Our Novelettes.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 1591, 13 May 1887, Page 3

Our Novelettes.

OUR fiOBIN. Chapter ll.—(Continued). " That is not in the the style of my young man," I return, with dignity ; " and, if you are going to make game of mo and my engagement, well, I won't tell you a word about, Harry!" " Yes, you will, my d-ar," says Robin authoritatively, and dropping her mocking tone. " I must hear every detail from beginning to end—what he said, and what you said, and ev.-rything." "Oh, will you, mademoiselle ? 'think I to myself; but I only remark oloud, " You seem to have recovered from the fatigue of your journey." " Quite bo," assents Robin, " though from Yorkshire to Devonshire is a much greater stretch than it looks on the map." " Are you ready to come down ?" I ask, seeing thut her toilette is about complete. " Because, if so, we will have a run round the garden breakfast." '• Delightful! " agrees Robin. " I have onlv my locket to put on. There! Shall I do?" I think her perfection, and frankly tell her so, at which she laughs immoderately. "Now, Beo Hee"—'Beo Beo* is her pet name for me—" don't talk nonsense or begin fishing for compliments. I haven't a single good feature in my face, and ycu know it; whilst you—well, you h ive a Grecian nose and a robust mouth and everything else that is adorable."

" Yes, and not an atom of expression," I remark discontentedly. "On the contrary, I havo seen you look frightfully cross at times," answers Robin honestly. " But really," Bhe continues, smiling as sho one of tho saucy little curls that cluster round her white forehead, " I can't sec the use of quarrelling with our face?; it is a great waste of time this lovely morning." Then she give me mother hug, not quite so overpowering as her first specimen—or perhaps I am becoming used to it—and, arm linked in arm, we go down the broad staircaso and through tho glass side-door and into tlie garden. We live in a rambling old housi coverod with flowering creepers. Tho grounds aro quaintly laid out, a;.d the flower-beds overflowing with old-fashione I, sweet-smelling flowers. " 1 never paw a garden liko this before ! " cries Robin, her eyes full of admiration, as she darts from bed to bed, gathering here and there stray blossoms, until she holds in her hand quite a bouquet. " What aro you going to do with them ? " I ask, feeling a little jealous of the flowers ; for I have not been Used of lato to put up with divided attention.

" Oh, dear! " cries Robin, full of contrition. '' I only meant to gather one for my buttonhole, and, see, I have pulled a whole handful! Have 1 done any harm't" " Of course nor," I reply, laughing at her look of consternation. " Nuboty wants the flowers ; they hiok pretty growing, but flowers are such a bother to arrange ; wo Tery rarely have any in the house. Aunt Louisa does not care much for them, and I am far too lazy to attend to them regularly." " Bee Bee, excuse me, but I really think that you are a heathen ! " says Kobin solemnly. " You are just smothered in sweet blossoms until you have ceased to appreciate them. Listen! Does your aunt dislike flowers ?" " Dislike them ? Oh, no! I don't suppose any sane person could dislike them." " \\ ell, then, if you don't object, I shall heep tho house full of flowers during my visit. May IP* " Certainly, if it will be any pleasure to you." "Any pleasure!" repeats Robin, with sparkling eyes. " Why, I love flowers—l dote on them ! " —and she carries the bunch in her hand enthusiastically to her lips. "In that cas I say, trying to take an interest in that which so evidently affords her pleasure, " let us arrange some at once for the breakfast-table." So wo return to the house ; and Robin settles her flowers to her satisfaction in a quaint old dragon vase, whilst I sit beside her on one of the hall-chairs, end wo chat incessantly of the past. Our work is only just finished in time ; for aunt Louita enters tho room just as Robin retires from placing them on the breakfasttable. Sho returns to meet my aunt with such a winning smile, and so evidently expects a morning kiss, that, to my surprise, she gets it.

" Are you quite rested, dear ?" {is aunt's greeting ; and her tone is as full of solicitude as if she had known liobin for years. My friend's answer is in the affirmative; she looks so full of spirits and animation that aunt Louisa pursues doubtfully—- " I hope Blanche will be able to find some amuiemout for you ; we are a very quiet homo party" Robin makes a lit t lo grimace.

