and mantle.
Through all the rather long walk, Clara still kept close to her, telling who every one was, and talking incessantly, till she felt almost confused, and longed for the quietness of the church. Mr. Lyddell's pew was a high, square box, curtained round, with a table and a stove, so that she hardly felt as if she was in church, and she was surprised not to see Elliot Lyddell there.
They had to walk quickly back after the service, dine hurriedly, and then set off again for the afternoon service. Miss Morley sighed, and said that the second long hot walk almost killed her, and she went so slowly that the schoolroom party all came in late. They found no one in the pew but Mrs. Lyndell and Walter, and Marian once more sighed and wondered.
On coming home, Miss Morley went in to rest, but as it was now cool and pleasant, her pupils stayed out a little longer to show the park and garden. They were very desirous of making the Arundels admire all they saw, and Lionel and John were continually asking, "Have you anything like that at Fern Torr?"
Gerald, jealous for the honor of home, was magnificent in his descriptions, and unconscious that he was talking rhodomontade. According to him, his park took in a whole mountain, his house was quite as large and much handsomer than Mr. Lyddell's, the garden was like the hanging gardens of Babylon, and greenhouses were never wanted there, for "all sorts of things" would grow in the open air. His cousins were so amazed that they would hardly attend to Marian's explanations, and thought her description of the myrtle, which reached to the top of the house, as fabulous as his hanging gardens.
"And, Marian, what do you think of this place?" asked Clara.
After some pressing, the following reply was extracted:—"It is so shut in with fir-trees, but I suppose you want them to hide the town, and there is nothing to see if they were away."
"O Marian!" said Caroline, "when we showed you the beautiful view over the high gate."
"But there was no hill, and no wood, and no water."
"Did you not see Oakworthy Hill?"
"That tame green thing!" said Marian.
"The truth is," said Johnny, "that she likes it the best all the time, only she won't own it."
"Nonsense, Johnny," replied Lionel, "every one likes their own home best, and I like Marian for not pretending to be polite and nonsensical."
"And I tell you," said Gerald, "that you never saw anything so good as my Manor house in your whole life."
Here they went in, and Marian gently said to Gerald as they came into her room, "I wish you would not say my, Gerald, it seems like boasting. My park—my house—"
Gerald hung his head, and the colour came deeply into his cheeks.
"Marian," said he, "you know how I wish it wasn't mine now," and the
tears were in his eyes. "But they boast over me, and they ought not, for
I'm Sir—"
"Oh! hush, Gerald. You used never to like to hear yourself called so, because it put you in mind—. Yes, I know they boast; but this is not the way to stop them, it only makes them go on; and what does it signify to you? it does not make this place really better than home."
"Yes, but I want them to know it."
"But you should not want to set yourself up above them. If you don't answer, and, let them say what nonsense they please, it would be the best way, and the right way, and so you would humble yourself, which is what we must all do Gerald."
Gerald was silenced, but looked dissatisfied; however, there was no more time to talk, for Clara came to say that tea was almost ready, and Marian rang for Saunders. Gerald looked as if he was meditating when first they sat down to tea, and after some little time he abruptly began, "I don't like your church at all. It is just like a room, and nobody makes any noise."
"Nobody makes any noise," repeated Caroline, smiling; "is that Fern Torr fashion?"
"I do not mean exactly a noise," said Gerald, "but people read their verse of the psalm, and say Amen, and all that, quite loud. They don't leave it all to the clerk in his odd voice."
Lionel mimicked the clerk so drolly, that in spite of "Don't, my dear," and "O! Lionel," nobody could help laughing; and Johnny added an imitation of the clerk at their church in London. After the mirth was over, Gerald went on, "Why does not every one say Amen here?"
"Like so many charity children," said Lionel, with a nasal drawl.
"No, indeed!" cried Gerald, indignantly; "Edmund does it, and everybody."
"Everybody! as if you could tell, who never went to church in your life, except at that little poky place," said Johnny,
Gerald's colour rose, but Marian's eye met his, and he remembered what she had said, and answered quietly, "I don't know whether Fern Torr is poky, but it is a place where people are taught to behave well."
"Capital, Gerald, excellent!" cried Caroline, laughing heartily, "that is a hit, Lionel, for you!" while Gerald looked round him, amazed at the applause with which his speech, made in all simplicity, was received.
As soon as tea was over, Miss Morley called Lionel and John to repeat the Catechism, and added doubtfully, "Perhaps Sir Gerald would rather wait for next Sunday."
"O no, thank you," said Marian, "we always say it."
"You need not, Marian," said Caroline, "we never do, only it would be so troublesome for the boys to have to learn it at school."
"I should like to say it if Miss Morley has no objection," said Marian.
"Oh! yes, certainly," was the answer. "See, Lionel, there is an example for you."
Marian and Gerald stood upright, with their hands behind them, just as they had stood every Sunday since they could speak; Lionel was astride on the music stool, spinning round and round, and Johnny balancing himself with one leg on the floor, and one hand on the window sill. When the first question was asked, the grave voice that replied, "Edmund Gerald," was drowned in a loud shout—
"Jack Lyddell, Jack Lyddell,
Shall play on the fiddle"—
evidently an old worn out joke, brought to life again in the hope of making the grave cousins laugh, instead of which they stood aghast. Miss Morley only said imploringly, "Now, Johnny, my dear boy, do," and proceeded to the next question. Throughout the two boys were careless and painfully irreverent, and the governess, annoyed and ashamed, hurried on as fast as she could, in order to put an end to the unpleasant scene. When it was over she greatly admired the correctness of Gerald's answers, seeming to think it extraordinary that he should not have made a single mistake; whereas Marian would have been surprised if he had. Gerald whispered to his sister as they went down to the drawing-room, "Would it not be fun to see what Mr. Wortley would say to Lionel and Johnny, if he had them in his class?"
On Monday, Marian and Gerald began to fall into the habits of the place, and to learn the ways of their cousins, though it was many years before they could be said really to understand them.
Of their guardian himself, they found they should see very little, for their
