The Old Pincushion: or, Aunt Clotilda's Guests. Molesworth Mrs.

could it be? Kathie looked so pleased and excited that Philippa almost fancied news must have come of the will having been found. Of course it would be very nice, she said to herself, very nice, if it were so; but still she was conscious of a little feeling of disappointment at the idea. She was rather what is called a romantic little girl; she liked to make up wonderful stories in her head; but this was the first time that she had ever come across in actual life anything to make a really good one about, so, naturally, she felt that it would be quite a pity for it to come to an end too soon. It would be like a book finishing up all in a hurry in the middle. She thought so much about it that she was very sharply reproved by Miss Fraser for inattention and carelessness, which forced her out of her dreams, though the pleasant feeling of having something out of the common to look forward to prevented her taking the scolding much to heart.

      And at last – at last, though really it did seem as if the morning would never come to an end – the two friends found themselves together in the arbour again, and Kathleen drew the fat-looking letter out of her pocket.

      'Oh, Kathie,' Philippa exclaimed, 'I'm all trembling to know what it is! Only just tell me quick! Is it that the will's found?'

      She could hardly for the moment have said whether she wished the answer to be 'yes' or 'no,' but she was not long left in suspense.

      'You goose!' said Kathleen, which was answer of itself; 'of course not. I do believe you thought it was in this letter. I don't believe, for my part, it ever will be found. But that's not the question. What I've got to tell you is just what you've been wishing for. I – we – Neville and I – are to go to Aunt Clotilda's for the holidays.'

      'Oh!' exclaimed Philippa, in a tone of deep satisfaction. 'Then did you speak of it to your brother, Kathie? Were you only teasing me when you said you hadn't?'

      'No, no. It was done before. I mean Neville had thought of it before. He began to tell me something, and then he stopped; I think he wasn't sure if I'd like it. He's not sure now; you'll see when you read what he says. And to tell you the truth, Phil, if you hadn't put it into my head about hunting for that paper' —

      'No,' interrupted Philippa; 'it was your own thought about looking for the paper. I said the will.'

      'Never mind,' said Kathie impatiently; 'it's the same thing. You put the hunting into my head. And, as I was saying, if you hadn't, I don't believe I would have wanted to go there. You see, it's left to my own wishes principally,' she went on importantly. 'That's sensible of Aunt Clotilda, anyway. There,' and she held out the letter to Philippa, 'you may read it all. Can you make out the writing? If not, I'll read it to you. Neville's writing is plain enough; read it first.'

      Philippa eagerly obeyed. Neville's letter was just a short one, sending on to his sister a larger one which he had received from their aunt, and saying how much he hoped Kathleen would like the idea of the visit Miss Clotilda proposed, and which he frankly said he had written to suggest.

      'I've read Neville's,' said Philippa; 'but the writing of the other is rather difficult. Please read it to me, Kathie.'

      Kathleen unfolded it, and made Philippa come quite close to her.

      'I don't want to speak loud,' she said. 'I don't care for the other girls to hear.'

      'My dear Neville,'

      the letter began,

      'I am very glad you wrote to me. I have thought a great deal about you and dear Kathleen since the terrible disappointment which you heard all about from your father. It is very sad for both of you, and perhaps especially so for Kathleen, to be so long separated from your dear parents, and to have now – alas! – such a very uncertain prospect of seeing them again for long. I had already been considering if it would not be possible for you both to spend your next holidays with me here. Mr. Wynne-Carr has – I suppose I must say kindly, but I think you are old enough to understand that it is difficult for me to feel grateful under the circumstances – given me leave to stay here till October, when I must go I know not where. But I am very poor. I have for the time a house in which to receive you, but that is about all. All the servants are dismissed already, except old Martha. And I am obliged to live in the simplest way. Then, again, I had a feeling that it would be painful and tantalising for you to come here, and to get to know and love the dear old place which should have been by now your own home. I should like you and little Kathleen' —

      'Little Kathleen, indeed!' said Kathie, with a snort.

      'to think it over' —

      'Yes; that's sensible of her, isn't it?'

      'and to let me know what you feel about it before I do anything in the matter. I am quite sure your dear papa and mamma' —

      'Did you ever see such a lot of "dears" as she sticks in? I'm afraid she must be rather a kissey-cry-ey sort of person, Phil.'

      'would have no objection to your coming, and if you both think you would like it, and will let me know as soon as possible, I will write to Miss Eccles and to Mr. Fanshaw, and try to get all arranged. I think you could safely make the journey alone, as there is no change from Paddington to Frewern Bay, where you leave the railway, and where I should meet you by the coach. Of course, had things been as we hoped, I should have sent some one to town to escort you, but that, alas! is now out of the question. With love to Kathleen, and hoping to hear from you very soon – Believe me, my dear Neville, your affectionate aunt,

'Clotilda Wynne Powys.'

      'She writes as if she would have sent a couple of powdered footmen for us, doesn't she?' said Kathie. 'I say, Phil, it won't be very cheerful if she's going to go on groaning all the time over departed grandeur, will it? And I'm rather afraid about the' – Kathleen hesitated. She was in an excited, mischievous mood, and she wanted to shock Philippa by using slang. But she wasn't sure whether the proper expression for what she wanted to say was 'tuck,' or 'grub,' or 'prog,' or no one of the three, so she discreetly changed the form of the sentence. 'I've just a little misgiving that we shall not have enough to eat,' she went on. 'Do you suppose she'll give us porridge three times a day? I always think of porridge when people speak of living very simply.'

      'Porridge is very good,' said Philippa; 'with cream I think it's' —