while these events were taking place, and the children in their various ways were preparing check-mate for aunt maria cameron, that good lady was having a by no means unexciting experience of her own. after her housekeeping cares were over, after she had interviewed mrs. power, and made alice thoroughly uncomfortable; after, in short, meaning it all the while for the best, she had succeeded in jarring the whole household machinery to the utmost, it was her custom morning after morning to retire with scorpion into the seldom used drawing-room, and there, seated comfortably in an old-fashioned arm-chair, with her feet well supported on a large cushion, and the dog on her lap, to devote herself to worsted work. not crewel work, not church embroidery, not anything which would admit of the use of modern art colors, but genuine, old-fashioned worsted work. mrs. cameron delighted in the flaring scarlets, pinks, greens, blues, and mauves of thirty years ago. she admired with all her soul the hard, staring flowers which these colors produced. they looked, she said, substantial and durable. they looked like artificial flowers; nobody could mistake them for the real article, which was occasionally known to be the case with that flimsy, in her opinion, ugly, art embroidery. no, no, mrs. cameron would not be smitten by the art craze. “let nature be nature!” she would say, “and worsted work be worsted work, and don’t let us try to clash the poor things[pg 160] into one, as that wretched art-school is always endeavoring to do.” so each morning mrs. cameron plied her worsted needle, and scorpion slumbered peacefully on her knee. she liked to sit with her back to the light, so that it should fall comfortably on her work, and her own eyes be protected from an extensive and very beautiful view of the south moor.

mrs. cameron hated the moor; it gave her, as she expressed it, “the creeps,” and on all occasions she avoided looking at it. on this morning, as usual, she took out her large roll of worsted work, and prepared to ground a huge, impossible arum lily. her thoughts, however, were not, as usual, with her work. her cheeks were flushed, and her whole face expressed annoyance and anxiety.

“how i miss even his dear little playful bite!” she said aloud, a big tear falling on her empty lap. “ah, my scorpion! why did i love you, but to lose you? how true are the poet’s words:

‘i never loved a dear gazelle.’

well, i must say it, i seldom came across more wicked, heartless children than the maybrights and daisy rymple. david is really the only one of the bunch worth rearing. ah, my poor sister! your removal has doubtless spared you many sorrows, for what could you expect of the future of such a family as yours? now, what is that? this moor is enough to keep anybody’s nerves in a state of tension. what is that awful sound approaching the house?“

the noise in question was the unmistakable one of a woman’s loud sobbing. it came nearer and nearer, gaining in fullness and volume as it approached the house.

mrs. cameron was always intensely curious. she threw open the drawing-room window; and as the sufferer approached, effectually stopped her progress with her own stout person.

“now, my dear, good creature, what is this most unpleasant sound? don’t you know that it is frightfully bad-mannered to cry in that loud, unrestrained fashion? pray restrain yourself. you are quite childish. you cannot know what real affliction means. now, if you had lost a—a—— if, my poor woman, you had lost a dear little dog!”

“is it a dog?” gasped mrs. ricketts, for it was she. “is it a dog? oh, my word! much you know about ’flictions and such-like! let me go to the house, ma‘am. it isn’t to you as i has come to tell my tale.”

“then let me inform you that you are going to tell it to no one else. here i stand, and here i remain until you choose to explain to me the reason of your loud bursts of uncontrollable grief. during the illness of its master i am the mistress here, and either you speak to me or you go home.”

mrs. ricketts had by this time so far restrained her sobs[pg 161] as to be able to take a long and very acute glance at the lady in question. doubtless she was face to face with the formidable mrs. cameron, that terrible personage who had got her maggie dismissed, and who had locked up poor darling miss polly for days in her bedroom.

there was no one, perhaps, in the world whom mrs. ricketts more cordially disliked than this good lady, but all the same, it was now her policy to propitiate her. she smoothed, therefore, her brow, dried her eyes, and, with a profound courtesy, began her tale.

“ef you please, ma‘am, it’s this way; it’s my character that’s at stake. i always was, and always will be, honest of the honest. ’ard i works, ma‘am, and the bread of poverty i eats, but honest i am, and honest i brings up those fatherless lambs, my children.”

mrs. cameron waved one of her fat hands impressively.

“pardon me, my good woman. i am really not interested in your family. pray come to the point, and then go home.”

