Caught Out

5

Caught Out

    Miss Blake had been somewhat surprized to receive a little note asking if Belinda Corcoran’s brother might have an appointment on urgent business. She had. however, made an appointment for the following day. She was even more surprized, when that day dawned, by the letter which arrived from Paul Ainsley, Bunch’s oldest brother.

    Mr Ainsley was, like his connexion Major Kernohan, a sensible man, and his reaction to Bunch’s letter had been very similar to his: he had not thought it so very terrible, but nevertheless he thought it his duty to apprise Miss Blake of the facts. At the same time he assured Miss Blake that he would not like to see the Miss Ogilvies punished too heavily, for he was sure there were extenuating circumstances, and if Miss Blake felt that there was true need in the case, he and Mrs Ainsley would be most happy to assist the young women. –Mr Ainsley, in short, was a man of feeling as well as principle, and in the period his small sister had been at the school her headmistress had more than once been driven to wonder wildly where he got them from.

    He did not neglect to add, for he was possessed of considerable sense of humour besides, that whatever condign punishment Miss Blake saw fit to meet out to Mlle Bunch, Une Certaine and Une Troisième in the matter of the eavesdropping from the armoire would have his full support.

    Very naturally Miss Blake was at first exceeding angry over the whole thing. She did not know who to ring for first: Bunch or the Ogilvie sisters. But she was not accustomed to fly off at the handle, and she did not ring at all, just sat for a time in her small study; at first, it must be admitted, breathing heavily, and then merely thinking deeply.

    Eventually she got out Lieutenant Corcoran’s note, and, though it was not at all illuminating, said thoughtfully: “I see.” More thinking ensued, and then she rang the bell for Pointer.

    “Pointer, if a message should arrive from any of Lizzie Amory’s relatives, or if perchance any of them should appear here in person, I am to be apprised of it immediately. Even if I am with Lieutenant Corcoran at the time.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” said Pointer, with a bob.

    Miss Blake frowned to herself. “Yes. And will you ask both Miss Ogilvie and Miss Delphie to stay in school this afternoon, as I will need to speak to them.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake.”

    “Thank you.” She had initially considered tackling the Ogilvie sisters first, but she had rather a feeling that she would like to get the minor matters cleared up before tackling the major. “And I think I had best speak to Floss Maddern: send her to me immediately, would you, please, Pointer?”

    Pointer replied: “Yes, Miss Blake,” once more, bobbed and withdrew.

    When Floss Maddern came in Miss Blake was seated at her desk. She gave her a searching look. “Come and sit down here, please, Florabelle.”

    It was some time since Miss Blake had used Floss’s despised Christian name. Floss sat down with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

    Miss Blake took a deep breath. “Florabelle, I am frankly at a loss how to approach this matter. Still, perhaps if I start off by mentioning the word ‘armoire’, we may see how we go from there.” She gave her a steely look.

    After a few moments Floss went scarlet to the roots of her ginger curls.

    “I see,” said her headmistress in an even voice.

    “Miss Blake, I’ve never used it myself!” said Floss on a gasp.

    “So I should hope.”

    “It’s just... Well, I suppose I should have told you. Only it was told to me in confidence.”

    “I think you know you should have told me. And let us not beat about the bush: it was Bunch who told you of it, was it not?”

    Floss nodded miserably.

    There was a moment’s silence.

    The quailing Floss looked nervously at her headmistress’s cold face and suddenly burst out: “They never did any harm, Miss Blake, honestly! They just sometimes listened! And they never told anybody what they heard—um—except me, sometimes—it was just that they liked having a secret!”

    “Mm. Have they told you anything lately—say, over the past two or three weeks?”

    “No, Miss Blake,” said Floss blankly.

    Miss Blake thought that was true: Florabelle was a truthful girl. And in any case the fair skin usually betrayed her by a blush if she attempted to lie.

    “I see. Well, they have now overheard something that they should not, and I do not think they will find the consequences very happy. –I am assuming, by the by, that not only your Cousin Elinor, but also Belinda Corcoran and Lizzie Amory know about the cupboard.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” admitted Floss miserably.

    “Quite. Well, Florabelle, I think that the promised expedition to Brighton with Mlle La Plante and your friends in your case will not take place. Do you think that will be sufficient punishment?”

    Floss was pretty well used to Miss Blake’s eccentricities in these sorts of circumstances, so she gulped a bit and said: “I could write you an essay on the evils of eavesdropping, if you wish, as well.”

    Miss Blake did not smile: she replied seriously: “I think an essay on relative loyalties and higher duty might be more suitable.”

    “Relative... Oh,” said Floss, blushing again. “Yes, Miss Blake.”

    “Very well: we shall leave it at that: no shopping in Brighton and an essay, which I shall expect before dinnertime on Friday.” –She was not unaware that most of Floss’s leisure moments between now and Friday would thus have to be spent on the essay.

    “Yes, Miss Blake.”

    “And now I think you had better explain to me the secret of the armoire.”

    Unhappily Floss explained how the girls used the cupboard.

    “Very clear,” said Miss Blake drily. “Thank you. Now, will you please fetch Elinor, Belinda and Lizzie. And pray do not mention what it is about.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake! I mean, no, Miss Blake!”

   “That will be all: off you go.”

    Floss shot to her feet, curtseyed, and went out as fast as was possible without actually appearing to scramble.

    Miss Blake smiled a little over the essay but also sighed a little. Still, Floss was the youngest of a large family, and what with the brothers and sisters and the cousins, had pretty well spent most of her life involved in childish doings with childish loyalties. Even though she had improved very much during her time at the school, one must not expect miracles!

    She had at first considered hearing what Lieutenant Corcoran might have to say before speaking to the little girls; but on reflection, and in especial as Mr Ainsley had also contacted her, had decided it would be highly unjust to make it appear that the blame for the betrayal of the girls’ secret lay at Belinda’s door.

    The three culprits entered the study in a shrinking huddle. None of them was quite sure which crime they were up for, but all of them were aware that there was a fair choice.

    “Lizzie, you may sit down on that chair,” said the headmistress. “Approach the desk, please, Elinor and Belinda.”

    The two major conspirators approached with caution.

    “It has come to my ears through several sources,” said Naomi Blake carefully, “that you three girls have been listening in to conversations in my sitting-room. Is that true?”

    The three faces were all very red. For a moment no-one replied. Then Bunch burst out: “Yes, Miss Blake, and if Floss told, she is a rotten sneak!”

