"Precisely what I say, my dear girl," replied the wild boy, vastly enjoying her amazement. "Perhaps you'll never see me any more, so do a little weep--no, not here," as Nellie out of mischief slipped her hand into her pocket; "we should have a crowd round us in no time if you did, but in the--ahem!--privacy of your own room;" and d.i.c.k's eyes sparkled.

"Calcutta! Does that mean you are going to be a sailor after all? O d.i.c.k, have you gained your wish at last? I am so glad for your sake."

Human sympathy is very sweet. d.i.c.k's face beamed as he answered, "Yes, Nell; the governor has given his consent. It was not so very difficult to obtain after all" (a trifle sarcastically), "therefore I'm off on Sat.u.r.day."

"What is Winnie saying to all this?"

The boy's face saddened a little.

"Win's a brick," he replied enthusiastically; "she never says anything about herself, but talks of all the different countries I shall see, and hopes no harm will befall me. Dear little Win!" d.i.c.k's voice was very tender as he spoke.

A silence followed, then the boy held out his hand. "Well, Nell, I must say good-bye now. I'm on an errand of importance, and dare not delay. Don't quite forget me, and be good to Winnie. There--ta-ta!"

and away sped d.i.c.k before Nellie had time to utter a single word.

About two hours afterwards he re-entered his own home, and made straight for the oak parlour, chuckling to himself at the thought of Winnie's delight when he told her his conversation with Nellie. But disappointments sometimes accompany our enjoyments, and d.i.c.k's bright antic.i.p.ations of a quiet hour with his favourite sister received a decided check; for on nearing the door, which was slightly ajar, he heard the murmur of voices, and peering in cautiously saw, to his great dismay, Mrs. Blake and Winnie entertaining no less honourable a visitor than Miss Irvine. d.i.c.k smiled derisively at the tones of the carefully-modulated voice, and ground his strong, white teeth on detecting the malicious spite lurking under pretty sentences full of apparent kindliness.

"I must apologize, Winnie, for not calling and inquiring after your health before this," Ada was saying as d.i.c.k approached; "but I have been a.s.suming the _role_ of an invalid myself lately, and Mrs. Elder would not allow me to venture out of doors till I was thoroughly convalescent."

Mrs. Blake looked affectionately at her young visitor. "I did not know you were unwell, my dear. Are you quite recovered now?"

"Yes, thank you; but there was not very much wrong with me, dear Mrs.

Blake, only a slight touch of cold in the throat. Mrs. Elder is so careful, however, I am sure I owe her a debt of grat.i.tude I shall never be able to repay." Then turning to Winnie, Ada continued with a pretty show of anxiety, "I was very sorry to hear of your illness, Win. How did you manage to catch such a severe cold?"

"That is what I cannot tell," interrupted Mrs. Blake, feeling inclined to shake her naughty little step-daughter for her sullen behaviour towards this amiable young visitor. "I happened to be from home one day during the Christmas holidays, and on my return found Winnie coughing dreadfully and quite fevered with cold."

Ada meditated a few seconds. "I wonder," she said at length, in slow, deliberate tones, "if your illness dated from that afternoon you spent at Dingle Cottage almost a month ago? I was visiting an old woman, a former _nurse_ of mine, who lives in the house opposite, that same day, and remember perfectly seeing you and Miss Latimer standing together at one of the windows."

"Surely you must have been mistaken, my dear. Winnie never visits at Dingle Cottage now," Mrs. Blake interposed unconsciously.

"Perhaps, but I hardly think so. However" (with a look of the utmost innocence), "Winnie will be able to solve that riddle," and the spiteful girl turned towards her sick friend and awaited the reply.

Winnie's cheeks were burning, and the great eyes full of a withering contempt. Raising them calmly to her visitor's placid face, and without a trembling of the proud young lips, she answered quietly,--"Your surmise was correct, Ada. I did spend an afternoon lately at Dingle Cottage; and I am afraid, as you so kindly hinted before, that my cold dated from that night."

Mrs. Blake was angry, very angry indeed, but too well bred to show her annoyance before her visitor. She changed the subject with ready tact, and made a most fascinating hostess; while Winnie sat in dead silence, with a great scowl disfiguring her pretty face, and d.i.c.k danced his displeasure on the door-mat.

