CHAPTER I. A LITTLE MANAGER.

"Where is Miss Esther, Genefer?"

"I think she's at the linen-press, marm, putting away the things from the wash."

"Tell her to come to me when she has done that. I want to speak to her."

"Yes, marm, I will. Can I do anything else for you?"

"No, thank you. I have all I want. But send Miss Esther to me quickly."

Mrs. St. Aiden was lying on a couch in a very pretty, dainty, little room, which opened upon a garden, blazing with late spring and early summer flowers. The lawn was still green, and looked like velvet, and the beds and borders of2 flowers were carefully tended, as could be seen at a glance. The gravel paths were rolled and weeded, and everything was in exquisite order, both within and without the house. Everything also was on a very small scale; and the lady herself, who was clad in deep widow's weeds, was small and slim also, and looked as if she were somewhat of an invalid, which indeed was the case.

Rather more than a year ago her husband had died after a very short illness, and she had never been well since, although she was not exactly ill of any disease. She was weak and easily upset, and she had to depend a good deal upon her servants and her only daughter. She had never been accustomed to think for herself. Captain St. Aiden had always done the thinking and the managing as long as he lived, and the poor lady felt very helpless when he was taken from her.

When the servant had gone she took up again a letter which she had been reading, and kept turning the leaves of it over and over again, sighing, and seeming troubled and perplexed. She also kept looking across the room towards3 the door at short intervals, sometimes saying half aloud as she did so,—

"I wish Esther would come!"

Presently the door opened, and a little girl came into the room with very quiet steps. She was dressed daintily in a white frock, with black sash and bows. She had a grave little face, that was generally rather pale, and looked small beneath the wide brow and big gray eyes. Perhaps it looked smaller for the flowing mass of wavy hair, a dusky chestnut color, that flowed over the child's shoulders and hung below her waist. It was very beautiful hair, soft and silky, with a crisp wave in it that made it stand off from her face like a cloud. It looked dark in the shadow, but when the sun shone upon it, it glistened almost like gold. Mrs. St. Aiden was very proud of Esther's hair, and considered it her chief beauty; but it was a source of considerable trouble to the little girl herself, for it took a great deal of brushing and combing to keep it in order, and tangled dreadfully when she played games. Then often the weight and heat of it made her head ache, especially at night; and she used to4

long to have a cropped head like other little children she sometimes saw, or, at least, to have only moderately long hair, like her two little friends at the rectory, Prissy and Milly Polperran.

"Did you want me, mama?" asked Esther, coming forwards towards the couch.

"Yes, dear, I did. I want to talk to you about something very serious. I have a letter here from your Uncle Arthur. He wants to send his two little boys here for three years, because he has just got an appointment that will take him out of the country all that time. I don't know what to think about it; it is so very sudden."

It was sudden, and Mrs. St. Aiden looked rather piteously at Esther. It seemed so hard for her to have to decide upon such a step in a hurry, and her brother wanted an answer at once. He had to make his own arrangements very quickly.

Esther was quite used to being her mother's confidante and adviser. Even in her father's lifetime she had often been promoted to this post during his frequent absences. When he lay dying, he had taken Esther's hands in his, and5 looking into her serious eyes, so like his own, had told her to take great care of mama always, and try to be a help and comfort to her. Her father had often called her his "wise little woman," and had talked to her much more gravely and seriously than most fathers do to their young children. Esther, too, having no brothers or sisters, had grown up almost entirely with her elders, and, therefore, she had developed a gravity and seriousness not usual at her age, though she was by no means lacking in the capacity for childish fun on the rare occasions when she was free to indulge in it.

She was ten years old at this time, and she was not taller than many children are at seven or eight; but there was a thoughtful look upon the small face and in the big gray eyes which was different from what is generally to be seen in the eyes of children of that age.

"Two little boys!" repeated Esther gravely; "they will be my cousins, I suppose. How old are they, and what are their names, mama?"

