The Black Opal

Discovery in the Garden

One early March morning when Tom Yardley was strolling round the garden to see how the newly-pruned roses were coming along, he made a startling discovery.

Tom was gardener to Dr. Marline at Commonwood House and, as he said, he was not much of a sleeper. He would often rise as soon as it was light and go into the garden, which provided his main interest in life.

He could not believe his eyes, but there it was. He heard it cry first and, looking under the azalea bush the one which had given him all that trouble last year-what should he see wrapped up in a woollen shawl, but a baby.

I was that baby.

The doctor had lived in Commonwood House ever since he had taken over the practice from old Dr. Freeman. He had bought it with his wife’s money, so it was said, and people in small country places always knew such details about their neighbours. The doctor and Mrs. Marline kept a comfortable house on her money, of course and it was Mrs. Marline who was master as well as mistress of the house.

At the time when I made my appearance there were three children in the family. Adeline was ten and simple. The servants whispered about her and I learned that her birth had been a ‘difficult’ one. She had never been quite ‘all there’. Mrs. Marline, who could not believe that anything she produced could not be perfect, had been most upset and there had been a long gap before Henry was born. He was four years old at the time of my arrival, and there was nothing wrong with him, nor with Estella, who was two years younger.

Nanny Gilroy was in charge of the nursery and Sally Green, who was thirteen at the time, had just come to the house to be trained by Nanny, which was fortunate for me, for she told me, when I was of an age to understand, of my coming and the effect it had had on the household.

“Well, nobody might have found you,” she said.

“You could have stayed under that bush till you died, poor mite. But I reckon you would have made yourself heard. A proper little bawler, you was. Tom Yardley come up them nursery stairs holding you as if he thought you was going to bite him. Nanny wasn’t up. She come out of her bed room in that old red flannel dressing-gown and her hair in curlers. I’d heard too, so I came out. Tom Yardley said, ” Look what I found. Under that azalea bush the one I had all that trouble with last year. “

“Nanny Gilroy stared at him. Then she said, ” My patience me. Here’s a nice how-do-you-do, I must say. “

“I took to you straight away. I love babies, especially when they’re little and helpless, before they start getting into everything. Nanny said, ” It belongs to one of them gipsies, I’ll be bound. Come here, making a nuisance of themselves and then go off, leaving messes for other people to clear up. “

I did not like hearing myself referred to as ‘a mess’, but I loved the story and kept silent. The gipsies, it seemed, had been camping in the woods not far from Commonwood House. One could see the woods from the back windows; and it was clear why the house was called Commonwood House, because there were views of the common from the front.

Sally went on to tell me that Nanny Gilroy had thought the sensible thing would have been to send me off to an orphanage or the workhouse, which were the places for babies left under bushes.

“Well, there was a regular to-do,” she explained.

“Mrs. Marline came up to the nursery to take a look at you. She didn’t much like what she saw. She gave you that funny look of hers with her mouth turned down and her eyes half closed, and she said the blanket must be burned on the rubbish heap and you cleaned up. Then the authorities could be consulted and could come and take you away.

“The doctor came up then. He looked at you for a bit without saying anything. He was all the doctor then. He said, ” The child is hungry.

Give her some milk. Nanny, and clean her. “

“There was this thing hanging round your neck.”

I said: “I know. I have always kept it a pendant. It’s on a chain and it’s got markings on it.”

“The doctor looked at it and said, ” They’re Romany signs . or something like that. She must have come from the gipsies. “

“Nanny was ever so pleased, because that was what she’d thought.

“I knew it,” she said.

“Coming here in them woods. It ought not to be allowed.” The doctor held up his hand. You know the way he has . as though he didn’t want to hear her, but you know Nanny. She thought she was right and she said the sooner the baby was on its way to the orphanage the better. It was the proper place for you.

“The doctor said, ” Can you be sure of that. Nanny? “

‘ “Well,” said Nanny, “she’s a regular little gipsy, sir. It should be the poorhouse or the orphanage for that son.”

‘“Can you be sure what sort she is?” His voice was all cold like, and Nanny should have noticed, but she was so sure she was right. She said: “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

‘“Then you are very discerning,” he said.

“But to me this child’s origins are not obvious as yet.”

“You started to bawl at the top of your voice and I was dying to tell you to stop, ‘cos, with your face all red and nothing wrong with him, nor with Estella, who was two years younger.

Nanny Gilroy was in charge of the nursery and Sally Green, who was thirteen at the time, had just come to the house to be trained by Nanny, which was fortunate for me, for she told me, when I was of an age to understand, of my coming and the effect it had had on the household.

“Well, nobody might have found you,” she said.

“You could have stayed under that bush till you died, poor mite. But I reckon you would have made yourself heard. A proper little bawler, you was. Tom Yardley come up them nursery stairs holding you as if he thought you was going to bite him. Nanny wasn’t up. She come out of her bed room in that old red flannel dressing-gown and her hair in curlers. I’d heard too, so I came out. Tom Yardley said, ” Look what I found. Under that azalea bush the one I had all that trouble with last year. “

“Nanny Gilroy stared at him. Then she said, ” My patience me. Here’s a nice how-do-you-do, I must say. “

“I took to you straight away. I love babies, especially when they’re little and helpless, before they start getting into everything. Nanny said, ” It belongs to one of them gipsies, I’ll be bound. Come here, making a nuisance of themselves and then go off, leaving messes for other people to clear up. “

I did not like hearing myself referred to as ‘a mess’, but I loved the story and kept silent. The gipsies, it seemed, had been camping in the woods not far from Commonwood House. One could see the woods from the back windows; and it was clear why the house was called Commonwood House, because there were views of the common from the front.

Sally went on to tell me that Nanny Gilroy had thought the sensible thing would have been to send me off to an orphanage or the workhouse, which were the places for babies left under bushes.

“Well, there was a regular to-do,” she explained.

“Mrs. Marline came up to the nursery to take a look at you. She didn’t much like what she saw. She gave you that funny look of hers with her mouth turned down and her eyes half closed, and she said the blanket must be burned on the rubbish heap and you cleaned up. Then the authorities could be consulted and could come and take you away.

“The doctor came up then. He looked at you for a bit without saying anything. He was all the doctor then. He said, ” The child is hungry.

Give her some milk, Nanny, and clean her. “

“There was this thing hanging round your neck.”

I said: “I know. I have always kept it a pendant. It’s on a chain and it’s got markings on it.”

“The doctor looked at it and said, ” They’re Romany signs . or something like that. She must have come from the gipsies. “

“Nanny was ever so pleased, because that was what she’d thought.

