Wild Heather. Meade L. T.

am thinking," was his answer.

      "Well, think aloud," I said.

      "I am thinking about you, Heather. Have you ever by any chance heard of a lady called Aunt Penelope?"

      "Never," I answered. "Aunt Penelope – Aunt Penelope – what is an aunt, Daddy?"

      "Well, there is an Aunt Penelope waiting to see you in old England, and I am going to take you down to her to-morrow. She is your aunt – listen – think hard, Heather – use your brains – because she is your mother's sister."

      "Oh!" I answered. "Does that make an aunt?"

      "Yes, that makes an aunt; or if she were your father's sister she would also be your aunt."

      I tried to digest this piece of information as best I could.

      "I am taking you to her to-morrow, and you must learn to love her as though she were your mother."

      I shook my head.

      "I can't," I said.

      "Well, don't think about it," was Daddy's reply. "Love her, without knowing that you love her. I believe she is a very good woman."

      "I 'spect so," I said. "I don't much care for good womens."

      As a rule I spoke quite correctly, but when excited I did make some lapses.

      "Well, that's all," said father, suddenly putting me down on the floor. "Run up to bed now and to sleep. You will see Aunt Penelope to-morrow; you will like her very much. I have brought you all the way to England in order that you might see her."

      I was a bit sleepy, and it was very late for me to be up. So I kissed Daddy two or three times and ran upstairs all alone. Anastasia was waiting for me at the head of the stairs.

      "Anastasia," I shouted, "we are going to have a real jolly time. We are going to Aunt Penelope to-morrow. She is aunt because she is mother's sister; she would be aunt, too, if she was father's sister. I wonder how many people she is aunt to? Is she your aunt, Anastasia?"

      "No, my dear child," said Anastasia, in quite a gentle tone.

      "And isn't it fun, Anastasia?" I continued. "Daddy has brought me all the way to England just to see Aunt Penelope, and we are going back to India almost immediately – Daddy said so."

      "Said what, Miss Heather?"

      "That we were going back to India almost – almost at once. Isn't it just lovely? You will come too, of course, only you might remember about the pins."

      Anastasia, who had placed me on a little chair, now went abruptly to the fire and stirred it into a brilliant blaze. I stared at it as a child will who has seldom seen fires. Anastasia stood with her back to me for a long time, even after she had done poking the fire, and when she turned round I thought her eyes looked funny.

      "Are you going to cry again?" I said. "I don't like cry-babies."

      "Of course not, Miss Heather. Now let me undress you."

      A minute later I was in bed, the firelight playing on the walls. The bed was big and warm and soft. I felt tired and very happy. I dropped into profound slumber. When I awoke it was broad daylight, and Anastasia was shaking me.

      "Get up, miss," she said. "If you want to be off in time you must be stirring."

      "Oh, hurrah!" I answered. "This is Aunt Penelope's day. Are we all going, Anastasia? And when we go, shall I ask her at once if she is your aunt, too?"

      "Now, for goodness' sake, stay still, Miss Heather, while I tie your things. You are such an awful fidget."

      I was dressed in an incredibly short space of time, and I had eaten a good breakfast, and Anastasia had taken me by the hand and brought me downstairs. Daddy was waiting for me in the hall, and he looked very big and broad and important. He went up to Anastasia and said a few words to her, and I think he slipped something into her hand, but I am not sure. She turned abruptly and walked away, and I said:

      "Where is she going, father?"

      "Never mind."

      Then we got into a cab, and I said:

      "But where's Anastasia?"

      "Oh, if she's quick we may meet her at the railway station," said father; "and if she is slow she must come on by the next train."

      "Oh, dear, what a nuisance!" I answered. "I did want her to come with us."

      "It all depends upon whether she is quick or slow," said father.

      "Well, at any rate," I answered, with a child's easy acceptance of a situation which she cannot understand, "it is lovely to go to Aunt Penelope."

      We reached the railway station. Anastasia was slow – she was nowhere to be seen. Father said, in his cheerful voice:

      "All right, little woman, she'll catch the next train." And then we found ourselves facing each other in two padded compartments of a first-class carriage, and the train moved out of the station, and we were off. There happened to be no one else in the carriage, but Daddy was very silent, and almost pale, for him. Once he said, bending towards me and speaking abruptly:

      "Promise me one thing?"

      "Yes, Daddy," I answered.

      "You will never think badly of me whatever you hear?"

      Now this was such a queer speech that I could not in the least understand it, but I answered at once, in the queer sort of metaphor that a child might use:

      "I would not think badly of you, father, if the world rocked."

      He kissed me two or three times after I said this, and so far recovered his usual self that he allowed me to sit on his knee and play with his watch chain. I was greatly taken with a little charm he wore, and when I said I liked it he told me that it had once belonged to a great idol in one of the most marvellous temples in the historic town of Delhi. He said it was supposed to be a charm and to bring luck, and then he detached it from his chain and slipped it on to a narrow gold chain which I wore round my neck. He told me to keep it always, for it was certain to bring luck. I said:

      "What's luck?"

      He answered: "Fair gales and a prosperous sail."

      I nodded my head satisfactorily at that, and said:

      "Then I will wear it, and you and me, Daddy" – I went wrong again with my grammar – "will have fair gales and a prosperous sail when we are returning to India."

      He thrust his head out of the carriage window when I said this, and when he put it back again I noticed that for some reason his face was as red as ever.

      Aunt Penelope's name was Penelope Despard, and she lived in a pretty little place outside a pretty little town about fifty miles away from Southampton. We got out at the station, which was called Cherton, and there a cab awaited us, which had evidently been sent by order, and some luggage was put on the roof. I was too excited by then to make any comment with regard to the luggage, although I noticed it afterwards and observed that it was all marked "H. G.," and there was nothing marked "G. G.," for father's name was Gordon Grayson. I said to father, as we got into the cab:

      "I do wonder when Anastasia's train will arrive." And he said:

      "So do I. I must make inquiries presently." But although I expected him to make these inquiries at once he did not do so, and the cab started off in the direction of Miss Despard's cottage.

      Miss Penelope Despard lived in a little house with a little garden attached. The little house went by the name of Hill View, and the garden and tiny lawn were very pretty and very neatly kept. But I was accustomed to big things – that is, except on board ship, when, of course, I had the sea to look at, which seemed to go on for ever and ever. So I was not excited about Aunt Penelope's garden. Father's face continued to be very red. He held my hand and took me up the neatly-kept gravel walk, and pushed a very brightly-polished brass button, which was instantly answered by a neat-looking boy, with a perfectly round face, in buttons.

      "Is Miss Despard in?" asked father. And then a lady in spectacles came out of a room at one side of a narrow hall, and father said:

      "Hallo,