" I hope Blanche won't try," she replies, with a merry shake of her head. " I think there is 110 more dreary work on earth than being amused. If I may just potter about and amuse myself, I shall be perfectly happy. May I ? Please dou't make a stranger of me, or I shall be almost miserable j" and she looks coaxingly up into aunt Louisa's face, " Who could ?" asks my aunt, glancing back with u smile into liobin's frank eyes. Just at this moment John enters the room. It is the first time that he and Robin have for ho was fastened into his study when she arrived last night. As I perform the introduction, I note that they scan each other narrowly; his large gray eyes are fixed upon h-r thoughtfully and solemnly, whilst her ke.-n hazel ones fill with an expression half wondering and—can it be?—hulf mirthful. They simply bow to each other across the table, for my brother is always reserved and cold with strangers. How different that meal is from our ordinary morning repast at Podmore ! As a rule, our conversation nover gets beyond demands for fcod and a few aimless observations respecting the weather ; but on the present occasion there sterns to be a perpetual flow of small talk, ltobin, who never in all her life before had taken eo long a journey alone, has met with some amusing travelling companions. Her description of them is enlivening, and given with just that harmless touch of malice which adds piquancy to the commonplace incidents of life. Before breakfast is half over, a most unprecederted thing occurs. Aunt Louisa's tea-cup is twice interrupted on its way to her lips by a fit of laughter. John gays nothing, but continues to consume his dry toast in so'emn silence; once or twice I caught his earnest eyes fixed upon Bobin with a puzzled look—there is even a lurking gleam of contempt in their expression, nothing more.

" You must bo very strong, my dear," observes aunt Inuisa, looking with evident approval at my friend's M I quite expected you to be knocked up by such a long journey, and meant you to spend all the morning in bed."

" Not the first morning, surely!" laughs Robin, glancing up archly. " Why, you must imagine that I am quite devoid of curiosity ! Remember, I have never been in Devonshire before. I feel like Christopher Columbus when he landed in the New World. I have everything to see." " Take an egg," I say, pushing the stand towards her. She looks somehow as if she could manage one, though I know perfectly well she has just finished a largo plate of ham. " I am perfectly ashamed of my appetite," declares Robin, as she cracks the shell with a compunc'ious sigh. " You don't eeem to eat anything, Blanche." " No," I answer carelessly; "we are not great people at breakfast." "Or luncheon, or dinner," adds aunt Louisa impatiently. " The fact is, that she and John have spoilt, their appetites by strong tea. It will be quite a treat to have some one to keep me in countenance at my meals," she continues, smiling over at Robin ; " for these two ethereal cieatures, who are content with tea and toast, look on me, I know, as a dreadful gourmand. " Oh, auntio! " I exclaim, whilst John also mutters some confused words of disaent. " I am too old-fashioned to tTy living on air, or to become a regetarian," continues aunt Louisa, who, now that she has started on ally, seems determined to give us a bit of her mind.