“I knew it,” she said.

“Coming here in them woods. It ought not to be allowed.” The doctor held up his hand. You know the way he has . as though he didn’t want to hear her, but you know Nanny. She thought she was right and she said the sooner the baby was on its way to the orphanage the better. It was the proper place for you.

“The doctor said, ” Can you be sure of that. Nanny? “

‘ “Well,” said Nanny, “she’s a regular little gipsy, sir. It should be the poorhouse or the orphanage for that sort.”

‘ “Can you be sure what sort she is?” His voice was all cold like, and Nanny should have noticed, but she was so sure she was right. She said: “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

‘“Then you are very discerning,” he said.

“But to me this child’s origins are not obvious as yet.”

“You started to bawl at the top of your voice and I was dying to tell you to stop, ‘cos, with your face all red and screwed up, you wasn’t the prettiest sight, and I thought:

They’ll get rid of you, you silly baby, if you go on like that, and how are you going to like that orphanage?

‘” think, sir” Nanny started to say, but the doctor stopped her.

‘ “Don’t make the effort, Nanny,” he said, which was a polite way of saying “shut up” “Mrs. Marline and I will decide what is to be done.”

“I thought: She will, you mean. You’re not going to have much say in it and it will be the orphanage for that baby.

“I was wrong. I can’t think what made Mrs. Marline change her mind.

She’d been all for getting you out of the house as quick as she could.

To this day I can’t think what happened. Well, Nanny had to do what the doctor ordered, so she washed you and put you into some of Miss Estella’s clothes, and you looked like a proper baby then. We heard that you were to stay at Commonwood for a while because someone might claim you which seemed unlikely since whoever you belonged to had just left you under that azalea bush.

“Nanny said, ” The doctor’s soft, but it won’t be him who has the last word. Mistress will be the one who has that. He can’t see that it’s better for that baby to go now, before she gets to know the ways of gentlefolk. “

“Nanny was wrong. She could have sworn Mistress would have had that baby out of the house in next to no time. But, for some reason, she had to do what the doctor wanted.”

So I stayed in Commonwood House and what was most extraordinary was that I was to share the nursery with the Marline children.

“You was more my little baby than anyone else’s,” Sally said.

“I took to you and you took to me. Nanny couldn’t forget how you’d come. You didn’t belong here, she said.

She couldn’t bring herself to treat you like the others, never had and never would. “

I knew that well enough. As for Mrs. Marline, she scarcely ever glanced at me, though once or twice, when I caught her doing so, she looked quickly away. The doctor was aloof on the rare occasions when I encountered him, but he always gave me a vacant smile and sometimes patted my head and said, “All right?” to which I would nod nervously and he would nod in return and quickly pass on, as though eager to get away from me.

Adeline was always gentle. She liked babies and helped me when I was small. She used to hold my hand when I was learning to walk; she showed me pictures in the nursery books and seemed to delight in them as much as I did.

Estella was in turn friendly and hostile. It seemed that she sometimes remembered Nanny’s contempt for me and shared it. At other times she treated me like a sister.

As for Henry, he took little notice of me, but, as he appeared to have no time for any girls or people younger than himself and that included his sister it was not hurtful in the least.

It was some time before they decided I must have a name. I had always been referred to as ‘the Child’, or by Nanny as ‘that gipsy’.

Sally told me how it had come about. Sally was interested in names.

“Ever since I heard mine meant ” Princess”. That’s Sarah, see? Well, they was going to call you Rose. Tom Yardley was always telling how he’d gone out to look at the roses he’d just planted when he found you under the azalea bush. So they thought Rose would be a good name for you. I didn’t like it. You wasn’t a Rose to me. There are lots of Roses. You were somehow different. I thought you had something of the look of a little gipsy. Once I’d heard of somebody who was a gipsy called Carmen … no, it was Carmel, I think. And, do you know, when I found out Carmel meant a garden, well, it was right, wasn’t it? You couldn’t be anything else but Carmel. Wasn’t you found in the garden?

“Carmel,” I said.

“That’s her name. Couldn’t be anything else.” Nobody minded much and they all started calling you Carmel. Then March . it was March when Tom Yardley found you. So, you could say I named you. “

“Thank you. Sally,” I said.

“There are a lot of Roses.” So there I was. Carmel March, origins unknown, living in Commonwood House by the grace of Dr. Marline and suffered with something less than grace by his masterful wife and Nanny Gilroy.

It was perhaps not surprising that I grew up to be what Nanny Gilroy called ‘pushing’. In that household, where I had to fend for myself in a way, I had constantly to make people understand that I did not intend to be treated as a person of no importance. I had to make them understand that, although my origins might be obscure, I was as good as any of them.

In those early days, my domain was mostly the nursery where Nanny Gilroy made a distinct difference in her treatment between me and the others. I was the outsider, and although I had to admit the truth of this, at the same time I had to show them that there was something rather special about being a person of mystery. I was there on sufferance because of a strange idea the doctor had got into his head about orphan children, and for an even stranger reason that Mrs. Marline had let it pass, so I was defiant. I told myself I was as good as any of them. This made me assertive.

“Gipsy blood!” commented Nanny.

“Weren’t they always pushing in with their clothes pegs and trying to tempt you into crossing their hands with silver in return for their telling you some trumped-up tale about the great fortune that would be yours?”

I wondered a good deal about the gipsies and tried to find out all I could. I discovered they lived in caravans and travelled from place to place. To me they were mysterious and romantic people. And it was almost certain that I was one of them.

Miss Mary Harley used to come to the house to teach us.

She was the vicar’s daughter very tall, angular with untidy, wispy hair which kept escaping from the hairpins which were intended to control it. She was nervous and self-effacing, and, I know now, not very effectual. But she was kind and, as I was very appreciative of any kindness which came my way, I was fond of her.

She came because Mrs. Marline had said the children were too young to go away to school and Miss Harley would do very well until that time came.

Miss Harley was very pleased to come. I had heard Nanny Gilroy comment to Mrs. Barton, the cook, that she would be glad of the money. There wasn’t much of that to spare at the vicarage, and not surprising with that barn of a place to keep up and three daughters to marry off and none of them much to look at. Everyone said the vicarage family was as poor as their church mice, and the money would come in handy.

Miss Harley taught me my letters and I used to sit with Adeline, whom I soon overtook-and I was very contented during these sessions.

Outstanding in all my childhood memories was my first meeting with Uncle Toby.

