"Very well," said Mr. Dashwood; "I'll send these little people on with the groom, and ride down the road a short way with you. John," he called to the servant, "take Miss Bunny's rein and go on up the hill with the children, turn in at Lady Edith's Drive, and I will overtake you in a few minutes."

"Yes, sir," said the groom, touching his hat respectfully, and riding forward he took the rein from his master's hand.

"Ride quietly along and I will be back to you very soon, Bunny," said Mr. Dashwood, and then he turned his horse round and walked it leisurely down the road again with Mr. Davis.

"Oh, what a pretty place!" cried Mervyn, as the riding party trotted along through a gate and into a cool shady avenue, with tall stately trees growing closely together on every side.

"This is Lady Edith's Drive," said Bunny; "I think it is the prettiest place about Scarborough. It is so cool and pleasant, and then it is so quiet."

"Why is it called Lady Edith's Drive?" asked Mervyn.

"I don't know," answered Bunny. "Do you, John?"

"Well, no, Miss," said John; "I can't exactly say as I do. I suppose some Lady Edith used to drive here very often."

"I suppose so, indeed," said Bunny, laughing merrily at this explanation.

"I don't think that tells us much, John," said Mervyn; "anyone might know that."

"Yes, sir, very likely, sir," replied the groom; "but I never asks no questions. If I'm told a place is called by a name, I never asks why or wherefore, but just takes it as the name that it's to be called by."

"Well, I think you are very foolish then," said Mervyn; "I like asking questions, and it's a very good way to learn about things, I can tell you."

"I daresay it is, sir, for a young gentleman like you, sir. But you see the people about me don't know no more nor I do, so what's the use of asking them what's this an' what's that, an' showin' them I don't know nothin' myself."

"I never thought of that," said Mervyn, "but I don't think it matters about showing that you don't know. Miss Kerr says no one should be ashamed to ask a question about a thing they don't understand."

"John, John," cried Bunny suddenly as she pulled very hard at the leading rein in order to attract the groom's attention, "I want to ask you something. Stoop down that I may whisper it into your ear."

The man did as she requested; but when he had heard what she wanted him to do he shook his head in a very determined manner, saying, "I couldn't on no account, Miss. Your pa would be as angry as anything."

"No, he wouldn't, John. I told him I could manage Frisk myself, and he only laughed. Do let me—just for a few minutes. I'll go along quite quietly, you'll see I will. I want to show Mervyn that I can ride better than he does, and that I am not afraid to go without a leading rein."

"Well, it's very quiet here, so I suppose it could not be much harm," said the man, yielding a little at her pleading voice; "I really don't think it could be any harm;" and he turned in his saddle and looked carefully up and down the drive.

"Harm!" exclaimed Bunny, "of course it could do no harm. Oh! pray take off the rein, John," and she looked up into his face in a most imploring manner.

"Well, you are a funny little lady, to be sure," he answered with a good-natured laugh, and, bending forward, he unfastened the leading rein and put it into his pocket.

"Thank you, John," said the child, sitting up proudly on her pony. "It feels ever so much nicer without it; it's so silly to be always led along by a rein like a baby. Mervyn, I am riding all by myself. Wouldn't you like to ride without a leading rein?" she shouted across at her cousin, who was trotting along quietly at the other side of the groom; "it's twice as nice to feel that you can go just as you like."

"I feel just as nice as I am, Bunny, thank you," said Mervyn; "I would rather have the rein, thank you."

"I can't hear what you say, so I think I'll go round beside you, Mervyn," she cried gaily; and, raising her whip, she brought it down heavily upon poor Frisk's back, and tried to make him go round beside Brownie. But Frisk was not accustomed to such treatment, and tossed his head and whisked up his tail, but absolutely refused to go to the other side of John's horse, no matter what she did to him.

"You naughty pony," she cried, "you must do what I tell you," and she tugged violently at his mouth, and gave him another sharp blow with her whip. This was more than the pony could bear; and before his little mistress knew where she was, he pricked up his ears, and with an angry toss of his head galloped away down the road as fast as he could.

"Stop, Miss Bunny, for goodness sake stop," shouted the groom; "you must not go so fast; come back here at once."



"I can't stop—I can't!" shrieked the little girl in a voice of terror. "Oh! he's running away—he's running away;" and, completely overcome with fright, poor Bunny dropped her reins, and, catching hold of the pony's mane, held on to him with all her strength.

"What a fool I was to let her go!" cried the groom; "what on earth will my master say to me? Goodness, the silly child has let go her reins; she'll be off—she'll be off;" and, spurring up his horse, he rode after the runaway, hoping to overtake him and put a stop to his mad race.

But the noise of the horses as they clattered down the road after him seemed only to excite Master Frisk, and on he went faster than ever.

As the pony reached the end of the drive, and poor little Bunny had become so weak and faint from terror that she was in great danger of being thrown to the ground, a young lad of about sixteen jumped up from the grass where he had been seated, and, dashing forward, seized Frisk by the head and brought him to a sudden stand-still.

"Poor little girl," said the boy kindly, as he lifted Bunny from her saddle and laid her gently on the grass. "What a fright you have had! How did this beggar come to run away? He looks quiet enough."

"I whipped him," answered Bunny in a shaky voice; "and oh! I thought I was going to fall," and she put her hand to her head as if she still felt giddy.

"You were certainly very nearly off," said the boy; "but what a fool that groom of yours was to let a kid like you ride without a leading rein; he shouldn't have done such a thing."

"Oh! but I begged him so hard that he let me go," said Bunny; "he didn't want to let me, and—"

"Miss Bunny, I'm ashamed of you," cried John, riding up beside her. "You promised you'd ride quite quiet beside me, and you broke your word. I'm very thankful to you, sir, I'm sure," he continued, turning to the young stranger. "In another minute this little lady might have been thrown on her head and been killed on the spot."

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! it wasn't my fault," cried Bunny, bursting into tears; "I only mean't to go round beside Mervyn, and Frisk ran away and—"

"Don't cry, dear," said the strange lad kindly; "you must not say another word to her, my man," he continued, turning to the groom; "she is rather shaken with her fright, and it's best to leave her alone. Take hold of this pony and I will go and get your young lady some fresh water; that will do her good."

"Very well, sir," said John, pulling the leading rein once more from his pocket, and fastening it on to Frisk's bridle with an angry jerk. "It's not my place to scold, Miss Bunny, but a young lady should keep her word, and not get a servant into trouble."

"But I didn't mean to break my word, John, indeed I didn't," sobbed Bunny. "Oh! why did papa leave us? oh, dear! oh, dear!"

"Drink this, you poor little mite," said her new friend as he held a flask full of fresh water to her lips. "It will do you ever so much good. I will bathe your face for you, and then you will see how comfortable you will feel, but you must not cry any more."

"Thank you so much," said Bunny, drinking off the water; "it is very cool and nice."

"Yes," the boy answered, "it is very refreshing, but this will do you more good, I am sure;" and, removing her hat, he took a neatly-folded, perfectly clean handkerchief from his pocket, shook it out, and, dipping it into the water, bathed the child's face as tenderly as a girl might have done.

"You are very kind," said Bunny, as she raised her big blue eyes to his face; "you are a nice good boy," and she raised her face to give him a kiss.

"That's right," he said smiling; "you are beginning to look more cheerful," and, stooping, he kissed her gently on the forehead.

At this moment the sound of horses' feet was heard coming along the road, and Mr. Dashwood soon appeared, riding quickly towards them.

"What is the matter?" he cried in alarm, as, drawing up sharply, he sprang from his horse and rushed to his little girl's side.

"Oh! papa, papa!" cried the child, running into her father's arms, "your poor Bunny was nearly killed, only this nice boy stopped Frisk and took me off his back."

"My poor darling!" cried Mr. Dashwood, lifting her gently from the ground, and smoothing back her ruffled hair, "I am very thankful to God that you are not hurt. Thank you, too, my lad, for your kind and ready assistance," he said to the young stranger, grasping him warmly by the hand, "and now tell me, sir," he cried with a stern look, as he turned to the groom, "how it is that the child whom I left in your care came to be in such danger."

"If you please, sir, Miss Bunny asked—" began John very nervously.

