Bobus’s opinion that it would be long before anything came of this accession of wealth was for a few days verified in the eyes of the impatient family, for Christmas interfered with some of the necessary formalities; and their mother, still thinking that another will might be discovered, declared that they were not to go within the gates of Belforest till they were summoned.

At last, after Colonel Brownlow had spent a day in London, he made his appearance with a cheque-book in his hand, and the information that he and his fellow-trustee had so arranged that the heiress could open an account, and begin to enter on the fruition of the property. There were other arrangements to be made, those about the out-door servants and keepers could be settled with Richards, but she ought to remove her two sons from the foundation of the two colleges, though of course they would continue there as pupils.

“And Robert,” she said, colouring exceedingly, “if you will let me, there is a thing I wish very much—to send your John to Eton with mine. He is my godson, you know, and it would be such a pleasure to me.”

“Thank you, Caroline,” said the Colonel, after a moment’s hesitation, “Johnny is to stand at the Eton election, and I should prefer his owing his education to his own exertions rather than to any kindness.”

“Yes, yes; I understand that,” said Caroline; “but I do want you to let me do anything for any of them. I should be so grateful,” she added, imploringly, with a good deal of agitation; “please—please think of it, as if your brother were still here. You would never mind how much he did for them.”

“Yes, I should,” said the Colonel, decidedly, but pausing to collect his next sentence. “I should not accept from him what might teach my sons dependence. You see that, Caroline.”

“Yes,” she humbly said. “He would be wise about it! I don’t want to be disagreeable and oppressive, Robert; I will never try to force things on you; but please let me do all that is possible to you to allow.”

There was something touching in her incoherent earnestness, which made the Colonel smile, yet wink away some moisture from his eyes, as he again thanked her without either acceptance or refusal. Then he said he was going to Belforest, and asked whether she would not like to come and look over the place. He would go back and call for her with the pony carriage.

“But would not Ellen like to go?” she said. “I will walk with the boys.”

The Colonel demurred a little, but knowing that his wife really longed to go, and could not well be squeezed into the back seat, he gave a sort of half assent; and as he left the house, Mother Carey gave a summoning cry to gather her brood, rushed upstairs, put on what Babie called her “most every dayest old black hat;” and when Colonel and Mrs. Brownlow, with Jessie behind, drove into the park, it was to see her careering along by the short cut over the hoar-frosty grass, in the midst of seven boys, three girls, and two dogs, all in a most frisky mood of exhilaration.

Distressed at appearing to drive up like the lady of the house, her Serene Highness insisted on stopping at the iron gates of the stately approach. There she alighted, and waited to make the best setting to rights she could of the heiress’s wind-tossed hat and cloak, and would have put her into the carriage, but that no power could persuade her to mount that triumphal car, and all that could be obtained was that she should walk in the forefront of the procession with the Colonel.

There was nobody to receive them but Richards, for the servants had been paid off, and only a keeper and his wife were living in the kitchen in charge. There was a fire in the library, where the Colonel had business to transact with Richards, while the ladies and children proceeded with their explorations. It was rather awful at first in the twilight gloom of the great hall, with a painted mythological ceiling, and cold white pavement, varied by long perspective lines of black lozenges, on which every footfall echoed. The first door that they opened led into a vast and dreary dining-room, with a carpet, forming a crimson roll at one end, and long ranks of faded leathern chairs sitting in each other’s laps. At one end hung a huge picture by Snyders, of a bear hugging one dog in his forepaws and tearing open the ribs of another with his hind ones. Opposite was a wild boar impaling a hound with his tusk, and the other walls were occupied by Herodias smiling at the contents of her charger, Judith dropping the gory head into her bag, a brown St. Sebastian writhing among the arrows; and Juno extracting the painfully flesh and blood eyes of Argus to set them in her peacock’s tail.

“I object to eating my dinner in a butcher’s shop,” observed Allen.

“Yes, we must get them out of this place,” said his mother.

“They are very valuable paintings,” interposed Ellen. “I know they are in the county history. They were collected by Sir Francis Bradford, from whom the place was bought, and he was a great connoisseur.”

