The Heiress of Wyvern Court | Page 6

hope his little great-niece--am I right in the pedigree, Oscar?--will set us to rights, and bring in the age of civilisation for us."
Inna could but laugh a tinkling laugh at this, and asked timidly, "Do you live here, Mr. Barlow?"
"No, dear; but I'm here morning, noon, and night. My head-quarters are at Mrs. Tussell's, whose name ought to be, now, guess what?"
People must suppose she had an aptitude for guessing, Inna thought, and asked with rosy cheeks was it "Fussy"?
"Just the word; only you mustn't tell her so," was the reply; at which Inna shook her head, and said she could not be so rude. Then came the sound of the doctor's gig outside the house, a step and a voice in the passage.
"He'll not come in here, dear," Mr. Barlow told Inna, seeing her start and change colour; "he'll have a cup of tea in his den, as we call it," at which Oscar nodded, and said, "And a good name too!"
Tea over, Mr. Barlow rose, and said "Good-bye for to-night, Miss Inna; David is going to Jonathan," patted her head, and was gone.
"Is his real name David?" she asked shyly of this cousin she had no idea of finding at Uncle Jonathan's; nor had her mamma either, she decided in her own mind.
"No; William--Billy Barlow they call him in the village, only I didn't say so just now," returned Oscar drily.
"Mind your lessons, Master Oscar," said Mrs. Grant, when she came in to fetch the tea equipage.
"Fudge!" was the boy's response, he and Inna established on the hearth, roasting chestnuts; and they were still there when Dr. Willett surprised them by a footfall close behind them.
Up sprang Inna, like a startled daisy.
"So you're Mercy's little daughter?" said he, by way of greeting.
CHAPTER III.
DR. WILLETT--THE NUTTING EXPEDITION--THE FIRE.
"So you're Mercy's little daughter?" said the doctor, by way of greeting.
"Yes," faltered Inna; but she put her hand in his; this Uncle Jonathan, with whom she had come to live, was all she had in England now, except Oscar and Mr. Barlow, who was nobody as yet. The doctor pressed her small hand in his big strong one. Tall--taller than his friend David--was he, with dark hair and beard--at least, they had been dark, but were fast turning grey; his eyes were dark, piercing, and observant, full of fire; still, a kindly face, a kindly manner had he.
"Well, little woman, I've read your mother's letter. I never intended to be troubled with any more children after Oscar fell to my lot; but for your mother's sake, and her mother's before her, I can't shut my door against you. So now stay, and see if you can't open another door on your own account." This is what he said, still holding her hand in his.
"Do you know what door I mean?" he asked, as the child darted an upward glance at him.
"Yes," she nodded, "yes." She could not say more, her heart was thumping so, but her small twining fingers in the doctor's palm told him a great deal.
He patted her on the head, and let her go; he did not kiss her. Inna wished he had when, later on, she was in bed, thinking of the many to-morrows she was to spend in this new uncle's house. Her chamber was up in one of the gables of the quaint old house; the windows overlooked the garden and the home orchard, where, in the former, Michaelmas daisies and sunflowers flaunted in the sunshine when she looked out the next morning, and apples, rosy and golden, were waiting to be gathered in the latter. Birds were twittering and peeping at her through the ivy-wreathed window; away in the stubble fields, under the hills, sheep were straying, all in a glory of golden light; while rooks cawed and clamoured in the many-coloured elms by the house and garden, and all sweet morning freshness was everywhere. You may be sure she soon dressed, and tripped down the old-fashioned staircase--a dainty midge, in blue serge frock and white-bibbed apron. Below, she found Mary, the servant under the housekeeper, laying breakfast in the dining-room; and while the child stood shyly aloof by a window, in came Mrs. Grant with the urn, and her master behind her. Inna stepped forward, but her uncle took no notice of her; he only passed on to his seat at the table, took up his letters and newspaper, and, as it were, thus stepped into a world of his own. Oscar stole in like a thief, and began his usual tea-making--placing a cup by his uncle's plate, upon which he laid slices of ham, carved as best he could; Inna, at a nod from him, cutting a piece of bread to keep company with the ham; while Mrs. Grant gave sundry nods,