The Children of Wilton Chase

"Yes, father," replied Basil. "It is perfectly correct. I found the broken miniature, and I have just returned it."

"How did you find it?"

"I can't say, sir."

"You mean you won't say?"

"Very well, father; I won't say."

Mr. Wilton colored. Miss Wilton gave a triumphant "Humph!" and a muttered "I told you so." Miss Nelson nervously clasped and unclasped her thin hands.

"Basil," said his father after a pause, "you are a very good lad, and I have every trust in you. You have a reason for boldly defying your father's wishes. But when I, who am your father, and know a great deal better than you do what is right and wrong in this matter, desire you once again to tell me all you know, you will, of course, instantly obey me."

"I am deeply and truly sorry, father, but I can't obey you."

"T'ch! no more of this! go to my study this moment, and wait there till I come to you."

CHAPTER XIV.

I SERVE

"Maggie," said her governess, early the next morning, "Maggie, dear, wake up at once."

Marjorie opened her sleepy gray eyes with a start, sprang up in bed, and began to rub them violently.

"Oh, Miss Nelson, is that you? What is the matter?"

"I want you to get up, and not to wake Ermengarde. Dress as quickly as possible, and then come to me to my room."

"What can be the matter? Isn't it awfully early? Aren't we going to Glendower to-day?"

"It is half-past six. Yes, you are going to Glendower by and by. Now dress, and come to me at once."

Miss Nelson left the room. Marjorie tumbled into her clothes in a most untidy manner, and joined her governess, looking what she was, very unkempt and tumbled.

"I have been quick, haven't I, Miss Nelson?"

"Yes, dear. Come over, my love, and sit by me on the sofa. Maggie, my dear, do you know that Basil is in trouble?"

"Basil!" exclaimed Marjorie. "How? Has he hurt himself?"

"He brought me back my miniature last night, Maggie, broken – injured; don't start so, my dear, dear child. He would not tell how it was broken, nor how it got into his possession, and your Aunt Elizabeth happened most unfortunately to come into the room at the moment, and she made a great fuss, and fetched your father; and the end of it is that they both believe Basil to have done something very wrong – in short, that he had something to say to the disappearance of the miniature, and he – he is in disgrace."

"Oh, Miss Nelson, how can father and Aunt Elizabeth be so cruel and unjust?"

"Hush, dear! whatever your father does, you must not speak of him so."

"But don't they both know him better? Did he ever in all his life do anything dishonorable or mean?"

"Maggie, I fully believe in him."

"Of course you do, dear darling Miss Nelson."

"I wish," continued Miss Nelson, "that we could really find out who took the miniature."

Miss Nelson was looking at Marjorie while she spoke, and now she was surprised to see a wave of crimson slowly dye the child's cheeks, and cover her brow.

"Why do you look like that, Maggie?" asked the governess. "Do you suspect anything?"

Maggie was silent for a moment. Then she looked up in her frank way.

"I don't really know anything," she said.

"But you have a suspicion."

"I'm not even sure that I have."

"Maggie dear, I would far rather never recover the miniature than get Basil into trouble. My conviction is that he is concealing some knowledge which has come to him for the sake of another. He is making a mistake, of course, but his motives are good. If you can help him, Maggie, if you have any clew by which we can get at the real truth, use it, and quickly, dear child."

Marjorie put on that little important air which sometimes made her brothers and sisters call her goody-goody.

"It seems a pity that I should be going away to-day," she said.

"Oh, you must not be disappointed, Maggie," said her governess. "You don't often get a treat, and you have been so looking forward to spending a few days with Lilias Russell."

"I do love Lily," replied Marjorie. "Only Ermengarde said – " then she stopped.

"What is it, dear?"

"I don't think I'll tell, Miss Nelson, please. I'm afraid, when Ermie said it, she was feeling awfully disappointed. I'll try to forget it. Now, Miss Nelson, what shall I do?"

"Put your wise little brains to work. Try to think how you can clear Basil from suspicion without doing anything shabby or underhand. I know your father is fearfully hurt with him. Much more hurt with him than with Ermengarde, for he has always had such a very high opinion of Basil. Now run away, Maggie, dear, and do your best; but remember I do not wish you to give up your visit. I called you early on purpose that you should have time to think matters over."

Miss Nelson kissed Marjorie, who went solemnly back to her own room.

The sun was now streaming in through the closed blinds, and some of his rays fell across the white bed where Ermengarde lay. The little girl was still fast asleep; all her long hair was tossed over her pillow, and one hand shaded her cheek. Ermengarde was a very pretty girl, and she looked lovely now in the innocent sweet sleep which visits even naughty children.

Marjorie went and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Poor Ermie," she said to herself, "I don't want to think that she could be mean, and yet – and yet – she was in Miss Nelson's room the day the miniature was stolen, and she did seem in a desperate state of trouble that time when she asked me to make an excuse for her to go back to the house. And then what funny words Susy did use that day in the cottage, although she explained them all away afterward. Dear, dear, dear, it's horrid to think that Ermie could do anything wrong. And she looks so sweet in her sleep. I wish Miss Nelson hadn't woke me, and told me to be a sort of spy. But oh, poor Basil! I'd do anything in all the world – I'd even be mean, to help Basil."

Marjorie sat down on her own little bed, which was opposite to Ermengarde's. The motto which her mother had given her long ago, the old sacred and time-honored motto, "I serve," floated back to her mind.

"It will be horrid if I have to give up going to Glendower," she whispered under her breath. "I am unlucky about treats, and I do love Lily. Still, I remember what mother said, 'When you are a servant to others, you are God's servant, Marjorie.' Mother died a week afterward. Oh dear, oh dear, I can't forget her words; but I should dearly like to go to Glendower all the same."

As Marjorie sat on her little bed, she was kicking her feet backward and forward, and not being a particularly gentle little mortal, she knocked over a box, which effectually wakened Ermengarde.

"What are you doing there?" asked the elder sister. "What in the world are you dressed for, Maggie? It surely is not seven o'clock yet?"