there, too, gleams of lingering gorse faintly golden, and the little thread-like white paths, sometimes almost widening into roads, crossing in all directions, brightened the effect of the whole. For it was autumn now – late autumn indeed – and the sun was well down on his evening journey.
The breeze blew freshly in the little girl's face.
'It's rather cold,' she said, 'but I like it.'
'You might have brought your muff,' said Archie; 'though I thought people only had muffs when it was real winter.'
Miss Mouse reddened a little.
'So they do,' she said, 'but mine is such a dear little one, so light and fluffy, and it was mamma's last present, so Aunt Mattie lets me take it out in the pony-carriage.'
Justin and Archie had, like all boys, a horror of tears, and the sad tone in Rosamond's voice made them quickly change the subject.
'Has Aunt Mattie never driven you round by the moor before?' said Justin. 'She's so fond of it.'
'But I only came the day before yesterday, and her house is quite on the other side, not wild-looking like here.'
'Of course I know that,' said Justin. 'I think it's ever so much jollier up here. Indeed, I would like to live in a cottage on the moor itself. Fancy what fun it would be to race right out first thing in the morning when you woke up, and see all the creatures waking up too – rabbits scuttering about, and the wild birds, and the frogs, and rummy creatures like that, that live about the marshy bits!'
Rosamond looked up at him with some surprise and more sympathy in her eyes than she had yet felt for the eldest of her newly-adopted cousins.
'I know,' she said, 'it's like some fairy stories I've read.'
'Oh rubbish,' said Justin. 'If you want fairy stories you must go to Pat for them. His head's full of them.'
Miss Mouse felt a little hurt at Justin's rough way of speaking. Archie, always inclined to make peace, came to the rescue.
'You were asking about Bob Crag,' he said. 'That's where he lives.'
He pointed to a spot where a clump of bushes or stunted trees stood a little way back from one of the wider tracks which ran like white tapes across the moor. No house or cottage was to be seen, but a thin waft of smoke rose slowly from the middle of the little planting.
'It's the queerest place you ever saw,' Archie went on. 'Papa says it's something like an Irish cabin, only cleaner and tidier, for Bob's old granny isn't dirty, though she's extremely queer, like her house. People say she's a gipsy, but she's lived there so long that no one is sure where she comes from. She's as old as old! I shouldn't wonder if she were really Bob's great-grandmother.'
'Has he always lived with her?' asked Rosamond. 'Fancy! great-grandmother.'
'I don't know,' said Archie; 'he's been there as long as I can remember.'
'And that's not very long,' said Justin, with the superiority of his four more years of life. 'You can't remember more than six or seven years back at most, Archie! I can remember ten good, if not eleven. And Bob's two years older than I am. I should think he was about four or five when I first remember him. Nurse wouldn't let Pat and me stop to talk to him when we passed the cottage going a walk, he was such a queer, black-looking little creature. Old Nancy went away once for ever so long, and when she came back she brought this rum little chap with her, and the people about said he was as uncanny as she. Nobody's very kind to them, even now.'
'Poor things,' said Miss Mouse. 'They must be very dull and lonely.'
'They don't mind,' said Justin. 'Nance says she wouldn't stay if they had neighbours, and she's jolly glad to have no rent. Once they tried to make her pay for her cottage, but papa got her off, and ever since then she'd do anything for us, and she always smiles and curtsies and blesses us in her way when we pass. Yes, she'd do anything for us, and so would poor old Bob.'
'Yes, but – ' began Archie, but stopped short, for Justin's eye was upon him.
'You're not to begin abusing Bob,' he said. 'It's not fair, I count him a friend of mine, whatever you do.'
Rosamond looked puzzled.
'Is he a naughty boy?' she said half timidly.
'No,' said Justin, 'I say he's not. He gets blamed for lots of things he doesn't deserve, just because he and old Nancy are strange and queer.'
'I'd like to see them,' said Rosamond. 'It does sound like a fairy story, and it looks like one. Won't you take me to their cottage some day?'
But before either Justin or Archie had time to reply, there came an interruption.
'They're whistling for us,' exclaimed Archie. 'Yes, it's Pat and Aunt Mattie coming across the paddock – and the little ones too. Isn't it nice to hear Aunt Mattie whistling just like she used to, when she lived here? Let's go back and meet them.'
'No,' said Justin, 'I'll stay here with Miss Mouse, and you run down to them, Archie. Most likely Aunt Mattie wants to come up here too. She always says there's a breeze up here almost as good as the sea.'
'I wish Aunt Mattie's house was near the moor too,' said Miss Mouse. 'Where is it you go to school, Justin, and how do you mean you only pass the Crags' house on fine days?'
'Because when it's awfully rainy or snowy, or anything out of the common, we go in the pony-cart by the proper road, and when it's middling we go half-way by the moor, turning into the road a good bit before we come to Bob's. It's rather boggy land about there, and we get all muddy and wet unless it's really dry weather. We don't go to school, we go to Mr. Pierce's – at Whitcrow – two miles off – the road to Whitcrow crosses the road to Aunt Mattie's, farther on. You look out on your way home, and you'll see a signpost with Whitcrow on one of the spokes.'
'I'll ask auntie to show it me,' said Miss Mouse. 'O auntie,' she exclaimed, as the newcomers came within speaking distance, 'it is so nice up here looking over the moor.'
Her little face had got quite rosy. Aunt Mattie was pleased to see it, pleased too that Rosamond had evidently already begun to make friends with Justin – girl-despiser though he was.
'Yes, dear,' she said, 'I love the moor, and I am very glad you do. I love it all the year round, though it's pretty cold up here in winter, isn't it, boys?'
Pat came forward a little. He wanted to please his aunt by being nicer to Rosamond.
'It's awfully cold going to the vicarage some mornings,' he agreed, 'but there's some nice things in winter. Can you skate, Miss Mouse?'
The little girl shook her head.
'No, but I'd like very much to learn,' she replied.
'Then I'll teach you,' said Pat, his face getting a little red, for it was not certainly his way to put himself about to be amiable. And he had to suffer for it.
'How polite we are growing all of a sudden,' said Justin, with a laugh. But he could not mock at Pat's offer, for skating was the one thing of outdoor exercises in which the younger brother outshone the elder.
Aunt Mattie was quick to scent any approach to a quarrel.
'It must be getting near tea-time,' she said. 'Are you going to invite us
