Black, White and Gray | Page 5

Madam could not be told the good news,
for she had gone out for a stroll, leaving her family in a little warm
furry heap in their bed.
"Just fancy how dreadful it would be for her if she came back and
found only one left," said Maisie, touching the little round heads softly
with her finger. "I am so glad they're not to be drowned."
"I'm tremendously glad we're going to keep the black one ourselves,"
said Dennis. "What do you think of the name of Smut?"
"I don't like it a bit," said Maisie.
They had got no further towards a name by breakfast time. All those
which Maisie liked, Dennis thought silly, and those which Dennis
proposed, Maisie thought ugly, so it promised to be a difficult matter to
settle. As soon as they were seated at breakfast, however, Aunt
Katharine made a suggestion which put the black kitten out of their
heads for the present.
"Children," she said, "I am going to drive over to Haughton Park to
lunch this morning. If you like, you may both go with me and see
Philippa."
There was a moment's pause, and then Dennis asked seriously:
"Shall you go anywhere besides, Aunt Katharine, or just straight
there?"
"I shall only stop at Mrs Broadbent's on my way," she replied, "to ask
about so some fowls."
The children looked at each other, but made no answer.
"Well," said their aunt, smiling, "I dare say you'd like to talk it over
together. I shall start at twelve o'clock, and if you decide to go, you

must be ready to the minute, for I shall not wait for you. Do just as you
like about it."
To go or not to go to Haughton was always a matter which required
thought. There were things against it, and things for it. In Maisie's
opinion, there was a great deal to be liked in the visit. There was a large,
beautiful house, much larger than Fieldside, and a park with deer in it:
there were all sorts of dolls and toys and pretty things which she
enjoyed playing with, and--there was Philippa. Philippa was perhaps a
doubtful pleasure, for if she was in a cross mood she was not agreeable,
but there was always the chance that she would be pleasant, and then
she and Maisie got on very well together with their dolls. Dennis was
disposed to be rather scornful about going to Haughton, but in his case
there was the attraction of the drive, when Aunt Katharine sometimes
let him hold the reins, and there was the chance of her stopping at
somewhere interesting on the way. Mrs Broadbent's would be better
than nothing to-day, though it was not his favourite farmhouse.
"I don't think I want to go much," he said, as soon as he and Maisie had
reached the play-room. "Aunt Trevor's sure to have a headache, and
then we shall have to be as quiet as mice."
"P'raps she'll let us go out with Philippa," said Maisie.
"Not without Miss Mervyn comes too," said Dennis. "I don't care about
that--it's no fun. She's always saying, `You mustn't do this, or you
mustn't do that.'"
"Well," said Maisie, "should I go with Aunt Katharine then, and you
stay at home?"
But this did not suit Dennis at all. It would never do for Maisie to come
back and describe all manner of enjoyments which he had not shared. It
would be better to go and grumble than to be left at home alone.
"Oh, I'll go," he said, condescendingly. And so it came to pass that
when the ponies, Jack and Jill, came round, the children were both
waiting in the hall, fully prepared for the drive. As she drew on her

driving gloves, Aunt Katharine gave a glance at them to see that they
were warmly wrapped up, for it was a fresh day in early spring.
"Jump in, children, and let Mary tuck you well up; it's rather cold," she
said.--"Give me the reins, Tom. All right."
Then came a dash down the short avenue, with Tom running before to
open the gate, and then they were in the village street, where Jack and
Jill always thought it right to plunge and shy a little. From their seat at
the back Dennis and Maisie nodded at their various acquaintances as
they passed, for they knew nearly every one. There was Mrs Gill at the
post-office, standing at her open door; there was Mr Couples, who kept
the shop; and there was Dr Price just mounting his horse, with his two
terriers, Snip and Snap, eager to follow. Above this little cluster of
houses stood the church and the vicarage close together, on a gently
rising hill; and the rest of