Heriot's Choice: A Tale. Rosa Nouchette Carey

      'You are very good, Roy, but I am sorry all the same, only Cardie will not believe it,' returned Olive. There were tears in the poor girl's voice, and she evidently felt her brother's reproof keenly.

      'Actions are better than words,' was the curt reply. 'But this is not very amusing for Aunt Milly. What are you and Miss Ellison going to do with yourselves this morning?'

      'Bother Miss Ellison; why don't you call her Polly?' burst in Roy, irreverently.

      'I have not given him leave,' returned the little lady haughtily. 'You were rude, and took the permission without asking.'

      'Nonsense, don't be dignified, Polly; it does' not suit you. We are cousins, aren't we? brothers and sisters once removed?'

      'I am Aunt Milly's niece; but I am not to call him Uncle Arnold, am I?' was Polly's unexpected retort. But the shout it raised roused even Mr. Lambert.

      'Call me what you like, my dear; never mind my boy's mischief,' laying his hand on Roy's shoulder caressingly. 'He is as skittish and full of humour as a colt; but a good lad in the main.'

      Polly contemplated them gravely, and pondered the question; then she reached out a little hand and touched Mr. Lambert timidly.

      'No! I will not call you Uncle Arnold; it does not seem natural. I like Mr. Lambert best. But Roy is nice, and may call me what he likes; and Richard, too, if he will not be so cross.'

      'Thanks, my princess,' answered Roy, with mocking reverence. 'So you don't approve of Dick's temper, eh?'

      'I think Olive stupid to bear it; but he means well,' returned Polly composedly. And as Richard drew himself up affronted at the young stranger's plain speaking, she looked in his face, in her frank childish way, 'Cardie is prettier than Richard, and I will call you that if you like, but you must not frown at me and tell me to do things as you tell Olive. I am not accustomed to be treated like a little sheep,' finished Polly, naively; and Richard, despite his vexed dignity, was compelled to join in the laugh that greeted this speech.

      'Polly and I ought to unpack,' suggested Mildred, in her wise matter-of-fact way, hoping to restore the harmony that every moment seemed to disturb.

      'No one will invade your privacy to-day, Aunt Milly; it would be a violation of county etiquette to call upon strangers till they had been seen at church. You and Miss——' Richard paused awkwardly, and hurried on—'You will have plenty of time to settle yourself and get rested.'

      'Fie, Dick—what a blank. You are to be nameless now, Polly,'

      'Don't be so insufferably tiresome, Rex; one can never begin a sensible conversation in this house, what with Chriss's contradictions on one side and your jokes on the other.'

      'Poor old Issachar between two burdens,' returned Roy, patting him lightly. 'Cheer up; don't lose heart; try again, my lad. Aunt Milly, when you have finished with Polly, I want to show her Podgill, our favourite wood; and Olive and Chriss shall go too.'

      'Wait till the afternoon, Roy, and then we can manage it,' broke in Chriss, breathlessly.

      'You can go, Christine, but I have no time,' returned Olive wearily; but as Richard seemed on the point of making some comment, she gathered up her books, and, stumbling heavily over her torn dress in her haste, hurried from the room.

      Mildred and Polly shut themselves in their rooms, and were busy till dinner-time. Once or twice when Mildred had occasion to go downstairs she came upon Olive; once she was standing by the hall table jingling a basket of keys, and evidently in weary argument on domestic matters with Nan—Nan's broad Westmorland dialect striking sharply against Olive's feeble refined key.

      'Titter its dune an better, Miss Olive—t' butcher will send fleshmeat sure enough, but I maun gang and order it mysel'.'

      'Very well, Nan, but it must not be that joint; Mr. Richard does not like it, and——'

      'Eh! I cares lile for Master Richard,' grumbled Nan, crossly. 'T'auld maister is starved amyast—a few broth will suit him best.'

      'But we can have the broth as well,' returned Olive, with patient persistence. 'Mamma always studied what Richard liked, and he must not feel the difference now.'

      'Nay, then I maun just gang butcher's mysel', and see after it.'

      But Mildred heard no more. By and by, as she was sorting some books on the window seat, she saw Chrissy scudding across the courtyard, and Olive following her with a heavy load of books in her arms; the elder girl was plodding on with downcast head and stooping shoulders, the unfortunate black dress trailing unheeded over the rough beck gravel, and the German grammar still open in her hand.

CHAPTER V

       Table of Contents

OLIVE

       Table of Contents

      'The yearnings of her solitary spirit, the out-gushings of her shrinking sensibility, the cravings of her alienated heart, are indulged only in the quiet holiness of her solitude. The world sees not, guesses not the conflict, and in the ignorance of others lies her strength.'—Bethmont.

      Dinner was hardly a sociable meal at the vicarage. Olive was in her place looking hot and dusty when Mildred came downstairs, and Chriss tore in and took her seat in breathless haste, but the boys did not make their appearance till it was half over. Richard immediately seated himself by his aunt, and explained the reason of their delay in a low tone, though he interrupted himself once by a few reproachful words to Olive on the comfortless appearance of the room.

      'It is Chriss's fault,' returned Olive. 'I have asked her so often not to bring all that litter in at dinner-time; and, Chriss, you have pulled down the blind too.'

      Richard darted an angry look at the offender, which was met defiantly, and then he resumed the subject, though with a perturbed brow. Roy and he had been over to Musgrave to read classics with the vicar. Roy had left Sedbergh, and since their trouble their father had been obliged to resign this duty to another. 'He was bent on preparing me for Oxford himself, but since his illness he has occupied himself solely with parish matters. So Mr. Wigram offered to read with us for a few months, and as the offer was too good a one to be refused, Roy and I walk over three or four times a week.'

      'Have you settled to take Holy Orders then, Richard?' asked Mildred, a little surprised.

      'It has been settled for me, I believe,' he returned, a slight hardness perceptible in his voice; 'at least it is my father's great wish, and I have not yet made up my mind to disappoint him, though I own there is a probability of my doing so.'

      'And Roy?'

      Richard smiled grimly. 'You had better ask him; he is looked upon in the light of a sucking barrister, but he is nothing but a dabbler in art at present; he has been under a hedge most of the morning, taking the portrait of a tramp that he chose to consider picturesque. Where is your Zingara, Roy?' But Roy chose to be deaf, and went on eagerly with his plans for the afternoon's excursion to Podgill.

      Mildred watched the party set out, Polly and Chriss in their broad-brimmed hats, and Roy with a sketch-book under his arm. Richard was going over to Nateby with his father. Olive looked after them longingly.

      'My dear, are you not going too? it will do you good; and I am sure you have a headache.'

      'Oh, it is nothing,' returned Olive, putting her hair back with her hands; 'it is so warm this afternoon, and——'

      'And you were up late last night,' continued Mildred in a sympathising voice.

      'Not later than usual. I often work when the others go to bed; it does not hurt me,' she finished hastily, as a dissenting glance from Mildred met her. 'Indeed, I am quite strong,