    “Floss did not tell: I knew from another source. And I will beg you to watch your tongue, Elinor,” she returned grimly. “I have, however, spoken to Floss about it, and she has most properly told me the truth. I have told her what her punishment will be for not coming to me immediately with the news that three of my girls were indulging in something so underhand and unpleasant, so we will leave her out of the conversation, if you please, Elinor.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” she muttered.

    There was a short silence.

    “Well, I think you are all aware that you have been very naughty, are you not?” said Miss Blake, largely for little Lizzie’s benefit.

    Lizzie immediately burst into sobs.

    Miss Blake waited until the sobs had died down somewhat, affecting not to notice that Bunch was glaring at the poor little thing. Then she said: “Lizzie, I realize that the two older girls led you into this. But you knew it was naughty and that you should not have done it, did you not?”

    Lizzie nodded convulsively.

    “Indeed. Let me see... It is this coming Saturday that Mrs Warrenby has promised you a ride in the barouche with Violet and herself, is it not?”—The little girl nodded, sniffing.—“Yes. Well, I’m afraid I must punish you by forbidding you the treat, Lizzie.”

    “But they were going to take tea and see Violet’s Persian cat and everything!” protested Bunch.

    “I am aware of that, thank you, Elinor, and I do not believe that I was addressing you?”

    “No, Miss Blake,” she muttered, lapsing into scowling silence.

    A tear ran down Lizzie’s cheek. “Violet said that when Mrs Purr has kittens again, one could be mine!” she squeaked.

    “Yes. That will not be affected.” The little girl looked at her blankly and she said: “You may have the kitten when it comes, Lizzie. But this Saturday you must stay at school instead of going out in the barouche. Do you understand?”

    Lizzie nodded. More tears ran down her cheek and she tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand.

    Miss Blake was aware that in other schools Lizzie’s crime might have met with very much more severe chastisement. But this was not other schools, it was Miss Blake’s. She rose and came round the desk. “Wipe your eyes, Lizzie,” she said gently, giving her a handkerchief.

    Lizzie took the handkerchief but burst into racking sobs over it.

    Miss Blake picked up her skinny little form without effort and carried her behind the desk, settling her on her knee. “Ring the bell, please, Belinda,” she said calmly.

    Corky was too taken aback to speak: she just nodded dumbly, and rang the bell.

    When Pointer came in Miss Blake asked for Floss again. Bunch and Corky exchanged wary glances and fell to studious examination of their toes.

    “Hush, Lizzie, my dear,” said Miss Blake, giving her a little hug. “Everyone is naughty at some time, you know.”

    Gradually Lizzie’s sobs dried up. By the time Floss entered she was merely leaning her head into Miss Blake’s black silk bosom, sniffing quietly.

    Floss looked at the scene in astonishment.

    “You know what this is about, Floss, so I shan’t enlarge on it,” said Miss Blake. “I should like you to look after Lizzie for the rest of the day. I am afraid that will mean you will miss this afternoon’s sketching expedition to Sandy Bay, but that cannot be helped. You may consider it as part of your punishment.”

    Floss was very relieved indeed to hear Miss Blake address her as “Floss” once more, so she smiled cheerfully and said: “Yes, Miss Blake. What shall I do with her?”

    “Well...” Miss Blake by now wishing very much that she had not consented to take Lizzie as a boarder: she was by far too babyish for the disciplines of the school. True, Bunch Ainsley had also started at around that age, but she was a very different kettle of fish. “I think you had better take her up to her bed, first.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” said the robust Floss happily. “Does she have to go without her dinner?”

    Miss Blake had to swallow. That must evidently be Mrs Maddern’s customary punishment. No doubt Floss’s sturdy figure could take any number of missed dinners. But frail little Lizzie—! “Certainly not: I am not in the habit of starving my pupils.”—Floss gulped.—“She may have a sleep, and then when she has recovered a little you may both take a nuncheon. But I do not wish you to leave her alone, do you understand?”

    “Yes, Miss Blake.”

    “Good. And later in the afternoon, I think you might help her with her reading. If it remains fine you may do so in the garden, but see that she wraps up warmly.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake.”

    “Come along, Lizzie. Go with Floss,” said Miss Blake, lifting her off her knee. “Now: you understand that you may still have the kitten, don’t you?”

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” she said in a tiny little voice.

    “That’s a good girl. Off you go, then.”

    Floss grasped Lizzie’s frail little hand firmly in her large, plump, warm one. “Come on, Lizzie, you’ll feel better after you’ve had a sleep.”

    “Yes. Is it because I’m naughty?” she whispered.

    “Uh…” Floss looked agonisedly at Miss Blake.

    “No, Lizzie, my dear: it’s because you have been crying very much and need to take a little rest,” said the headmistress kindly.

    “There: that’s all right, isn’t it?” said Floss cheerfully.

    Lizzie gave an uncertain nod.

    “Come on, then! –Curtsey to Miss Blake!” she hissed.

    They both bobbed, and Floss led her out.

    Miss Blake looked hard at the two remaining miscreants.

    Bunch stuck her chin out and stared back. Corky examined her own feet.

    “Perhaps you would care to explain to me, Elinor,” said Miss Blake carefully, after the silence had lengthened unpleasantly, “the moral position of the eavesdropper. For I confess I am curious to know how you justified your behaviour to yourself.”

    Bunch glared, very red. “I knew it was wrong and I still did it!” she said defiantly.

    “Ah. Why?”

    “Because it was exciting and school is boring and stupid and I HATE IT!” shouted Bunch.

    Miss Blake let the room ring with the echoes for a moment. “I see. Was that your reason too, Belinda?”

    Corky gulped. “Yes, Miss Blake.”

    “Boring and stupid and you hate it,” said their headmistress thoughtfully.

    “At Winchester they have great japes and they are allowed to play football!” burst out Bunch.

    “At Winchester you would be whipped soundly for this sort of thing and very probably sacked,” returned Miss Blake coldly.

    “I can take a whipping!” boasted Bunch.

    “I dare say you can. In my view, that is all the more reason for not giving you one.”

    “Papa said that when Tom shot the Vicar’s cat,” revealed Corky glumly.

    Miss Blake had to bite her lip. “I see. What was his punishment, then?”

    “He did whip him, for he said the Vicar would expect it. Then he made him walk all the way to Brinley Fell to get the Vicar a new kitten off Mrs Brown. Because her cat had had black kittens.”

