E N E M I E S

A TALE FOR LITTLE LADS AND LASSES

BY

MARIAN ISABEL HURRELL

AUTHOR OF

"CECILY MORDAUNT," "A THREE-FOLD PROMISE," ETC.

"But I say unto you, Love your enemies . . . that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven."

LONDON

S. W. PARTRIDGE AND CO.

8 & 9, PATERNOSTER ROW

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. HUGH'S WRATH

II. A COUNCIL OF WAR

III. UNCLE MATTHEW'S GENEROSITY

IV. THE BEGINNING OF THE FRAY

V. THE HOUSE OF YORK

VI. SCHOOL CONFLICTS

VII. A LITTLE SOLDIER

VIII. A TERRIBLE FALL

IX. SIR MATTHEW'S PENITENCE

X. A FRIEND INDEED

XI. PEACE AT LAST

E N E M I E S

CHAPTER I

HUGH'S WRATH

"DO you mean to say, mother, that he wouldn't see you?"

"Yes, Hugh, I was turned away like a stranger from your grandfather's door."

"Then he's a wickeder old sinner than I thought he was, and I'm ashamed of belonging to him."

"That appears to be a mutual feeling, my son; on that one point you and your grandfather evidently agree."

"He shall never have the chance of insulting you again, mother. We shall soon be big enough to work for you, and then you needn't be afraid of anything or anybody."

The lad who spoke thus impetuously looked up into his mother's face as though for her dear sake he would war with the whole world.

"Never mind, Hughie boy," she answered soothingly. "It was a long journey for nothing, but as he wouldn't answer my letters, what else could I do?

"Ah well," she added, "so long as I have my children, and health and strength to work for them, I am not afraid," but nevertheless, though the mother uttered these brave words, there was a tremor of weariness and disappointment in her voice.

She had anticipated so much from a personal interview with Sir Matthew Rose—her father-in-law—but now all her cherished hopes were dashed to the ground.

Mrs. Rose was the widow of a clergyman, and since the death of her husband, about four years previously, she had had a hard struggle to support herself and her children.

The three eldest were boys, Hugh, Frank, and Ronald by name, whose ages varied from ten to seven. The youngest was a girl named Elsie, a little maid of between five and six summers, who was the pet and plaything of them all.

The house in which they dwelt (a roomy old residence known as The Gables) was the property of Mrs. Rose, bequeathed to her by a wealthy relative shortly before her husband's death. By means of letting a portion of the house, the widow managed to eke out her income sufficiently to provide for the actual needs of herself and her children, but there was little margin left for education and additional expenses. Not that the lack of regular lessons troubled her light-hearted laddies one jot; they were well content with the home tuition they received, but not so their ambitious little mother.

For this cause she had nerved herself to make one final appeal to their grandfather for assistance, and with what result we have already seen.

Her husband, Gilbert Rose, was the eldest son of a wealthy baronet, and for many years he was the apple of his father's eye.

At length came a day when their wills clashed, and in his wrath Sir Matthew vowed he would have nothing more to do with him, and he determined to make Wilfrid, his second son, his heir.

The cause of dispute was Gilbert's choice of a bride, who in his father's eyes was neither fitted by birth nor worldly treasure to become the wife of his eldest son.

Elizabeth Gilderoy (or Lisa, as Gilbert was wont to call her) was the orphaned sister of one of his curates. She was both good and beautiful, and it was little wonder that he loved her. Their married life was exceedingly happy, but all too soon it came to a close. After a brief illness he died, leaving his wife with four young children to battle against the winds of adversity.

The blow fell upon her with crushing force, but despite her bitter grief, her faith did not falter, for she realized that though earthly props might fall, yet around her were the Everlasting Arms of Divine love and tenderness.

Hugh's affection for his mother well-nigh bordered on worship, and the idea of her being slighted or insulted was intolerable to his proud spirit.

"It's no use being angry, my boy, we must talk things over calmly," she said. "But I'm afraid now, as matters stand, there is nothing but the Board school for you all."

"Oh, mother, as if you couldn't teach us all we want to know!" answered Hugh impulsively. "Besides, we shan't want much learning for the professions we've chosen."

Hugh's pleading look brought the sudden tears to his mother's eyes, though his words made her smile.

"Well, laddie, and what are the professions to be?" she said gently.

"Oh! I'm going to be a sailor, and you don't want to go to school to be taught the ropes; and Frank and Ronnie have made up their minds to be sheep-farmers abroad, so as to make a fortune quickly; and Elsie says—" here a broad smile came over Hugh's face—"she is going to keep a sweet-shop."

