The Heiress of Wyvern Court | Page 4

like her height, so as to get her view of the
way.
"Yes, thank you; I must keep to the right all the way, and turn three
times--but I don't think I quite know what a farm is like," confessed she

bravely.
"Oh, miss, that's easy; there isn't another house before you reach the
farm--the village is above Willett's Farm."
"Thank you; then I'll think I'll go now."
"You'll not lose yourself? I'd go with you, but I expect another train in
almost directly, and there isn't a soul about here that I could send. And
about your box, miss: will you send for it?"
"Yes, I'll send for it; and--and I don't think I shall lose myself."
"Then good evening, miss." The porter touched his hat, and she bade
him "good evening" in return; then the child went wandering down the
road from the station--a blue dot in the evening sunshine.
Well, she took her three turnings to the right, and they brought her to
the farm, lying not far up the last lane; the farm-buildings--barn, stable,
and a whole clump of outbuildings--lying back from the road a little,
and all lit up by the last rays of sunset. The house looked out upon the
lane, where the shadows were gathering fast, under the many-tinted elm
trees overshadowing it. Three spotlessly white steps led up to the front
door, a strip of green turf lying each side, enclosed by green iron
railings, and shut in by a little green gate. A quaint old house it was,
with many crooks, corners, and gables, and small lattice
diamond-paned windows, through one of which gleamed the ruddy
glow of a fire. Ah! the air was crisp, the sun well-nigh gone, the
evening creeping on. Inna sighed, and, tripping through the little green
gate, mounted the three white steps, and, by dint of straining, reached
up, and knocked with the knocker almost as loudly as a timid mouse.
But it brought an answer, in the shape of a middle-aged woman, in a
brown stuff gown, white apron and cap, dainty frillings of lace
encircling her face. A sober face it was, yet kindly, peering down in
astonishment at our small heroine, standing silent there among the
deepening shadows in the crisp chilly air.
"Well, dearie, what is it?" she questioned, as the child opened her lips

to speak, and said nothing.
"I'm Inna: please may I come in and tell you all about it?" asked the
silvery tongue then.
"Yes, of course--that is, if you have anything to tell;" and with this the
woman made way for the little girl to pass her, and shut the door.
"This way," she said; and that was to the kitchen.
Such a clean, cheery, comfortable place, with its wood fire filling it
with ruddy glow and warmth, which was like a silent welcome.
"Now, who's ill and wants a doctor? Sick folks' messengers shouldn't
lag," said the woman, scanning her visitor as they both stood in the
firelight glow.
"Oh, nobody is ill; and I only--I mean--I don't know where to begin,"
was the bewildering answer.
"Well, of course you know what brought you," suggested the other.
"Oh, the train brought me; and I've come to stay here."
"You have?" asked the woman.
"Yes; because Uncle Jonathan gave mamma a home once, when she
was a little girl; and she said he would me, if she sent me."
"And who are you? and who's your mamma?"
"I'm Inna; and mamma is Uncle Jonathan's niece."
"You aren't Miss Mercy's daughter?" said the woman.
"Yes, I'm Miss Mercy's daughter; and now, please, may I sit down?"
asked the little tired voice.
"Yes, poor little unwelcome lamb; I'll not be the one to deny that to

Miss Mercy's daughter. Come here;" and she set her own cushioned
rocking-chair forward on the hearth. "But where is Miss Mercy? and
why did she send you here?"
"Mamma is gone abroad with papa. Some people are afraid he's dying;
and"--Inna's heart was full--"I've a letter in my pocket for Uncle
Jonathan, to tell him all about it."
"Well, well, this will be news for master--unwelcome news, I'm
thinking," muttered the woman as to herself, but speaking aloud.
"Do you mean I shan't be welcome?" asked a strained little voice from
the rocking-chair.
"Well, dearie, welcome or not, here you are, and here you must stay for
to-night, at any rate. You see, Dr. Willett has one child on his hands
already, and he's a handful. I doubt if he'll want another. But then, we
must all have what we don't want sometimes--eh, miss?"
To this Inna sighed a troubled little "Yes."
Then Mrs. Grant--for she it was--bethought her to help her off with her
jacket and hat, and inquired had she any belongings at the