wont to be somewhat mixed in his statements.

"Oh, you bad, bad boy to tell such stories!" exclaimed the child, really shocked.

"That's true, 'cause it's in my 'Line upon Line,'" said Ronnie in perfect good faith. "I'll bring the book to-morrow afternoon, as it will be Sunday, and show you under this tree."

The little diplomatist was not only desirous of proving his words, but of once more meeting his foe in single combat.

"Do, then I'll believe you. But, Ronnie, do you think Jesus would like it? I promised nurse I would always try and please Him."

There was an earnestness in her tone which touched Ronnie, and he had no answer ready this time.

"I don't think He would, you know," continued the child, "'cause I've got a picture of Him at home, as a little baby, and it is called, 'The Prince of Peace.'"

At this moment the clanging of the tea-bell caused Ronnie to start.

"That's our bell ringing, I must go," he said abruptly, but Gwennie's words had sunk into his mind, and he began to have serious doubts as to whether the fight upon which they had entered was a righteous one after all.

At any rate, if the Wars of the Roses must be fought, he was sincerely glad that he was "told off" to combat Gwennie.

"Good-bye, Ronnie, don't forget to-morrow," she said, taking the kitten from his arms.

"No, no, I'll remember," he answered confidently. Then bidding good-bye in a friendly fashion, he ran homewards across the meadow.

Indeed he was not likely to forget his tryst, for the first battle had been so agreeable that he quite looked forward to the next conflict.

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[CHAPTER V]

THE HOUSE OF YORK

MRS. WILFRID ROSE'S face was puckered into a frown. She was an extremely handsome woman, and were it not for the look of pride and discontent in her eyes, she would have made a fair picture to look upon.

It was the breakfast-hour at York House, and the family had seated themselves at the table.

Gwennie had been giving a detailed description of her encounter with Ronald, to the amusement of her brothers and the intense vexation of her mother.

"To think that after travelling these thousands of miles, we should actually have settled down next door to these objectionable Roses," she said irritably. "Well, I suppose we must keep up a semblance of friendship for the look of the thing," she continued, "but I do beg of you children not to get too intimate."

"Don't you be afraid, mother," said the second son (Montague by name, usually called Monty); "we'll soon lick 'em into shape—Wars of the Roses indeed!"

"They must be original children," said Mrs. Rose languidly; "their idea is somewhat novel, but I The hope you will not get mixed up in any fight, Monty. The last one you had, you came home, I remember, with two black eyes."

"Two lovely black eyes!" hummed Monty indifferently.

"It's Sunday, Monty! You forget," said Gwennie in a shocked voice.

"Yes, so I did, little Miss Prig. Here, pass me the marmalade."

Gwennie obeyed, but she was too taken up with the subject in hand to eat much breakfast; but not so Reginald, the eldest son, to whom the matter was beneath contempt.

He was an utterly spoilt lad, the pride of his mother's heart, and partaking more of her disposition than either of the other children.

Seeing that his mother disdained the whole family at The Gables, he did likewise, and summed up his three unknown cousins as "cads."

"There's a little girl too," said Gwennie, "'cause I saw her face at the window."

"I think we've discussed the subject long enough," said Mrs. Wilfrid with decision; "get on with your breakfast, children, or we shall be late for church."

There was no fear of any member of "The House of York" being late for church on their first Sunday at Linwell, so intense was their curiosity to see their unknown aunt and cousins.

Mrs. Wilfrid, clad in mourning, followed by her three children, was ushered by the verger into one of the very best seats, for the old man realized at a glance that the stately-looking woman was "one of the quality."

She was not above the feeling of curiosity herself, and when Mrs. Gilbert Rose and her family took their place in close proximity to the pulpit, she immediately recognized in the widow's sweet, worn features the woman whom she had last met as a happy bride.

She could not see the lads' faces, as they were hidden by a massive pillar, but little Elsie, who was sitting close beside her mother, looked so sweet and winsome, that despite herself, Mrs. Wilfrid's heart went out to the child.

To Gwennie's delight, from her seat beside her two brothers, she could occasionally get a peep at Ronnie, but whether from shyness, or because he thought he had already been too friendly, he refused to meet the blue eyes which he felt instinctively were gazing at him.

Only once did he glance at his little cousin, but at this moment her eyes were fixed upon the clergyman with intense interest, for the text he had just given out were these few words:

"Love your enemies."

During the sermon heavy clouds gathered, and ere the words of the benediction were uttered, the rain descended in a drenching shower.

Mrs. Wilfrid, in her widow's weeds, felt sadly the lack of an umbrella, and whilst waiting in the porch, bade her son Reginald run home to York House—which was but a short distance—to fetch her one.

His answer was audible to those around.

"It won't hurt your bonnet, mother, more than it will hurt me," he said in a grumbling voice.

At this moment a little lad touched her hand.

"Please will you take this umbrella," he said shyly.

"Thank you so much," she answered, with a smile radiating her beautiful face, which smile so subjugated Frank Rose, whose umbrella it was, that he was her humble admirer from thenceforth. "I will return it this afternoon, if you will tell me where I can send it," she said graciously.

"To The Gables," answered Frank, flushing a little as he spoke.

The lady's manner stiffened, but as she could not well decline the proffered loan, she merely repeated her thanks, and prepared to make the best of her way homewards.

Whilst waiting in the porch, Gwennie found an opportunity to whisper a few words to Ronnie.

"I can't come out this afternoon, 'cause of the rain. Will you show me about the donkey next Sunday instead?"

"Yes, p'raps," said Ronnie, who with Hugh's eyes upon him felt it incumbent not to be too friendly.

"I liked the text this morning," went on Gwennie unabashed, "'bout loving your enemies, didn't you?"

"Didn't notice it much," answered Ronnie, with more indifference in his tone than veracity.