"Yes, papa, I—it was all my fault," interrupted the little girl; "don't scold John. I wanted to show Mervyn that I could ride better than he does, and as I could not do so properly with John holding me by the rein, I begged him to let me go, and I promised to ride quietly; but I whipped Frisk, and he ran off so fast that I got frightened, and—"

"It was very wrong of you, John, to allow the child to ride without a rein, and I am really angry and vexed that you should not have taken more care of her when she was left in your charge."

"Indeed, sir, I am very sorry, and it shall never happen again," said John.

"I hope not," said Mr. Dashwood; "and as for you, Bunny, I am very much surprised that you should have been so naughty. You know I told you you could not manage Frisk without a leading rein."

"Yes, I know you did, dear papa," said Bunny, as she rubbed her little face up and down against her father's cheek, "but don't scold us any more. We are all very sorry, aren't we, John?"

"Very, Miss," answered the groom; "I'd rather have died than let any harm come to you, an' I hope master will forgive me for lettin' you have your own way about the rein."

"I forgive you this time, John," said Mr. Dashwood; "but remember for the future you are to keep Miss Bunny well to your side when you take her out to ride on her pony."

"Yes, sir, surely I will," answered the man earnestly; "I will never do what Miss Bunny asks me to do again, never while I live."

"And now, my dear fellow," said Mr. Dashwood, turning to the young stranger and shaking him once more by the hand, "I cannot tell you how grateful I feel to you. May I be permitted to ask your name?"

"My name is Francis Collins; but indeed I did not do much," the boy answered modestly.

"You have done me a very great service, Master Francis, and one that I can never repay you," said Mr. Dashwood earnestly. "Do you live anywhere about here?"

"No, sir; I live in London," replied the lad; "my father is in India with his regiment, and I am staying up here for a time with my aunt."

"Is your father a captain? and is he in India now?" asked Mervyn shyly.

"Yes, little man," answered young Collins with a smile, "he is a captain in the 45th, and is now stationed at Jublepoore."

"Why, Captain Collins is papa's great friend, and of course he was my friend too; and Mrs. Collins was so good and kind to me. Oh, I did love her so much!" cried Mervyn, looking up into the lad's face. "Are you the Frank she used to talk to me about?"

"Yes, I am the Frank, her only child," said the boy sadly; "poor mother! it's a whole year and a half since I saw her last;" and tears came into his eyes as he spoke.

"I have often heard my brother-in-law speak of your father, my dear boy, and I am very glad to have made your acquaintance," said Mr. Dashwood as he seated his little daughter upon her pony. "Where are you staying?"

"I am living with my aunt at a quiet hotel on the West Cliff."

"I am very glad to hear it," said Mr. Dashwood, "for you will be able to come over and see us. Our name is Dashwood, and we are staying at Holly Lodge, a house standing in its own grounds and facing the sea, yonder on the South Cliff. Anyone will point it out to you; so be sure and pay us a visit some day soon."

"Yes, thank you, I certainly will," the boy replied with a bright smile; "I must have a talk with this little chap, Mr. Dashwood, and find out all I can about my father and mother from him. By the by I suppose you are the Mervyn Hastings she told me she missed so much."

"Yes, I am Mervyn Hastings; and oh, did she miss me?" cried the little fellow eagerly.

"Most dreadfully! And I don't wonder, for you seem to be a capital little fellow," said Frank Collins, patting Mervyn on the shoulder.

"Come over and lunch at the children's dinner to-morrow at two o'clock, and then you and Mervyn can have a long talk together," said Mr. Dashwood as he sprang to his horse. "It is rather late now, so these youngsters must get home as quickly as they can. Remember we shall all be delighted to see you, if you can spare time for visiting."

"Oh, do come, do come," said Mervyn, earnestly.

"Mama will be so glad to see you," cried Bunny, "so do come, please."

"Thank you all very much," answered the lad brightly; "I will be sure to be at Holly Lodge by two o'clock. Good-bye, Mr. Dashwood; good-bye, Miss Bunny; good-bye, little Mervyn;" and Frank lifted his hat politely as the riding party turned and rode away from him down the drive towards Scarborough.



CHAPTER IX.

MISS KERR PROMISES A PRIZE.

The next morning was very wet, and as it was quite impossible for the children to go out, Miss Kerr insisted on their going into the library to learn their lessons.

Bunny pouted and declared that her papa did not wish them to sit still all day over their books, and that it would be much nicer to run about the house and play at "Hide and seek."

"Yes, it would be pleasanter for you, Bunny," said Miss Kerr, "but you forget that 'Hide and seek' is a very noisy game, and that your mama's head is aching so much that she could not bear the noise you would be sure to make. Come now, be good children, and try to learn your lessons as well as you possibly can."

"I hate lessons! and so does Mervyn," cried the little girl in a cross voice. "Don't you, Mervyn?"

"No, I don't," answered the boy; "I will go if you like, Miss Kerr, for I want to learn how to write soon, that I may be able to send papa a letter."

"You are a good boy, Mervyn," said the governess with a smile as she took him by the hand, "and I promise you that I will soon let you write a little letter to your papa. Come, Bun, dear, you are not going to be naughty, I am sure. Come along and we'll have such a nice quiet morning over our books;" and she held out her other hand to the little girl.

"Well, if I am good, will you read us a story after we have said our lessons?" bargained Miss Bunny; "I just love to hear you read stories."

"Yes, I will read you a very nice story if you are good, and I have a pretty box of chocolate here that I will give to the child who studies the hardest and keeps silence the longest."

"Oh, how nice! Oh, how jolly!" cried Bunny, clapping her hands in delight. "I'll learn my lessons awfully hard;" and away she ran down the passage to the library, pulled her spelling-book out of the drawer, and perching herself on a chair at the table began to shout out the words at the top of her voice.

"My dear Bunny, how do you think Mervyn can learn his lessons if you scream yours out in that way?" said Miss Kerr laughing; "repeat those words quietly to yourself whilst I show your cousin what he is to do."

"I don't know very much, Miss Kerr," said Mervyn shyly as he took the book from her hand; "papa says I am a dreadful dunce, but I only began to learn last year."

"Never mind that, my dear boy. If you give your attention to your book and feel anxious to learn, you will soon get on. Spell over these words for me and let me see what you can do."

Mervyn did as he was told, and with much difficulty he managed to spell down half a column of very easy words.

"Oh, I can do better than that! I can do better than that!" cried Bunny, wriggling about on her chair; "why, I could spell those words in a minute. Listen—h-o-u-s-e, d-a-y, m-o-u-s-e."

"Hush! Bunny, I cannot allow you to go on like that," said Miss Kerr gravely; "you have learned those words over and over again, so of course you know them well. Now, Mervyn, go and read them over by yourself and I will hear you say them without the book in a few minutes. Bunny, come and say your lesson."

The little girl slipped off her chair and came slowly across the room to Miss Kerr.

"Be quick, Bun, stir yourself," cried the governess; "I want to hear how beautifully you can spell words that you have never seen before; come along."

But Bunny still hung back with an obstinate look on her little face, that showed plainly how very unwilling she was to do as she was told.

"Come, dear child, be quick, you are wasting all my time;" and Miss Kerr held out her hand for the spelling-book.

Bunny handed it to her, and then dragging one foot slowly after the other, she at last stood by Miss Kerr's side.

"Take your finger out of your mouth, Bunny," said the governess, as she laid the book before the child and pointed to the place. "Now begin, B—"

"If you please, Miss Kerr," said Ashton, opening the door. "Mrs. Dashwood wants to see you very particular, miss, in the drawing-room. She said as she wouldn't keep you long, but you was to go to her at once."

"Very well, I will go now, Ashton," said Miss Kerr; "and now, children, I hope you will be good while I am away. Bunny, you can go over those words by yourself. See here is the box of chocolate. I will put it in the middle of the table so that you may see what you have to work for;" and placing a pretty cardboard box upon a pile of books so that the children might see the gay picture on the lid, she smiled kindly upon them both, and hurried out of the room.

For a few moments after they were left alone the little people were very silent and quiet; but soon Bunny raised her head, yawned noisily, and pushing her book away began to amuse herself by looking about the room.

"I shall get the prize," said Mervyn, "you are not learning your lesson, you know."

"No more are you," cried Bunny; "I'll learn mine up in a minute when Miss Kerr comes back, and you're as slow as an old snail at yours;" and again she began to mimic his voice and manner of spelling.

"You're very rude," cried Mervyn, getting red, "and I'll just tell Miss Kerr when she comes back."