    “That was certainly fitting the punishment to the crime,” conceded the headmistress. “Well, perhaps you can think of a punishment in similar vein which might suit your crime, Belinda?”

    Corky thought hard but reported: “No, Miss Blake.”

    “We could walk all the way to Guillyford Bay,” offered Bunch.

    “Would that be a punishment?” returned her headmistress.

    “Not really,” she owned glumly.

    “No.” Miss Blake frowned. The girls looked at her fearfully.

    “As you two older ones must be aware,” she said slowly: “there are really two transgressions involved here. The first is the eavesdropping itself. I think that what they would call at Winchester ‘gating’ for the rest of term will suffice for that. –That is, no outings whatsoever,” she clarified grimly. “No sketching expeditions, no walks along the cliff, no trips to the village, and you most certainly will both miss your turn to ride in the barouche with Mrs Warrenby and Violet to Brighton.”

    “Violet was going to show us the shop where she saw the whale’s tooth!” gasped Bunch in horror.

    “Was she? Then I am glad to say that she will not be able to. Does that seem a monstrous unfair punishment?”

    Bunch scowled and said nothing.

    “It was a monstrous immoral crime,” said Miss Blake detachedly. “I shall also require the pair of you to spend this coming Saturday afternoon in your classroom writing me an essay on the moral fault of eavesdropping.”

    They gulped.

    “In English,” added Miss Blake unkindly.

    “Miss Blake, I could write it much better in French!” protested  Bunch.

    “In that case I suggest you write it in out in French and translate it into English before you present it to me.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” she said glumly.

    Miss Blake took a deep breath which the two young offenders did not remark and said: “As to the second transgression—”

    “We will not lead Lizzie into mischief again,” promised Bunch glumly. “She’s too little, isn’t she, Corky?

    Corky nodded glum agreement.

    “I am glad to hear you recognize it. But that is not the point to which l was referring. I gather that during a recent visit to the cupboard you overheard something extremely serious relating to the Miss Ogilvies?”

    There was a moment’s silence. Then Corky said: “I didn’t actually hear it, Miss Blake, because I had my cold.”

    “I told her,” admitted Bunch.

    “I see. Well, even though I have already been advised of the matter, I should like you to tell me about it, Elinor.”

    Miserably Bunch stumbled through the tale. Her narrative was not much more enlightening than her letter to her Cousin Hildy had been, but Miss Blake was able to confirm that what she and Bunch’s relatives had understood from the letter was correct.

    She said only: “Thank you. And was Lizzie with you, Elinor?”

    “Yes, she was. I don’t think she really understood much.”

    “No-o... She keeps saying she still loves Delphie,” added Corky doubtfully.

    Miss Blake bit her lip. She was aware that any attempt to punish Philadelphia Ogilvie as she deserved would probably rebound on poor little Lizzie. “I see. In that case she understands at least that the Miss Ogilvies have done something wrong.”

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” agreed Corky glumly.

    “That’s logical,” agreed Bunch, nodding.

    Miss Blake was aware that, if her English spelling, grammar and mode of expression left much to be desired, Elinor Ainsley had a fine mind. Which was one of the reasons why she desired to keep her in the school. “Indeed,” she agreed calmly. “Now, I would like hear why you did not come to me with what you knew, girls.”

    The girls looked glum. After a moment Bunch admitted: “Well, we would have had to tell about the cupboard.”

    “Yes. Can you not see,” said Miss Blake, leaning forward, “that the gravity of a mistress’s having done something improper must far outweigh the impropriety of two—no, three little girls’ eavesdropping upon their elders?”

    “I think so,” conceded Bunch.

    “All of your teachers are responsible to your parents and guardians for not only the education and physical safety of you girls while you are at the school, but also for your moral welfare: I think you are both old enough to understand that?” said Miss Blake.

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” agreed Corky unhappily.

    Bunch was thinking it over. “Yes. I sort of saw that, Miss Blake. Only nobody knows about it—well, except us. And nobody was suffering, were they?”

    Miss Blake looked at her steadily. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Corky was standing on one leg and had gone very red. This did not displease her headmistress.

    “No, you’re right: it doesn’t affect the moral point at issue,” Bunch conceded with a sigh.

    “No,” agreed Corky sadly.

    “No. Though it is true that in itself, Miss Ogilvie’s—er—substitution for her older sister may be said to be harmless. And judging by Belinda’s progress in mathematics last term, may even be said to have done some good,” she added very drily.

    “Is that a miti— one of those circumstances, then?” asked Bunch on a hopeful note.

    “Well, in your cases it might be said to be a mitigating circumstance, if you both saw it as a factor in the decision not to report the matter?”

    There was quite a long silence this time. Finally Bunch admitted: “Well, I did sort of see it as a factor. I mean, Lizzie kept asking me if they were bad and I said no, because that was what I genuinely thought.”

    “So did I,” agreed Corky.

    “Yes,” said Bunch. “Only mainly we didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to get it in the neck about the cupboard. –Pour moi part, en tout cas.”

    “Me, too,” agreed Corky glumly.

    “I see. Thank you for being so frank about it, girls.”

    The girls stared at her.

    After a moment Miss Blake said: “I do not want you to feel that I am punishing you for something that is not your fault at all, but that of the Miss Ogilvies.”

    “We’re not stupid, Miss Blake!” said Bunch indignantly.

    “Well, no. But I am beginning to feel that you, at least, are unprincipled, Elinor.”—Bunch went very red.—“And that you, Belinda, lack the moral fibre to stand up to your friend when you know she is proposing something wrong.”—Corky also went very red.—“I am very disappointed in both of you.”—Both girls now looked as if they would like to sink through the floor.—“I have been thinking for some time that in spite of your shocking results in English composition, Elinor, it is high time you went up to the middle class,” said Miss Blake slowly.—An expression of horror spread over Bunch’s round, freckled face and Miss Blake saw with considerable sympathy that her bow at a venture had hit home.—“I think that must be your punishment. You will go up to the middle class as from tomorrow, Elinor, and will move your things into one of the middle-school bedrooms this afternoon. Ruth Snodgrass’s old bed is free, as she has gone up to the senior class: you had best take that.”

    “But that’s in with Lilian Owen and those stupid girls!” wailed Bunch.

    “Well, while you are chafing at the nullity of their conversation, Elinor, you may reflect on your own moral irresponsibility,” said Miss Blake on a grim note. “And Belinda, you understand that I am leaving you down in the junior school as your punishment, do you?”