"The elder is nine, and the other rather more than a year younger. He does not mention their6 names, but I know the elder is called Philip, after our grandfather. I'm not quite sure about the second. Arthur is such a very bad correspondent, and poor Ada died when the second boy was born. You see it was like this, Esther. The grandmother on the mother's side kept house for him, and took care of the children after their mother died—she was living with him then. She died a year ago, and things have been going on in the same groove at his house. But now comes this appointment abroad, and he can neither take the boys nor leave them at home alone. They are not fit for school yet, he says. Of course they are not ready for public school, but I should have thought they might—well, never mind that. What he says is that they want taking in hand by a good governess or tutor, and suggests that they should come to me, and that I should find such a person, and that you should share the lessons, and get a good start with your education."

Esther's eyes began to sparkle beneath their long black lashes. She had an ardent love of study, and hitherto she had only been able to7 pick up such odd crumbs as were to be had from the desultory teaching of her mother, or from the study of such books as she could lay hands upon in that little-used room that was called the study, though nobody ever studied there save herself.

In her father's lifetime Esther had been well grounded, but since his death her education had been conducted in a very haphazard fashion. She had a wonderful thirst after knowledge, and in her leisure hours would almost always be found poring over a book; but of real tuition she had now hardly any, and the thought of a regular governess or tutor made her eyes sparkle with joy.

"O mama! could we?"

"Could we what, Esther?"

"Have a governess or tutor here as well as two boys?"

"Not in the house itself, of course. But he or she could lodge in the place, I suppose, and come every day. Your uncle is very liberal in his ideas, Esther. He is going to let his own big house. He has had an offer already, and he suggests paying over three or four hundred8 pounds a year to me, if I will undertake the charge of the two boys. Of course that would make it all very easy in some ways."

Esther's eyes grew round with wonder. She knew all about her mother's affairs, and how difficult it sometimes was to keep everything in the dainty state of perfection expected, upon the small income they inherited. To have this income doubled at a stroke, and only two boys to keep and a tutor's salary to pay out of it! Why, that would be a wonderful easing of many burdens which weighed heavily sometimes upon Esther's youthful shoulders. She had often found it so difficult to satisfy her delicate mother's wishes and whims, and yet to keep the weekly bills down to the sum Genefer said they ought not to exceed.

"O mama, what a lot of money!"

"Your uncle is a well-to-do man, my dear, and he truly says that terms at good private schools, where the holidays have to be provided for as well, run into a lot of money. And he does not think the boys are fit for school yet. He says they want breaking in by a tutor first. They9 have had a governess up till now, but he thinks a tutor would be better, especially as there is no man in this house. I hope he does not mean that the boys are very naughty and troublesome. I don't know what I shall do with them if they are."

The lady sighed, and looked at Esther in that half helpless way which always went to the little girl's heart. She bent over and kissed her brow.

"Never mind, mama dear. I will take care of the boys," she said, in her womanly way. "They are both younger than I. I think it will be nice to have regular lessons again. I think papa would have been pleased about that. And perhaps I shall like having boys to play with too; only it will be strange at first."

"We could keep a girl, then, to help Genefer and Janet," said Mrs. St. Aiden. "The boys will have to have the big attic up at the top of the house, and the study to do lessons in. I hope they will not be very noisy; and there is the garden to play in. But they must not break the flowers, or take the fruit, or spoil the grass, or cut up the gravel. You will have to keep them10 in order, Esther. I can't have the place torn up by a pair of riotous boys."

"I will take care of them, mama dear," answered Esther bravely, though her heart sank just a little at the thought of the unknown element about to be introduced into her life. She had had so little experience of boys—there was only little Herbert at the rectory who ever came here, and he was quite good, and under the care of his elder sisters. Would these boys let her keep them in order as Bertie was kept by Prissy and Milly? She hoped they would, and she said nothing of her misgivings to her mother.

"Do you think you will say 'yes' to Uncle Arthur?"