Mrs. Rose laughed, but she soon grew grave again.

"Hugh dear," she said earnestly, "you are old enough now to know that an ignorant boy has no chance in the world, and at a Board school you will all three get a good education. In this matter you must put your pride in your pocket, in the same way I did when I went to The Towers."

"Oh, mother, I hate being poor," cried Hugh, "and I hate—I hate grandfather with all my heart!"

With these words Hugh left the room, and in his agitation, he nearly ran into Miss Beaumont, the lady who occupied part of The Gables, and who cherished for Hugh a sincere affection.

"Why, Hugh, what is the matter?" she asked in surprise.

"Nothing at all, Miss Beaumont, thank you," answered Hugh, seeking to make good his escape.

But the lady was not to be put off in this manner. "Come into my room," she said authoritatively, "and tell me what has upset you."

Miss Beaumont's apartments were furnished with a view both to luxury and elegance, but Hugh took little heed of his surroundings as he sat, at the lady's bidding, beside her on the sofa.

"Mother says we must go to the Board school," he burst out impetuously.

"Very sensible too of your mother, if she is unable to send you elsewhere."

Hugh flashed an indignant look upwards.

"Oh! You think it isn't good enough for you, I suppose. Well, upon consideration, perhaps, the grandchildren of Sir Matthew Rose should have other advantages. Why doesn't your mother apply to him?" inquired Miss Beaumont.

"She has, but he refused to see her, and I've a good mind to write and tell grandfather what I think of him!"

"Well, then, I won't keep you any longer," responded Miss Beaumont, with a gleam of humour in her eyes. "If you should decide to write such an important letter, I will post it for you with some of my own."

"Then I will," said Hugh with great decision.

As soon as the lad had closed the door behind him, Miss Beaumont murmured to herself, "H'm! I wonder what Matthew will say to such an epistle. He'll be a little taken aback, I think, but it won't do him any harm in the end."

After which speech she sat down to her writing-desk, and wrote several letters, one of which was addressed to Sir Matthew Rose, Bart.

At the end of half-an-hour Hugh reappeared, with a sealed letter in his hand, which he gave into her keeping.

"This is a secret, I suppose, Hugh?" she said, interrogatively.

"Yes, please, Miss Beaumont."

"Ah, I understand; this isn't the first secret we've had, is it, my boy?"

"No," said Hugh; "you are very good to us, only I wish you would let me tell mother where the presents come from."

"No, Hugh, I'd rather not; perhaps she shall know some day, but not yet."

And with this Hugh was perforce content.

CHAPTER II

A COUNCIL OF WAR

"OH, mummie dear, somefing so inciting has happened!"

"Run away, pet; don't you see how busy we are with lessons?" and Mrs. Rose, as she said these words, shook her head reprovingly at little Elsie, who with flushed cheeks and excited eyes had bounded into the room.

"But I must tell you the news—York House is took."

She had roused her listeners at length. What were reading, writing and arithmetic compared with such interesting information?

"That isn't all," she cried delightedly, "I've somefing more to tell you—the lady's name is Rose, Mrs. Wilfrid Rose, and she comes from 'Merica."

"How strange!" ejaculated the mother, a flush of colour coming into her cheeks. "It must be your Aunt Mary and her three children."

Intense excitement prevailed in the room, and as lessons were nearly over, Mrs. Rose thought it advisable to excuse the remainder.

The house in question, which was a detached one situated next to The Gables, was a large, handsome residence, but, on account of its high rent and sundry defects, it had stood empty for more than two years.

"I suppose," said Mrs. Rose, reflectively, "you won't be allowed to play in the meadow any more, as it belongs to York House."

"Mother!" cried four indignant voices.

"Well, darlings, you see the landlord has only given you permission to make use of it while York House was untenanted."

"We don't want them to come and take away our medder," said Elsie, plaintively.

"Oh, well," said Ronnie, "I 'spect as we're all cousins, we shall play there together. That'll be fine fun."

But a troubled look came into the mother's eyes at his words.

"I don't want to disappoint you, dears," she made reply; "but I'm afraid your Aunt Mary may not care for you to be too friendly. However, we shall see. Now run and play in the meadow, and make the most of your opportunities."

Away scampered the children, and Mrs. Rose was left to her own reflections, which, to judge by her expression, were not altogether pleasing ones.

Once and once only had she met Mrs. Wilfrid, and the memory of that meeting gave her no cause for pleasure.