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” whispered Corky, almost in tears. “Miss Blake, aren’t we never going to sit together again?”

    “Most certainly not until the end of the summer term: no. When the new school year starts you will of course go up to the middle school.”

    “That’s not until September!” gasped Corky.

    Miss Blake rose. “Quite.”

    “Do you mean we can’t have dinner together or anything?” said Bunch in a small voice.

    “That is precisely what I mean, Elinor. You will naturally take your meals with the middle school.” She looked at the two woebegone faces. “However, you may walk together in the crocodile to church and you may sit together in the church.”

    “Thank you, Miss Blake,” they said miserably.

    “And one more thing before you go,” she said sternly: “you will not mention this story about the Miss Ogilvies to a soul, do you understand? If I find that it has got about you will instantly be sent home. For good,” she finished grimly.

    “Yes, Miss Blake,” they said miserably.

    Miss Blake was about to tell them to run along when Bunch burst out: “I writ a letter about it to Hildy! And to Bungo, only he never took a blind bit of notice.”

    “I wrote to Angie,” admitted Corky, turning crimson—whether with guilt or relief it was very hard to tell.

    “I see,” she said evenly. “Very well, we shall except those cases. But you are not to breathe a word of it from now on. And if Lizzie brings up the topic,” she said, frowning: “you must bring her to me.” She looked at their expressions of horror. “Because I think that I can explain the rights and wrongs of it rather more clearly than either of you two,” she finished drily.

    “Yes, Miss Blake!” they gasped.

    “Run along, then.”

    They bobbed, and shot out.

    Miss Blake went over to her study window and leaned her forehead against the glass. “Oh, dear!” she said with a weak laugh. “Poor little scraps! Still, what else could I do?”

    ... “Yes,” she said thoughtfully to the blushing but determined Lieutenant Corcoran some hours later, laying down his Papa’s letter. “It was so very kind of you to bring me this note in person, Lieutenant.”

    “Oh—well—y’know!” he said with an awkward laugh. “Papa thought I had best do so. Besides, my old captain, Commander Carey, lives in the district, ma’am, and it gives me the opportunity to drop in on him.”

    Miss Blake was looking at him with an arrested expression in her fine grey eyes. “Commander Carey?”

    “Yes, indeed, ma’am. Very decent fellow. Retired from the sea, now, of course. Lives at a place not far from here called Guillyford Bay. Dare say you may know it?”

    “Certainly,” she said faintly. “Lieutenant, forgive me: but is it Commander Leith Carey?”

    “Why, yes indeed, ma’am!” he said pleasedly. “Know him, do you? Lost an eye at Trafalgar, y’know. The Naval men call him Trafalgar Carey—only in jest, of course, ma’am! Great seaman: taught me all I know!”

    “I—I was aware he had been wounded at Trafalgar, yes; he would have been about the age you are now,” she said with some difficulty.

    “Er—yes, ma’am. Well, ’05, was it not?” he said vaguely. “Er—may have been somewhat older than I, then, ma’am. Think he is fiftyish, now. Dare say he may have been a man in his thirties. Well, think he may have been, in fact,” he added cautiously: “got his promotion, y’know.”

    “So I had heard. Our family knew his, many years ago,” she said hoarsely.

    “Oh, l see! And you had not realized he was livin’ up at Guillyford Bay? Well,” he said as she shook her head, “I believe he lives very much retired. Just he and his elderly mother, I’m told. The house is called Buena Vista: stands upon the Point, they tell me. Haven’t seen it yet, myself.” Miss Blake did not respond: the Lieutenant continued with a certain unease: “Er—he was wounded in one of the last skirmishes of the late war. Only a ball in the shoulder, though. Pity: might have been a full captain by now. Well, not so much chance of promotion for any of us in peace-time, of course!”

    “No. Well, that is a coincidence,” said Miss Blake, pulling herself together. “I must make an effort to call.”

    “Oh, absolutely, ma’am! Dare say the old fellow would appreciate it! And his mamma, of course!”

    “Of course,” agreed Miss Blake on a grim note which the gallant sailor did not catch. “Now, as to this business of the Miss Ogilvies—”

    “Oh, aye!” he recollected with a start. “M’father wished me to assure you, ma’am, that he does understand there may be extenuating circumstances.”

    “Yes,” she said, smiling at him. “Your father has written as much. I wish you will tell him, Lieutenant, how much I appreciate his writing to me; and perhaps you could let him know that—er—that only this morning I heard from another of the parents on the topic.”

    “I get it: B.A. and L.A. been shootin’ off their mouths, too?” he said cheerfully.

    Miss Blake had to laugh a little. “Oh, indeed! And the parent in question feels quite as your Papa does.”

    “Oh, good. Papa was a little afraid,” he said, wrinkling his nose, “that if it got round, some of the stiffer families might kick up a bit of a rumpus. Well, y’know, ma’am: in loco parentis, and all that.”

    “Quite. I can assure you that I am about to settle the matter once and for all.”

    Help! thought the easy-going Lieutenant. She sounded just like old Trafalgar Carey about to tear a strip off some unfortunate up on Captain’s Report! “Aye, well, I will let Papa know.”

    “Thank you. And naturally I shall write to him,” said Miss Blake. “And now, I suppose you would like to see Belinda?”

    “Oh, absolutely! Poor little soul: they miss her, at home, y’know.”

    “Er—naturally. Um—Lieutenant Corcoran,” said Miss Blake with a twinkle in her eye: “as a naval man you will understand, I am sure, the problems of discipline in an institution such as mine.”

    “Oh, rather, ma’am! One cannot let them get away with a thing, eh? Sets a bad example. First lesson, just about, that old Trafalgar Carey taught me,” he recalled, shaking his head. “There was this young fellow, y’know, and it was his first offence, and I let him off light. Only it did not do, because some of the older, hardened fellows thought they was bein’ given carte blanche to get away with murder. And then the young chap himself began to think I wouldn’t come down hard on him, whatever he did. Wrong tack entirely, y’know. I saw that, once Carey had explained it all to me. Never made that mistake again. Don’t do to put the individual first. Not when you is dealin’ with a body of men. Or girls,” he added politely.

    “No, indeed,” said Miss Blake, very much wanting to laugh, in spite of the truth in his words. “Well, in that case I am sure you will understand when I tell you that I have had to punish Belinda and Elinor for their habit of—er—eavesdropping upon their elders in this ‘Secrett Place’, and that their chief punishment is not to be allowed out on any expeditions for the rest of the term.”

