The Red Book of Heroes | Page 5

a more sheltered place. Lea Hurst, as it was called, was only a
mile from the hall, and, like it, overlooked the Derwent; but here the
hills were wooded and kept out the bitter winds which had howled and
wailed through the old house. Mr. Nightingale was very careful that all
should be done exactly as he wished, therefore it took some time to
finish, and then the family could not move in till the paint and plaster
were dry, so that Florence was between five and six when at last they
took possession.
No doubt the two little girls had much to say about the laying out of the
terraced gardens, and insisted on having some beds of their own, to
plant with their favourite flowers. They were greatly pleased, too, at
discovering a very old chapel in the middle of the new house, and very
likely they told each other many stories of what went on there. Then
there was a summer-house, where they could have tea, and if you went
through the woods in May, and could make up your mind to pass the
sheets of blue hyacinths without stopping to pick them till you were too
tired to go further, you came out upon a splendid avenue, with a view
of the hills for miles round. This was the walk which Florence loved
best.
* * * * *
It seems, however, that Mr. Nightingale could not have thought Lea
Hurst as pleasant as he expected it to be, for a few months later he
bought a place called Embley, near the beautiful abbey of Romsey, in
Hampshire. Here they all moved every autumn as soon as the trees at
Lea Hurst grew bare; and when the young leaves were showing like a
green mist, they began the long drive back again, sometimes stopping
in London on the way, to see some pictures and hear some music, and
have some talk with many interesting people whom Mr. Nightingale
knew. And when they got home at last, how delightful it was to ride
round to the old friends in the farms and cottages, and listen to tales of
all that had happened during the little girls' absence, and in their turn to
tell of the wonderful sights they had witnessed, and the adventures that

had befallen them! Best of all were the visits to the families of puppies
and kittens which had been born during their absence, for Florence
especially loved animals, and was often sent for by the neighbours to
cure them when they were ill. The older and uglier they were, the
sorrier Florence was for them, and she would often steal out with sugar
or apples or carrots in her pocket for some elderly beast which was
ending its days quietly in the fields, stopping in the woods on the way
to play with a squirrel or a baby rabbit. The game was perhaps a little
one-sided, but what did that matter? As the poet Cowper says,
Wild, timid hares were drawn from woods To share her home caresses,
And looked up to her human eyes With sylvan tendernesses.
Beasts and birds were Florence's dear friends, but dearest of all were
her ponies.
While she was at Embley, the vicar, who was very fond of her, used
often to take her out riding when he went on his rounds to see his
people. Florence enjoyed this very much; she knew them all well, and
never forgot the names of the children or their birthdays. Her mother
would often give her something nice to carry to the sick ones, and when
the flowers came out, Florence used to gather some for her special
favourites, out of her own garden.
* * * * *
One day when she and the vicar were cantering across the downs, they
saw an old shepherd, who was a great friend of both of them,
attempting to drive his flock without the help of his collie, Cap, who
was nowhere to be seen.
'What has become of Cap?' they asked, and the shepherd told them that
some cruel boys had broken the dog's leg with a stone, and he was in
such pain that his master thought it would be more merciful to put an
end to him.
Florence was hot with indignation. 'Perhaps I can help him,' she said.
'At any rate, he will like me to sit with him; he must feel so lonely.

Where is he?'
'In my hut out there,' answered the shepherd; 'but I'm afraid it's little
good you or anyone else can do him.'
But Florence did not hear, for she was galloping as fast as she could to
the place where Cap was lying.
'Poor old fellow, poor old Cap,' whispered she, kneeling down and