"Tell-tale! tell-tale!" sang Bunny; "much I care! If I know my lesson best I'll get the chocolate and I won't give you one bit."

"You're a greedy thing! But you won't get it. I know my lesson splendidly, and you don't know yours at all, so I am sure to get the prize, I can tell you."

"Ha, how grand you are, to be sure!" screamed Bunny, and stretching out her hand she tried to pull the chocolate box towards her.

"You sha'n't touch it! You sha'n't touch it!" shouted Mervyn; "it isn't yours, so just leave it alone."

"It isn't yours either," cried Bunny with flaming cheeks, and she fastened her little fingers more firmly than ever round the box.

"I am sure to get it, so I shall keep it beside me till Miss Kerr comes back."

"No, you sha'n't," answered Mervyn in an angry voice, and jumping up on his chair he sprawled over the table and tried to drag the box from Bunny's hand.

"You nasty boy, let go! I'll tell Miss Kerr! I'll tell mama! You're a coward! You're a horrid—"

"Who's going to be tell-tale now?" shrieked the boy. "Give it to me, I say, give it to me," and he gave a vigorous pull at the box.

But the cardboard of which the chocolate box was composed was not strong enough to stand such pulling, and before the naughty children knew where they were it suddenly gave way and came to pieces in their hands. The beautiful prize was completely destroyed, and its whole contents were strewn all over the place.

"Now, see what you have done!" cried Bunny, bursting into tears; "you have broken the box—oh dear, oh dear, you cross, nasty, greedy boy, I—"

"I didn't do it," said Mervyn, but his voice was low and shaky, for all his anger disappeared when he saw the pretty box torn to pieces and the chocolate creams lying scattered about all over the table and floor.

"Yes, you did! If you hadn't pulled so hard it would have been all right," said Bunny tearfully. "Oh, what will Miss Kerr say? I think I'll run away to the nursery and hide. I shall be afraid to let her see me—"

"That would be cowardly," answered Mervyn; "I'm very sorry I pulled the box, and I'll stay here and tell her so;" and he went down on his knees and began to gather up the sweetmeats and put them into a sheet of paper.

"Don't eat any, Mervyn," said Bunny, "they look awfully nice, but—"

"Eat them!" exclaimed the boy indignantly, "I should think not indeed! I am not so mean as that; I wouldn't—"

"Mean—is it mean?" cried Bunny, rubbing her mouth; "oh, I didn't know, and I just took one—but Miss Kerr won't mind."

"Well, you are nasty! You tell me not to eat them, and then you go and take some yourself. Go away, I won't speak to you or be friends with you any more; you're a mean—"

"Oh, Mervyn, Mervyn, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" cried Bunny, flinging herself on her knees beside her cousin. "I didn't want to take the chocolate cream, but it looked so nice, and I just longed to take it and—"

"Children! what are you doing?" cried Miss Kerr in astonishment as her eyes fell upon the two kneeling figures and she heard Bunny's miserable tone of voice; "why are you on the floor? Come back to the table at once."

"Bunny," whispered Mervyn, "we must tell Miss Kerr now what we have done;" and springing to his feet he caught the little girl by the hand and dragged her over to the other side of the room, where the governess had seated herself, ready to begin lessons again.

"We have been very naughty," he began, looking down at the floor; "we didn't learn our lessons—and—we—broke—the box—and spilt all the chocolates—but we are very sorry, indeed we are," and he raised his blue eyes full of tears to Miss Kerr's face.

"Yes, we are very sorry—and—I eat a chocolate cream—but Mervyn didn't because it was mean," cried Bunny, and then, overcome with grief, she buried her face in her pinafore and sobbed aloud.

"I cannot tell you how much surprised and shocked I feel at such conduct," said Miss Kerr gravely. "I really thought I could trust you for a few minutes alone. Mervyn, I am very much grieved to think that you could behave in such a naughty way. Bunny is wild and giddy, but I thought you were going to show her a good example, by being good and gentle yourself."

"Yes, and I wanted to," said Mervyn, "but she called me names and then I got cross, and then—I—"

"Yes, and I got cross too," cried Bunny, putting down her pinafore for a minute. "I was angry and—"

"And I am afraid you both forgot that God was looking at you, and that he was greatly displeased at you for giving way to your wicked passions in such a manner. How did you come to be so naughty? Mervyn, what began it all?"

The tears were rolling down the little boy's cheeks, but he dried them with his handkerchief, and choking back those that were still ready to flow, he tried to tell the story of the torn chocolate box as well as he could.

"Well, I am glad you have told me all about it," said Miss Kerr, gently, "and as you both seem so sorry for your conduct, I suppose I must forgive you. But remember, dear children, that you must tell God that you are sorry, and ask him to forgive you. Pray to Him that he may help you to overcome your tempers and become good, gentle little children. I will not scold you any more, and you have punished yourselves by breaking the box and spilling the sweetmeats, for now I cannot allow you to have any of them."

"Oh, I don't mind that!" cried Mervyn quickly. "If you will forgive me for being naughty, I don't want any sweets."

"I do forgive you, Mervyn, but don't forget what I told you. Say a prayer to-night before you go to bed and ask God's forgiveness and help."

"Yes, I will, I will," cried the boy, "and I will try and be ever so good all day to make up for being so naughty this morning."

"And I'll be good too," said Bunny; "I am sorry you won't give us any sweets, for they look so nice, but still I—"

"You won't ask for any! That is right, dear. I know you like sweets, Bun, but I must punish you a little, you know, so I can't give you any to-day. Come, now, I forgive you both, so let us go back to our lessons at once; and I hope you will do your best to show me that you are truly sorry, by working very hard for the next two hours."

"Yes, yes, we will, indeed," cried the children together, and off they ran to get their books.

"That is right! That looks like real work," said Miss Kerr, as she wrapped up the chocolate creams in paper, and locked them away in a drawer. "Come, Bunny, bring your book to me, dear."

Bunny opened her spelling-book briskly, Mervyn began to read his lesson attentively, and perfect peace reigned once more.



CHAPTER X.

ON OLIVER'S MOUNT.

The lessons were over about half-past one, and as they had been well learned and quickly said, Miss Kerr was really pleased with the children, and rewarded them for their industry and attention by reading a pretty story, that interested and amused them very much.

This kept them pleasantly occupied until nearly two o'clock, and then they ran off to the nursery in high spirits, to get themselves washed and dressed for their early dinner.

"I am so sorry, Miss Kerr," said Bunny, as she took her seat at the dinner-table, "I'm really dreadfully sorry that nice boy we saw yesterday has not come to have lunch with us as he promised he would."

"Yes, dear, so am I, for I should like very much to see him," answered Miss Kerr, "but I daresay the rain kept him from coming."

"But it's not raining one drop now," said Mervyn, "and I declare, there is the sun coming out; I do wish he would come."

"Oh, but it's wet under-foot, Mervyn," remarked Bunny wisely, "and it's a bad thing to get your feet wet—Sophie screams fearfully at me if I put my toe out, even long after the rain has stopped."

"Yes, when you go in your thin shoes, of course," cried Mervyn; "but big boys like Frank Collins are not afraid of wetting their feet. Are they, Miss Kerr?"

"No, I don't think they are, dear," answered the governess, laughing, "I know my brothers run out in all kinds of weather."

"Come in, my boy! Here they are at their dinner," said Mr. Dashwood, opening the door at this moment, and entering the room with young Collins. "Miss Kerr, this is our young friend who so bravely saved poor Bunny yesterday," he added as he presented Frank to the governess.

"I am very glad to see you, Master Collins, and these children have been longing for you to come," said Miss Kerr; "it was very brave of you to stop the pony."

"Brave! not at all, Miss Kerr," answered Frank with a bright honest smile that won the lady's heart at once. "I don't think the pony was really running away, and if this little girl," and he patted Bunny on the head, "had not been frightened, but had sat up properly and kept a good hold of her reins, she would have been all right."

"Oh! Bunny, Bunny, you little coward," cried Miss Kerr, "and so, after all, it was you who held on by the mane, and not Mervyn, as you so gaily told him he would do yesterday."

"Did she tell him that?" asked Frank as he took a seat at the table beside Mervyn. "Well, I think this little chap would be the bravest of the two in real danger. He would not be so rash, perhaps, but I think he would keep cool and not lose his head as she did."

"Oh, but I was frightened," sighed Bunny. "I was sure Frisk was running away;" and she looked so very tearful that her papa kindly changed the conversation by asking his young guest how he liked staying at Scarborough.