"I think I must, my dear. I don't like to refuse; and, of course, there are advantages. Your education has been a difficulty. I have not the health myself, and we cannot afford a governess for you, and this is the first time Arthur has ever asked me to do anything for him. And, really, I might be able to keep a little pony carriage, and get out in the summer, with this addition to our income. I always feel11 that if I could get out more I should get back my health much quicker."

Esther's eyes sparkled again at these words, and a little pink flush rose in her cheeks. It was the thing of all others she had always wished for her mother—a dear little pony, and a little low basket carriage in which she could drive her out.

In father's days they had had one, and Esther had been allowed to drive the quiet pony when she was quite a little child. But that belonged to the old life, before the father had been taken away and they had come here to live, right down in Cornwall, at this little quaint Hermitage, as the house was called. Since then no such luxury could be dreamed of. It had been all they could do to make ends meet, and keep the mother content with what could be done by two maids, and one man coming in and out to care for the garden. And even so, Esther often wondered how they would get on, if it were not for all that Mr. Trelawny did for them.

"O mama!" she cried, "could we really have a pony again?"

"We will think about it. I should like to, if12 we could. It seems a pity that that nice little stable should stand empty; and there is the little paddock too. The pony could run there when he wasn't wanted, and that would save something in his keep. I have always been used to my little drives, and I miss them very much. But, of course, I shall not make up my mind in a hurry. I should like to see Mr. Trelawny about it all even before I write to Uncle Arthur."

A little shadow fell over Esther's face. She felt sure she knew what was coming.

"I wish, dear, you would just run up to the Crag and ask Mr. Trelawny if he would come down and see me about this."

The shadow deepened as the words were spoken, but Esther made only one effort to save herself the task.

"Couldn't Genefer go, mama? It is so hot!"

"It will be getting cooler every hour now, and there is plenty of shade through the wood. Have you had a walk to-day?"

"No, mama; I have been busy. Saturday is always a busy day, you know."

13"Then a walk will do you good, and you will go much quicker than Genefer. Bring Mr. Trelawny back with you if you can. You can tell him a little about it, and he will know that it is important. You have time to go and come back before your tea-time."

Esther did not argue the matter any more. She had never betrayed to any living creature this great fear which possessed her. She was half ashamed of it, yet she could never conquer it. She was more afraid of Mr. Trelawny than of anything in the world beside. He was like the embodiment of all the wizards, and genii, and magicians, and giants which she had read of in her fairy story-books, or of the mysterious historic personages over whom she had trembled when poring over the pages of historical romance.

He was a very big man, with a very big voice, and he always talked in a way which she could not fully understand, and which almost frightened her out of her wits.

It was the greatest possible penance to have to go up to his great big house on the hill, and she never approached it without tremors and quak14ings of heart. She fully believed that it contained dungeons, oubliettes, and other horrors. She had been told that the crags beneath were riddled with great hollow caves, where monks had hidden in times of persecution, and where smugglers had hidden their goods and fought desperate battles with the excise officers and coast-guardsmen. The whole place seemed to her to be full of mystery and peril, and the fit owner and guardian was this gigantic Cornish squire, with his roiling voice, leonine head, and autocratic air.

He was always asking her why she did not oftener come to see him, but Esther would only shrink away and answer in her low, little voice that she had so much to do at home. And then he would laugh one of his big, sonorous laughs, that seemed to fill the house; and it was he who had given her the name of the "little manager," and when he called her by it he did so with an air of mock homage which frightened her more than anything else. At other times he would call her "Goldylocks," and pretend he was going to cut off her hair to make a cable for his yacht,15 which lay at anchor in the bay; and he would tell her a terrible story about a man who sought to anchor in the middle of a whirlpool, the cable being made of maidens' hair—only the golden strand gave way, and so he got drowned instead of winning his wife by his act of daring boldness. This story was in verse, and he would roll it out in his big, melodious voice; and she was always obliged to listen, for the fascination was strong upon her. And then in the night she would lie

shivering in her bed, picturing Mr. Trelawny and his yacht going round and round in the dreadful whirlpool, and her own chestnut-brown hair being the cable which had failed to hold fast!