After a short time Ada rose to leave, and holding out a daintily-gloved hand to her sullen companion, said sweetly, "Good-bye, Winnie. I trust you will soon be better; and if I can possibly find leisure for another visit, rest a.s.sured I shall drop in on you some day soon."

"Pray, don't," replied Winnie, wilfully disregarding her step-mother's look of heavy displeasure. "Your visit has not afforded me such a vast amount of pleasure that I could wish its repet.i.tion at an early date.

We never were friends, Ada" (with ungoverned pa.s.sion), "never so long as I can remember. You hate me, and I--I detest you; why, then, will you persist in a.s.suming a friendship that has no foundation?"

d.i.c.k's war-dance continued with greater vigour at this point, while Mrs. Blake in haughtiest tones said to Winnie, "How dare you insult Miss Irvine in this manner? Apologize at once, I command you."

Ada's face, as she turned it towards her hostess, wore a sweet, patient look, with just the tiniest flicker of pain about the curves of the perfect lips. "Please, do not blame Winnie too severely, Mrs. Blake,"

she pleaded mildly; "her words are to some extent true, but I--" and the lids drooped slowly over the lovely eyes, while a faint flush tinged the delicate cheeks--"I was trying to turn over a new leaf and gain Winnie's love."

"My eye, what a cram!" muttered d.i.c.k from behind the door. "Oh, but she acts the hypocrite capitally. Now then for Win's happy reply. It will be both sweet and original, I prophesy, for the little monkey is bristling all over like an insulted hedgehog. Here goes!" and the boy's ear was once more applied cautiously to the keyhole.

Winnie had risen by this time, and was confronting her adversary with a look almost capable of annihilating a less daring foe than Ada Irvine.

Quite undaunted by the fear of future punishment, and recognizing only the great wrong this girl was doing her, she said, "I think you are a female Judas, Ada, and your true character will come to light some day.

I know--" but Winnie got frightened at the awful look in Mrs. Blake's eyes, and stopped short, while Ada took refuge in tears.

"Come away, my dear," said her hostess, leading her gently from the room; "Winnie is not herself today. When the child is in a pa.s.sion her language is uncontrollable; but I shall see she sends you a proper apology for her rudeness."

d.i.c.k heard no more, having to slip away at that moment and hide behind one of the statues in the pa.s.sage during the exit of his step-mother with the weeping Niobe; but when the sound of their footsteps had died away in the distance, he rushed into the oak parlour, and seizing Winnie round the waist, treated her to several convulsive hugs and various exclamations of supreme delight.

"Well, old girl, you did the thing first-rate," he panted, throwing himself into a chair and rubbing his hands vigorously together. "You deserve to be commended, Win. Dear heart, as Aunt Debby says, what a tongue somebody has!"

"I don't care," pouted Winnie, endeavouring to straighten her sash, which d.i.c.k had been using as a handle during the hugging process; "I only said what was true, and would repeat it all over again if she cared to listen."

"Bravo! what a hard heart the girl possesses! Cold as an icicle, too, not to melt under the influence of such dewy tears shed from--ahem!--'sweetest eyes were ever seen.'"

"Crocodile tears!" (with scorn.) "I don't know how she managed to squeeze them up. I never saw Ada Irvine weep before. As for apologizing, I won't, no matter what happens."

"Perhaps your gentle friend had an onion hidden within the folds of her--_mouchoir_. See how nicely I can speak French. You remember, in the story of Beauty and the Beast, how the wicked sisters rubbed their eyes with onions to 'pretend' they were weeping." d.i.c.k's eyes were dancing as he spoke.

Winnie's indignation, however, would admit of no reply, and she sat silently, like a little bird with its plumage all ruffled; while her brother, stretched lazily opposite, gazed on the angry face and soliloquized accordingly.

"Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity,"

quoth the incorrigible boy. "Come, Win, be magnanimous for once and forgive. Think what it would be to bask continually in the sunshine of the lovely Ada's smiles. But there--poor little bird! did I stroke its pretty feathers all the wrong way, and make it very cross?"