"Are there many nice walks about?" asked Mr. Dashwood, when they had all finished their lunch and were preparing to leave the table. "I mean short walks within easy distance, where these little folks could go, for instance?"

"Yes, there's the old castle," said Frank, "on the West Cliff, then there's the people's Park in the valley, which of course you all know well, and Oliver's Mount, which I think the nicest walk of any."

"Oliver's Mount! Oh, that is a nice place," said Bunny, who had quite recovered her gay spirits again. "Sophie says she went up there one day with some friends, and she had buns and lemonade and all kinds of things, in a little house, a funny small house, she says, that is up there on the top. Do take us up Oliver's Mount, like a dear good papa."

"Yes, I know the little house Sophie means," said Frank; "it is only a small shed, you can just see it from the window, look, there it is, right away up on the top of the mount."

"It looks a great height, certainly," said Mr. Dashwood. "I wonder if these little ones could manage to go such a long way."

"Oh! yes, we could, we could," cried the children together.

"Very well, then, I suppose we had better set off at once," said Mr. Dashwood; "you have no objection to my taking these small people, Miss Kerr?"

"Not the slightest," she replied. "I was going to send them with Sophie, but I am sure they will enjoy going with you much better. Mrs. Dashwood is not well enough to go out, so I intend to read to her the best part of the afternoon."

"I am glad to hear that, for I was afraid she might feel dull if we set off for a long walk," said Mr. Dashwood. "Well, run away, children, and get ready; the sooner we start the better."

"It will be a long way for their little legs if we go right to the top," said Frank doubtfully. "Mervyn doesn't look very strong, and Bunny's legs are very short."

"Indeed they are not," cried Bunny indignantly. "I can walk splendidly; can't I, Miss Kerr?"

"Yes, dear, you are a very good walker for your age and size."

"There, do you hear that?" cried Bunny, jumping off her chair and throwing her arms round her father's neck. "Do take us, do take us, dear darling old papa."

"You little rogue!" cried Mr. Dashwood, "I do believe you could coax the birds off the bushes."

"No, papa, indeed I couldn't," answered Bunny gravely; "I often tried, but they would not come; and I tried to put salt on their tails too, but they flew away and—"

"You dear little goose, that was a great shame; they must have been very rude birds indeed, my poor Bun," said Mr. Dashwood with a hearty laugh at the child's simplicity. "You have coaxed me anyway, dear. I will take you to Oliver's Mount; and I have thought of a plan that will save your short legs and Mervyn's weak ones a good deal."

"A plan! Oh! what is it? you dear, darling papa," she cried joyfully.

"No, I won't tell you, little one. Run off and get dressed, and you will see what it is when you come back. Away you go!—both of you. Be quick, or Frank and I will not wait for you."

Bunny and Mervyn were both very curious to know what this wonderful plan of Mr. Dashwood's could be, and chattered away about it as they were being dressed by Sophie.

"To the top of Oliver's Mount!" cried the maid, holding up her hands in astonishment when the children told her where they were going. "Gracious! is it that monsieur your papa knows how far it is? You will both be too tired to return home to-night."

"Then we shall sleep in that little house at the top, among the buns and the lemonade," said Mervyn. "That would be fine fun, wouldn't it, Bunny?"

"I don't know about that," replied the little girl. "But do not be frightened, Sophie; papa has a fine plan, so we sha'n't be one bit tired. Come on, Mervyn," and, laughing merrily, the two children ran off together down-stairs.

"Papa, papa! where is your plan?" cried Bunny, as they met her father and young Collins in the hall. "We do so want to know what your wonderful plan can be."

"Here it is, then, my dear," said Mr. Dashwood, and he threw open the door, and displayed two steady-looking old donkeys standing ready saddled at the gate. "You are to ride one of those fellows, and Mervyn the other. That is my plan; isn't it a good one?"

"Capital! capital! What fun! what fun!" cried the children, clapping their hands in delight. "But, papa, the donkeys will never go up the mountain," exclaimed Bunny suddenly; "Sophie says there is a big stile to get over, so how will they manage that?"

"We won't ask them to go over the stile," said Frank Collins, as he lifted the little girl and seated her comfortably on the saddle.

"They will carry you up the road to the foot of the Mount, and then we will leave them there to rest and eat some grass, while we go on our rambles up to the top."

"Wasn't it a capital plan of papa's, Mervyn, to get us these donkeys?" asked Bunny, as she and her cousin jogged quietly along the road on the steady old animals. "These are such nice well-behaved creatures, and don't run away in a hurry like Master Frisk."

"No, I should think not," answered Mervyn laughing. "Why, just look at this fellow," he cried as his donkey came to a sudden stand-still in the middle of the road. "What can we do to make him go on? Here, boy, please make him move a little," he shouted to the donkey-boy, who was loitering behind talking to a comrade.

"Hey up!" screamed the lad, running up quietly from behind, and bringing his stick down heavily on the poor brute's back; "hey up, Teddy!" and away trotted the donkey at a rapid pace up the hill.

When Bunny's charger saw his companion starting off so gaily, he pricked up his ears and followed him as fast as ever he could.

"Your plan was a capital one, uncle," said Mervyn, as he and Bunny jumped off their donkeys and prepared themselves to climb over the stile and begin their walk up the mount together.

"I suppose you feel as fresh as a couple of daisies, and not at all shaken?" said Frank Collins. "Come along and we'll have a race to the very top;" and away he ran nimbly up the side of the hill.

Bunny and Mervyn struggled bravely after him, and they went so fast that they soon left Mr. Dashwood behind them, for he declared that he was too old to run, and that he would follow them at his leisure.

The grass was very slippery after the rain, and the mount was very steep, and so, although the children went as fast as their little legs could carry them, yet they could not keep up with their young friend, who soon appeared a long way above them, waving a handkerchief, and cheering and shouting at the top of his voice. But at last they all reached the highest part of the mount, and, puffing and panting after their fearful exertions, they seated themselves upon a bench and gazed about them in delight.

"Isn't it jolly up here, Mr. Dashwood?" said Frank. "I think it would be worth climbing ever so much higher to see such a sight, don't you?"

"Yes, indeed I do," answered Mr. Dashwood; "and the air is very fine; it feels so fresh and strong. That is the old castle away over there, I suppose."

"Yes; and doesn't the old part of the town, with its queer red brick houses and narrow streets, look pretty? And look at the bay in front of it, with its ships and barges. Doesn't it all look lovely in the sunlight?"

"Yes, Frank, it does look pretty," cried Mervyn; "and isn't the sea a beautiful blue colour?"

"And don't our donkeys look funny little gray fellows, away down there on the road?" cried Bunny. "Oh, dear! they do look far away."

"Bunny would rather look at her donkey than all the beauties of the country," said Mr. Dashwood with a smile, as he took his little girl upon his knee. "But these youngsters must not be defrauded of their cakes and lemonade, Frank. Would you mind going into that wonderful shop to see if you can get some?"

"Oh! they have lots of good things in there, I know," answered Frank. "I hope you will be able to eat a good supply, Bunny?"

"Yes, I feel able to eat several cakes," cried Bunny; "thank you, dear papa, for thinking of them. I do love buns and lemonade. Don't you, Mervyn?"

"Yes, Bunny, very much," replied her cousin.

"I am afraid I shall get scolded for letting you have them," said Mr. Dashwood, as Frank appeared, carrying an armful of cakes and buns, and followed by a man with glasses and bottles of lemonade.

"If you eat all these you won't be able to take anything at tea, and then Miss Kerr will be so dreadfully angry."

"Oh! never mind, papa, dear," cried Bunny; "cakes and lemonade are just as good as tea, but I will eat as much as ever I can when I go home, and then no one will scold you."

"That's a good, kind little woman," said her father laughing; "but finish up those cakes now as fast as you can, for I want to get back to the club for an hour before dinner."

"I will just put this in my pocket for the donkey-boy, papa," said the little girl, holding up a bun which she could not manage to eat; "he was very good, and made the donkeys go so well."

"I think we will go round by the road, Frank," said Mr. Dashwood, rising from the bench; "it is not quite so steep as the mount, and is very little longer."

"Very well; I daresay it will be the best way to return; it will be a variety anyway," said Frank. "Mervyn, will you walk with me? I want to talk to you about India and all our friends there."

"Yes, yes," said the little boy, "that is the very thing I should like."

