HAVER GRANGE.

Think of the prettiest garden you have ever seen: a dear, old-fashioned, sunny garden, with masses of snapdragon and white lilies and carnations, and big yellow sunflowers; and damask roses, and white cluster roses, and sweet-smelling pink cabbage roses, and tiny yellow Scotch roses—in fact, every kind of rose you can think of, except modern ones. Then you can imagine the Vicarage garden at Haversham.

Not that all these flowers were out in August; indeed, the best of the roses and all the carnations were over by then, but the garden was still gay with lots of other kinds of flowers; and dear little twisting paths led the way under shady nut-trees to the kitchen garden and orchard, where apricots and plums turned golden and red in the sunshine, and the apple-trees were so laden that it seemed quite wonderful to think the branches did not break with the weight of the fruit.

The summer holidays were half over now, and already Mother had begun to look over the boys' socks and shirts for the next term at school, and the girls had begun to talk seriously of the holiday tasks, which had been lightheartedly put on one side when they first came home from school with eight long weeks of idleness before them.

They were all having tea under the big ash-tree on the lawn one very hot afternoon, when Philip announced a rather important piece of news.

"Haver Grange is let," he said.

"Is it? Oh, Philip, how do you know? Who told you? Who has taken it, and when are they coming?" asked the others.

For over twelve years now the old Grange had been empty—except for a very deaf old man and his wife who lived there as caretakers. The present owner liked better to travel about the world than to live quietly in England, and his sons generally spent their holidays with him abroad.

But although the same old board had stood beside the big iron gates with "This House to be Let Furnished" written upon it in large white letters, no one had come to live in it, and the children had grown to look upon the Grange garden, with its moss-grown walks and weedy flower beds, as their especial property.

"Mrs. Mills told me when I went to buy mother's stamps just now," said the boy. "She said an Italian gentleman had taken it, or an Austrian or a Frenchman—she didn't know which," and Philip laughed as he helped himself to a piece of cake.

Just then the vicar turned in at the gate and crossed the lawn towards them.

"Don't bother father with questions until he has had a cup of tea," said Mrs. Carew, and six eager faces were turned towards the vicar as, with a sigh of relief, he seated himself under the shade of the tree.

"I think to-day is the hottest day we have had this year," he said, as he took the cup Ruth handed him and began to stir his tea, while he chatted to his wife about the poor woman he had been to see.

Ruth sighed.

"Isn't your tea nice, father?" she asked. "You have hardly drunk any of it yet."

"Very nice, thank you, dear," said her father.

Norah got down from her seat and carried the big milk jug round to his side.

"Won't you have some more milk, father?" she said. "Perhaps your tea is too hot, and you can't drink it quickly."

"But I don't want to drink it quickly," said her father.

He looked in a puzzled way at his wife, and Mrs. Carew laughed.

"I told the children to let you drink one cup of tea in peace before they bothered you with questions," said she.

"I think I know what the questions will be about," said the vicar.

He drank the rest of his tea and handed the cup to Philip.

"Father! Have you heard Haver Grange is let?" said the boy.

"And whom it's let to?" asked Ruth.

"And whether there are any children?" asked Norah.

"One question at a time!" said their father, laughing. "Yes, I heard from Mr. Denny that the Grange had been let to a foreign gentleman, who is coming to live there very soon, I believe, as the caretakers have orders to have the house in readiness before the end of this week; but where he comes from and whether he has any children I do not know."

Dan had been opening and shutting his mouth for the last two minutes.

"Father!" he burst out at last, "Do you think he will have the gap in the fence boarded up?"

"The gap in the fence? My dear Dan, what do you mean?" asked his father.

"He means the gap where we used to get through and have picnics in the Grange grounds," said Ruth, "but we haven't been there for a long time now. Have you and Dan been lately, Norah?"

"Yes," said Norah, "Dan and I often go and sit there. Shan't we ever be able to go any more?" And the little girl looked quite sad.