I liked to go into the garden alone and my steps often took me in the direction of the azalea bush. I would imagine that March morning when I was placed there. I would picture a hazy figure stealing into the garden, creeping silently so as not to be heard. And there was I, wrapped up in a shawl. Carefully, lovingly, I should have been placed under the bushes and whoever had left me would kiss me tenderly, because she it must have been a she, for it was women who were concerned with babies must have been very unhappy at leaving me.

Who was she? A gipsy, Nanny had said. She would have big earrings in her ears and her hair would be black and curly, hanging down over her shoulders.

And while I stood there, someone came very close to me. He said:

“Hello! Who are you?”

I turned sharply. He seemed enormous. He was indeed very tall. He had fair hair bleached by the sun, I discovered later-and his skin was golden brown. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen and he was smiling.

“I’m Carmel,” I said with that dignity I had learned to assume.

“Well, that’s fine,” he said.

“Now, I knew there was something special about you. What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking at the azalea bush.”

“It’s a very nice one.”

“It gave Tom Yardley a lot of trouble once.”

“Did it then? But you like it?”

“I was found under it.”

“Oh, so it was there, was it? Do you come here often to look at it?”

I nodded.

“Well, I suppose you would. It’s not everyone who’s found under an azalea bush, is it?”

I hunched my shoulders and laughed. He joined in my laughter.

“How old are you, Carmel?”

I held up four fingers.

He counted them solemnly.

“Four years old? My word! That’s a fine age to be! How long have you been it?”

“I came in March. That’s why I’m Carmel March.”

“I’m Uncle Toby.”

Whose Uncle Toby? “

“Henry’s, Estella’s, Adeline’s. Yours too, if you’ll have me.”

I laughed again. I was apt to laugh without any definite reason when I was happy; and there was something about him which made me so.

“Will you?” he went on.

I nodded.

“You don’t live here,” I said.

“I’m visiting. I came last night.”

“Will you stay here?”

“For a while. Then I’ll be off.”

“Where?”

“To sea … I live at sea.”

“That’s fishes,” I said disbelievingly.

“And sailors,” he added.

“Uncle Toby! Uncle Toby!” Estella was running towards us. She flung herself at him.

“Hello, hello!” He picked her up and held her up above him while they laughed together. I was jealous. Then Henry came up.

“Uncle Toby!”

He put Estella down and he and Henry started talking together.

“When did you come? How long will you stay? Where have you been?”

“All will be revealed,” he said.

“I came last night after you were in bed. I’ve been hearing all about you, what you’ve been doing when I wasn’t here. And I’ve made the acquaintance of Carmel.”

Estella glanced rather derisively in my direction, but Uncle Toby’s smile was warm.

“Let’s go in,” he said.

“I’ve got lots to tell you and lots to show you.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Estella.

“Come on then,” said Henry.

Estella clung to Uncle Toby’s hand and pulled him is towards the house. I felt suddenly left alone, and then Uncle Toby turned to me and held out his hand.

“Come along, Carmel,” he said.

And I was happy again.

Uncle Toby’s visits were the happiest times of my early days. They were not very frequent but all the more cherished for that. He was Mrs. Marline’s brother, which never ceased to amaze me. There could not be two people less like each other. There was none of her austerity about him. He gave the impression that nothing in the world ever bothered him. Whatever it was, he would overcome it, and he made one feel that one could do the same. Perhaps that was at the root of his charm.

The household was quite different when he was there. Even Nanny Gilroy softened. He used to say things to them all which he could not have meant. Lies, I thought? Surely that was not very good. But whatever Uncle Toby did was right in my eyes.

“Nanny,” he would say, ‘you grow more beautiful every time I see you.”

“You get along with you. Captain Sinclair,” she would say, pursing her lips and bridling. I think she really believed it.

Even Mrs. Marline changed. Her face softened when she looked at him and I continued to marvel that he could be her brother. The doctor was also affected. He laughed more. As for Estella and Henry, they were always hanging round him. He was kind and especially gentle with Adeline. She would sit smiling at him so that she really looked quite beautiful in a strange way.

What enchanted me was that he always made a point of including me. I fancied he liked me more than the others but perhaps that was what I wanted to believe.

He would say: “Come along, Carmel.” And he would take my hand and press it.

“You keep close to Uncle Toby.” As if I needed to be asked to do that!

“He is my Uncle Toby,” Estella reminded me.

“He’s not yours.”

“He says he will be my uncle if I want him to, and I do.”

“Gipsies don’t have uncles like Uncle Toby.”

That saddened me, because I knew it was true. But I refused to accept it. He never made any difference between me and the others. In fact, I think he made a very special point of showing that he wanted to be my uncle.

When he did come to the house, he always made a point of spending a great deal of time with the children. Estella and Henry were having riding lessons and he said I ought to have them too. He set me on a pony with a leading rein attached to it and led us round and round a field. That was the height of bliss to me.

He used to tell us stories of what he did at sea. He took his ship to countries all round the world. He spoke of places of which I had never heard: the mysterious East, the wonders of Egypt, colourful India, France, Italy and Spain.

I would stand by the globe in the schoolroom, turning it round, and would cry out to Miss Harley: “Where is India? Where is Egypt?” I wanted to know more about those wonderful places which had been visited by the even more wonderful Uncle Toby.

He brought presents for the children and wonder of wonders for me, too. It was useless for Estella to tell me that he was not my Uncle Toby. He was mine . more than theirs.

My present was a box in sandalwood on which sat three little monkeys.

He told me they were saying: “See no Evil, Speak no Evil, Hear no Evil,” and when the lid of the box was lifted, it played “God Save the Queen’. I had never possessed anything so beautiful. I would not let it out of my sight. I kept it by my bed so that in the night I could stretch out my hand and feel it was there, and the first thing I did on waking was to play that tune.

Commonwood House was enchanted territory when he was there; and when he went away it became dull and ordinary again.

Yet still it was touched with the hope that he would come back.

When he said goodbye I clung to him; he seemed to like that.

“Will you come back again soon?” I always asked.

And his reply was always the same: “As soon as I am able.”

“You will, you will?” I demanded earnestly, knowing the inclination of grown-ups to make promises they never intended to carry out.

And to my almost unbearable joy, he replied: “Nothing would keep me away, now that I have made the acquaintance of Miss Carmel March.”

I stood listening to the sound of the horses’ hooves and the wheels of the carriage which was taking him away. Then, as we went into the house, Estella said: “He’s not your Uncle Toby.”

But nothing would convince me that he was not.

One day, during the spring following Uncle Toby’s visit, Henry came in and announced: “The gipsies are in the woods. I saw their caravans as I came past.”