"But our donkeys—oh! are we not going home on our donkeys?" cried Bunny.

"Of course we are, you little grumbler," said her father. "We are only going to walk round by the road to them instead of tumbling pell-mell down the hill again. Come along with me, and let these two boys talk over their affairs together."

Then, taking his little girl by the hand, Mr. Dashwood walked quickly away with her down the hilly road. Frank and Mervyn followed them slowly arm-in-arm, and the elder boy, with a look of yearning love in his eyes, asked his small friend many anxious questions about the dear father and mother whom he had not seen for such a long time.



CHAPTER XI.

WAS IT CRUEL?

One lovely afternoon towards the end of September Mrs. Dashwood and Miss Kerr sat together on the lawn in front of the house. They were stitching away at some pretty clothes, that were evidently intended for a large wax doll, with golden ringlets and blue eyes, that lay on a table that stood between them on the grass.

Mrs. Dashwood looked pale and delicate still, but there was a well-pleased smile upon her sweet face as she sat enjoying the sea breezes. She was comfortably propped up with pillows in a large wicker chair, and her thin white fingers were busily engaged on her dainty work. The fresh country air had done her great service, and she was full of the hope that she should soon return quite strong and well to town.

Bunny lay curled up in another big chair, and although she knew very well that the pretty doll was intended for her, she looked very cross and did not seem to notice what was going on about her.

"Why don't you go and play, Bunny?" said Miss Kerr looking up from her work. "I do not like to see you tumbling about there with such a cross look on your face. Go and get a book—or will you have a needle and thread and try to do some sewing?"

"No, thank you," answered Bunny, "I hate books and I can't sew."

"But you might learn, dear," said her mother gently. "It is a great pleasure to be able to sew, Bunny. I quite enjoy doing my piece of work after being obliged to lie on the sofa for such a long time."

"I don't want to learn to sew," cried Bunny. "I want to have a game. I am tired sitting here, mama. Oh, I do wish Mervyn and Frank would be quick and come back."

"Well, my dear Bunny, they will soon be here," said Miss Kerr. "They promised to be back at three and it wants a quarter to three now, so you won't have very long to wait."

"Oh! I'm so glad!" cried Bunny; "I've spent such a nasty dull day without them."

"Well, really now!" said her mother laughing; "that's a kind thing to say. I thought my little girl liked being with me."

"Oh! yes, mama, so I do," answered Bunny quickly; "but Mervyn has been away such a long time, and I do want him to come back and have a good game with me. He stayed to lunch with Frank up there at the hotel, and Miss Kerr wouldn't let me go, and oh, dear! I have been so lonely all day."

"Poor little girl!" said her mother, "but Miss Kerr was quite right not to let you go, Bunny; Frank will have quite enough to do to manage Mervyn. You are very hard to keep in order, for you are very wild and—"

"Oh! I'm not a bit wild now, mama; I'm as quiet as a lamb—I am indeed."

"Bunny, Bunny, where are you, I say?—where are you?" called Mervyn, running up the garden walk and across the lawn.

"Here I am, Mervyn, and oh! I am so glad you have come back," and the little girl rushed forward eagerly to meet her cousin. "But where is Frank? I thought he was coming back with you."

"Yes, so he is. He will be here in a minute; and he has something for you, Bunny."

"Something for me, Mervyn; oh! what is it?" she cried; "do tell me what it is."

"He'll tell you himself—he'll tell you himself," answered Mervyn, and going down on the grass, he tumbled heels over head two or three times in succession.

"You tiresome boy," cried his cousin, "do get up and tell me what Frank has for me, and where he got it, and—"

"Go and ask Frank himself—there he is," shouted Mervyn, starting quickly to his feet again, as young Collins appeared suddenly at the top of the flight of steps that led from the drawing-room into the garden. His hands were both behind his back, and he laughed merrily when he saw Bunny's face of excitement and curiosity as she ran across the lawn to meet him.

"You dear good Frank, Mervyn says you have something for me," she cried; "do tell me what it is. I do so want to know."

"A bird, Bunny; a young thrush," said Frank gaily, as he drew a small cage from behind his back and held it up to the little girl. "I put him in here because it was the only thing I could find; but I will get you a proper big cage for him to-morrow."

"Oh! never mind the cage; but let me see the bird," cried Bunny.

"He is rather frightened just now, Bun, but I think he will soon sit up and begin to sing; and thrushes do sing beautifully."

"He is a dear little fellow! a perfect darling! But where did you get him, Frank?" asked Bunny in delight, as she danced joyfully round her new treasure. "Did you manage to put salt on his tail?"

"He hasn't got a tail, Bunny," answered Frank, laughing; "he is so young that he hasn't got one yet. I caught him quite easily in the hotel garden."

"Mama, Miss Kerr, look at the lovely bird Frank has brought me," cried Bunny, running back to her mother's chair.

"A bird, Frank?" said Mrs. Dashwood, looking into the cage in surprise. "What a pity it was to catch him and put him in prison, poor little creature; he looks dreadfully frightened."

"In prison, mama!" cried Bunny indignantly. "Why, it's a lovely cage; and see, he has water, and hard-boiled egg, and bread sopped in water, and—"

"Yes, dear, I see all those things, but still he is in prison, Bunny," said Mrs. Dashwood gently, "and I think it would have been much kinder to have left him to fly about the woods and sing his sweet songs in happy freedom."

"I am afraid he will never sing again," said Miss Kerr as Frank placed the cage on the table beside her; "he looks as if he were going to die, I think; just see how he has gathered himself up into a ball, and his eyes are shut."

"Oh! I hope he won't die," cried Frank; "I am sorry I caught him, Mrs. Dashwood. Shall I let him fly away again?"

"No, you sha'n't, Frank; he is my bird, and you must not let him fly away," cried Bunny; "I want to keep him."

"But, Bunny, your mama thinks he would be glad to get away, so I would rather let him go. Do say I may send him off."

"No, no, Frank, you sha'n't; I want him; he's mine now," answered the little girl in an angry voice; "I will have him and keep him;" and making a dive across the table she seized the cage and ran away with it down the garden.

"Bunny! Bunny! come back this minute," cried her mother and Miss Kerr together.

"I'll soon bring her back!" exclaimed Frank, and off he went after the runaway.

When Bunny heard footsteps behind her she turned her head to see who it was that was following her, and as she ran along without looking where she was going, her foot came against a stone, and down she went, cage and all, upon the gravelled path.

"Oh, you cruel big boy!" she cried, bursting into tears. "Why did you come after me and make me fall in that way? I'll never speak to you again—never;" and, gathering herself up from the ground, she began to rub her knees, and brush the dust and sand off her frock.

"Now, don't be silly, Bunny," said Frank, as he picked up the cage. "You are not a bit hurt—but, look here! I believe you have killed the poor bird."

"Oh! no, Frank, dear! oh! I didn't do that!" sobbed the little girl, coming forward and looking wistfully into the cage.

"Yes, I am afraid he is dead. He was very much frightened before," said Frank sadly, "and the shock of the fall, and all the water and things falling on him have killed him. I am so sorry. I wish, now, I had left him to sing happily in the garden, Mrs. Dashwood," he said, going back to where the ladies sat together, carrying the poor dead thrush in his hand. "You were quite right; it was a great pity to take the poor bird and put him in a cage. I will never catch a young bird again—never."

"Poor little creature! I thought it would not live long," said Miss Kerr; "but, Bunny, you were very naughty to run away with it in that way; I am sure the fall helped to kill the thrush."

"I didn't mean to kill it!" cried Bunny in a choking voice. "Oh! mama, I am so sorry!" and she flung herself on the ground beside her mother's chair, and buried her face in her lap.

"Never mind, Bunny, dear," whispered Mervyn softly, as he stole up and put his arm round her neck. "Don't cry, dear; I am sure it would have died very soon anyway. Wouldn't it, Miss Kerr?"

"Yes, dear, I think it would," said the governess gently. "But what are you going to do with the thrush, Frank?"

"Oh! I suppose I must bury it," answered Frank; "I wish I had a pretty box to put it in."

"I have one, I have one," cried Bunny, jumping quickly to her feet, and running off towards the house, mopping up her tears as she went along. "I've got a dear little one that will just do, Frank."

"We must have a solemn funeral," said young Collins. "Who will write an epitaph to put at the head of his grave?"

