The Princess of the School | Page 4

be born in the
nineteenth century, her mental outlook had a modern bias, and both her
philanthropy and her religious instincts had developed along the latest
lines of thought. She had schemes of her own for work in the world, but
at present she was doing the task that was nearest in helping to bring up
the motherless children who had been placed temporarily in her care.
To manage this rather turbulent crew, soothe the irascible old Squire,
and keep the general household in unity was a task that required
unusual powers of tact, and a capacity for administration and
organization that was worthy of a wider sphere. She might be described
as the axle of the family wheel, for she was the unobtrusive center
around which everything unconsciously revolved.
But by this time Lilias and Dulcie will have ridden up hill and down
dale, and will be turning Rajah and Peri in at the great wrought-iron
gates of Cheverley Chase, and trotting through the park, and up the
laurel-bordered carriage drive to the house. There was quite a big

welcome for them when they arrived. Everard had returned the day
before from Harrow, Roland was back from his preparatory school, and
the two little ones, Bevis and Clifford, had just said good-by for three
weeks to their nursery governess, and in consequence were in the
wildest of holiday spirits. There was a general family pilgrimage round
the premises to look at all the most cherished treasures, the horses, the
pigeons, the pet rabbits, the new puppies, the garden, and the woods
beyond the park; there were talks with the grooms and the keepers, and
plans for cutting evergreens and decorating both the house and the
village church in orthodox Christmas fashion.
"It's lovely to be at home again," sighed Lilias with satisfaction, as the
three elder ones sauntered back through the winding paths of the
terraced vegetable garden.
"And such a home, too!" exulted Dulcie.
"Rather!" agreed Everard. "That was exactly what was in my mind. The
first thing I thought when I looked out of the window this morning was:
'What a ripping place it is, and some day it will be all mine.'"
"Yours, Everard?"
"Why, of course. Who's else should it be? The Chase has always gone
strictly in the male line, and I'm the oldest grandson, so naturally I'm
the heir. It goes without saying!"
Dulcie's pink face was looking puzzled.
"Do you mean to say if Grandfather were to die, that everything would
be yours?" she asked. "Would you be the Squire?"
"I believe I'm called 'the young squire' already," replied Everard airily.
"But what about the rest of us?" objected Dulcie.
"Oh, I'd look after you, of course! The heir always does something for
the younger ones. You needn't be afraid on that score!"

Everard's tone was magnanimous and patronizing in the extreme. He
was gazing at the house with an air of evident proprietorship. Dulcie,
who had never considered the question before, revolved it carefully in
her youthful brain for a moment or two; then she ventured a comment.
"Wouldn't it be fairer to divide it?"
"Nonsense, Dulcie!" put in Lilias. "You don't understand. Properties
like this are never divided. They always go, just as they are, to the
eldest son. You couldn't chop them up into pieces, or there'd be no
estate left."
"Couldn't one have the house and the other the wood, and another the
park?"
"Much good the house would do anybody without the estate to keep it
up!" grunted Everard. "Dulcie, you're an utter baby. I don't believe you
ever see farther than the end of your silly little nose. You may be glad
you've got a brother to take care of you."
"But haven't I as much right here as you?" persisted Dulcie obstinately.
"No, you haven't; the heir always has the best right to everything.
Cheer up! When the place is mine, I mean to have a ripping time here!
I'll make things hum, I can tell you--ask my friends down, and you girls
shall help to entertain. I've planned it all out. I suppose I shall have to
go to Cambridge first, but I'll enjoy myself there too--you bet! On the
whole I think I was born under a lucky star! Hallo! there goes Astley; I
want to speak to him."
Everard whistled to the groom, and ran down the garden, leaving his
sisters to return to the house. At seventeen he was a fair, handsome,
dashing sort of boy, of a type more common thirty years ago than at
present. He held closely to the old-fashioned ideas of privileges of birth,
and, according to modern notions, had contracted some false ideals of
life. He had lounged through school without attempting to work, and
was depending for