My heart began to pound. It was years since they had been this way not since the time of my birth.

“My patience me,” said Nanny Gilroy.

“Something ought to be done about that lot. Why should they come here and pester honest folk?”

She looked at me as she spoke, as though I were responsible for their coming.

I said: “They’ve got a right. The woods are for everybody if they want to go there.”

“Don’t give me any of your sauce. Miss, if you please,” said Nanny. ‘ You might have your reasons for being fond of suchlike. I and there are thousands like me feel different. It’s not right to let them come here and something should be done about it. If they come here with their clothes pegs and their bits of heather, you can give them the rough side of your tongue, Sally, and that’s what they’ll get from me.”

Sally wisely said nothing and I put on my sullen look which was silly really because it did not help.

There was a good deal of talk about the gipsies. People were suspicious of them. They would pester, it was said, try to steal things and in their way threaten with sly hints of misfortune for those who would not buy their wares or have their fortunes told.

They made fires in the woods at night and sat round them singing. From the garden we could hear them. I thought they sounded quite melodious.

Several of the young girls in the neighbourhood had their fortunes told.

Nanny cautioned Estella to be careful.

“They get up to all sorts of tricks. They kidnap children, starve them, and make them go out selling clothes pegs. People are sorry for starving children.”

I said to Estella: That’s not true! They don’t go round stealing children. “

“No,” agreed Estella.

“They leave them under bushes for other people to look after. Of course, you would stand up for them.”

She was jealous of me, I told myself. She was two years older than I and I could read as well as she could. Besides, Uncle Toby liked me specially.

She chanted:

“My mother said that I never should Play with the gipsies in the wood.”

“And why not?” she went on.

“Because they kidnap you, steal your shoes and stockings and send you out selling clothes pegs.”

I walked away and tried to look haughty, but I was disturbed. I wished Uncle Toby were here. I should have liked to talk to him about the gipsies.

I was very interested in them and found it difficult to keep away from the encampment.

I was six years old at this time, but I think I might have been taken for more. I was as tall as Estella and that trait in me for asserting myself was stronger than ever. After all, I was made constantly aware that, although I was fed and clothed and shared lessons and the nursery with the children of the household, I was only there because of the charity of the doctor and his wife. So I had to show them constantly that I was as good as, if not better than, the rest of them.

I loved Sally; I was fond of Adeline and Miss Harley. I was fond of anyone who showed me kindness and, of course, I adored Uncle Toby. I seized with great eagerness on any affection which came my way because I was so very much aware of the lack of it in some quarters.

It was easy for me to slip away and I invariably made my way to the encampment. From the shelter of the trees I could look out on the caravans drawn up there without anyone’s being aware of my presence.

There were several children, brown-skinned and bare footed, who played there together and young women squatting about weaving wicker baskets and cutting wood with knives. They sang quietly and chattered as they worked.

There was one woman in particular who interested me. She was by no means young. She had thick black hair with streaks of grey in it. She always sat on the steps of a particular caravan and worked away with the rest of them. She talked a great, deal. I was too far away to hear what she said, but I did hear her singing now and then. She was plump and laughed frequently. I wished I knew what it was all about.

I often wondered what would have happened to me if I had not been left under the azalea bush. Should I have been one of those bare-footed children? I shuddered at the thought. Even though I was not really wanted, I was glad that I had gone to Commonwood House.

I was doubly grateful to the doctor for insisting that they keep me.

He didn’t really want me, of course, but perhaps he thought it was a good idea and he might not go to heaven if he sent me away. Well, I was glad that they had kept me, whatever the reason.

It was a hot afternoon. I sat among the trees and watched the gipsies, the children shouting to each other. The plump lady was on the caravan steps as usual. The basket she was weaving was on her lap and she looked as if she might be dropping off to sleep at any moment.

I thought they were less aware than usual because of the heat and that I might venture closer. I stood up abruptly and did not see the stone which was protruding from the ground. I tripped and went sprawling into the clearing.

It happened so quickly that I could not stop myself from calling out.

There was a sudden pain in my foot and I saw that there was blood on my stocking.

The children were watching me and I tried to scramble up. I gave a cry of pain, for my left foot would not support me and I fell.

The plump woman started to descend the caravan steps.

“What is it?” she cried.

“Why! It’s a little girl! Oh my! What have you done? You’ve hurt yourself, have you?”

I looked down at the blood on my stocking. Then she was kneeling beside me while the children gathered round to look.

“Hurt there, dearie?”

She was touching my ankle and I nodded.

She grunted and turned to the children.

“Go and get Uncle Jake. Tell him to come here … quick.”

Two of the children ran off.

“Cut yourself a bit, lovey. Your leg. Not much. Still, we’ll stop it bleeding. Jake ‘un be here in a minute. He’s over there . cutting wood. “

In spite of the pain in my foot and my inability to walk, I was excited. I always enjoyed escaping from the dull routine of the Uncle-Toby-less days and I was glad of a diversion of any sort. This was particularly intriguing because it was bringing me closer to the gipsies.

The two children came running back followed by a tall man with dark curly hair and gold rings in his ears: he had a very brown face, white teeth displayed by his pleasant smile.

“Oh, Jake,” said the plump woman.

“This little Miss has had a bit of a mishap.” She laughed in a silent way and one only knew she was laughing by the way in which her shoulders shook. It seemed a clever thing to have said and I smiled my appreciation of her choice of words.

“Better get her into the ‘van, Jake. I’ll put something on that wound.”

Jake picked me up and carried me across the clearing. He mounted the steps of the caravan on which the woman had been sitting, and we went inside. There was a bench on one side of the caravan and a kind of divan on the other. He laid me on this. I looked round. It was like a little room, very untidy, and on the bench were some mugs and bottles.

“Here we are,” said the woman.

“I’ll just put something on that leg.

Then we’ll see about getting you home. Where do you come from, dearie?”

“I live at Commonwood House with Dr. Marline and his family.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Well, fancy that!” She shook as though with secret laughter.

“They’ll be worried about you, dearie, so we’d better get a message to them.”

“They won’t worry about me … not yet.”

“Oh, all right, then. We’ll get that stocking off, shall we?”

“You all right?” said Jake.

The woman nodded.

“Call you when we want you.”

“Right you are,” said Jake, grinning at me in a friendly way.

“Now then,” said the woman. I had taken off my stocking and was gazing ruefully at the blood which was oozing out of the wound.

“Wash it first,” she said.

“Here.” She indicated one of the children who had followed us into the caravan.

“Get me a basin of water.”