"An epee—what, Frank?" asked Mervyn, with a puzzled look on his little face. "What do you mean?"

"An epitaph, you little simple Indian; do you not know what that means?"

"No," said Mervyn gravely, "I don't think people in India ever have such things."

"Don't they indeed! Bunny, what is an epitaph?" asked Frank, laughing merrily as he took a pretty bon-bon box from the little girl's hand.

"I don't know, I'm sure," said Bunny; "I never heard of such a thing. What is it yourself?"

"Well, you are a clever pair! Why, it's something written on a tombstone," cried Frank, and, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket, he scribbled a few words, and then proceeded to read them aloud. "Listen and learn what an epitaph is, my friends:—

"Beneath there lies a little thrush, Who should have sung on many a bush."

"Capital!" said Miss Kerr, laughing merrily at this brilliant production. "Why, you are a regular poet!"

"It is very good indeed, Frank," said Mrs. Dashwood with a bright smile. "Now, Mervyn, I hope you know what an epitaph is?"

"Yes, I think so," said Mervyn slowly; "but no one says bush like thrush. It doesn't sound at all right."

"Hallo! young Indian, are you going to find fault with my pronunciation? Isn't it splendid, Miss Bun, bun?"

"I'm not bun, bun, and I think Mervyn is quite right," answered the little girl with a toss of her head. "It sounds very funny, and all that, but it isn't the proper way to say the word, I know."

"Of course not, little Miss Wisehead, but we are allowed to say all kinds of things in poetry," said Frank grandly; "and I can tell you it's jolly convenient when a fellow wants a rhyme. But now that we have decided this knotty point, let us go and look for a nice place where we can bury the little fellow;" and, having placed the thrush in the box, he went off to look for a suitable burying-place.

"Put him in my little garden," cried Bunny eagerly. "There are lovely flowers there, and we can make him such a nice grave."

"Where is your garden, monkey?" said Frank. "I did not know you had such a thing."

"Yes, I have; at least I call it mine," answered Bunny, skipping gaily along. "It's a dear little flower-bed down there by the sun-dial, and it will be such a pretty place for the poor dead bird. Do bury him there, Frank."

"Very well; what pleases you pleases me," and off they went to Bunny's garden.

Very carefully Frank dug up the earth, and, having placed the bird within the grave, he filled it in neatly, took a lovely geranium from a neighbouring flower-bed, and planted it just over the poor songster's head.

"We must water it," cried Bunny, "or it will not grow," and away she rushed to the tool-house. Here she found the gardener's watering-pot, and, unfortunately for them all, it was more than half-full of water.

"This will make the flowers grow beautifully," she cried; and before the boys had time to speak or stop her hand, she tilted up the heavy pot and sent the water flying all over their feet and legs.

"Oh! Bunny, Bunny! just see what you have done," exclaimed Mervyn, beginning to cry as he felt the cold water soaking in through his stockings and shoes. "Oh, dear! what shall I do?"

"You little mischief!" cried Frank, shaking himself. "What on earth made you do that?"

"Oh! I wanted the flower to grow," said Bunny, bursting into tears, "and I did not mean to wet you and Mervyn at all; and look at my own pinafore and frock. Oh, dear! what will Sophie say?"

"Sophie will say you are a naughty, wicked little creature," cried the maid, darting out suddenly from behind a tree. "Come in this minute and get your things changed. Monsieur Mervyn, go to the nursery at once."

"I won't go! I won't go a bit!" cried Bunny, stamping her foot angrily. "The sun will dry me in a minute, and I won't go with you; so there!"

"Come along, Bunny, like a good girl," said Mervyn, "let us run fast and see who will get up to the nursery first," and away he went up the path as fast as he could.

"I won't go, Sophie. I want to stay with Frank," cried Bunny once more, as she caught the boy's hand and held on to it tightly.

"You ought to go, dear, indeed you ought," said Frank. "See, Mervyn has gone, and you know you should always do what Sophie tells you."

"No, I won't; she's a nasty thing! and it's twice as nice out here, so I won't go one bit."

"Your mama and Miss Kerr have returned to the house, and you must come in and get changed your dress, mademoiselle."

"I won't! I won't," shrieked Bunny, clinging more closely to Frank, and turning her back upon her nurse in a most impertinent manner.

"We shall see if you do not, you bad, naughty child," cried Sophie in an angry voice, and running forward she seized the little girl in her arms, and carried her off screaming and kicking into the house.



CHAPTER XII.

THE FIREWORKS.

A little before seven o'clock that evening the children stood at the drawing-room window. All traces of the recent struggle in the garden had been removed, and in the neat little girl in the dainty cream lace and muslin frock, with its fluttering pink ribbons, few persons would have recognized the small fury that Sophie had carried off wriggling and crying to the nursery a few hours before.

But Miss Bunny had already forgotten that such a scene had ever taken place, and was making very merry over a big blue-bottle fly that she and Mervyn were doing their best to catch as it walked up and down the window-pane.

Frank Collins sat at the piano playing some very lively tunes, and from time to time Bunny would pause in her pursuit of the fly and dance lightly over the floor in time to the music.

"Papa, papa," she cried, as Mr. Dashwood entered the room with his wife upon his arm, "doesn't Frank make lovely tunes?"

"I don't know, dear," answered her father. "Frank does not seem anxious to let me hear his music, for he has stopped short the moment I appeared."

"I am afraid Mrs. Dashwood would not care for my music," answered Frank modestly. "I only play from ear."

"Oh, Frank, how can you say such a thing!" cried Bunny indignantly. "Why, mama, he plays just like Miss Kerr does. He plays away up in the treble with two hands, and then he plays pum, pum, pum away down in the bass; oh, it is most beautiful! Do play again, Frank."

"No, dear, not now," said Frank. "I'll play for you another time, but don't ask me now;" and he hopped the little girl up on his knee.

"Well, then, ask—you know what," whispered Bunny mysteriously. "You know you said you would—you promised."

"Oh, yes, of course; I very nearly forgot," said Frank, "and I suppose Sophie will soon be carrying you off to bed, it's nearly half-past seven."

"Yes, she will, unless you ask that, and papa and mama say, Yes."

"Mrs. Dashwood," said Frank, "it's a gala night, as they call it, on the Spa, and there are to be fireworks, so will you let these little people stay up for them? Please do."

"What! to go out in the night air and into the crowd?" asked Mrs. Dashwood in a horrified voice. "My dear Frank, I could not think of allowing such a thing. It is quite impossible!"

"Of course it is, Mrs. Dashwood," answered Frank. "But I did not mean them to go out at all, I—"

"Oh, no, dear mama," cried Bunny eagerly, "Frank does not want us to go out, but to sit up and see them from Miss Kerr's window, that is all."

"Bunny, come here, dear, I want to have a talk with you," said her mother gravely, and guessing that she was going to receive a scolding for her naughty conduct in the garden, the child stole slowly over the floor, and at last stood in rather a shamefaced manner beside her mother's chair.

"Do you think, Bunny, that a little girl who screamed and kicked as you did when Sophie took you in out of the garden, deserves to be allowed to stay up to see the fireworks?"

"No, mama," answered Bunny in a low voice, and two large tears trickled down her cheeks and fell on her mother's hand.

"Auntie, dear, don't scold poor Bunny, for she is very sorry she was naughty, and she begged Sophie's pardon before we came down."

"Well, I am glad to hear that, Mervyn," said Mrs. Dashwood, "and I hope Bunny is sorry; but I don't think she should be allowed to stay up to see the fireworks, she cannot expect it."

"Why, mama, what is all this about?" said Mr. Dashwood, coming over and putting his arm round his little daughter. "Why are you scolding poor Bunny so much?"

"Because I was naughty, papa," said Bunny, creeping up very close to him. "But I am very sorry, and I promise to be good."

"Oh, well, don't scold her any more, dear," said her papa, stroking the little golden head, "she can't do more than promise to be a good child."

"And do forgive her, and let her stay up to see the fireworks," whispered Mervyn, "it would be such fun!"

"What is that you are saying, Mervyn? What dreadful plot are you hatching over there?" cried Mr. Dashwood, "why, the fireworks don't go off until nine, and your bedtime is at half-past seven, isn't it?"

"Yes, I know it is, uncle, but we're not a bit sleepy, and we never saw any fireworks, and this is the last gala night before we leave Scarborough, and—"

"My dear Mervyn, what a string of reasons!" cried his uncle laughing; "after such a list, I think we must surely grant your request. That is, if mama will forgive this poor culprit, and allow her to stay up."