“Yes, they are just the horrid things great connoisseurs of the last century liked, by way of giving themselves an appetite,” said Caroline.

“Are not fine pictures always horrid?” asked Jessie, in all simplicity.

The drawing-rooms, a whole suite—antechamber, saloon, music-room, and card-room, were all swathed up in brown holland, hanging even from the picture rods along the wall. Even in the days of the most liberal housekeeper, Ellen had never done more than peep beneath. So she revelled in investigations of gilding and yellow satin, ormolu and marble, big mirrors and Sevres clocks, a three-piled carpet, and a dazzling prismatic chandelier, though all was pervaded with such a chill of unused dampness and odour of fustiness, that Caroline’s first impression was that it was a perilous place for one so lately recovered. However, Ellen believed in no danger till she came on two monstrous stains of damp on the walls, with a whole crop of curious fungi in one corner, and discovered that all the holland was flabby, and all the damask clammy! Then she enforced the instant lighting of fires, and shivered so decidedly, that Caroline and Jessie begged her to return to the fire in the library, while Jessie went in search of Rob to drive her home.

All the rest of the younger population had deserted the state apartments, and were to be heard in the distance, clattering along the passages, banging doors, bawling and shouting to each other, with freaks of such laughter as had never awakened those echoes during the Barnes’ tenure, but Jessie returned not; and her aunt, going in quest of her up a broad flight of shallow stairs, found herself in a grand gallery, with doors leading to various corridors and stairs. She called, and the tramp of the boots of youth began to descend on her, with shouts of “All right!” and downstairs flowed the troop, beginning with Jock, and ending with Armine and Babie, each with some breathless exclamation, all jumbled together—

Jock. “Oh, mother! Stunning! Lots of bats fast asleep.”

Johnny. “Rats! rats!”

Rob. “A billiard-table.”

Joe. “Mother Carey, may Pincher kill your rats?”

Armine. “One wants a clue of thread to find one’s way.”

Janet. “I’ve counted five-and-thirty bedrooms already, and that’s not all.”

Babie. “And there’s a little copper tea-kettle in each. May my dolls have one?”

Bobus. “There’s nothing else in most of them; and, my eyes! how musty they smell.”

Elvira. “I will have the room with the big red bed, with a gold crown at the top.”

Allen. “Mother, it will be a magnificent place, but it must have a vast deal done to it.”

But Mother Carey was only looking for Jessie. No one had seen her. Janet suggested that she had taken a rat for a ghost, and they began to look and call in all quarters, till at last she appeared, looking rather white and scared at having lost herself, being bewildered by the voices and steps echoing here, there, and everywhere. The barrenness and uniformity did make it very easy to get lost, for even while they were talking, Joe was heard roaring to know where they were, nor would he stand still till they came up with him, but confused them and himself by running to meet them by some deluding stair.

“We’ve not got a house, but a Cretan labyrinth,” said Babie.

“Or the bewitched castle mother told us of,” said Allen, “where everybody was always running round after everybody.”

“You’ve only to have a grain of sense,” said Bobus, who had at last recovered Joe, and proceeded to give them a lecture on the two main arteries, and the passages communicating with them, so that they might always be able to recover their bearings.

They were more sober after that. Rob drove his mother home, and the Colonel made the round to inspect the dilapidations, and estimate what was wanting. The great house had never been thoroughly furnished since the Bradfords had sold it, and it was, besides, in manifest need of repair. Damp corners, and piles of crumbled plaster told their own tale. A builder must be sent to survey it, and on the most sanguine computation, it could hardly be made habitable till the end of the autumn.

Meantime, Caroline must remain a tenant of the Pagoda, though, as she told the eager Janet, this did not prevent a stay in London for the sake of the classes and the society, of whom she was always talking, only there must be time to see their way.