The child ran to do her bidding and half filled a basin, which stood on the overcrowded bench, with water from an enamel jug which also stood there.

The woman had a piece of cloth and began bathing my leg. I looked in horror at the blood-soaked rag and the reddening water in the basin.

“That’s nothing to worry about, dearie,” she said.

“That’ll soon heal.

I’ve got something to put on it. Made it myself. Gipsies know these things. You can trust the gipsy. “

“Oh, I do,” I said.

She smiled at me, flashing her magnificent teeth.

“Now, this might hurt a bit at first. But the more-it hurts the quicker it’ll get better, see?”

I said I did.

“Ready?”

I winced.

“All right? You the doctor’s little girl, are you?”

“No. Not exactly. I’m just there.”

“Staying there, are you?”

“No. I live there. I’m Carmel March.”

“That’s a nice name, dearie.”

“Carmel means garden, and that’s where they found me, and because it was March, they called me that.”

“In a garden!”

“Everyone round here knows. I was left under the azalea bush. The one that gave Tom Yardley a lot of trouble one year.

The woman was staring at me in amazement and kept nodding her head slowly.

“And you live there now, do you?”

“Yes.”

“And they’re good to you?”

I hesitated.

“Sally is and Miss Harley and Adeline … and, of course.

Uncle Toby, but. “

“Not the doctor and his wife?”

“I don’t know. They don’t take much notice, but Nanny Gilroy always tells me I don’t belong there.”

“She’s not very nice, is she?”

“She just thinks I ought not to be there.”

“That don’t sound very nice to me, lovey. Now I’m going to wrap this up.”

“It’s very kind of you.”

“We’re nice people, gipsies. Don’t you believe all the things you hear people say about us.”

Oh, I don’t. “

“I can see you don’t. You’re not a bit scared of me, are you?”

I shook my head.

“You’re a brave little girl, you are. What we’re going to do is take you back. Jake will have to carry you because you can’t walk. But what we’re going to do first is give you a nice toddy, and we can have a little chat while you rest a bit. Your ankle will be all right. It’s only a sprain. It’ll hurt a bit but soon it will be well. Mustn’t walk on it yet, though. This is a drink of herbs … soothing after a shock and you’ve had one of them, dearie.”

The ‘toddy’ was rather pleasant. She watched me closely while I drank it.

“There now,” she said.

“You and me, we’ll have a little chat. You tell me about the doctor and his wife, and Nanny, and all of them. They feed you well, do they?”

“Oh yes.”

“That’s a good thing.”

She listened with great interest while I told her about Commonwood House.

“I don’t like the sound of that Nanny,” she said.

“She is supposed to be a good nanny really. It’s just that she thinks I’m not good enough to be brought up with the others.”

“And you let her know different from that, I’ll be bound.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter and I joined in. Then she said seriously: “Do you mind about that Nanny?”

“Well … yes … a bit … sometimes.”

Then I told her about Uncle Toby and her eyes shone with secret mirth.

“And he gave you the box with the monkeys. My word, he seems a nice man.”

“Oh, he is … he is.”

“And you like him and he likes you?”

“I think he likes me better than the others.”

She nodded her head and again her shoulders heaved.

“Well, dearie,” she said.

“That does not surprise me one little bit.”

It was a wonderful adventure. I liked her. She told me her name was Rosie. Rosie Perrin. Then I explained that I might have been called Rose and why.

“Fancy that!” she said.

“We should have been two blooming Rosies, shouldn’t we?”

I was rather sorry to be taken back to Commonwood House.

There was some consternation when Jake arrived with me in his arms.

“Little Miss has had a fall,” he explained to Janet, the housemaid who opened the door to him.

Janet didn’t know what to do, so Jake stepped into the hall.

“She can’t walk,” said Jake.

“I’d best take her to her bed.”

He followed Janet up the stairs to the nursery quarters. Nanny was horrified.

“My patience me!” she said.

“What next?”

“Little maid’s had a fall in the woods,” Jake explained.

“Can’t stand on her feet. I’ll put her on her bed.”

Sally was there, round-eyed and curious, watching while I was laid on my bed. Then Janet conducted Jake down stairs and the storm broke.

“What on earth did you think you was up to … bringing gipsies into the house?” demanded Nanny.

“She couldn’t walk,” said Sally.

“He had to carry her.”

“I never heard the like. What were you up to? In the woods, were you?

With the gipsies? “

I said: “They found me when I fell over. They were very kind to me.”

“Kind, my foot! They’re always out to get what they can from gentlefolk.”

“They didn’t get anything. They gave me a toddy.”

“What next? What next? I shall go straight down to the mistress and tell her what’s happened.”

The result was a visit from the doctor. Nanny was standing there, her lips tight, her eyes accusing me. The doctor scarcely spoke to her. I had the idea he did not like Nanny very much. He smiled at me rather nicely, I thought.

“Well,” he said.

“What have you been doing?”

“I fell over in the woods,” I told him.

“The gipsies found me. One of them gave me a toddy and put stuff on my leg with a bandage.”

“Well, let’s have a look at it, shall we? Does it hurt?”

“Not now. It did.”

He touched my ankle.

“You’ve strained it,” he said.

“Twisted it a bit. No real damage done.

You must let it rest for a few days. ” He took off the bandage and said, ” H’m, That’s all right,” he went on.

“Let’s keep the bandage on for a while. This will do for now.” He tied it up deftly and gave me that nice gentle smile.

“Not much harm done,” he added reassuringly.

“She shouldn’t have been in the woods,” said Nanny.

“Bringing those people into the house.”

He gave Nanny that rather cool look which confirmed my belief that he did not like her at all.

He said: “Carmel could not have walked back herself. It was good of them to take care of her. I dare say Mrs. Marline will want to write a note thanking them for their kindness.”

He turned to me and his smile was gentle again.

“I don’t suppose they mentioned their names?”

“Oh yes,” I cried.

“One did. The one who gave me the toddy and bandaged it. She is Rosie Perrin.”

“I shall remember that,” he said, nodded and went out.

Nanny muttered, “Writing to gipsies, my foot! What next? Mistress will know better than that. A nice thing you’ve done. Falling about in woods and bringing that sort into the house!”

Sally wanted to hear all about my adventure, and I think Estella wished it had happened to her. Sally said it was very nice of the gipsies to look after me.

The doctor came every day to look at the wound on my leg and to test my ankle. He was always kind and gentle to me and cool to Nanny. I liked him more for both of these reasons. Mrs. Marline did not come to see me. I wondered whether she wrote that note to Rosie Perrin.

