In Far Bolivia: A Story of a Strange Wild Land. Stables Gordon

oh!" he added, "how can we break the newsto Roland's parents?"

      "We'll give them hope. Mrs. St. Clair must knownothing yet, but at early dawn all the ranch must bearoused, and we shall search the forest for miles andmiles."

—

      Jake, after seeing the ponies safe in their stable, left Bill to look to Boz's wounds, while withSt. Clair's leave he himself set off at a round gallop toget assistance from a neighbouring ranch.

      Day had not yet broken ere forty good men andtrue were on the bridle-path and tearing along theriver's banks. St. Clair himself was at their head.

      I must leave the reader to imagine the joy of all theparty when soon after sunrise there emerged fromthe forest, guided by the strange Indian, Roland,Peggy, and noble Brawn, all looking as fresh as thedew on the tender-eyed hibiscus bloom or the wildflowers that nodded by the river's brim.

      "Wirr-rr-r-wouff, wouff, wouff!" barked Brawn,as he bounded forward with joy in every feature ofhis noble face, and I declare to you there seemed tobe a lump in his throat, and the sound of his barkingwas half-hysterical.

      St. Clair could not utter a word as he fondlyembraced the children. He pretended to scold a little, but this was all bluff, and simply a ruse to keep backthe tears.

      But soft-hearted Burly Bill was less successful.He just managed to drop a little to the rear, and itwas not once only that he was fain to draw the sleeveof his rough jacket across his eyes.

—

      But now they are mounted, and the horses' headsare turned homewards. Peggy is seated in front ofBurly Bill, of whom she is very fond, and Roland issaddled with Jake. The Indian and Brawn ran.

      Poor Mrs. St. Clair, at the big lawn gate, gazingwestward, sees the cavalcade far away on the horizon.

      Presently, borne along on the morning breeze comevoices raised in a brave and joyous song:

      "Down with them, down with the lords of the forest".

      And she knows her boy and Peggy are safe.

      "Thank God for all his mercies!" she saysfervently, then, woman-like, bursts into tears.

      CHAPTER III-BURNLEY HALL, OLD AND NEW

      I have noticed more than once that although thelife-story of some good old families in Englandmay run long stagnant, still, when one importantevent does take place, strange thing after strangething may happen, and the story rushes on withheedless speed, like rippling brooklets to the sea.

      The St. Clairs may have been originally a Scottishfamily, or branch of some Highland clan, but theyhad been settled on a beautiful estate, far away in thewilds of Cornwall, for over one hundred and fifty years.

      Stay, though, we are not going back so far as that.Old history, like old parchment, has a musty odour.Let us come down to more modern times.

      When, then, young Roland's grandfather died, anddied intestate, the whole of the large estate devolvedupon his eldest son, with its fat rentals of fully fourthousand a-year. Peggy St. Clair, our little heroine, was his only child, and said to be, even in her infancy, the very image of her dead-and-gone mother.

      No wonder her father loved her.

      But soon the first great event happened in thelife-story of the St. Clairs. For, one sad day Peggy'sfather was borne home from the hunting-fieldgrievously wounded.

      All hope of recovery was abandoned by the doctorshortly after he had examined his patient.

      Were Herbert to die intestate, as his father haddone, his second brother John, according to the oldlaw, could have stepped into his shoes and becomelord of Burnley Hall and all its broad acres.

      But, alive to the peril of his situation, which thesurgeon with tears in his eyes pointed out to him, thedying man sent at once for his solicitor, and a willwas drawn up and placed in this lawyer's hands, andmoreover he was appointed one of the executors.This will was to be kept in a safe until Peggy shouldbe seventeen years of age, when it was to be openedand read.

      I must tell you that between the brothers Herbertand John there had long existed a sort of blood-feud, and it was as well they never met.

      Thomas, however, was quickly at his woundedbrother's bedside, and never left it until-

      "Clay-cold Death had closed his eye".

      The surgeon had never given any hopes, yet duringthe week that intervened between the terrible accidentand Herbert's death there were many hours in whichthe doomed man appeared as well as ever, thoughscarce able to move hand or foot. His mind wasclear at such times, and he talked much with Thomasabout the dear old times when all were young.

      Up till now this youngest son and brother, Thomas, had led rather an uneasy and eventful life. Nothingprospered with him, though he had tried most things.

      He was married, and had the one child, Roland, towhom the reader has already been introduced.

      "Now, dear Tom," said Herbert, one evening afterhe had lain still with closed eyes for quite a longtime, and he placed a white cold hand in that of hisbrother as he spoke, "I am going to leave you. Wehave always been good friends and loved each otherwell. All I need tell you now, and I tell you inconfidence, is that Peggy, at the age of seventeen, will be my heir, with you, dear Tom, as herguardian."

      Tom could not reply for the gathering tears. Hejust pressed Herbert's hand in silence.

      "Well," continued the latter, "things have not goneover well with you, I know, but I have often heardyou say you could do capitally if you emigrated to analmost new land-a land you said figuratively 'flowingwith milk and honey'. I confess I made no attemptto assist you to go to the great valley of the Amazon.It was for a selfish reason I detained you. My brotherJohn being nobody to me, my desire was to have you near."

      He paused, almost exhausted, and Tom held a littlecup of wine to his lips.

      Presently he spoke again.

      "My little Peggy!" he moaned. "Oh, it is hard, hard to leave my darling!

      "Tom, listen. You are to take Peggy to yourhome. You are to care for her as the apple ofyour eye. You must be her father, your wife hermother."

      "I will! I will! Oh, brother, can you doubt me!"

      "No, no, Tom. And now you may emigrate. Ileave you thirty thousand pounds, all my depositaccount at Messrs. Bullion & Co.'s bank. This is forPeggy and you. My real will is a secret at present, and that which will be read after-I go, is a mereepitome. But in future it will be found that I havenot forgotten even John."

      Poor Peggy had run in just then, and perched uponthe bed, wondering much that her father should liethere so pale and still, and make no attempt to rompwith her. At this time her hair was as yellow as thefirst approach of dawn in the eastern sky.

—

      That very week poor Squire St. Clair breathedhis last.

      John came to the funeral with a long face anda crape-covered hat, looking more like a mute thananything else.

      He sipped his wine while the epitomized will wasread; but a wicked light flashed from his eyes, andhe ground out an oath at its conclusion.

      All the information anyone received was that thoughsums varying from five hundred pounds to a thousandwere left as little legacies to distant relations and toJohn, as well as douceurs to the servants, the wholeof the estates were willed in a way that could notbe divulged for many a long year.

      John seized his hat, tore from it the crape, anddashed it on the floor. The crape on his arm followedsuit. He trampled on both and strode away slammingthe door behind him.

      Years had flown away.

      Tom and his wife had emigrated to the banks ofthe Amazon. They settled but a short time at or nearone of its mouths, and then Tom, who had no lackof enterprise, determined to journey far, far into theinterior, where the land was not so level, wheremountains nodded to the moon, and giant forestsstretched illimitably to the southward and west.

      At first Tom and his men, with faithful Bill asoverseer, were mere squatters, but squatters by thebanks