How much more d.i.c.k would have said remains a mystery, for Mrs. Blake interrupted the interesting conversation by her entrance, and commanded him to leave the room.

"I'll take possession of the door-mat once again," he decided, giving Winnie an encouraging look as he pa.s.sed out. "Eavesdropping is a low, mean thing, I know; but Win may require my a.s.sistance, and altogether it's as well I should be on the spot."

There is no need to describe the conversation that ensued between Mrs.

Blake and her troublesome step-daughter. The good lady was justified in her displeasure at Winnie's daring disobedience; but her words were cold, cruel words, little calculated to inspire the love and confidence of a warm, tender-hearted child. She would listen to no expostulations, she refused to reason; her commands must be obeyed; Winnie would never dare to set her laws at defiance again; and at the close of the session she would be transferred to another school. As regarded Ada, she must write a humble apology, and in the future show that sweet, amiable girl every respect.

Winnie stoutly refused (d.i.c.k chuckled with delight), and Mrs. Blake's anger waxed stronger at the little rebel. She meditated for a few seconds on the best method of punishment, and then said coldly,--"I shall say nothing further in the meantime, Winnie, concerning your flagrant act of disobedience in connection with Miss Latimer. When you feel truly penitent, and confess your sorrow, I shall be pleased to accept your apology; but I insist on a letter being written to Miss Irvine now. One hour is at your disposal, and if at the end of that period I return and find you still obdurate, then to-morrow's pleasure is cancelled,--you will not be allowed, as promised, to see over d.i.c.k's ship." With that Mrs. Blake left the room, and Winnie was left to solitude and reflection.

For a long time she sat firmly determined to suffer anything rather than yield. Her young heart burned with anger and pride--she hated everybody and everything; but in the end love for d.i.c.k conquered, and the required note was written.

"I don't mean one single word of all that scribble," she cried, pitching the letter to the other end of the room. "I hate to humble myself, so I do, and I should like to say all sorts of horrid things to Ada Irvine; but I can't give up to-morrow's treat, and I wish to see as much of my dear old d.i.c.k as possible. Wait till I get back to school, however, and there will be fun." Winnie's face brightened at the thought, and the old mischievous smile came back to her lips. After all there was a good amount of wicked enjoyment to be derived from having an enemy.

CHAPTER XIII.

OUR SAILOR BOY.

If one had peeped into the oak parlour on Thursday evening, one would naturally have imagined the room to be untenanted, save for the presence of a little white dog curled in peaceful slumber on the rug; but had the heavy folds of curtain been withdrawn, they would have disclosed to view the form of a young lady nestling back in the window embrasure, with two soft white hands folded wearily on her lap. The night was cold, but bright with moonlight; and the stars peeping in at the window, the blind of which was drawn up to the top, whispered together of the fairy picture she made with the moonbeams straying over her quiet, thoughtful face, and playing hide-and-seek amongst the meshes of her dark glossy hair.

"How pretty she looks!" they murmured softly, sparkling down their twinkling lights on the frost-gemmed city below. But the little stars failed to notice the weary look of discontent and dissatisfaction on that fair face, which marred all the beauty of the fairy picture.

She had left the gay drawing-room and fashionable company under plea of a headache, and finding the oak parlour untenanted, had hidden herself snugly behind the curtains. But Edith Blake's headache had evidently merged into a heartache; for it was a weary, weary face that turned from the window as approaching footsteps warned her of some one's intrusion. Drawing aside the ruby folds and peering out cautiously, the girl saw Winnie enter and go straight towards the fire, where she proceeded to ensconce herself snugly on the rug, and lift the little white dog into her lap.

"Poor little doggie!" she said, stroking the affectionate animal, which was licking its mistress's gentle hand; "poor Puck! you'll have to love me very much after d.i.c.k goes away. I like to be loved, doggie; but no one in this house believes in love except my dear boy, and it is lonely when not a single creature cares, for you. I should like to enjoy a good cry, Puck; but I must not make d.i.c.k sad, and it is a baby-fashion to cry when things go wrong and you can't get what you wish. But, oh dear! whatever shall I do after my dear good boy is gone away?"