That incident marked a turning-point in my relationship with the doctor. He noticed me now and then and would say: “Ankle feeling all right now?” and after a while, just:

“All right?”

I was getting quite fond of him. He gave me the impression that he really cared that I was ‘all right’, even though I was left under the azalea bush and had brought gipsies into the house.

The big house in the neighbourhood was the Grange. It was owned by Sir Grant Crompton, who was regarded as the ‘lord of the manor’. Sir Grant and Lady Crompton were the benefactors of the neighbourhood and employed quite a number of the local population; they let their farms to tenant farmers and sent a goose to the poor every Christmas.

It was all very traditional. Lady Crompton officiated at fetes, bazaars, and such affairs which raised money for good causes. The family always appeared at church if they were in residence, sitting in those pews which had been occupied by the family for two hundred years. The servants sat immediately behind them. Sir Grant contributed generously to funds for the church’s needs and he was greatly revered by us all.

There were two children of the household Lucian and Camilla. I used to see them riding with a groom. They seemed a very handsome and haughty pair who rarely looked our way when we passed them in the lanes they on magnificent steeds, we on foot. Estella sighed and wished she lived at the Grange and rode a white horse with her brother, equally splendidly mounted, beside her. Lucian, moreover, was much bigger and more handsome than Henry.

Well, of course, they were “Grange folk’, and although the doctor was not exactly despised in social circles, and had on occasions even been invited to the Grange, it was suspected that it was only to make up numbers or due to the last-minute cancellation of some more worthy guest.

Mrs. Marline was a little disgruntled about it, and had been heard to ask who the Cromptons thought they were, but when an opportunity came to extend the connection between the Grange and Commonwood House, she was delighted.

Mrs. Marline had been engaged on some charitable work which entailed a visit to the Grange, where she had been graciously received by Lady

Crompton, and during the interview it had transpired that both ladies were concerned about their sons’ education.

Lady Crompton was proposing to engage a tutor for Lucian because she felt it was not quite time for him to go away to school, and, as the same problem concerned Mrs. Marline, the two ladies had a great deal to talk about. The outcome was that Lady Crompton suggested that the boys share the tutor who was to come to the Grange.

Mrs. Marline was delighted with the idea.

I presumed that she would share the cost of the tutor, for I heard Nanny Gilroy say that, in spite of their grandeur, the Cromptons were not ones to ‘throw their money about’ and she reckoned they were rather ‘near’. And, of course, we all knew that Mrs. Marline had the money and she would be ready to pay for what she would consider such a privilege.

So it was arranged and every morning, except Sundays, Henry used to set off for the Grange and he would return in the mid-afternoon with books and work to be done in preparation for the next day’s session.

It was a very satisfactory arrangement in Mrs. Marline’s eyes, for it meant that the families met more frequently than they had before.

Estella, Henry and Adeline were invited to the Grange to tea with Lucian and Camilla. Estella was delighted, but it made her very dissatisfied with Commonwood House, which was humble in comparison with the Grange.

I was never asked to go. I believe Nanny Gilroy had something to do with that, and Mrs. Marline would, of course, have been in agreement with her. But I was sure the doctor would not have been if he had had any say in the matter.

Then it changed.

Uncle Toby paid us a visit while his ship was in port for minor repairs.

It was, as usual, a wonderful visit. He brought me a present from Hong Kong. It was a jade pendant on a slender gold chain, and the pendant was decorated with signs which he told me meant “Good Luck’ in Chinese.

I had in my possession that other pendant, which had been round my neck when I was found under the azalea bush. I often looked at it, but I never wore it. I think I felt it would remind people of my arrival and that I did not really belong here.

Uncle Toby’s gift was different. I was enchanted not only for its promise of good fortune, but because Uncle Toby had given it to me.

Nanny Gilroy would have said it was unsuitable for a child of my age to wear jewellery and would have ordered me to take it off, so I used to wear it hidden under my dress when she was around. I was never without it, even during the night, and the first thing I did, on waking, was to touch it and murmur “Good Luck’ while I stretched out my other hand to the musical box and listened to ” God Save the Queen’.

Estella was very excited because she and Henry had been invited to take tea at the Grange. If the weather was fine and we were in the middle of a heat wave it was to take place on the lawn in front of the house.

Nanny had told Sally to press Estella’s blue dress with a satin sash and the puffed sleeves. Estella must look just as well-dressed as that Camilla.

“And prettier, too,” added Nanny.

I watched Sally carefully pressing the dress.

“It’s a shame they don’t ask you,” she said.

“You’d like to go, wouldn’t you? You’d look as good as any of them.”

“I don’t want to go,” I lied.

“I’d rather be here.”

“It would be nice for you,” persisted Sally.

“And they ought to ask you. I reckon they might well … but for Nanny. I wouldn’t mind taking a bet on that. And then there’s Her, too.”

By Her, she meant Mrs. Marline; and I was sure her conjecture was correct.

Estella was duly garbed in the dress and I had to admit, though rather reluctantly, that she looked very pretty.

I watched them from my window as they set out for the Grange, and a wild idea came to me. I had not been invited but that was no reason why I should not go.

I had on one occasion been inside the grounds of the Grange. Curiosity had overcome me. It had been one afternoon when I guessed the house would be at its quietest. If I were discovered, I told myself, I could say I was lost. There was a way in through a hedge round the paddock and beyond that was the shrubbery which bordered the lawn in front of the house. I had crept through the hedge and sped across the paddock to this shrubbery, from where I had a good view of the lawns and the house.

Very fine it was of grey stone and ancient, with a turret at either end and a big gateway which I could see led into a courtyard. From the shrubbery I could have a good view of the tea-party without any one of them being aware that I was there.

Well, if I could not be a guest, there was no reason why I should not look in on the party. So when they had left, I slipped out after them, fingering my good luck pendant to assure myself that I had that with me and that while I had, no matter what reckless action I took, I was safe.

I made my way to the shrubbery undetected. I had a clear view over the lawn. A white table with white chairs had been set up in readiness for the al fresco party. Estella and Henry had arrived and had first been taken into the house, I guessed they would come out very soon, accompanied by Lucian and Camilla, and possibly the pale-faced young man who was the tutor.

I crouched under the bushes. On no account must I be seen and I must choose the right moment to slip away. I would creep through the shrubbery and then negotiate the dangerous part, which was running across the paddock to the hedge. Once I had crawled through that I would be safe.

All would be well because I had my good luck pendant with me. I put my hands up to touch it and horror swept over me. It was not there.

For a few moments I was so numb with horror that I could not move.

