The Heiress of Wyvern Court | Page 2

farm; mamma told me that. But I didn't
know 'twas jolly; mamma said 'twas very pretty, and home-like, and
nice."
"Ah, yes! just a lady's view of the place," nodded the boy approvingly.
"The farm is the best part of it all, and so you'll say when----"
"Perhaps we'll not talk about it," broke in "little friend" timidly.
"Well, you are a precise little lady not to talk about a farm, your uncle's
farm, behind its back," laughed the boy.
"It's mamma's uncle," corrected the little maiden.

"Ah, yes! and your great uncle. Well, I thought he was an old fogey to
be your uncle--I beg your pardon--old gentleman I mean." He laughed
and made a low bow, but his cheeks took a rosier tint at that real slip of
his tongue.
"Well, suppose we talk about ourselves; that wouldn't be behind our
own backs, would it?"
"Oh no!" came with a pretty jingle of laughter.
"Do you know my name? Dick."
"I thought so," replied the little girl.
"You did!--why?"
"You look like a Dick."
"Well, that's just like a girl's bosh--but still, you're right: I am Dick
Gregory, son of George Gregory, surgeon, living at Lakely, next station
to Cherton, where you get out, you know."
The girl nodded.
"Now, mademoiselle, what may your name be?" he asked, as the train
carried them into the station with a whiz.
"Inna Weston."
"Inna: is that short for anything?"
"Yes--for Peninnah: papa's mother's name is Peninnah; and so, and
so----"
"And so your father chose to let you play grandmother to yourself in
the matter of names?"
"Yes," a little ripple of a word full of laughter--her companion was so
funny.

"Now guess what's in this hamper?" was Dick's next proposition; "that's
safe ground, you know, to guess over a hamper when the owner bids
you," he added, by way of encouragement.
"A kitten." The train was carrying them on again, without any intruder
to cut off the thread of their talk, except the guard, who put his head in
at the window, and beamed a smile on Inna, as her caretaker; then he
shut the door, and locked them in, and here was the train tearing on
again.
"Well, now, you are a good guesser for a girl," said Dick.
"I didn't guess: I knew it. I heard her mew," smiled Inna.
"Ah! Miss Inna is a little pitcher, pussy; she has sharp ears," said
pussy's master, peering and speaking through the hamper.
"Me--e--e--w!" came like a prolonged protest against all the
hurry-scurry and noise, so confusing to a kitten shut up in a hamper,
not knowing why nor whither she was travelling.
"Now, who am I taking her to? guess that; and if you guess right, I
should say you're a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and of
gipsy origin"--so the merry boy challenged her.
"To your sister."
"Right!" laughed Dick.
"But I'm not a seventh daughter--I'm only daughter to mamma, and so
was mamma before me; and I'm not a gipsy." Inna's face was brimming
over with shy merriment.
"Well, you ought to be, for you're a clever guesser of dark secrets,"
returned the boy. "Yes: I'm taking pussy home to my sister. Her name
is--now, what is her name?"
Inna shook her head.

"Something pretty I should say, but I don't know what."
"Oh! you're not much of a witch after all," said Dick. "No, it isn't
anything pretty--it's Jane."
Inna smiled, and looked wise.
"Well, what is it, Miss Inna? Out with it!" cried Dick, watching her
changeful little face.
"Mamma says, when one has an ugly name one must try to live a life to
make it beautiful."
"Hum! Well, that isn't bad. And when one has a beautiful name--like
Dick, for instance," said he waggishly, "what then?"
"Then the name should help the life, and the life the name--so mamma
said when I asked her."
"Well, your mother must be good," said Dick to this.
"Yes, she is." Wistful lights were stealing into Inna's eyes, and Dick
had a suspicion that there were tears in them.
"I'm not blest with one," spoke he, carelessly to all seeming.
"With no mother?" inquired his companion gently.
"I'm sort of foster-child to Meggy, our cook and housekeeper--ours is
Meggy, you know, and yours is Peggy, at Willett's Farm."
"Yes," smiled Inna, "yes." She had tided over that tenderness of spirit
caused by speaking of her mother.
The train was steaming into a station again, but no passenger intruded;
only the guard peeped in, as caretaker, to see if she was safe, as Dick
remarked, when they were moving on again.
"Has he got you under his wing?" asked he.

"The guard has me under his care; ma--mamma asked him to see me
safe." The wistfulness was coming into her