The next proposition gave universal satisfaction, Mother Carey would take her whole brood to London for a day, to make purchases, the three elder children each with five pounds, the younger with two pounds a-piece. She actually wanted to take two-thirds of those from Kencroft also, with the same bounty in their pockets, but to this their parents absolutely refused consent. To go about London with a train of seven was bad enough; but that was her own affair, and they could not prevent it; and they absolutely would not swell the number to thirteen. It would be ridiculous; she would want an omnibus to go about in.

“I did not mean all to go about together. The elder boys will go their own way.”

But, as the Colonel observed, that was all very well for boys, whose home had always been in London, but she would find his country lads much in her way. She then reduced her demand by a third, for she really wished for Johnny; but the Colonel’s principles would not allow him to accept so great an indulgence for Rob.

That unlucky fellow had, of course, failed in his examination, and this had renewed the Colonel’s resentment at his laziness and shuffling. He was, however, improved by contact with strangers, looked and behaved less bearishly, and had acquired a will to do better. Still, it was not possible to regret his absence, except because it involved that of his brother; and, with a great effort, and many assurances of her being really needed, Jessie’s company was secured.

Never was the taste of wealth sweeter than in that over-filled railway carriage, before it was light on the winter morning, with a vista of endless possibilities contained in those crackling notes and round gold pieces, Jessie being, of course, as well off as the rest, and feeling the novelty and wonder even more.

Mrs. Acton’s house was to be the place of rendezvous, and she would take charge of the girls for part of the day, the boys wished to shift for themselves; and Allen and Bobus had friends of their own with whom they meant to lunch.

Clara met her friend with an agitated manner, half-laughing, half-crying, as she said—

“Well, Mother Carey dear, you haven’t quite soared above us yet?”

“Petrels never take high flights,” said Carey; “I hope and trust that it may prove impossible to make a fine lady of me. I am caught late, you see.”

“Your daughters are not. You won’t like to have them making excuses for mamma’s friends.”

“Janet’s exclusiveness will not be of that sort, and for warm-hearted little Babie, trust her. Do you know where the Ogilvies can be written to, Clara? Are they at Rome, or Florence?”

“They were to be at Florence by the 14th. Mary has learnt to be such a traveller, that she always drags her brother abroad for however short a time St. Kenelm may give her.”

“I hope I shall catch her in time. We want her for our governess.”

“Now, really, Carey, you are a woman for old friends! But do you think you will get on? You know she won’t spare you.”

“That’s the very reason I want her.”

“It is very generous of you! You always were the best little thing in the world, with a strong turn for being under the lash; so you’re going to keep the slave in the back of your triumphal chariot, like the Roman general.”

“I see, you’re afraid she will teach me to be too proper behaved for you.”

“Precisely so, after her experience of Russian countesses. I don’t know whether she will let you be mistress of your own house.”

“She will make me mistress all the more,” said Caroline; “for she will make me all the more ‘queen o’er myself.’”

Then began the shopping, such shopping extraordinary as none of the family had ever enjoyed except in dreams; and when it was the object of everybody to conceal their purchases from everybody else. Caroline contrived to make time for a quiet luncheon with Dr. and Mrs. Lucas, to which she took her two youngest boys, since Jock was the godson of the house, and had moreover been shaken off by his two elder brothers. Happily he was too good-tempered to grumble at being thrown over, and his mind was in a beatific state of contemplation of his newly-purchased treasures, a small pistol, a fifteen-bladed knife, and a box of miscellaneous sweets, although his mother had so far succumbed to the weakness of her sex as to prevent the weapon from being accompanied by any ammunition.

As to Armine, she wanted to consult Dr. Lucas about the fragile looks and liability to cold that had alarmed her ever since Rob’s exploit. Besides, he was so unlike the others! Had she not seen him quietly make his way into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Lucas kept a box for the Children’s Hospital, and drop into it two bright florins, one of which she had seen Babie hand over to him?

“I do think it is not canny,” she said, as if it had been one of his symptoms.

“Do you want me to prescribe for it?”

“I did try one prescription for having too big a soul; I turned my poor little boy loose into school, and there they half killed him for me, and made the original complaint worse.”