"No," said Mr. Carew; "certainly you must not go again. Little trespassers! I had no idea you were in the habit of going there for picnics or anything else."

"What's trespassers?" asked Dan.

"People who break through other people's fences and get taken up and put in prison," said Philip, as Mr. and Mrs. Carew left the tea-table and went towards the house. "Just fancy! You and Norah might have been quietly having a picnic in the glen one day when some fat old policeman would come along and take you both off to prison."

"Levick wouldn't," said Norah stoutly. "Levick's a very nice man. Dan and I often go to see him and his wife and baby."

"Well, Levick isn't the only policeman in the world," said Philip teasingly. "I saw a very fat, red-faced old policeman in Borsham the other day, and he had a little twinkle in his eye, which seemed to say: 'Where are the little boy and girl who have been breaking through the Grange fence?'"

"Oh, Philip, don't be silly," said Mary, seeing that her little brother was looking rather grave. "You know policemen wouldn't take up people and put them in prison unless they were doing anything really wrong."

"But perhaps some policemen would, Mary," said Dan. "Perhaps all policemen are not nice, kind policemen like Levick, who live in dear little white cottages like Levick's cottage, and have dear little babies like Levick's baby, and lots of little pigs like Levick's pigs."

The other children burst out laughing.

"No, of course they are not all exactly like Levick," said Philip, who was a little ashamed of himself for having frightened his little brother; "but I was only joking when I said that about the policeman in Borsham, Dan. What a little duffer you are!"

"Tell us about Jack the Giant-killer, then," said Dan coaxingly; and Philip sat down good-naturedly and told his little brother and sister story after story, until it was bedtime.

The next morning, when Philip went to the schoolroom to finish the Latin translation which he meant to have done the evening before, he found Ruth seated at the table with pen, ink and paper before her, and a very blank look on her face.

"What are you doing?" he asked in surprise; for Ruth was a very lazy little girl as a rule, and was seldom seen either reading, writing or working.

"It's my holiday task," she said dismally. "I can't think of anything to say."

"What have you got to write about?" asked Philip.

"Alfred the Great," said Ruth. "I know about him burning the cakes; but I can't think of anything else, and Mary has half done hers. Miss Long has offered a prize for the one who does it best."

"I wish old Jones would offer a prize for my holiday task," said Philip. "I can't get this stuff into my head!" and the boy turned to his Latin with a sigh.

"It's because we've had holidays, I think," said Ruth. "My mind feels quite empty, you know; and I think of all sorts of silly things instead of my essay."

"Perhaps that is why we have holiday tasks," said Philip.

Just then hasty footsteps sounded along the passage, and Norah burst into the room like a whirlwind.

"Oh, Ruth," she said, quite out of breath with running so fast, "the foreign gentleman has come; and what do you think? He has got children; at least, he has a little girl, and she's about my age, Mrs. Mills says; because Mrs. Brown's son has been doing some painting at the Grange, and he saw a little girl one day, and Mrs. Brown told Mrs. Mills that he said she looked a 'regular caution.' I wonder what that means—not like little English girls, I expect. Oh, Ruth! don't you wish we could see her?"

"Norah, you really do talk too much," said Ruth, as her little sister paused for breath. "You bring out all your words in a rush together, and no one can hear half you say; and I'm sure mother wouldn't like you to chatter like that with Mrs. Mills. What have you been to the shop at all for, this morning?"

"To buy some string for Tom," said Norah. She was generally rather hurt when Ruth put on her elder-sisterly air, because she tried so hard to be "old" and sensible during the holidays, so that Ruth might talk to her sometimes and tell her secrets as she did to Mary, instead of always treating her as one of the little ones. But to-day she was too excited to pay much attention to Ruth's reproof, and turned to Philip for sympathy.

"Philip, isn't it lovely?" she said. "Perhaps we shall be great friends, the little girl and I, and go to tea with each other, and do things like that. Oh, I should love to have a little girl to be friends with!"