The Heiress of Wyvern Court | Page 9

like Oscar!
"But hark! that's the fire-bell; there must be a fire somewhere," said
Mrs. Grant, and out she went, with her apron over her head, to listen at
the back gates.
Inna, with no apron over her head, stole out to keep her company.
"Oh my!" said Mrs. Grant to shivering Inna. "I wish Master Oscar was
at home. I'm thinking he's a finger in the pie."
Ah! there was the fire, sure enough; it was a flare and a flame against
the darkening sky.
"What's alight?" inquired Mrs. Grant of a man who went hurrying by.
"Poor Jackson's little farm; they say 'tis going like tinder, and he's half
crazed," came back to them as the man ran on.
"Oh dear! that boy, what he'll have to answer for!" cried the
housekeeper.
"But we're not sure 'tis his work," said sensible Inna.
"No, dear; but there's seldom any mischief going that he don't help in
the brewing of."
Inna was silent, watching the red glare of the fire mounting
heavenwards.
CHAPTER IV.

OSCAR'S BURNT ARM--BLACK HOLE.
"You see, dearie," went on the housekeeper, "he's playing truant these
two days, and I don't like to bother the doctor, and get him into trouble.
I hide what I can, in pity for his friendlessness."
"Hasn't he anybody but Uncle Jonathan?" inquired Inna.
"No, dearie; father and mother both dead, leaving him not a penny.
'Twould have been a sad life but for master, as I tell him; but I think
that sets him more against the right than ever."
"Suppose you weren't to tell him, but ask him to do his studies,
and--and right things, for love of duty and love of pleasing you?"
suggested Inna.
"That's where it is. I think if he had a sister--now, if you were to get
him to love you, you'd be able to do anything with him. Love for
anybody is a mighty power, though 'tis said to be like a silk
thread--something not seen, but felt--you see, 'tis stronger than it
seems."
"Yes," sighed Inna; "mamma says a loving heart will find work to do
anywhere. Yes, mamma, I will try," said she inwardly, thinking of her
last talk with her dear mother, and that only on the evening before
yesterday, so short, and yet so long a time ago.
Well, Oscar did not come, so the two went in, leaving the fire to flare
itself out. Neither did Dr. Willett and Mr. Barlow return. It was quiet
anxious work, sitting there by the log-fire, hearkening to the ticking of
the old clock, waiting for someone who did not come--someone up to
mischief, as Mrs. Grant said. Out she went again, with her apron over
her head.
"Burnt to the ground, dearie--burnt to a tinder, is the farm: so Sam, our
carter, says; and 'twas done by some idle boys lighting a bonfire of dry
furze near." This was her report when she returned to the kitchen.

Then they heard the master and Mr. Barlow come in, and the
housekeeper went to carry them in supper. Ten o'clock, and they were
going out again, Inna heard them say. The little girl now stole out
herself to the back gates; there, in the shadow of the wall, she saw a
moving shadow.
"Oscar!" She spoke his name; and Oscar stepped out into the moonlight
beside her.
"Where have you been?" she ventured.
"Where I like."
"Yes; but have you seen the fire?"
"Yes, I suppose I have."
"Did you--did you have----"
"Did I have a hand in setting it alight? Ah yes! there you go--you're all
alike."
"No, Oscar; no, but----" her small hands were clinging to his arm.
"Hands off!" cried he, shaking her off, as if he could not bear her even
to touch him.
His sleeve was in tatters, she felt, before he shook himself free.
"I want you to do something for me," said he, gloomily enough.
A startled "Yes," was the reply.
"Go and get some oil and some flour, and come up to my room--you
know your way in the dark, don't you?"
"Yes, I think----"
"Think! be sure, and be quick!" With this grumpy injunction he swung

himself away, hugging the shadows, and so into the house and upstairs.
Tap! tap! Gentle little Samaritan--she had the oil, if not the wine; and
when he bade her enter, she saw that she had indeed to bind up his
wounds. He stood with his arm bare to the elbow--a poor scorched arm,
from which charred skin was hanging.
"Now, see here: mix some flour and oil into a paste in this
pomatum-pot, and spread it on this handkerchief; then bind it on to my
arm, and hold your tongue. Can you do it, do you think?"
"Yes;" and the small girlish