The Dark House

e by parental restrictions and education, and except on the very frequent occasions when this particular theory collided with his comfort and his conviction that his son was being d

alike of their ways and their games, and, stiff with an agonizing shyness, he bore himself before them arrogantly. It was natural that they in turn hated him. Like young wolves they flaired a member of a strange and alien pack-a creature who broke their unwritten laws-and at first they had hunted him pitilessly, throwing mud and stones at him, pushing him from the pavement, jeering at him. But they had not reckoned with the Stonehouse rages.

ces to the Stonehouse menage, flying with mock shrieks of terror when he was unwise

rs Banditti be

begun the erection of up-to-date villas but had gone bankrupt in the process, and now nothing remained of his

eir cheerful voices. The ruins, too, had fired his imagination. He had viewed them much as a general views the scene of a prospective battle. And then-strangest attraction of all-there had been Frances Wilmot. She was different from any other little girl he had ever seen. She was clean and had worn a neat green serge dress with neat brown shoes and stockings which toned with her short curly brown hair, but she did not shine or look superior or disdainful. Nor had she been playing with her companions, though they ran back to her from time to time as though in some secret way she had led their game. When Rob

ity connected with "raising money" on a reversion and had forgotten to wash him, and though he did not like being washed, the process did at least make him feel that someon

leaf dancing in little gusts of wind. And then suddenly she had seen him and stood still. His heart had begun to pound against his ribs. For it wa

moment she

al

ars had croaked back "Hallo!" and s

s your

obert Sto

o you co

in the direction of the hill, f

r th

e you c

don't

like to pla

think I

gazing wide-eyed at him, not critically or unkindly, but like puppies consideri

obert Stonehouse. He's going

m on the arm and was

s father owed money to all the tradespeople. He was just like anyone else. And he had run faster than the fastest of them. He

to fight. The nice children had never fought but they found they liked it. Once, like an avenging Attila, he had led them across the hill and fallen upon his ancient enemies with such awful effect that they never raised their heads again. And the Banditti had returned home whooping and drunk with victory and the newly discovered joy of battle. His hand was naturally against all authority. He led them in dark plottings against their governesses and nu

house's theories-which he had been known to expound eloquently to his creditors-that children should be taught the use of money, and at such times as the Stonehouse family prospered Robert's pocket bulged with sums that st

im they were nice, ordinary children, and that he was a man full of sorrows and mystery and bitter experience. He despised them. They could be bought and bribed and bu

t, sometimes just on the fringe, like a bird, intent on business of its own, coming and going in the heart of human affairs. Sometimes she seemed hardly to be aware of him, and sometimes she treated him as though there were an unspoken intimacy between them which made him glow with pride for d

not a good little boy at all. He was sure that if she knew about h

t gladly. But he longed to prove to her that if he was not a good little boy he was, at any rate, a terribly fine fellow. He had to make her look up to him and admire him like the rest of the Banditti, otherwise he would never hold her fast. And everything served to that end. Before her he swaggered monstrously. He did things which turned him sick with fear. Once he h

rful, but less distinct. She seemed to stand a little farther off, as though very gradually she were drawing aw