“to the p’int, ma‘am? oh, yes, i’ll come to the p’int. this is the p’int ef you please, ma‘am,” and she suddenly thrust, almost into mrs. cameron’s dazzled face, the splendid gleam and glitter of a large unset diamond. “this is the p’int, ma‘am; this is what’s to take my character away, and the bread out of the mouths of my innocent children.”

mrs. cameron never considered herself a worldly woman. she was undoubtedly a very christian-minded, charitable, good woman, but all the same, she loved fine houses and big dinners and rich apparel, and above all things she adored jewelry. flowers—that is, natural flowers—had never yet drawn a smile out of her. she had never pined for them or valued them, but jewels, ah! they were worth possessing. she quite gasped now, as she realized the value of the gem which mrs. ricketts so unceremoniously thrust under her nose.

“a diamond! good gracious! how did you come by it? a most valuable diamond of extraordinary size. give it to me this moment, my good dear creature! and come into the drawing-room. you can step in by this open window. we won’t be disturbed in here. i suppose you were weeping in that loud and violent manner at the thought of the grief of the person who had lost this treasure?”

“no, ma‘am, i were a sobbing at the grief of her what ’ad it. oh, my word! and the young lady said for sure as i’d get nine-and-fourpence halfpenny for it. no, ma‘am, i won’t go into the ’ouse, thank you. oh, dear! oh, dear! the young lady did set store by it, and said for certain i’d get my nine-and-fourpence halfpenny back, but when i took the stone to the shop to-day, and asked the baker to give me some bread and let this go partly to pay the account, he stared at me and said as i wasn’t honest, and he thrust it back in my hand. oh, dearie me! oh, dearie me! the foreign young lady shouldn’t have done it!”[pg 162]

“i am very sure that you’re honest, my good creature! now, do tell me about this stone. how did you come by it?”

“it was the young lady, ma‘am; the young lady from australia.”

“daisy rymple, do you mean?”

“miss flower she called herself, ma‘am. she come to me in sore plight late one evening, when we was all in bed, and ‘mrs. ricketts,’ said she, dear lamb, ‘will you help me to go away to mrs. cameron, to bath? i want the money to go third class to bath. can you let me have nine shillings and fourpence halfpenny, mrs. ricketts? and i’ll give you this for the money!’ and she flashed that bit of a glittering stone right up into my eyes. my word, i thought as i was blinded by it. ‘you’ll get most like two pounds for it, mrs. ricketts,’ she said, ‘for my father told me it was worth a sight of money.’ that’s how i come by it, ma‘am, and that’s the way i was treated about it to-day.”

mrs. cameron slowly drew out her purse.

“i will give you two sovereigns for the stone!” she said. “there, take them and go home, and say nothing about the money. it will be the worse for you if you do; now go quickly home.”

mrs. ricketts’ broad face was one glow of delight. she dropped another courtesy, and tried to articulate some words of thanks, but mrs. cameron had already disappeared into the drawing-room, where she now sat, holding the diamond in the palm of her open hand.

she knew enough about precious stones to guess at something of its probable value. the idea of in this way possessing herself of flower’s diamond never for a moment entered her head, but she was worldly-minded enough to wish that it could be her own, and she could not help owning to a feeling of satisfaction, even to a sense of compensation for the loss of scorpion, while she held the beautiful glittering thing in her open palm.

even flower rose in her estimation when she found that she had possessed a gem so brilliant. a girl who could have such a treasure and so lightly part with it was undoubtedly a simpleton—but she was a simpleton who ought to be guarded and prized—the sort of young innocent who should be surrounded by protecting friends. mrs. cameron felt her interest in flower growing and growing. suppose she offered to release the doctor of this wearisome burden. suppose she undertook the care of flower and her diamond herself.

no sooner did this thought occur to mrs. cameron, than she resolved to act upon it. of course the doctor would be delighted to part with flower. she would see him on the subject at once.

she went slowly upstairs and knocked with a calm, steady hand at the door of the dressing-room which opened into dr. maybright’s apartment. no sound or reply of any kind came[pg 163] from within. she listened for a moment, then knocked again, then tried to turn the handle of the door. it resisted her pressure, being locked from within.

mrs. cameron raised her voice. she was not a person who liked to be opposed, and that locked door, joined to that most exasperating silence, became more than trying. surely the doctor was not deaf as well as blind. surely he must hear her loud demands, even though a dressing-room stood between his room and the suppliant without.