The two brothers, Gilbert and Wilfrid, who were married about the same time, were wide apart in many respects. Gilbert Rose had early chosen the "better part," but Wilfrid's overmastering characteristic was worldly ambition. The latter gave his father great satisfaction by his marriage with the grand-daughter of an earl, a lady who was possessed of both beauty and fortune. For a time all went well with the young couple, and by Sir Matthew's desire they took up their abode at The Towers, as the baronet's residence was named. Gilbert was forbidden to cross the threshold; and Wilfrid, to further enhance his own prospects, helped to poison his father's mind against his elder brother.

These facts came to Gilbert's knowledge, and gave him considerable pain, but nothing he could do or say had any power to counteract his brother's influence.

At length came an unlucky day for Wilfrid. The baronet, who was extremely irascible, took dire offence at some words spoken by his haughty daughter-in-law, and Wilfrid was consequently bidden to accept an influential post in America, which had just been offered him.

In less than a month, he and his wife bade good-bye to English shores, and Matthew, the third and youngest son, was named as his father's heir.

Matthew Rose was slightly deformed, but possessed withal such a bright, cheerful temperament that his physical defect had no power to sour or embitter his life.

Wilfrid Rose, after a sojourn of some ten or eleven years abroad, died suddenly of heart disease, and his widow shortly afterwards made her way to England, with her three children.

By a strange coincidence, or shall we not rather say by the overruling Hand of Providence, she took the very house next door to her despised sister-in-law. It is probable that had she been aware of it in time, not even the salubrious air of Linwell-on-Sea would have tempted her to take up her dwelling in such close proximity to Mrs. Gilbert Rose.

But the deed was done, and painters and paperhangers were set to work to make York House a habitable dwelling-place.

The day of their arrival was a most eventful one in the annals of The Gables. It was a wet afternoon, and Mrs. Rose was busy in the kitchen preparing some dainty for Miss Beaumont's late dinner. The three boys and Elsie, unable to go out and play, watched from the nursery window (which overlooked the front of the house) for the carriage to appear, for Ronnie had questioned the gardener and had thereby learnt that Mrs. Wilfrid Rose and her family were expected that same afternoon.

For a long time they watched and waited, Elsie, with her nose flattened against the window, anxious to be the first to communicate the tidings.

"Here they come!" she cried at last, and then four pairs of eyes full of intense interest peered over the blind.

Two lads of about ten and eight years of age were the first to alight from the carriage, and then a little girl stepped forth, followed by a respectable middle-aged woman, who looked like a housekeeper.

Shortly afterwards another carriage drew up, which contained Mrs. Wilfrid and a maid, who had charge of several boxes and packages.

But the children were the chief objects of interest to the four watchers at the nursery window.

"Shouldn't be surprised if we were regular enemies," said Frank; "they look as if they all thought a mighty deal of themselves."

"So they do," agreed Hugh. "I vote we show 'em we don't want their friendships. Now, I've just thought of something—we'll keep up the family feud."

"What's that?" said Ronnie. "Is it anything to do with breakfasts? 'Cause I'm getting so tired of bread and milk. We never have nice things like Miss Beaumont does."

"You are a silly, Ronnie," said Hugh, "a regular baby. Why, Elsie has more 'go' in her than you have."

Ronnie, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little lad, looked quite hurt, whilst Elsie, elated at her brother's praise, said in a chirpy voice—

"Yes, much more 'go.' I can run nearly as fast as Kitty." Kitty, by the way, was the little maid-of-all-work.

"Family feud, I said, not food," went on Hugh in an explanatory voice; "that means the same as a quarrel. The Rose family don't seem to have agreed very well in the past, so I vote we keep it up with these little jackanapes."

"The Wars of the Roses over again," said Frank, laughingly.

"That's a clever idea!" Hugh replied. "We'll just take them down a peg or two."

"The meadow 'll do for the field of Waterloo, where the Roses fought," said Ronnie vaguely, anxious to say something clever too.

"Hark at him!" cried Frank, with a roar of laughter. "Bravo, my boy! You shall have the first prize for history."

"I'll take the big chap, if he has any of his nonsense," continued Hugh; "you, Frank, can tackle the second one, and Ronnie, the girl."

"Men can't fight women," said Ronnie indignantly; "'sides, I don't want to fight."

"Then you've got to do so, and if the girl shows any of her high and mighty ways, you must stand on your dignity. I don't say you are to strike her, but just show her our family is as good as hers any day."

"I wish she was a boy," said Ronnie regretfully, slightly impressed by his brother's long speech.

"That won't matter," said Frank, in a would-be soothing tone, "you are more than half a girl yourself."

Ronnie looked so fierce for a moment that there was danger of war in the camp, but Elsie unconsciously saved the situation.