And yet Mr. Trelawny was a very kind friend to them. He was a relation, too, though not at all a near one, and had been very fond of Esther's father, who was his kinsman. When the widow and child had been left with only a small provision, Mr. Trelawny had brought them to this pretty house at the foot of the hill upon which his big one stood. He had installed them there, and he would not take any rent for it. And he sent down his own gardener several times a week16 to make the garden trim and bright, and keep it well stocked with flowers and fruit.

Once a week he always came down himself and gave an eye to everything. Mrs. St. Aiden looked forward to these visits, as they broke the monotony of her life, and Mr. Trelawny was always gentle to the helpless little widow. But Esther always tried to keep out of the way when she could, and the worst of it was that she was afraid Mr. Trelawny had a suspicion of this, and that it made him tease her more than ever.

However, she never disobeyed her mother, or refused to do what was asked of her, and she knew that such a step as this one would never be taken without Mr. Trelawny's approval. Indeed, she saw that he ought to be asked, since the house was his; and, perhaps, he would not like two boys to be brought there. Esther had heard that boys could be very mischievous beings, and, though she could not quite think what they did, she saw that the lord of the manor had a right to be consulted.

The Hermitage lay nestling just at the foot of a great craggy hill, that was clothed on one side17 with wood—mostly pine and spruce fir; but on the other it was all crag and cliff, and looked sheer down upon the tumbling waves of the great Atlantic.

Near to the Hermitage, along the white road, lay a few other houses, and the little village of St. Maur, with its quaint old church and pretty village green. There were hills and moors again behind it, wild, and bleak, and boundless, as it seemed to the little girl whenever she climbed them. But St. Maur itself was a sheltered little place; the boom of the sea only sounded when the surf was beating very strong, and it was so sheltered from the wind that trees grew as they grew nowhere else in the neighborhood, and flowers flourished in the gardens as Esther had never seen them flourish in the other places where she had lived. Geraniums grew into great bushes, and fuchsias ran right up the houses as ivy did in the north, and roses bloomed till Christmas, and came on again quite early in the spring, so that they seemed to have flowers all the year round. That was a real delight to the little girl, who loved the garden above any other place; and with a book and an apple, crouched down in the18

arbor or some pleasant flowery place, she would find a peace and contentment beyond all power of expression.

As she climbed the path through the pine woods leading to Mr. Trelawny's great house, she began to wonder what it would be like to have her precious solitude invaded by a pair of little boys.

"I wish they were rather littler, so that I could take care of them," said Esther to herself. "I should like to be a little mother to them, and teach them to say their prayers, and wash their hands and faces, and keep their toys nice and tidy. But perhaps they are too big to care for being taken care of. If they are, I don't quite know what I shall do with them. But we shall have lessons a good part of the day, I suppose, and that will be interesting. Perhaps I shall be able to help them with theirs. Only they may know more than I do."

Musing like this, Esther soon found herself at the top of the hill, and coming out of the wood, saw the big, curious house right in front of her. She never looked at it without a little tremor, and she felt the thrill run through her to-day.

19It was such a very old house, and there were such lots of stories about it. Once it had been a castle, and people had fought battles over it; but that was so long, long ago that there was hardly anything left of that old building. Then it had been a monastery, and there were lots of rooms now where the monks had lived and walked about; and the gardens were as they made them, and people said that at night you could still see the old monks flitting to and fro. But for a long time it had been a house where people lived and died in the usual way, and Trelawnys had been there for nearly three hundred years now.

Esther had a private belief that this Mr. Trelawny had been there for almost all that time, and that he had made or found the elixir of life which the historical romances talked about, so that he continued living on and on, and knew everything, and was strange and terrible. He always did seem to know everything that had happened, and his stories were at once terrifying and entrancing. If only she could have got over her fear of him, she would have enjoyed listening; as it was, she always felt half dead with terror.