and surely the doctor would have heard, for a more polite man never lived, were it not for that all mischievous and irrepressible polly. but she, being left in charge, had set her sharp brains to work, and had devised a plan to outwit mrs. cameron. the dressing-room in question contained a double baize door. this door was seldom or never used, but it came in very conveniently now, for the furtherance of polly’s plan. when it was shut, and thick curtains also drawn across, and when, in addition, the door leading into dr. maybright’s room was securely fastened and curtained off, polly felt sure that she and her father might pass their morning in delicious quietude. not hearing mrs. cameron, she argued with herself that no one could possibly blame her for not letting her in. therefore, in high good humor, this young lady sat down to read, work, and chatter gayly. as the doctor listened, he said to himself that surely there never was in the world a sweeter or more agreeable companion than his polly.

with all her precautions, however, as the hours flew by, sundry muffled and distant sounds did penetrate to the sick chamber.

“what a peculiar noise!” remarked the doctor.

“can it be mice?” queried polly’s most innocent voice.

more time passed.

suddenly the sharp and unmistakable sound of gravel being flung against the window forced the young lady to go to ascertain what was the matter.

on looking out, she saw what caused her to utter an amazed exclamation.

mrs. cameron, very red in the face, and holding the lost scorpion in one encircling arm, while the other was thrown firmly round a most sulky-looking david; firefly, pale and with traces of tears on her face; flower, looking excited and eager—all stood under the window. this group were loud in demanding instant admission to the doctor’s room.

“what is it, what is it?” questioned the patient from the bed.

“oh, you are not strong enough to see them, father.”

“to see whom?”

“aunt maria—scorpion—the children.”

“yes, i am quite strong enough. let them come up at once.”

“but father!”[pg 164]

“but polly! you don’t suppose seriously that your aunt maria can disturb my equanimity?”

“oh! she will worry you with so many tales.”

“about my very naughty family?”

“yes, yes; you had much better not see her.”

“because she wants me to get a chaperon for you?”

“oh! yes—oh! don’t see her.”

“my dear, you can trust me; you happen to be my children, not hers. i would rather have the matter out. i knew there was something wrong from the way little fly kissed my hand this morning. show the deputation outside the window into the audience chamber at once, polly.”

so admonished, the curtains had to be drawn back, the baize door reopened, and polly—a most unwilling hostess—had to receive her guests. but no words can describe the babel of sounds which there and then filled the doctor’s room; no words can tell how patiently the blind man listened.

aunt maria had a good tale to tell, and it lost nothing in the telling. the story of scorpion’s disappearance; of the wickedness of david and fly; of the recovering of the little animal from the man who had bought it, through flower’s instrumentality; all this she told, following up with the full and particular history of the sale of a valuable diamond. at last—at long last—the good lady stopped for want of breath.

there was a delicious pause, then the doctor said, quietly:

“in short, maria, you have never come across such absolutely wicked children as the maybrights and dalrymples?”

“no, andrew—never! never!”

“it is lucky they are not your children?”

“thank heaven!”

“would it not be well to leave them to me? i am accustomed to them.”

“yes; i wash my hands of you all; or no—not quite of you all—i heap coals of fire on your head, andrew; i offer to relieve you of the charge of daisy rymple.”

“of flower?—but she is one of the worst of us.”

here flower ran over, crouched down by the doctor, and put one of her hands into his.

“but i will be good with you,” she said with a half-sob.

“hear her,” said the doctor. “she says she will be good with me. perhaps, after all, maria, i can manage my own children better than any one else can.”

“daisy is not your child—you had better give her to me.”

“i can’t part with flower; she is an excellent reader. i am a blind man, but she scarcely allows me to miss my eyes.”

flower gave a low ecstatic sob.

“and you will allow her to part with valuable gems like this?”

“thanks to you, maria, she has recovered her diamond.”

“andrew, i never met such an obstinate, such a misguided man! are you really going to bring up these unfortunate children without a chaperon?”

“i think you must allow us to be good and naughty in our own way.”

“father is looking very tired, aunt maria,” here whispered polly.

“my dear, i am never going to fatigue him more. andrew, i wash my hands of your affairs. daisy, take your diamond. at least, my little precious dog, i have recovered you. we return to bath by the next train.”