Only a short while before I had touched it. It must be there. I was dreaming. This was a nightmare. I stood up, risking being seen. Again I put my hands to my neck. No pendant. No chain. What could have happened? I had fastened it securely when I put it on. I always did. I shook my dress. I stared at the brown earth. There was no sign of the pendant.

It could not be far, I comforted myself. It had been round my neck only a few minutes ago. I was on my hands and knees searching. It must have fallen off. I had lost my precious gift Uncle Toby’s gift and all my luck.

I felt desolate. There were tears on my cheeks. I must find it, I must. I crawled around . searching . searching. I must go back the way I had come. Could I be sure of the exact path I had taken across the paddock? My despair overcame me. I sat down, covered my face with my hands and wept.

Suddenly I was aware of someone close to me.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lucian Crompton.

I forgot that I had no right to be there. There was no other thought in my mind than that I had lost my most treasured possession.

I stammered: “I’ve lost my good luck pendant.”

“Your what?” he cried.

“And who are you? What are you doing here?”

I answered the questions in order.

“The pendant my Uncle Toby brought home from Hong Kong. It says ” Good Luck” on it. I’m Carmel and they didn’t ask me to the party, so I came to have a look.”

“Where do you come from?”

“From Commonwood House.”

They’re here today. “

“Yes … but not me. I was just going to watch.”

“Oh, I know. You’re the little girl who …”

I nodded.

“I was found under the azalea bush which gave Tom Yardley a lot of trouble one year. I’m Carmel, which means garden. It’s where I was found, you see.”

“And you’ve lost this pendant?”

“It was there after I’d crawled under the hedge.”

“Which hedge?”

I pointed across the paddock.

“That was the way you came in, was it?”

I nodded.

“And you had it then. Well, it can’t be far off, can it? It must be round here somewhere.”

I felt a little happier. He spoke so confidently.

“Let’s have a look for it. Which way did you come?”

I pointed.

“Well, here we go. You show me. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.

You keep yours open. This way. Watch your step. Don’t want to tread on it, do you? What does it look like? “

“It’s green and it’s got ” Good Luck” on it in Chinese letters.”

“Right. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”

We came to the edge of the shrubbery without success.

“Now,” he said.

“You crossed the paddock. I see where you got through the hedge. There’s a little opening there, isn’t there? That’s where it was.”

I nodded.

“Then we’ll make for that space. Keep your eyes open and we’ll cross the paddock. Try to remember the exact way you came.”

We walked across, a little apart and arrived at the hedge. He knelt down and gave a cry of triumph.

“Is this it?”

I could have wept with joy.

He held it up and said: “Ah, I see. Look. The clasp is broken. That’s why it dropped off.”

“Broken,” I said in dismay, my joy evaporating.

He studied it intently.

“Oh, I see. A link has come off. All it needs is to fix it back. The clasp itself is all right. It’s a job for the jeweller, though. Old Higgs in the High Street will fix it in a few minutes. Then it will be all right.”

He handed it to me. I clutched it, half joyful, half tearful. I had not lost it, but I had to get it to old Higgs in the High Street.

Nanny would not allow that. I should have to get Estella or Henry to help me. Perhaps Sally could.

He was watching. Then he smiled.

“I tell you what we’ll do,” he said.

“After tea I’ll take it to Higgs and he’ll do it right away.”

“Would you?” I cried.

“I don’t see why not.”

“After…”

“Well, we ought to be there now, you know. Let’s go.”

“But I’m not supposed to be there.”

“I’ve invited you. This will be my house one day and I can ask whom I like.”

“Nanny …”

“Nanny who?”

“Nanny Gilroy. She’d say it wasn’t right for you to ask me. You see, I was found under the azalea bush. Nanny would say I didn’t belong ..”

“If I say you belong, you belong,” he said in a swaggering way which made me laugh.

I was hugging my pendant. Good luck had returned.

So I went back with him to the Grange. Estella was amazed, and so was Henry. Lucian told them about the pendant and Camilla wanted to see it and hear about the Chinese letters which meant “Good Luck’.

“It’s lovely,” she said.

“I wish I had one.”

I glowed with pleasure and was very happy.

Estella looked alarmed. She said: “You know Carmel is … not really one of us.”

“Oh yes,” said Lucian.

“She was found under the bush. She told me. Why wasn’t she asked?”

“Well … she’s a foundling,” said Estella.

“What fun!” cried Camilla.

“It sounds exciting. Like something out of Shakespeare or a romance.”

“She was left under an azalea bush.”

“Yes!” said Lucian.

“The one that gave poor old Tom Yardley a lot of trouble one year.”

He and Camilla looked at each other and laughed.

I liked them. They were very friendly. I guessed it was because they were rich and important and did not have to keep reminding people that they were really better than they seemed. They behaved to me as though I were just another guest. The cake was delicious. It was sprinkled with coconut and I had two pieces.

“Do you like it?” asked Lucian, smiling at me as I took my second piece.

“It’s lovely.”

“This is better than crouching in the shrubbery, eh?”

He and Camilla laughed and I said: “It’s a lot better.”

They both seemed to like me and as soon as tea was over Lucian went to the stables and told the groom that he was going to take the dog-can into the town and we were all going. Lucian seemed to be very important, for all of them did what he said without question; and we all crowded into the dog-cart which was fun. Lucian drove and I sat beside him.

Then we went into Mr. Higgs’s shop and Mr. Higgs himself came out and said: “Good afternoon, Mr. Lucian. What can I do for you?”

“Just a little job,” said Lucian.

“It’s a link on this chain. It just needs fixing, I think.”

Mr. Higgs looked at it and nodded.

“Jim will do it,” he said.

“It won’t take more than a minute or two.

Just needs fixing on the ring. Jim! Here’s Mr. Lucian. Wants this fixing. See what’s happened? “

Jim nodded and went off.

“Little girl’s pendant, is it?” said Mr. Higgs.

“Yes, her uncle brought it from Hong Kong for her.”

“Chinese, yes. Good craftsmen. They turn out some interesting stuff.

And how’s everyone up at the Grange? “

Lucian assured Mr. Higgs that they were all in excellent health, and I listened in admiration to his easy manner of conversation while I waited impatiently for the return of my pendant.

And there it was . just as it had been . and no one would know that there had been any trouble with the link.

Lucian was going to pay for it, but Mr. Higgs said: “Oh, that’s nothing, Mr. Lucian. Just a matter of fixing it. Glad to oblige.”

Lucian fastened the pendant round my neck.

“There,” he said.

“Safe as houses.”