“Happily no prescription, ‘neither life, nor death, nor any other creature,’ can cure that complaint,” said the good old doctor, “though, alas! it is only too apt to dry up from within.”

“Still I can’t help feeling it rather awful to have to do with a being so spiritual as that, and it appears to me to increase on him, so that he never seems quite to belong to me. And precocity is a dangerous sign, is it not?”

“I see,” said the doctor, smiling; “you are going to be a treasure to the faculty, and indulge in anxieties and consultations.”

“Now, Dr. Lucas, you know that we were always anxious about Armine. You remember his father said he needed more care than the rest.”

Dr. Lucas allowed that this was true; but he only recommended flannel, pale ale, moderation in study, and time to recover the effects of the pump.

Both the good old friends were very kind and full of tender congratulation, mingled with a little anxiety, though they were pleased with her good taste and simplicity and absence of all elation. But then she had hardly realised the new position, and seemed to look neither behind nor before. Her only scheme seemed to be to take a house in London for a few months, and then perhaps to go abroad, but of this she could not talk in those old scenes which vividly brought back that castle in the air, never fulfilled, of a holiday in Switzerland with Joe.

On leaving the Lucases, she sent her boys on before her to the nearest bazaar, and was soon at her old home. Kind Mrs. Drake effaced herself as much as possible, and let her roam about the house alone, but furniture had altered every room, so that no responsive chord was touched till she came to the study, which was little changed. There she shut herself in and strove to recall the touch of the hand that was gone, the sound of the voice that was still. She stood, where she had been wont to stand over her husband, when he had been busy at his table and she had run down with some inquiry, and with a yearning ache of heart she clasped her hands, and almost breathed out the words, “O Joe, Joe, dear father! Oh! for one moment of you to tell me what to do, and how to keep true to the charge you gave me—your Magnum Bonum!”

So absolutely had she asked the question, that she waited, almost expecting a reply, but there was no voice and none to answer her; and she was turning away with a sickening sense of mockery at her own folly in seeking the empty shrine whence the oracle of her life had departed, when her eye fell on the engraving over the mantel-piece. It was the one thing for which Mr. Drake had begged as a memorial of Joe Brownlow, and it still hung in its old place. It was of the Great Physician, consoling and healing all around—the sick, the captive, the self-tormenting genius, the fatherless, the widow.

Was this the answer? Something darted through her mind like a pang followed by a strange throb—“Give yourself up to Him. Seek the true good first. The other may lie on its way.”

But it was only a pang. The only too-natural recoil came the next minute. Was not she as religious as there was any need to be, or at least as she could be without alienating her children or affecting more than she felt? Give herself to Him? How? Did that mean a great deal of church-going, sermon-reading, cottage visiting, prayers, meditations, and avoidance of pleasure? That would never do; the boys would not bear it, and Janet would be alienated; besides, it would be hypocrisy in one who could not sit still and think, or attend to anything lengthy and wearisome.

So, as a kind of compromise, she looked at the photograph which hung below, and to it she almost spoke out her answer. “Yes, I’ll be very good, and give away lots of things. Mary Ogilvie shall come and keep me in order, and she won’t let me be naughty, if I ever want to be naughty when I get away from Ellen. Then Magnum Bonum shall have its turn too. Don’t be afraid, dearest. If Allen does not take to it now, I am sure Bobus will be a great chemical discoverer, able to give all his time and spare no expense, and then we will fit up this dear old house for a hospital for very poor people. That’s what you would have done if you had been here! Oh, if this money had only come in time! But here are these horrid tears! If I once begin crying I shall be good for nothing. If I don’t go at once, there’s no saying what Jock mayn’t have bought.”

She was just in time to find Jock asking the price of all the animals in the Pantheon Bazaar, and expecting her to supply the cost of a vicious-looking monkey. The whole flock collected in due time at the station, and so did their parcels. Allen brought with him his chief purchase, the most lovely toy-terrier in the world, whom he presented on the spot to Elvira, and who divided the journey between licking himself and devouring the fragments of biscuit with which Jock supplied him. Allen had also bought a beautiful statuette for himself, and a set of studs. Janet had set herself up with a case of mathematical instruments and various books; Bobus’s purchases were divers chemical appliances and a pocket microscope, also what he thrust into Jessie’s lap and she presently proclaimed to be a lovely little work-case; Jessie herself was hugging a parcel, which turned out to contain warm pelisses for the two nursery boys just above the baby. For the adaptation of their seniors’ last year’s garments had not proved so successful as not to have much grieved the good girl and her mother.