    “Oh, Lor’!” he said with his cheerful laugh. “That’s torn it! I was planning to give her dinner at the hotel, y’know.”

    “I thought you might have some such treat in mind. Well, I am very much afraid, Lieutenant—”

    “Oh, absolutely, ma’am! Discipline must be maintained!”

    “Yes,” said Miss Blake somewhat thankfully. “But I think it would not be ineligible for you to spend some time quietly here with her. You are very welcome to use my sitting-room, and if you should care for it, I shall see that some tea is sent in.”

    “Well, that’s very kind of you, indeed, ma’am! And—well, she and young Bunch are very close, y’know, and Bunch’s cousins were dashed decent to the poor little thing when she could not come all the way home for Easter. If you would not dislike it, ma’am, might she join us?”

    “That might be a little difficult. You see, they are both quite old enough to have understood that what they had found about the Miss Ogilvies was a serious matter: their punishment for not coming to me about it is—er—virtual separation for the rest of the scholastic year.”

    “I get it, ma’am: separate the trouble-makers, hey? Yes, by Jove: put ’em on separate watches—separate decks, even, if it be possible!” he said enthusiastically.

    Miss Blake had to swallow. “Quite. You were in frigates with Commander Carey, were you, sir?”

    “Oh, absolutely, ma’am! Well, at the first we was in sloops, then I was lucky enough to go up with him when he got his frigate.”

    “I see. Yes, well, it is separate decks for Bunch and Belinda for a while. Though I will not scruple to admit to you, Lieutenant, that it is not Belinda who is the ringleader in their exploits.”

    “Aye, well, we had guessed as much, ma’am. Doesn’t excuse her, though. Ought to have had more sense: knows right from wrong. Well, in that case, better make it just her, eh?”

    Miss Blake smiled upon him approvingly. “Just so. I shall send for her.”

    She did so, and though Belinda appeared with a shrinking look on her face she was quickly reassured that her brother was not there to tear a strip off her, and retired with him to the sitting-room, beaming.

    Miss Blake sank onto her desk chair and drew a deep breath. Leith Carey! She had not given him a thought in… these last fifteen years, anyway. Well, that was not quite true: but her life had been so busy that she had had very little time to think of him. Well-disciplined though her thoughts and emotions generally were, Naomi Blake found she was unable now to stop thinking of him. He could not possibly be fifty, yet: that was the young Lieutenant’s exaggeration. ...Forty-seven? Yes, she thought he would be that. And wounded again, after that shocking loss of his eye at Trafalgar! Poor Leith... So the mamma was still alive. Well, she would be. Miss Blake found her hands had clenched in her neat black silk lap and carefully unclenched them. After a while she rose and went to her window.

    Leith Carey! After all these years! And living so near! Why had he not— Well, he probably had no notion hat she had purchased old Miss Clinton’s run-down school some fifteen years back and turned it into the best academy for girls in the country.

    When she had last seen him, he had not, of course, been a commander: only a very junior lieutenant, younger than pleasant Lieutenant Corcoran was now. And his mamma had claimed to be at death’s door, back then. Such matters as her son’s becoming engaged to the elder daughter of a bankrupt, disgraced man who had lately shot himself at his London club would, it had been claimed, result in her speedy demise. Naomi Blake had not permitted Leith Carey to propose. She, her mamma, and her sister Amelia had gone to live quietly for a little with a cousin in Scotland. Amelia had been a pretty girl: she had married very soon. Mr Warrenby had been a sweet-natured man who was indifferent to the facts of his wife’s parentage. The Blake girls’ brother, with the assistance of the Scottish cousin, had gone into trade and since done very well for himself. And Miss Blake, against the tearful representations of her mamma and sister, had taken up school teaching. Cousin Timothy had been all that was kind, but he had a numerous family of his own and she would not be a burden to him any longer than she could help. And she could not spend the rest of her life twiddling her thumbs and sewing hems!

    For a few years she had heard of Leith Carey off and on through sympathetic girlfriends’ letters—friends with whom she herself had been at school, in fact—but gradually even these sources had dried up. It was over ten years since she had so much as read a mention of his name.

    ... So he had never married? It certainly sounded like it, if he was living alone with his mother. Though the Lieutenant’s information might be incorrect or incomplete. Should she call? Naomi Blake was not generally incapable of making up her mind, but she found she could not decide this matter at all. Perhaps she should talk it over with Amelia... Well, she might. Though it was absurd to suppose that after all these years—more than twenty years—they could have anything at all to say to each other. Absurd.

    “What can she want to see us about?” quavered Delphie. “I have such a sinking feeling!”

    Pansy did, too, but she replied with forced cheer: “I dare swear it is something and nothing. Now that the weather is warmer she probably wishes to rearrange the rosters for accompanying the girls on walks, or some such.”

    “I wish it might be so,” said Delphie in a hollow voice.

    “I’m sure it’s something of the sort. Shall we go in?”

    Delphie smoothed her dress nervously and nodded.

    Pansy knocked on Miss Blake’s study door: the cool voice called: “Come in!” and they went in.

    Miss Blake was standing behind her desk: she did not immediately invite the two sisters to sit down but looked at them hard. “Yes. I was a fool not to see it,” she said grimly. “Sit down, please, Philadelphia—Pansy.”

    The sisters sat, looking nervous.

    Miss Blake tapped her fingers on the edge of her desk. “I suppose I had best not beat about the bush: I have something extremely serious to discuss with you. It appears your recent conversation with your Parker cousins was overheard.”

    Delphie went very white. Pansy took a deep breath; her mouth firmed.

    Miss Blake just waited.

    Finally Philadelphia said in a small voice: “I take all the blame, Miss Blake.”

    “No! It was my idea!” cried Pansy.

    “l can well believe it,” said Miss Blake. “I suppose it is bootless to ask, Philadelphia, why you let yourself be talked into the scheme?”

    Delphie’s lips trembled but she said in a low voice: “I have regretted it since. At the time it seemed we had no other recourse, Miss Blake. And—and we had no ulterior motive. If Pansy is a little young for the position, she is excellently qualified, as—as you must have seen.”

    “You have an elderly uncle in Oxford, I believe. Could not you have gone to him?”

    “He would have made Pansy slave for hours in a dark little room without a fire, writing out his notes. Her eyes would have suffered dreadful}y,” said Delphie.

