Bessie's eyes were full of fear and dismay as she looked at Mrs. Chester and Eleanor. At first she hadn't thought it even possible that they could think she had done anything so cruel as to frighten the birds and steal their eggs, but there was a grave look on their faces that terrified her.

"No, Bessie," said Mrs. Chester, "I don't believe you did—certainly, I don't want to believe anything of the sort."

"I know you didn't do it, Bessie!" cried Eleanor Mercer.

"But General Seeley is very indignant about it, Bessie," Mrs. Chester went on to say. "And some of the men told him that one of the girls from the camp was around very early this morning, before anyone else was up, walking about, and looking at things. So he seemed to think right away that she must have done it. And he sent for me and asked me if I could find out which of you girls had been out."

"Bessie went out openly, and she came back when we were all up," said Eleanor, stoutly. "If she'd been doing anything wrong, Mrs. Chester, she would have tried to get here without being seen, wouldn't she?"

"I know, Eleanor, I know," said Mrs. Chester, kindly. "You think she couldn't have had anything to do with it—and so do I, really. But for Bessie's own sake we want to clear it up, don't we?"

Bessie stood her ground bravely, and kept back the tears, although it hurt her more to have these friends who had been so good to her bothered about her than it would had almost anything happened to her.

"Oh, I wish I'd never seen you, Miss Eleanor!" she cried. "I've done nothing but make trouble for you ever since you found us. I'm so sorry! Zara wanted to come with me this morning, and if I'd let her, she could have told you that I didn't even see the birds."

"It'll all come out right, Bessie," said Mrs. Chester. "I thought perhaps you might have done it by accident, but if you weren't there we'll find out who really did do it, never fear. Now, you had better come with me. General Seeley asked me to bring any of the girls who had been out this morning with me when I went to see him. He will want to talk to you himself, I think."

So Bessie, tears in her eyes, which she tried bravely to keep back, had to go up to the big house that they could see through the trees. It was a big, rambling house, built of grey stone, with many windows, and all about it were beds of flowers. Bessie had never seen a house that was even half so fine.

"General Seeley is very particular about his birds, and all the animals on the place," explained Mrs. Chester, as they made their way toward the house. "Some men keep pheasants just so that they can shoot them in the autumn, and they call that sport. But General Seeley doesn't allow that. He's a kind and gentle man, although he's a soldier."

"Has he ever been in a war, Mrs. Chester?"

"Yes. He's a real patriot, and when his country needed him he went out to fight, like many other brave and gentle men. But, like most men who are really brave, he hates to see anyone or even any animal, hurt. Soldiers aren't rough and brutal just because they sometimes have to go to war and fight. They know so much about how horrible war is that they're really the best friends of peace."

"I never knew that. I thought they liked to fight."

"No, it's just the other way round. When you hear men talk about how fine war is, and how they hope this country will have one some time soon, you can make up your mind that they are boasters and bullies, and that if a war really came they'd stay home and let someone else do the fighting. It isn't the people who talk the most and brag the loudest who step to the front when there's something really hard to be done. They leave that to the quiet people."

Then they walked along in silence. The place seemed even more beautiful now, but Bessie was too upset to appreciate its loveliness. She wondered if General Seeley would believe her, or if he would be more like Maw Hoover than Mrs. Chester.

"We'll find him on the porch in the back of the house, I think, Bessie. If he's there we can find him without going inside and bothering the servants. So we'll go around and see."

General Seeley was a small man, with white beard and moustache, and at her first look at him Bessie thought he looked very fierce indeed, and every inch a soldier, though there were so few inches. He had sharp blue eyes that were keen and piercing, and after he had risen and bowed to Mrs. Chester, which he did as soon as he saw her, he looked sharply at Bessie—so sharply that she was sure at once that he had judged her already, and was very angry at her.

"Well, well, so you've found the poacher and brought her with you, eh?" he said. "Sit down, ma'am, sit down, while I talk to her!"

And now Bessie saw that there was really a twinkle in the keen eyes, and that he wasn't as angry as he looked.

"What's her name? Bessie, eh? Bessie King? Well, sit down, Bessie, and we'll have a talk. No use standing up—none at all! Might as well be comfortable!"

"Thank you, sir," said Bessie, and sat down. She was still nervous, but her fright was lessened. He was much more kindly than she had expected him to be, somehow.

"Now, let's find out all about this, Bessie. Didn't you know you oughtn't to frighten the birds? Or didn't you think they'd be frightened—eh, what?"

Bessie didn't understand, fully, at first.

"But I didn't frighten them, sir," she said.

"They thought so. Stupid birds, eh, to think they were frightened when they weren't? But you remember they didn't know any better."

He laughed merrily at his own joke, and glanced at Mrs. Chester, as if he expected her to laugh, too, and to be amused, but her eyes were troubled, and she was very thoughtful.

