Children of the Dear Cotswolds

ccompanied by a maid, a couple of grooms, and six horses. The hotel people called her "the Baroness." Billy always spoke

gloom of a November afternoon, six good miles from home. She was trying to lift a refractory latch with he

as Billy, having carefully fastened the gate, followed her down the rutty lane. "I'

ry glad of your company. Jackson-that's our man-lamed the cob early

aid the lady, more to

unts, you see; but I'm going to school at

d to be goin

chaps awfully; but, of course, I shall mis

e don't hun

er drives to the near meets sometimes, but when it is a long way she likes Jackson to come with me for the day. N

rses' hoofs went thud, swish, thud, swish, through the foot-deep decaying beech leaves. A delicate silver mist gathered round the roots of the great trees; like the bridal veil of a rosy girl, it spread itself over the stretches of r

said suddenly, in his kind boyish vo

on for men; mentally snapping her fingers in the faces of her sister women so ready to think evil of her. Certain kinds of men come to heel easily and she felt her triumph to be but a poor one. This half-hour's companionship of a friendly little boy had altered ev

ey gabled house where

o the drive. Do you do

re the pride of his bookish father's heart; nor how cheerfully that father had forgone many a rare edition, that Billy might ride to hounds. "A modest lad, a good lad; let him play about in the sunshine-the rest will come." So Billy's father, who would relate with glee how successfu

discussed the habits of "Pug" with a learning t

her had written many articles upon the subject-articles appearing in those fat, uninteresting magazines which littered drawing-room and

head that the dark lady of the sonnets must have been exactly like the Baroness. With the inc

ings turn soures

ter smell far w

addle, asked with a catch in her voice, "Why d

you know-I've learnt lots

aroness, her eyes dark and tragic with some nameless fear

that he might rumple his hair, a

that has nothing to do with you. This has thoug

love, and they

art, torment m

ack, and lovin

pretty ruth

the morning

the grey chee

star that ushe

mourning eyes b

ut confident that he had sa

ut the other is true. What a queer little boy you

e are you going when the hunting is over? It ends ear

Paris, or--" here she murmured something in a language Bil

ome of love: i

travels, I r

poetry too! But, wherever I go, I

initely distressed, felt that this melancholy lady

generally got Mr. Rigby Folaire, or Capt

was more puzzled than ever. Feeling that he mus

ou lose th

together, and I am very glad. I have enjoyed your

his foot in a rabbit hole and came down, throwing the child with some vio

r tall horse almost on to his haunches, for Billy had been thrown right in front of her. Now, with the reins over h

he speed and grace with whic

Reaching for her flask from the pocket of her saddle, and with the reins still round her wrist, she sat down on the ground with Billy in her arms. She soaked

ace touched her neck, and there was a look in her eyes that neither Mr. Rigby Folaire nor Lord Edward had ever seen there. Presen

ss, and knew where he was. But he had

rdon. Did I frighten you? I am so sorry"; then, turn

the Baroness. She put her free arm round him, whi

among the trees and the rain

e Frivolity in front of me. I don't know where your pony is, and if h

front of her-"and how kind!" He put his hand on hers that held the reins, her other

*

n he is out without Jackson; he is so reckless, and Jackson came home just before lunch, you kn

e said, "there's

aight to the yard-Oh, can he be hurt? and some

ony of apprehension he would never have gone; but she loved him too well to interfere with his pleasures. "He's such a man

against the gloom, and the kind young voice was persuading some one to come in. "Do come and have some tea," she he

unknown lady had already turned her horse preparatory to d

ht it best to bring him home without looking for the pony.

into the rain beside her guest. A great many considera

t danced on the old oak furniture, but she gave a little wriggle on her saddle and said lightly and in the voice that jarred, "Thanks! but

lady" to the bewilderment of his mother, who had no idea how firmly he was imbued with the

t very evening in the pouring rain, to thank her for her kindness to

ses followed her, and the hunt knew her no more. She left no address. Mr. Rigby Folaire and Lord Edward inquired her whereabouts

me of love: if

travels, I r

illy's father has given up