    “And he proposed firing his housekeeper in order to make Delphie do her work, without any remuneration at all!” cried Pansy. “And he has no fires in his house for half the year, and it’s a dreadfully cold house, Miss Blake: Delphie’s putrid cough would inevitably have come back!”

    “Please do not make an outcry, Pansy; I should like to conduct this interview with dignity.”

    “I’m sorry, Miss Blake,” said Pansy, very red.

    Miss Blake hesitated. “Yes, well, I understand that you were anxious about your sister’s health. I own, I had not gathered from Lady Naseby’s communication that the situation with the uncle was so... unfortunate.”

    “She had her information from Mrs Bridlington, and she doesn’t know him,” explained Pansy.

    Miss Blake sat down slowly. “I see. Perhaps you had better tell me a little more about him.”

    “He’s a miser,” said Pansy glumly.

    “Oh?”

    “He is not perhaps quite that,” said Delphie, “but he is certainly very mean indeed. He has a large house but employs only the one woman to do everything. And the grounds have been let go to rack and ruin: it is almost impossible to fight one’s way up the drive. And Pansy is right about the lack of fires. Even when he does allow them to be lit it is only in the room in which he sits himself. And he ceased buying himself suits of clothes many years back, in order to wear out the garments he had in his youth. And he—he eats only bread and cheese. Though I think he takes a little wine. He—he is really very eccentric, Miss Blake. And it is not that he is a poor man: his brother left him a considerable fortune.”

    “Yes. He is not our uncle, but our great-uncle,” said Pansy. “He’s mean about candles, too. When we called to tell him of Papa’s death it was a very dark afternoon and he opened the front door to us himself, with a candlestick in his hand. And as we went through to his sitting-room we saw that there were no other candles burning at all. And he told us he had sent the housekeeper to her bed to save on fires and candles.” She swallowed.

    “I see. Well, that certainly seems a most unsuitable setting for two young women; but why on earth did you not tell me the whole when I called to interview you?”

    “I suppose we’d made up our minds to change places, by then. Well, we didn’t know you,” said Pansy unhappily.

    Miss Blake raised her eyebrows. “And now that you do?”

    Delphie burst into tears. “I said we should tell her!” she sobbed.

    Pansy’s big brown eyes had also filled with tears, but she said angrily: “Yes, and we would have lost several weeks’ salary doing so! For she means to sack us! –You do, don’t you?”

    “Hush!” said Miss Blake on an irritable note. “How I persuaded myself to believe you were five and twenty, Pansy Ogilvie, I know not!”

    Pansy swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

    Delphie fumbled for her handkerchief. “She said—so unlikely!” she gasped.

    “That anyone should suspect such a stupid trick? Yes, indeed!” said Miss Blake with feeling.

    “We had only the money that was in Papa’s drawer, and it was barely enough to pay poor Briggs and Cook their wages!” cried Pansy.

    Miss Blake had not meant to argue the case with them, but she found herself saying: “You were not alone in the world, however: you had friends. Mrs Bridlington, for a start.

    Pansy looked blank. “I would not call a her a friend. She is a do-gooder. But we don’t know her very well at all. She would not have Delphie to teach her little girls, because young Mr Bridlington so plainly admired her. And then she tried to make her take Mr Smothers.”

    Delphie blew her nose. “I suppose it was my duty to take him, but truly, Miss Blake, it was like Charlotte Lucas and Muh-Mister Cuh-Col—”

    “Yes. Pray don’t cry over it, Philadelphia. No-one wishes to force you into a loveless marriage.”

    “Mrs Bridlington does,” said Pansy.

    “Er—yes. I meant no-one in this room, Pansy.”

    “I’m so very sorry, Miss Blake!” wailed Delphie. “But we could truly not think what else to do, and we intended no harm—”

    “She can see that, Delphie; she’s not stupid!” said Pansy impatiently. “Only, it is the moral question of the deception, is it not, ma’am?” she said to Miss Blake.

    “Precisely. You both appear to have acted without moral scruples of any kind.”

    Pansy nodded. “I know that conventional morality would say so, and of course I sympathize with your point of view: in running a school for the daughters of gentlefolk you must naturally be seen to support conventional morality.”

    Delphie dropped her handkerchief, goggling at her sister in horror.

    “However, from a more objective point of view, we may be said to have acted with a considerable sense of moral responsibility,” continued Pansy. “I have certainly given you value for money: in fact you would not have been able to hire a man with my mathematical knowledge for anything like the sum. And as a teacher-pupil Delphie has had far more success with the little ones than I could ever have had, in her place. And I think she has contributed not a little to the smooth running of the junior school.”

    “Pansy!” gasped Delphie in horror.

    “We started the thing with no intention of harming anyone and in fact we have not harmed anyone,” Pansy continued. “I do not think it entirely just to say we have acted without moral scruples of any kind. We would never have done it had I not had the qualifications you were looking for. But as I say, I can quite understand your point of view.”

    “That,” said Miss Blake, her mouth tight, “was quite the most impertinent speech I have ever sat through!”

    “I’m sorry,” said Pansy in surprize. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

    “No,” said Delphie anxiously: “indeed it wasn’t, Miss Blake! Pansy gets—gets interested in arguing out a point, you see, Miss Blake, and—and does not pause to think what her effect may be. She—she is very like poor Papa, in many ways.”

    “Yes. I’m very sorry that you found it impertinent, Miss Blake,” said Pansy politely. “Papa was always putting people’s backs up. I do try not to, only Delphie’s right: I can’t always see what would offend.”

    “No wonder the man had scarcely a friend in the world!” she cried unguardedly.

    Pansy replied seriously: “No, no: he had lots of friends, Miss Blake, but they were either scholars like himself, or explorers, or Indians of South America.”

    Miss Blake had to swallow.

    “He had a knack for making friends with native peoples,” murmured Delphie. “We think it may have been because in many ways he was as naïve as they.”

    “Apparently it is an inherited trait,” she noted grimly.

    Pansy gulped. “I’m sorry,” she repeated weakly.

    Miss Blake sighed. “Well, so am I, Pansy. I have obviously not grasped the quality of your mind, although I thought I had. And it is not particularly easy to remember that you are but seventeen. –When is your birthday, by the way?”

    “November,” admitted Pansy.

    Miss Blake winced.