" But we are not vegetarians—at least, I'm not," I protest. " You are both of you next door to it," asserts my aunt stoutly. I am just wondering how I can change a subject which always leads to a useless war of words, when Robin interrupts most opportunely— " Do you ever dream, Miss Crick ?" " Do I ever dream ?" repeats aunt Louisa, suspecting poor Robin of a covert meaning in I the observation. " I suppose you mean, do I suffer from indigestion. " No ;'I don't think dreams are, as a rule, caused by indigestion, because I dream nearly every night of my life, and my digestive organs are m perfect form. Surely dieains must fp:-ing from our imagination." " Decidedly," as-ents John, with an emphatic nod of his head. Mv brother, as a rule, doe* not take the slightest notice of our trivi >1 feminine conversation, so that aunt Louisa and I sit and stare at him in open astonishment, whilst Robin at once turns her attention in his direction. " I am glad that you agree with me," 6he says. " Most people will ineist that.dreams and eatirg nro connected, and it is such a prosaic eoiu'ion to the beautiful mystery of dream-land." " Dreams are it spirations," siys John, slowly and solemnly, as it' he were announcing an authenticated fact, respecting which there could be no second opinion. " Robin looks at him hard for a few moments : then sho s:iys, in her clcer, hearty, reasoning tones—- " Oh, I don't go so far as that! Surely one can't call all the nonseneo one dreams inspiiations! The imagination, set loose, simply takes a little center on its own account, without Dame Reason to keep it in check. We travel away into fairy-land every night, and it freshens us after the daily struggle with our matter-of-fact world." Jolia looks d'sappointed. " Then you don't beheve that dreams are prophetic ?" he asks. "As a rule certainly not," answers Robin in some astonishment, " though it ; s my belief," she continues thoughtfully, " that in some instances peoplo are warned by dreams, even as th n y we r e in the days of old." "My dear —what gross superstition ! " interposes arnt Louisa evidently shocked. *' I am sure that it is not superstition," answers Robin simply. " I know several instances in which people have been prepared for a great blow by a forewarning in the shape of a dream." " Oh, stop, please ! " interrupts my aunt, shivering. "You make mc shudder with your nonsense. Of course, sometimes the things one dreams of may really happen ; but, if so, it is a mere coincidence." " I quite with you that the generality of dreams count for nothing," returns Robin brightly. " Now take for instance my dream last night—it could have no meaning." " What was your d'eam ?" asks John earnestly. " Robin smiles as sho recalls it, and the smile breaks almost into a laugh as she begins. "I supposo sleeping in a strange bed-room spurred mv imagination to unusual activity. I dreamt that there was a mouso in the bedroom." "It may not have been a drtam at all," interposes aunt Louisa scofliagly ; " the house literally swarms with mice." "But this was such an extrsordinaiy mouse," objects Robin calmly. " When, after many futile efforts, I succeeded in catching it, it turned to a tiuy luminous ball in mv hand, and asked me, with a loud laugh, what I had caught. I answered evasively that L had caught it. Then my hand was stung quickly and sharply, as by a wasp, so I aropped my captive without delay. It fell upon the floor, where it rolled to and fro, asking again in its quavering voice, • What am I?' My answer was to the effect that I nei.her knew nor cared. 'I ami spirit,' it said next. ' Why do you meddle with spirits ? If you had not let mo go, I would have burnt through your hand.' Then the shining ball gradually paled, flickered, and went out. That was the end of my dream," laughs Robin, " and I think you must all agree that it was about as senseless and devoid of a second meaning as any dream could be." " Because it is not given to you to real its meaning," says John ; and, a shade paler than usual, he rises from his chair suddenly, and leaves the breakfast-table.

" I think, my dear," remarks aunt Louiea, in bor calm practiced tones, " we had better stt some traps in your room." " Traps ! On no account ; lam not in the least afraid of mice. It must have been tlnir scratching, I suppose, which gate rise to my dream." " Doubtless," I agree. "We are overrun with mice; that is why we keep such a number of cats." Chapter 111. Our ground* at Podmore are not extensive. Indeed the house itself, though old and roomy, is not pretentious, and it stands modestly in the midst of some fifteen acres only. More than half this space is taken up by the lawn, pleasure grounds, and garden ; the remainder is portioned off into two meadows. In one of these our cows graze, whilst the other is devoted to providing hay for winter use. The near field is separated from the pleasure-grounds by a light iron paling; on all remaining sides the meadows are encircled by a belt of beech trees. Among these trees there runs a narrow moss-grown foot-path, which is known by the sentimental title of the Lovers' Walk. Of late years, I huve grown almost to hate this pathway, on account of its painful associations; but on this, the first morning of Robin's visit, she insists on a thorough inspection of our domains.

" I am very happy till I am well coached in the geography of the place I am staying at," she explains; "to you must take me everywhere, show me everything, and introduce me to everybody." " You frightfully energetic creature! " I say, with a sigh, as I put on my broad-brimmed hat and seek for my garden-gloves. " I will try to take you everywhere, since you wish it; there is not much worth seeking, though, I warn you. As to introducing you to anybody, that is out of the question. We hardly visit at all; we don't care for society." " Don't care fir society !" repeats Robin puckering her brows. "How funny!—that is"—correcting herself—" I don't think I care much for society. Only one must mil more of less with one's fellows, if only to keep one's wits bright." " Well, our wits may rust, for all we care!" I answer rather defiantly. In the first place, we visit the stables, where Robin falls head over ears in love with our old retriever, Nell. She expresses, however, strong disapproval of the carriage-horses. " They remind one of two fat old aldermen," she says, surveying them with smiling pity ; " they must have been eating their heads off for yea.B;" and she assists the process by offering Jn piece of bread to my special pony, Scamper. "They have," I answer calmly. "Aunt Louisa drives twice a week, and that is about all."