"Well, as she is sorry, and as Mervyn says it is the last night, perhaps—"

"That's right! that's right!" said her husband, "and now let us go in to dinner. This animated discussion has given me quite an appetite."

And as Ashton at this moment threw open the door, and announced that dinner was served, Mr. Dashwood offered his arm to his wife, and led her away to the dining-room.

"What fun! what fun! to be allowed to stay up to see the fireworks," cried Bunny, and catching hold of Frank's arm she hurried him off after her papa and mama.

"Now, you must sit quiet, children," said Mrs. Dashwood; "if you make a noise I shall have to send you away to the nursery."

"We'll be as quiet as mice," said Bunny, and pulling Mervyn down on a large woolly mat in the middle window, she began to whisper joyfully about the treat that was in store for them before the evening was over.

The first part of the dinner seemed rather long to the two little ones in their corner, but when at last the dessert was placed on the table, and Bunny was seated at her papa's elbow, and Mervyn between his aunt and his dear friend Frank, they all became so merry together, that the fireworks were for the time completely forgotten.

"Oh, papa, I heard such a funny noise just now," cried Bunny suddenly, "what can it be? Listen, there it is again—whizz—whizz—"

"It's the first rocket, I'm sure!" exclaimed Frank, dropping the nut-crackers, "let us go off to a window somewhere, for I am sure the fireworks are going to begin."

"How jolly!" cried Mervyn. "Aunt, may we run up to Miss Kerr's room?"

"Can't we see them from here?" asked Mr. Dashwood, pulling up the blind and looking out. "What a beautiful dark night it is! Better stay here, chicks, I think. See, there goes another rocket!"

"Oh, that is lovely!" cried Bunny, clapping her hands. "But, papa, dear, we can see them much better from Miss Kerr's room, she has such a nice balcony, and she promised to let us go up to it if mama would allow us."

"Very well, then, away you go," said her father; "but be quick, or you will lose all the fun."

"Be sure and wrap yourselves up, dear children, if you go out into the balcony," said Mrs. Dashwood. "The night air is very sharp."

"Oh, yes, mama, we will make ourselves as warm as toast," cried Bunny gaily. "Come, Frank, do come up to the balcony with us."

"All right, little woman, jump upon my back and we'll run a race with Mervyn."

Very much delighted at such an invitation, Bunny sprang from a chair on to Frank's back, and away they went galloping madly after Mervyn, up the stairs and along the passage to Miss Kerr's room. There they found Sophie waiting for them, heavily laden with cloaks and shawls in which she insisted on wrapping them up till they were nearly smothered, and shrieked wildly for just one little space through which they might manage to breathe.

"Very well, you will all catch your deaths of colds," cried Sophie. "Miss Bunny, you will want the doctor to-morrow, I am quite sure;" and she flounced out of the room and banged the door after her.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" cried Frank, laughing, as he released poor Mervyn's face from the thick shawl in which the maid had rolled him up. "She's an awful scold that Sophie."

"But she's jolly kind to us sometimes," said Mervyn stoutly; "and we torment her dreadfully, don't we, Bunny?"

"Yes, we do indeed," answered the little girl; "and she doesn't always scold, Master Frank."

"Goodness me! don't be so indignant," cried Frank. "I meant no offence. I daresay Sophie is a regular angel."

"She's not quite that," said Miss Kerr as she opened the window and let the young people out upon the balcony. "But I am glad to hear the children stand up for her, for, as Mervyn says, they do torment her, and still she is very good-natured and kind to them on the whole."

"Yes, indeed she is," said Mervyn; "but oh! just look at that, isn't it exquisite?"

"Lovely!" cried Frank. "It's a regular shower of golden hail! But I think I like the Roman candles best. Look, Bunny, there's one—see—those two stars—watch how they change colour—first they're red—then blue—then—"

"Oh, yes, yes," cried Bunny dancing about. "There they go, right away over the sea! What lovely things fireworks are!"

"It is a pity we could not have gone down on the Spa to see the set pieces," said Frank. "I believe they are most beautiful. But then the crowd is something dreadful."

"Do they send the fireworks up from the Spa?" asked Mervyn; "they look just as if they were coming from the road up there in front of the Crown Hotel."

"No, they are sent from a place just over the Spa, up among the trees there, but a long way below the hotel."

"Oh dear! there goes a splendid rocket," cried Mervyn, "and doesn't it make a lovely noise?"

"Oh! I can't bear the noise," said Bunny, putting her fingers in her ears, "it makes me jump."

"Now that is really charming!" said Miss Kerr, as the whole bay with its ships and boats was suddenly illuminated by a brilliant crimson light. "How lovely everything looks in that soft, rich colour!"

"Oh! and I declare you can see Oliver's Mount and the dear little cake shop," cried Bunny. "And, Mervyn, I wonder where our old donkeys are to-night," and she peered away out in the direction of the sands where the poor animals usually spent their days.

"At home in their beds, my dear," said Miss Kerr laughing, "and that's where small people like you should be; it must be near ten o'clock."

"Oh! not yet, not yet," cried the children; "we must stay and see the last of the fireworks!"

"That is the last now, I'm sure," said Frank. "That thick yellow light comes from the grand finale, which we cannot see—ha! there goes another rocket. Hurrah! the whole thing is at an end."

"Very well, my dears, you must say good-night," said Miss Kerr; "your poor little eyes are positively blinking with sleep, Bunny, dear."

"No, they're not," said the little girl, "but they feel funny and won't go quite straight."

"Are you getting a squint, then?" said Frank. "Come along, old lady, a few hours' sleep will make them go straight enough;" and putting one arm round Bunny and the other round Mervyn, he marched them off to the nursery, where he deposited them one after the other on their little beds.

The children were really quite tired out with excitement, and the fatigue of sitting up to such an unusually late hour; so when Frank left them for the night, they did not utter a word or make a complaint. They said their prayers, were undressed at once, and, laying their weary heads upon their pillows, were soon fast asleep.



CHAPTER XIII.

QUIET TIMES.

It is to be hoped that you see some improvement in Bunny's behaviour since you first made her acquaintance, though she was very naughty on the day when the poor thrush was killed.

At all events she had been trying to be good, and when she failed, or forgot her good resolutions she was so willing to confess her faults, and was so truly sorry for them, that Miss Kerr and Mama, and even Sophie, were always ready to forgive her. Miss Kerr had quite won Bunny's heart by her constant love and gentleness, so that the child could not bear to give her pain. This made Bunny more thoughtful, and she soon learned to check her outbreaks of temper and to keep out of mischief.

Mervyn, who was growing tall and strong, was very much in earnest when he had promised to try to be docile and obedient. He did not forget that should he meet his dear mother and father in London they would ask him whether he had kept his word, and he would not have told them a falsehood even if he had been ever so naughty, for he was a truthful boy, and not at all a coward.

Mervyn often helped Bunny to remember her promises too; and it seemed as though after the night when they had seen the display of fireworks they had both made up their minds to go on steadily with their lessons every morning. Miss Kerr was delighted, and Sophie had really very little to do, for all the afternoon, and sometimes in the evening also, they were out on the sands, or on the hills, or seated in the garden. The reason of this was, that as Mr. Dashwood had given them notice that the holiday was coming to an end, they had implored their friend Frank Collins to come often to see them, and as he loved Mervyn and could talk to him about his dear father and mother, and listen to his descriptions of life in Madras and Calcutta, he used to come every day to take the children out.

Of this Mr. Dashwood was very glad, for he was pleased that such a nice manly boy as Frank should give up so much time to these two young ones, and used to laugh at Miss Kerr and tell her that they learnt more from their young tutor Frank Collins than they did from their governess. Miss Kerr often made one of the party when they went out together and she used to like to listen to Frank too. He had been to a large school, and was now only waiting for his parents to return from India before going to another. He had read a great many books, and could remember several stories and accounts of voyages and discoveries.

The children would sit under a tree or inside an old boat on the beach and listen to him as he told them of the adventures of sailors and travellers; or sometimes they went with him for a ramble in the country, and he could show them the different kinds of trees and wild flowers, and point out where the various birds built their nests.

Mervyn was quite surprised one day when a lark sprang suddenly from a field of long grass and went soaring up and up in the clear sunshine till it looked only like a speck, and at last could scarcely be seen, but yet all the time kept trilling and singing its beautiful song.