    Silence fell. Miss Blake found they were both looking at her hopefully. Oh, dear, oh, dear! This was not what she had planned, at all: she had intended a dignified reproof, a note to the aunt and, as soon as a reply had been received, a dispatching of the pair of them to Lower Beighnham.

    “Well, I suppose you had better tell me your reasons for not seeking your Aunt Parker’s aid,” she said with a sigh.

    Pansy and Delphie attempted to explain. It was very muddled but Miss Blake began to perceive that the late Professor Ogilvie’s daughters, possibly because during his lifetime their little family had formed a very close-knit unit, united against the world, had honestly felt that they were thrown upon their own resources.

    The woman who at less than Philadelphia Ogilvie’s age had quietly determined not to be a burden to her family and had gone steadily into the despised profession of school-teaching in the face of her mamma’s opposition felt considerable sympathy with their decision that two able-bodied young women must not foist themselves upon their impecunious relatives, but find some way to be independent and pay their own way. She also perceived that the closed little world in which they had lived with their eccentric Papa had not permitted them fully to grasp the extent to which their substitution was unacceptable to civilised society.

    Unfortunately sympathy and understanding could make no difference to what obviously must be her decision. She said as gently as she could: “I see that you believed you were taking the only possible course. But you must see that I cannot permit this—this masquerade to continue.”

    “No: it is the moral question; we know,” agreed Pansy.

    “Hush, Pansy,” murmured Delphie with an agonized expression.

    “I shall have to let you go. In fact, as far as teaching at the school is concerned, I think you must consider yourselves finished here from this moment.”

    Pansy nodded: she had been considering herself so for some time. If Miss Blake had not fully grasped the quality of Pansy’s mind, Pansy had had little difficulty in grasping the quality of hers.

    Delphie retrieved her handkerchief from the carpet, blew her nose, and also nodded.

    “But of course I shall not cast you upon the world without making very sure that you have some suitable place to go,” continued Miss Blake firmly.

    “We have saved almost all of my salary: we could support ourselves for a time,” offered Pansy hopefully.

    “That would not be at all eligible. I shall write to your Aunt Parker: if she cannot take you herself perhaps she or her husband may be able to suggest a suitable post for you, Philadelphia.”

    Delphie nodded meekly.

    “And possibly your great-uncle may be prepared to do more for you than you suppose. At all events, I shall write to him, also. Now: is there any other relative, or even a close friend of your Papa’s, whom l might contact?”

    “No,” said Pansy immediately.

    “Well. no, Miss Blake,” admitted Delphie. “Papa’s friends in England are all scholars, and unmarried, elderly gentlemen.”

    “Living in rooms, or in college,” explained Pansy, “except for one or two geographers, who are off exploring.”

    “No-one else in Oxford?” she persisted.

    “He had quarrelled with all of his former acquaintance,” murmured Delphie.

    “Yes, but surely—! No-one with whom he—he dined, even?”

    Dubiously Delphie pronounced: “Dr Fairbrother.”

    “Delphie!” cried Pansy with a protesting little laugh. “Miss Blake, Dr Fairbrother is so eccentric that he probably would take us in, but he lives alone, in a funny old house in the centre of the town, with very little furniture, and very few curtains!”

    “Not another miser?” she said faintly.

    “Goodness, no: quite the reverse,” explained Pansy cheerfully. “He spends every groat he has as soon as it comes into his hands, does he not, Delphie?”—Delphie nodded, swallowing.—“Either on good wine, of which he is very fond, or on his pets, or on books. He is interested in zoology, you see, and the monkeys and the parrots are not inexpensive to feed.”

    Miss Blake gulped. “Are you implying that this curtainless house is full of monkeys and parrots, Pansy?”

    “Yes, precisely. Papa brought him back several cages of birds and half a dozen monkeys from his trip to South America.”

    ‘‘The monkeys have dear little feathery ears, Miss Blake: the sweetest things!” contributed Delphie, suddenly smiling.

    “I would not call them feathery, exactly. Fluffy, perhaps,” objected Pansy.

    “Hush!” cried Miss Blake, throwing her hands up. “This eccentric zoologist is not a married gentleman, I collect?”

    “No: he likes animals better than people,” said Pansy. “Though as I said, he would take us in. In fact,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “he would take us in without a second thought.”

    “Yes,” admitted Delphie.

    “It sounds quite ineligible,” said Miss Blake firmly. “Stay, though: is he an elderly gentlemen?” she added on a more hopeful note.

    “He is not young,” conceded Pansy.

    “Hush, Pansy! No, Miss Blake,” explained Delphie: “Dr Fairbrother is, I suppose, in his middle years.”

    “Then it would not do.”

    “It’s a pity, though: I like him,” said Pansy. “We never thought of Dr Fairbrother, did we, Delphie?”

    “No. Hush, dearest. I am afraid there is no-one else, Miss Blake.”

    “No. Well, we shall see what we can contrive. I frequently hear of posts available for young women, you know: I dare say we may find you something suitable, Philadelphia, before very long.”

    Delphie gulped. “You mean you would—would recommend me, Miss Blake?”

    “To teach young children: certainly. You have quite a knack with them.”

    Delphie burst into tears again, gasping thanks for Miss Blake’s forbearance and generosity. Pansy could also see that it was more than they deserved, even if Delphie had contributed to the smooth running of the junior school: she smiled awkwardly.

    Once Delphie’s tears had dried up Miss Blake decided that the sisters should leave this afternoon: she would see that the pupils  were told some suitable story of urgent family business. And while they were waiting to hear from their relatives, she would find them suitable accommodation: not at Sandy Bay, where Pansy knew many of the fisherfolk, it was too near, but perhaps over at Guillyford Bay. For this evening, Mrs Warrenby would put them up. The girls reddened and thanked her humbly.

    Miss Blake frankly dropped into her chair when they had gone off to pack. It was not that she would have any hesitation in recommending Philadelphia to look after young children: once free of her ebullient sister’s influence the older Miss Ogilvie would, fairly clearly, never so much as think to take one step beyond the pale of polite behaviour. But—well, what with misers, and eccentrics with parrots, and Pansy’s speech on comparative morality! She felt positively drained! And now, she supposed, she had landed herself with the task of seeing that the pair of them were suitably fixed in life! For it was very plan that, twenty-five or no, Miss Ogilvie was not capable of either controlling or taking care of her little sister. As for Pansy herself... Miss Blake frowned. Well, perhaps in a few years it might be possible quietly to take her back. When it had ail blown over and she was of a suitable age to be employed as a mathematics teacher.

