OUR NEW SERIAL “THE GIRLS AT THE COTTAGE.”

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIII, 7 August 1922, Page 3

OUR NEW SERIAL “THE GIRLS AT THE COTTAGE.”

By

FLORENCE WARDEN.

CAPTER Xl.—Continued. “You’ll see. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.’ And Uncle John, with a grave look, turned the conversation and left their inquiries, unanswered.

The girls were indeed a. little perturbed by these constant _references to the larger and fuller life which he was beginning to promise them, and they were relieved rather than disappointed when Cousin Kesiah said to them scof fingly as they bade her good-night: “ Your uncle was always like that, always thinking he was going to make a fortune and live like a duke. And see what it’s come to I”

With a wave of the hand she intimated exceeding dissatisfaction with her present surroundings, as she withdrew with her candle into her own room.

They had settled down surprisingly soon into the slightly altered way of life consequent upon the death of their mother and the arrival of their uncle. They had civen him Airs King’s oil bedroom, but this he would not accept, as it was, he objected, the best in the house and much too good for an old bachelor.

So Cousin Kesiah took possession of the big bedroom, and Uncle John was installed in the small one she had previously occupied. Beyond this rearrangement, and the fact that what they used to call supper had now become elevated to the rank of dinner, and the engagement of the clumsy Emily Hawkins to assist Mrs Swain in the simple but necessary art of smashing crockery, there was very little change in the routine of the cottage.

On the morning following Claudine’s indisposition, Uncle John was unusually silent at breakfast-time. He was very kind to Claudine, but after asking many questions and being affectionately interested in her assurance that she was “ all right,” he became absorbed in thought, and scarcely did more than skim hurriedly the columns of his newspaper, instead of entertaining th? ladies, as he generally did, with tit-bits from the news of the day. When the meal was over he rose quickly to his feet and went out iht-j the garden, where he walked up and down with his hands behind him for more than half an hour.

Then he came quickly indoors again, bi". shed his rather shabby hat carefully. for he was always neat and particular about his appearance, and left the cottage by the front gate without a word to anyone.

Ihe girls looked at each other. Judith was dusting the china in the cabinet in the drawing-room, and Claudine was watering the plants in the window. This room being at the back of the house, they coul dnot see which way Uncle John went, but both were seized with the same idea concerning his errand,

“ I wonder,” said Judith, “ where

he is going?” Claudine stood up.. “ I can guess,” she said. “ I expect he will go to see Clarence Johnson.” “Oh, I hope not!”- “ Why?”

The girls looked at each other. Neither knew what she feared, but it had been impossible for them not to notice that there was always going on in Uncle John’s mind a running comparison between the condition of himself and his family and that of Clarence Johnson, the rich draper who lived in the big house at the top of the hill.

Also they had noticed that on those many occasions when he promised them a sudden rise in life, the thought of Johnson wa never very far away from his mind.

And the girls asked themselves, though they dared not ask each other, what the result of such an attitude would be. “It will be all right,” said Claudine suddenly, with a reassuring nod. “ Oh. yes. I’m sure it will be all right.” “ You can’t be sure, for you don’t know anything about it,” saio J it.'., a sharply x “ 1 knhw just this ” said Claudine slowly. “ that Uncle John is not a silly boy: If he has money owing to him by- Clarence Johnsen—which seems to be the most likely explanation of what he has said—he will know what to do to recover it.” But Judith looked perturbed. “If Clarence Johnson had owed my uncle any money,” she objected, “ why hasn’t he ever said so?” But this was a question which Claudine was not prepared to answer.

In the meantime Uncle John was walking quickly along the road through Fenton to Downscliffe, and on reaching the top of the hill behind the Meads, he entered the gate of the large redbrick mansion which was the residence of the rich linen-draper. He was received in state by a man servant, who gave him a memorandum tablet upon which he had to write his name and business with the magnate.

After a moment’s’ hesitation Uncle John wrote down his name as “John King,” and his business as “Confidential.”

Then the leaf upon which he had written was handed by the servant to a page, who disappeared with it, while the visitor was invited to wait in a little room which appeared to be a breakfast-room. There was an interval of some minutes’ duration before the door was opened, and the dignified servant came i)j aggin. “ Air Johnson is sorry not to be abie to see you, sir, but he is very busy this morning.” “ All right,” said Uncle John, rising to his feet, and standing, hat and stick in hand, near the window. “ When shall I call again?” “I don’t- know, I’m sure, sir.' Mr Johnson didn’t say.” Uncle John balanced his stick gently in his hand. Then a faint sound struck

upon his ear, and made him glance out of the window.

One of the two sidegates to the front garden had been opened softly, and a man had gone quickly out. “ Thank you. Good morning,” said Uncle John quickly. Before the stately servant could anticipate him Uncle John had burst out. of the room and out of the house, and pas running down towards the road as fast as his feet would carry him.

Fast as he went, however, the man he had seen went faster.

By the time Uncle John dashed out into the road, Iris hat crammed down upon his head, his stick waving in his hand, a little thick-set man in a light overcoat with ai small kitbag in his hand was flying down the road in the direction of Downscliffe station with the speed of the wind. Uncle John went in quite open pursuit.

He did not call out, he did not, show any sign of wrath or of perturbation, but he started as he meant to go on, at a pace which must surely tell in the end, unless fate should offer the man pursued the happy chance of a passing vehicle in which to escape. For his departure was obviously a flight. On they went, steadily, though the foremost of the two now and then broke into a run. Uncle John, whose face had been set and stern, smiled faintly. For this was the first sign of weak ness, and it made him bold.

A few minutes later the foremost man stopped, hestitated, looked round turned, and dropped his bag.

Continued in to-morrow’s Advertiser