"Come, come," he went on. "It's not so very terrible, after all! We've all of us done things we were sorry for—eh, Mrs. Chester? I'll wager that even you have—and I know very well that there are lots of things I can think of that I did just because I didn't think there was any harm in them."

"Some people wouldn't admit that, General Seeley, but it's very true," said Mrs. Chester. "I know it is in my case."

"Well, well, can't you talk, Bessie? Aren't you going to tell me you're sorry and that you won't do it again?"

"I'm sorry the birds were frightened," said Bessie, bravely. "But I can't say that I won't do it again—"

"What's that? What's that? Bless me, what's the use of saying you're sorry if you mean to do it the next time you get a chance?"

The general was flushed as he spoke, and his eyes held the same angry look they had worn at first. Mrs. Chester sighed and decided that it was time for her to speak.

"I don't think that was just what Bessie meant, General. I think you didn't understand her—"

"Well, well, perhaps not! What do you mean, Bessie?"

"I mean I can't promise not to do it again, sir, because I didn't do it at all, in the first place. Really, I didn't—"

"Oh, nonsense!" said the general, testily. "I'm ready to overlook it—don't you understand that? All I want you to do is to confess, and to say you're sorry. Nothing's going to happen to you!"

"I can't confess when I didn't do it," pleaded Bessie. "And if I had done it, I'd say so, whether anything was going to happen to me or not. That wouldn't make any difference."

General Seeley jumped to his feet.

"Oh, come, come! That's nonsense!" he said. "Who else could have done it, eh? Answer me that! I've said I'd forgive you—"

"But, General," protested Mrs. Chester, "if Bessie didn't do it, she'd be telling you an untruth if she said she had—and you wouldn't have her do that?"

"I'm a just man, Mrs. Chester, but I know what's what. She must have done it—she was around the place. And I know that none of my men did it. They know better! No one but the game-keepers are allowed to go into the preserve, and they all know they'd be dismissed at once if they disobeyed my rules about that. I'm strict—very strict! I insist upon obedience of orders and truthfulness—learned the need of them when I was in the army. Don't you think I can tell what's going on here, ma'am?"

"I think you're mistaken, General—that's all. I'm sure Bessie is telling the truth. Why shouldn't she? You've told her that she needn't be afraid to confess if she did frighten the birds, and that was very kind and generous of you. So, if she had, she wouldn't have anything to lose by saying so, and promising not to be careless that way again."

"What do you know about her, ma'am? Isn't it true that she's one of the two girls you told me about last night—that Miss Mercer had found? If—"

"I know she's a brave, honest girl, General. She's proved that already."

"I disagree with you, Mrs. Chester," said the general, stiffly. "You're a lady, and you naturally think well of everyone. I've learned by bitter experience that we can't always do that. I've trusted men, and had them go wrong, despite that. If she was one of the girls like the others, that you'd always known about, it would be different. Then I'd be happy to take your word for it. But when I think you aren't in any better position to judge than I am, I've got to use my own judgment."

"I'm sorry, General," said Mrs. Chester. "I can't tell you how sorry I am—but I'm sure you're wrong."

"She can't stay here, that's certain," said the general, testily. "I can't have a girl about the place who frightens my birds and then tells—lies—"

Bessie cried out sharply at that word.

"Oh—oh!" she said. "Really, I've told the truth—I have, indeed! If I said what you want me to say, than I'd be lying—but I'm not."

"Silence, please!" said General Seeley, sternly. "I'm talking with Mrs. Chester now, young woman. You've had your chance—and you wouldn't take it. Now I'm done with you!"

"What do you mean, General?" asked Mrs. Chester, looking very grave.

"You'll have to send her away—where she came from, Mrs. Chester. You and the girls you can vouch for are welcome, but I can't have her here."

"I can't do that, General," said Mrs. Chester, not angrily, but gravely, and looking him straight in the eyes.

"But you must! I won't let her stay here! And these are my grounds, aren't they?"

"Certainly! But if Bessie goes, we all go with her. It's not our way to desert those we've once befriended and taken in, General."

"That is for you to decide, ma'am," he said, stiffly. He got up and bowed to her. "I'm sorry that this should cause a quarrel—"

"It hasn't," said Mrs. Chester, smiling. "It takes two to make a quarrel, and I simply won't quarrel with you, General. I know you'll be sorry for what you've said when you think it over. Come, Bessie!"

Bessie, quite stunned by the trouble that had come upon them so suddenly out of a clear sky, couldn't speak for a minute.

"Oh," she said, then, "you don't mean that all the girls will have to leave this lovely place because of me?"

"Not because of you, but because of a mistake that's not your fault, Bessie. You mustn't worry about it. Just leave it to me. I'm sure you're telling the truth, and I'm going to stick by you."