    Miss Blake took a deep breath, rang the bell, and asked for a tray of tea. The afternoon was now rather far advanced and Pointer looked exceeding surprized, but bobbed obediently.

    The tea having brewed, the headmistress poured herself a revivifying cup, and sat down to a prolonged session of correspondence. If during this session her thoughts wandered once or twice in the direction of the house on Guillyford Point called Buena Vista and its occupant, the letters themselves certainly gave no indication that her attention had not been fully on her subject matter.

    Miss Ogilvie blew her nose. “I shall write to Aunt Venetia myself.”

    Pansy yawned. “That might not be a bad idea. You could express grovelling penitence: that might not be a bad idea, either.”

    Delphie got wearily into bed. “I know not how you can speak that way. After Miss Blake’s amazing forbearance this afternoon!”

    “The leopard can’t change her spots, Delphie!” said Pansy with a grin. “This is a very nice house, isn’t it? I collect Mrs Warrenby was left quite comfortably off.”

    “Yes,” said Delphie listlessly.

    “This bedroom is very pretty.”

    “Yes! She has been so kind!” sobbed Delphie. “And we do not duh-duh-deserve it!”

    Pansy put an arm round her and leaned her curly head on hers, but said detachedly: “That’s true.”

    “We must not be a burden to her!” gasped Delphie.

    “What? Oh; no. Well, I dare say she can afford any number of guests, but if we stay here the girls will find it out and all sorts of rumours will be rife. That cottage she spoke of in Guillyford Bay sounds all right. –Though old Mr Dawson from Sandy Bay will say I have gone over to the enemy!” she added with a smothered chuckle.

    “How you can take it so lightly I know not!”

    “I think it’s the relief of not having to pretend any more, though I was getting quite used to being Miss Ogilvie. I shall quite miss the teaching. Even though the girls were all pretty stupid. –I think,” she added thoughtfully, “that I shall write to Dr Fairbrother. Well, it can do no harm!” she said, as her sister looked at her in astonishment. “He has a good mind: mayhap he may come up with an idea.”

    “If he remembers to open the letter at all,” she said with a faint smile.

    “Yes!” admitted Pansy with a laugh.

     Delphie sighed. “Oh, dear…  I shall miss dear little Lizzie dreadfully.”

    Pansy bit her lip. “Poor little soul: yes. I’m afraid we may have done some harm there, Delphie: she’s become so attached to you.”

    “I know!” Delphie burst into tears, mopping her eyes frantically.

    “Well, perhaps Miss Blake will quickly find a nice new teacher that Lizzie can love,” said Pansy with forced optimism.

    Delphie blew her nose. “I do hope so.”

    After a moment Pansy said: “Actually, it is quite exciting to be free again.”

    Delphie thought it was dreadful. She stared at her in horror.

    “There may be a sailing dinghy that I can hire, over at Guillyford Bay,” Pansy added hopefully.

    “Dearest! Not by yourself!”

    “Weil, I may find a boy who would like to come out sailing. And I have learned a lot from old Mr Dawson, you know: I know the local waters quite well, now. I shan’t make a fool of myself like Sir Noël Amory, the lubber!”

    “No,” said Delphie faintly. “I— Do you think it would be highly ineligible if I were to write to Cuh-Colonel Amory, Pansy?”

    “Are you asking me?” replied Pansy, grinning. “Well, it’s supposed to be ineligible for an unmarried young woman to write to a single gentleman, isn’t it? But is it more ineligible in the eyes of society than pretending to be one’s own younger sister?”

    “Pray do not jest, Pansy,” she said with trembling lips.

    Pansy hugged her and said: “Sorry; I was being frivolous. But writing him can do no harm. What would you say?”

    “I—I would confess the whole and say how sorry I am to have let dear little Lizzie down so.”

    This seemed pointless to Pansy, but she said kindly: “That sounds all right. Go to sleep, now.”

    Delphie snuggled down obediently but said dubiously: “Do you think I should say a prayer?”

    “Any sort of personal God that may exist would not be apt to be convinced by a sudden access of piety from one He has never heard from heretofore,” replied Pansy solemnly, blowing out the candle.

    “Er—no,” admitted Delphie.

    “On the other hand, it can’t do any harm.”

    “No-o... Well, mayhap it does smack of hypocrisy,” she murmured. “Though I did sometimes pray in church when we went with the school.”

    “Goodness, did you?” said Pansy in astonishment. “I read the Prayer Book or studied the architecture of the structure or just used the time to think.”

    Miss Ogilvie knew that. “Mm. Well... No, I think you are right. And in any case I do not feel that I have the right to ask for any sort of divine intercession.”

    Pansy yawned. “No. Even if there is a Being there to intercede.”

    So the disgraced Ogilvie sisters went to sleep that night, as on every other night, without soliciting divine intervention in their affairs.

    But along the upstairs passage the motherly Mrs Warrenby, very worried about the two young transgressors, addressed a long and earnest prayer to her Maker and fell asleep much comforted by having done so.

    In the big old stone house which housed the school, little Lizzie sobbed into her pillow. Delphie had gone and she was never going to see her again!

    After some time Corky, who of course was pretty miserable on her own account, Bunch having been banished to the horrors of Lilian Owens’s company in a middle-school bedroom, got stealthily out of bed and, although it was strictly forbidden, crept into Lizzie’s.

    “Don’t cry, Lizzie,” she whispered, hugging her.

    Lizzie continued to sob.

    “Maybe they’ll come back.”

    Lizzie continued to sob.

    “Write to your Papa,” suggested Corky desperately. “Perhaps he can do something about it!”

    After a moment the sobs stopped.

    “It’s worth a try!” urged Corky.

    “Yes,” said Lizzie faintly. “I will.”

    Corky hugged her tight. “Good. –You can have my carved parrot that Johnny brought me for all day tomorrow, if you like.”

    Lizzie gulped and thanked her tremulously.

    Corky sighed a bit: it wasn’t half decent, that parrot: it sat in a ring and would swing round and round on it if you flicked it with your finger. Never mind, Lizzie was only little, and if it cheered her up...

    Possibly Corky should have urged Lizzie to address her sorrows and solicitations also to her Maker, but being not yet thirteen years of age it didn’t occur to her. But then, possibly to the ten-year-old Lizzie Papa was about as close to God as it was possible to conceive of in any case.

Next chapter:

https://theogilvieconnection.blogspot.com/2022/09/visitors.html