As it sung it floated away to some distance from the place from which it rose, and then suddenly it seemed to sink from the air and to drop amidst the grass again.

"Wherever has it gone to?" said Bunny; "there are no trees here, and where can its nest be?"

"Its nest is on the ground, in the long grass of the field," said Frank.

"Oh then, it has just dropped into it," cried Mervyn; "couldn't we go and see?"

"You wouldn't find it except you could trace the way to the spot where the bird first rose," said Frank. "Directly the artful fellow heard us coming he sprang out and started his song so that he might lead us away from the spot where the nest is, and now he has dropped in the grass a long way off to lead us still further away."

"Oh do let us go and look for it!" said Bunny.

"I think we'd better not," said Mervyn; "remember the thrush, Bunny, and we might kill some of the little birds."

"Quite right, Mervyn," said Frank Collins; "we should very likely step upon it or frighten the hen bird so much that she would leave the nest. It would be like somebody coming and driving us away from home, you know. When I was as young as you are, I used to rob the nests of their eggs, but I have left off doing so now, and even if you should ever collect eggs you should only take one from a nest and contrive not to frighten the birds. But there are young larks and not eggs in this nest, so we will let them alone to grow strong and fly out into the sunshine and sing under the blue sky, won't we, Bunny?"

You may well believe that the children thought the last part of their holiday was the pleasantest of all; for beside Frank they had found another playmate, a great friend of his.

His name was Captain, and he was a grand, black, curly, Newfoundland dog. Such a fine fellow was seldom to be seen, and he learnt to lie down in a patch of grass on the hill, just at the place where he could watch for Bunny and Mervyn when they went out for their afternoon walk.

He would pretend to be asleep, and when they came quite close to him would spring up and begin to leap about, leading the way to the sands, and barking or rolling over and over till Frank or Mervyn threw a stick as far as ever they could into the sea that he might dash in after it and fetch it out.

Captain was a splendid swimmer, and had once jumped into the sea from the end of a pier after a little girl who had fallen into the water. The child would have been drowned, but Captain seized her by the frock and held her up till a boat could put out and fetch her, and then the brave fellow turned and swam ashore.



CHAPTER XIV.

BUNNY'S IMPROVEMENT. HOME AGAIN.

The time had arrived when the holiday at Scarborough was to come to an end. The last evening was spent on the cliff. It was while they were all sitting on the hillside looking out to sea that Frank began to talk to them about "lighthouses," those tall buildings, having a strong lantern at the top, the bright light from which can be seen far out at sea, so that sailors may know to what part of the coast they are going, and may steer their ships in such a direction as to avoid danger, or guide them into a place of safety.

Then Miss Kerr told them a story about a lighthouse, and how a brave and thoughtful little girl was able to save a great ship from being dashed to pieces on the rocks. This lighthouse was at a very dangerous part of the coast, and every day the lamps had to be cleaned and fresh oil put in them, and the great metal "reflectors" that were behind the lamps and threw the light far out to sea had to be burnished.

The little girl was the child of the keeper of the lighthouse, and he often took her with him to stay there. He had a companion, for in lighthouses there are mostly two men; but one day this companion slipped off the ladder up which he had to climb to light the lamps in the great lantern, and broke his leg. At the same time he struck his head and became insensible, and so the father of the little girl was obliged to leave her and to fetch a doctor. He meant to come back very soon, but the doctor was out, and in trying to find him he was away for many hours, and by the time he could get down to his boat a great storm had come on, and the waves were breaking over the shore so that he could not put out to sea again.

Night was coming on, and the poor fellow paced the beach and wondered what was to be done, for it would soon be time for the lamps to be lighted, and there was nobody in the lighthouse but the helpless man and his little girl. The sailors and fishermen all came round, but it would have been a desperate venture to put out a boat in such a storm, and with the great waves roaring and leaping on a long sharp ridge of rocks quite close to where the lighthouse stood, nobody could have expected to reach it alive.

At last, just as the night was coming on, the poor fellow prepared to risk his life rather than leave the ships that might be far off at sea without a guide or a warning; but six strong men dragged a large boat down to the edge of the shore where the waves were lowest, and agreed to share his danger. Their hands were on the boat ready to push her in and then scramble to their places; an old fisherman was in his seat ready to steer, when he suddenly gave a shout and pointed towards the lighthouse.

There from the lantern high above the roaring waves shone the brilliant beams of the lamps, and with a hearty cheer the brave fellows drew the boat back, and shading their eyes with their hands stared as though they had never seen the familiar light before.

All night long they watched, till at break of day the storm abated, the sea grew still, and far far away they could see a great three-masted ship rolling and tossing, with one of her sails blown to rags, but still keeping off the shore. The pilot had seen the lights, and so knowing how to steer had kept her away from the rocky reefs where she might have been dashed to pieces.

It was not till the sun rose high and they were able to go out in their boats that the men on shore could take the doctor to the lighthouse, and then they found the little girl kneeling beside the injured man and feeding him with some cold tea which had been left in the teapot. He had come to his senses, and had tried to crawl to the ladder, when he heard her voice singing softly right up in the lantern. He contrived to drag himself along the floor of the room, and could just see a gleam from one of the lamps coming through the chinks of the wood-work. The child, when she found her father did not return, had grown afraid; but her great fear was that the lamps would not be lighted, and as the place grew dark she made up her mind to try to light them herself. She had seen her father clean the lamps, and had been with him up the ladder, holding his strong hand; and she knew too where the match was kept, for she had been shown everything about the place while she was there on those long days alone with her father till the other man came on duty in the evening. So up she went, softly singing a hymn to herself, and after steadying herself by one of the iron rods that supported the lantern, put the lighted match to the wick, and was so startled to see the great yellow glare that shone from the reflector that she nearly lost her balance. When she reached the bottom of the ladder she found her friend looking at her quite wide awake; but he could do nothing to help her, except by telling her how to manage the light, and also how to move up there in the great glass lantern of the lighthouse, so that she might reach each lamp in turn.

When her father came up the steep stair, followed by a dozen of his comrades, she gave a cry of delight and was in his arms in a moment; and she was soon made such a pet of by the men there that they all wanted her to accept knives, and rings, and pocket combs, and even tobacco-boxes, because they had nothing else to offer her; but she had her father and that was quite enough for her, and as he held her to his breast she could feel his tears fall upon her head, and yet he was as brave as any man who lived upon that coast.

"However could she do it?" said Bunny, who had earnestly listened to this story.

"She forgot all about herself, Bunny, and thought only of other people and of the duty that was straight before her," said Frank gently.

Bunny remained very serious all the rest of the evening; perhaps the story of the child lighting the lamps reminded her of the trick she had played poor old Ashton when she poured water into his wine-glasses.

But as we have seen already, Bunny was improving, and her mama was indeed delighted to notice the change, and quite shared her sorrow that they were so soon to leave for London.

A day or two before they had begun to pack up Mr. Dashwood brought the children glorious news. Frank Collins was to go to London and stay with them till the arrival of his mother, who was on her voyage home and would be in England in a few days. Then he was to go to school, and perhaps Mervyn would some day be sent to the same school, but of course in a lower class.

This last part of it was not very cheering for poor Bunny, and she was ready to cry; but she looked at Miss Kerr's kind gentle face and saw the look of joy in Mervyn's eyes, and so she choked back her tears, and presently when Mervyn said softly, "Of course I can't help being glad, Bunny, but I shall never be anything but sorry to be parted from you;" she was ready to say, "And I shall be awfully sorry, Mervyn dear, but then when the holidays come we shall both know so much more, and—and—"

Here poor Bunny broke down and hid her face in her pinafore. But the next day she had recovered her spirits, and she and Mervyn were talking over their future plans, for it would be some months before her cousin would know enough to enter even the lowest form. But one chief reason for their rapid recovery of spirits was that it would be a whole month or more before Frank himself could begin his studies, and there were promises of visits to the Zoological Gardens, the great Palm House at Kew, the old Tower of London, and other places which would remind them of the stories they had heard, and of the books which they had yet to learn to read.

They had all these things to talk about when they found themselves in the train that was to carry them home, and were so full of plans and expectations that they were many miles upon the journey before they remembered that they had not waved a good-bye to their old friend Oliver's Mount, or thought of the sorrow of leaving Scarborough for smoky, noisy, old London.

THE END.