And I loved him from that moment.

Nanny Gilroy did not like what she heard from Estella about my being at the party.

“Pushing,” she commented.

“Didn’t I always say?”

Estella said: “Lucian brought her in. He saw her in the shrubbery when she lost her pendant.”

“Pendant! What’s a child of her age doing with a pendant?”

“Uncle Toby gave it to her.”

She smiled in that way she did when Uncle Toby’s name was mentioned, and clicked her tongue. But clearly she thought it was not quite so bad if he had been responsible for it.

The next time Estella and Henry were invited to tea, I was too. I began to grow accustomed to going there. I liked Camilla. She never showed in any way that she thought I was not the equal of the others.

As for Lucian, I felt there was a special friendship between us because of the pendant.

So the friendship between Commonwood and the Grange was growing. The shared tutor had been the beginning and then there was Mrs. Marline’s determination to return to the sort of society she had enjoyed before she married beneath her; and she did everything she could to win the approval of Lady Crompton by devoting herself to charitable works particularly those in which her Ladyship was involved. Consequently she was a frequent visitor to the Grange.

Henry could be a friend of Lucian and Estella of Camilla. How fortunate that the sexes fitted so well in the families! I was not excluded. In fact, Lucian always had a special smile for me. At least, I imagined it was special. He would glance at the pendant which I always wore outside my dress when I was out of Nanny Gilroy’s range, and I knew he was recalling our first encounter with some amusement.

Life was very pleasant.

Mrs. Marline had always been a keen horsewoman and we all had riding lessons. Estella and Henry had their ponies and Uncle Toby had provided me with one so that I could join them. What a wonderful uncle he was to me! And I attributed the change in my fortunes to him.

I had begun to realize how important Mrs. Marline was in the household.

Even Nanny Gilroy was subdued in her presence. Everyone was in considerable awe of her even the doctor. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say, especially the doctor.

I heard Nanny Gilroy talking about her to Mrs. Barton, the cook.

“She’s a holy terror,” she said.

“She goes on and on and never lets the doctor forget whose money pays most of the bills. She’s the boss all right.”

“He’s good, the doctor,” said Mrs. Barton.

“His patients think the world of him. Mrs. Gardiner said she was in agony with her leg until she went to him. He’s really a nice gentleman in his way.”

“Mild as milk, if you ask me. Can’t seem to stand up for himself.

Well, she’s got the money . and money talks. “

“Money talks all right,” replied Mrs. Barton.

“Poor doctor. I reckon he don’t have much of a life.”

Mrs. Marline took little notice of me. She seemed as though she did not want to know I was there. I did not mind that. Indeed, I was rather glad of it. I had Uncle Toby and now Lucian, Camilla and Sally: and Estella and Henry were not bad and Adeline had always liked me.

At the end of the summer, the gipsy encampment was no longer in the woods.

“There one day and gone the next,” said Nanny.

“Well, good riddance to bad rubbish.”

I wanted to defend them and remind her of how Rosie Perrin had dressed my leg and Jake had carried me home. But of course I said nothing.

Then there was talk of Henry’s going to school.

“That Lucian from the Grange is going, so Master Henry must do the same. Some grand school, I expect it will be. Well, they’re Grange people and where Lucian goes, mark my words, Henry will go too. That’s if I know anything about Madam.”

“Who else, if you don’t?” added Mrs. Barton sycophantically. She was eager to be on good terms with Nanny, who was reckoned to be a power in the household-second only to Mrs. Marline herself.

I should be very sorry when Lucian went away. He and Camilla came to tea at Commonwood now and then. They were very special occasions and I never enjoyed them as much as going to the Grange. Mrs. Marline was not actually present at tea but she hovered. She was so anxious that everything should be in order and that tea at Common wood should be in every degree as good as that taken at the Grange.

I believe she would really have liked to exclude me, but in view of the fact that Lucian had insisted that I join them at the Grange, she could hardly keep me out of these return occasions.

She was intruding more and more on my notice. She had a shrill and penetrating voice and a very domineering manner; and she was usually complaining about something which had or had not been done. She was such a contrast to the mild-mannered doctor. I wondered if it was because of her that he had become as he was-resigned. I imagined she would have that effect on someone like the doctor who seemed to be a man who would avoid trouble at all cost.

It has always amazed me how our lives can go along in a sort of groove for a long time and then some incident changes the entire pattern and what happens after is the result of that one detail, without which nothing that follows would have taken place.

This is what happened at Commonwood House.

Mrs. Marline was eager to join the Hunt, an enthusiasm which she shared with the Cromptons.

Henry, Estella, Adeline and I would often assemble to see the start of it. It would set out from the Grange and Mrs. Marline, looking very much the horsewoman, and as completely in command of her steed as she was of the doctor and her household, would be in the centre of it, exchanging pleasantries with the gentry who had come in from the surrounding neighbourhood.

The men looked splendid in their pink coats. The hounds were barking and there was general excitement in the air.

The doctor did not hunt. He would have been quite out of place among such people.

However, we would watch them ride off after the poor little fox until they were all out of sight. Then we would return home.

It was a cold day, I remember, and we ran all the way. Henry was sighing for the day when he would be able to join the Hunt. Estella was not sure whether she wanted to. She was not all that happy on her pony and even contemplating the frisky mounts of the riders made her nervous.

The day went on as usual. How could we know what an important day it was going to prove to be to us all at Commonwood House?

It was due to the stump of a tree which some time before had been uprooted. The recent rains had exposed it apparently and it lay in the path taken by the hunted fox.

The first I heard of what had happened was when I was in the garden with Estella. The household was quiet. It was amazing what a difference the absence of Mrs. Marline made.

We saw Fred Carton, the policeman, wheeling his bicycle up to the gate. He came walking up the path.

“Mr. Carton,” cried Estella.

“What’s happened?”

“Is Doctor in?” he asked.

“I want to see him at once.”

“Yes. He’s here,” said Estella.

Jenny the parlour maid came out. She was startled at the sight of Mr. Canon.

“I want to see Doctor now,” said Mr. Carton, rather curtly for him. He was usually affable and inclined to joke.

Estella and I looked at each other with mounting excitement

Something was wrong and Mr. Carton had come to tell us what it was.

We followed Mr. Carton into the house and Jenny went upstairs to call the doctor.

He came at once and there was consternation in his voice as he said:

“What is it? What is it?”

Estella and I hovered.

“It’s Mrs. Marline, sir. Her horse took a toss. They’ve got her in the hospital. Reckon you ought to get there right away.”

“I’ll come at once,” said the doctor.