" How frightfully cruel;" exclaims Eobin indignantly. " Cruel ? " I repeat interrogatively. " Yes, cruel—to keep them here doing nothing. How they must hate their stalls!" "They are exercised every morning," I explain. "Yes, and like it as much as we used to appreciate our constitutional at school." I laugh. " If you really wish it, we will drive this afternoon," is my reluctant concession. " Of course I should like it, and to-morrow we'll take your pony out. Ah, Scamper, my boy, we will let you s°e a little life! " —and ehe gives his nose an affectionate kiss. We are leaving the yard, when her eye lights again on Neil, who. encouraged by the attention she has already received, begins to whine like a spoilt child and pull impatiently at her chain. " May I unfasten her?" asks Robin eagerly, and approaching the kennel. "As you like," I answer carelessly. " She is so frightfully demonstrative, when she does obtain her liberty, that I seldom touch her. She will almost tenr you to pieces, as a pleasant little way of showing her gratitude." But before I have finished speaking Nell is free. She at once verifies my words by springing upon Robin, who all but loses her equilibrium ; secondly, she darts at me. For once, however, in my lifetime I have taken time by the forelock, and I avoid Nell's affectionate intentions by dodging her skilfully behind the pump. Foiled in her endeavours to reach me, she relieves her feelings by tearing round the yard for a few minntes, after which she subsides idto soberness once more, and, still panting, follows us meekly enough as we wander away from tne stables. "And now I really think we have seen everything," I say, with a sigh of satisfaction, taking out my watch to ascertain the time. To own the truth, I have fallen into such lazy habits that even strolling about the grounds for an hour completely tires ine. "Have we? Don't those fields belong to you?" asks Robin, pointing with ruthless hand towards the meadows. " Yes," I reply, sinking down on a seat that is handy ; " but we must not walk about in the hay-crop, and I'm convinced the cows would toss us, if we invaded their domain." " And is there no way around the meadows?" asks Robin. She is leaning with her elbows on the top of the iron fence, feeding the old cow, Buttercup, with bunches of long tender grass, and laughs a little at my terror of the gentle kindeyed animal. Robin is on the best ofjterms with all brute creation, and brute creation, to judge from appearances, is also on the best of terms with her. " Yes; there is a path called the Lovers' Walk," I answer, with a weary sigh; "but surely you don't want to explore that! There is nothing on earth to see." '• It cau't be far," she muses, as she softly strokes Buttercup's nose. " Half a m'le, if it is an inch," I say impressively. " Only that ? Then we must certainly go, unless you feel youself unequal to the exertion " —this a little satirically. "In that case I'll go alone. I suppose 1 couldn't 10.-e my way ?"

" Not if you tried your hardest. If you go in at one end, you are bound to come out at the other, unless you deliberately turn round in the middie. " Are you coming ?" asks Robin. She has left the fence, and now stands before me, the very picture of health and happiness, her bright eyes dancing, her round cheeks rjsy with the vigorous young life within her. " Oh, I will come if you let me rest a little! " I rejoin, making a valiant effort not to be uncivil on Robin's first day. She seats herself beside me on the garden bonch, and lovingly caresses Nell's curly head, which is at once thrust upon her knees; then she looks—or rather stares—at me long and earnestly. " You are veiy much changed in the last two years, Blanche," she says suddenly. '* Do you think so P" I say, feeling the warm blood creep over ray usually pallid face. "Yes; you have grown so frightfuliy quiet, pale, and languid—how is it P" " 1 aui all right j it is only because you are in such overflowing health and spirits yourself that you think me so delicate," is my rather rude answer. Robin only laughs her low cheery laugh. " Yes, I am strong," she siys, looking down at her firm round wrist, and re-urranging the broad silver batid that encircles it j " and I'm thankful for my st-ength ; it makes one somehow feel so happy." " i'es," I say vaguely. " I suppose it must be a pleasant feeling."

Then Robin begins to t tlk of her Northern home, her brotliers and sister, her various occupations unci amusements, until, listening te her, it suddenly dawns upon me that my life hitherto has been aimless and indolent. This flashes across my brain suddenly as I sit there on the seat beside my old schoolfellow; and then the feeliug of confidence tvhich first drew me towards Robin springs once more into life.

" Robin," I say, edging nearer, and putting my hand round her waist, " I did want you so, dear. I knew we were all going to sleep, and worse tb&n to sleep, down here, and nothing seemed to rouse us. As you know, I never had much energy, and what 1 once possessed is all used up. Since poor Jack's misfortune, we htiy» been going from bad to worse; we seem settled iu a fog of gloom ; and I am afraid that Jack will soon get past recovery, unless we can rouse him." "Poor dear! There—don't fret!"—and Robin laughingly wipes my eye 3 with her own handkerchief' " They ought to have sent you up to me, or asked somebody here, or done something," she declares, with her usual energy. {To U conf