Elvira’s money had all gone into an accordion, and a necklace of large blue beads.

“Didn’t you get anything for your grandfather or your cousins?” said Caroline.

“I wanted it all,” said Elfie; “and you only gave me two sovereigns, or I would have had the bracelets too.”

“Never mind, Elfie,” cried Babie, “I’ve got something for Mr. Gould and for Kate and Mary.”

“Have you, Babie? So have I,” returned Armine; and the two, who had been wedged into one seat, began a whispering conversation, by which the listeners might have learnt that there was a friendly rivalry as to which had made the two pounds provide the largest possible number of presents. Neither had bought anything for self, for the chest of drawers, bath, and broom were for Babie’s precious dolls, not for herself. Mother Carey, uncle and aunt, brothers, sisters, cousins, servants, Mr. Gould, the gardener’s grandson, the old apple-woman, “the little thin girls,” had all been provided for at that wonderful German Bazaar, and the only regret was that gifts for Mr. Ogilvie and Alfred Richards could not be brought within the powers of even two pounds. What had Mother Carey bought? Ah! Nobody was to know till Twelfth-day, and then the first tree cut at Belforest would be a Christmas-tree. Then came a few regrets that everybody had proclaimed their purchases, and therewith people began to grow weary and drop asleep. It was by gaslight that they arrived at home and bundled into the flys that awaited them, and then in the hall at home came Elvira’s cry—

“Where’s my doggie, my Chico?”

“Here; I took him out,” said Jock.

“That’s not Chico; that’s a nasty, horrid, yellow cur. Chico was black. You naughty boy, Jock, you’ve been and changed my dog.”

“Has Midas changed him to gold?” cried Babie.

“Ah,” said Bobus, meaningly.

“You’ve done it then, Bobus! You’ve put something to him.”

“I haven’t,” said Bobus, “but he’s been licking himself all the way home. Well, we all know green is the sacred colour of the Grand Turk.”

“No! You don’t mean it!” said Allen, catching up the dog and holding him to the lamp, while Janet observed that he was a sort of chameleon, for his body, which had been black, was now yellow, and his chops which had been tan, had become black.

Elvira began to cry angrily, still uncomprehending, and fancying Bobus and Jock had played her a trick and changed her dog; Allen abused the horrid little brute, and the more horrid man who had deceived him; and Armine began pitying and caressing him, seriously distressed lest the poor little beast should have poisoned himself. Caroline herself expected to have heard that he was dead the next morning, and would have felt more compassion than regret; but, to her surprise and Allen’s chagrin, Chico made his appearance, very rhubarb-coloured and perfectly well.

“I think,” said Elvira, “I will give Chico to grandpapa, for a nice London present.”

Everybody burst out laughing at this piece of generosity, and though the young lady never quite understood what amused them, and Allen heartily wished Chico among the army of dogs at River Hollow, he did somehow or other remain at the Folly, and, after the fashion of dogs, adopted Jock as the special object of his devotion.

Ellen came in, expecting to regale her eyes with the newest fashions. Or were they all coming down from the dressmaker?

“I had no time to be worried with dressmakers,” said Caroline.

“I thought you went there while the girls were going about with Mrs. Acton.”

“Indeed no. I had just got my new bonnet for the winter.”

“But!”

“And indeed, I have not inherited any more heads.”

Ellen sighed at the impracticability of her sister-in-law and the blindness of fortune. But nobody could sigh long in the face of that Twelfth-day Christmas-tree. What need be said of it but that each member of the house of Brownlow, and each of its dependents, obtained the very thing that the bright-eyed fairy of the family had guessed would be most acceptable.