"Who am I to fight?" she cried distressfully, for she felt sadly out of it. No one appeared to have thought of Elsie joining the fray.

"You are too little for a soldier," said Hugh gently; "besides, there's nobody for you to fight. We must be equal, else it won't be fair." Then turning to his brothers, he added, "Now, boys, you must kiss the book."

"What book?" cried both lads in surprise.

"Oh! I'll soon find one; here's a Markham's history, that will do well. Now you've got to say, after me, 'I promise to fight in the Wars of the Roses, and do my duty as a brave soldier.'"

Hugh looked so serious that his brothers refrained from laughing, and little Elsie watched the scene in wonderment.

"I'm glad I'm not a soldier," she said in baby scorn. "Fancy kissing a silly old hist'ry! I'd rather kiss mummie."

"Grapes are sour, Elsie," said Frank loftily.

"They isn't. They are getting lovely and ripe, Miss Beaumont had some this morning."

No notice was taken of this speech, for Frank immediately broke in with a most important question.

"Well, what side are we going to be, York or Chichester?"

"Look here, now, Frank," said Hugh, his bright eyes gleaming with fun, "you're as bad as Ronnie. I suppose you mean Lancaster."

"Oh, well, it's all the same thing!" answered Frank hurriedly.

"Why, of course they are 'York,' 'cause of York House," said Ronnie, delighted at his own brilliance.

"Bravo, Ronnie!" cried his brothers.

At which praise he was so lifted up that he felt for the moment equal to carrying on the battle all by himself.

At this juncture the tea-bell rang, and in spirits the children scrambled downstairs to join their mother in the dining-room.

————————————

CHAPTER III

UNCLE MATTHEW'S GENEROSITY

"HAVE you answered either of those letters yet, father?"

"No, Matthew, and I've no intention of doing so. I regard them both as highly impertinent."

The younger man sighed, but the baronet, Sir Matthew Rose, looked as cold and impregnable as a rock.

It was the close of a golden September day; the misty shadows were falling across the well-wooded park and meadow-lands which surrounded the old baronial pile known as The Towers.

"You will pardon me saying so, father, but I think you are wrong," went on Matthew fearlessly.

"That's all you know about it," answered the baronet testily.

But Matthew, heedless of his father's irritability, pursued the subject bravely.

"It is but fitting that one of Gilbert's boys should be your heir. My life, I sometimes feel, will not be a long one, and—"

"Nonsense, man, nonsense!" interrupted Sir Matthew. "I intend that The Towers shall be yours, and that after your death—and you'll make old bones yet, you mark my words! It shall descend to your son, for you must marry, Matthew."

A look of pain crossed the young man's features, which was not unnoticed by the baronet's quick eye.

"You think too much of your physical defect, you do, 'pon my word," said his father, but there was a tenderness underlying the irritation in his voice.

There was no answer to this speech, as at this moment a servant entered with the evening letters.

For a while there was silence as each perused his correspondence. Presently an exclamation of surprise burst from Sir Matthew's lips.

"Why, here's a letter from Mary! I thought she was in America!"

"Where does she write from, father?" inquired Matthew.

"Linwell—the very spot where Gilbert's wife and family have taken up their abode. That's very strange!" muttered the old man.

"'I am hoping to come and see you as soon as we are settled in our new home,'" he went on, reading the letter aloud.

"Well, I'm in no hurry," said he, ungraciously. "I had quite enough of Mrs. Wilfrid's airs and graces years ago."

"Ah well, dad, let bygones be bygones," said peace-loving Matthew; "remember she has passed through much sorrow since those days."

"Poor Wilfrid!" murmured the baronet. "Who would have thought, to look at him, that he would have been cut off in the prime of his manhood!"

Again a silence fell upon them both; this time it was broken by Matthew.

"I should like to read those two letters—Alicia Beaumont's and Hugh's—once again, if you've not destroyed them."

"No, they are in my desk; here are the keys."

Matthew, with halting gait, stepped across the room, and soon obtained possession of the letters in question. The first one which he opened ran as follows—

"DEAR GRANDFATHER, "I am sorry you treated my mother in such a way, by turning her from your doors like a beggar. It was very cruel of you, and you will never have the chance of doing it again. She was going to ask you to help us with our education, but it doesn't matter now a bit, because we are going to the Board school. Apolergizing for troubling you with a letter, "I am, "Your grandson, "HUGH."

And this was the effusion sent off by an indignant lad, and regretted ten minutes later.

"Poor little chap!" said Matthew to himself. "He has a fine spirit, but a little more education won't hurt him."