The Spanish Chest Part 14

"Being on toast yourself, why do you want to have me there?" said Max mischievously. "Aren't all the Sunday school mistresses coming to help and didn't you ask those nice American kiddies?"

"I did, and that's another reason why I want you," retorted Connie, flying to adjust to her better satisfaction the basket of narcissus decorating the chief table. "Max, I don't know where to have you. Since you came from the States, I can't make out whether you are English or American. Here you are shying either at an English school treat or at some nice American children. Which is it?"

"Neither, I think," Max replied after a survey of the close- clipped lawn, boasting that velvety turf which only centuries of care can perfect. Great groups of laurel proudly proclaimed the right of the Manor to its name; carefully trimmed hedges of yew and box protected borders already gay with spring flowers, and beyond the grounds s.h.i.+mmered the sea. Max's glance was one of affection, for this was the scene of many happy boyhood days.

"I think I'd shy just as quickly at an American tea-fight," he said at length. "As for being neither English nor American, I love both countries. I would certainly be loyal to my own, but I would also take up arms for England, if the time ever came that she needed me and the two duties didn't conflict."

"You're a duck," said Constance promptly. "Come, take up arms and carry a basket of buns for me this afternoon."

"Too many petticoats coming," said Max. "I'm afraid of those freaks from the rectory. But I'll agree to furnish a subst.i.tute who will more than take my place. The kiddies will be thrilled to a peanut. Come now, let me off?"

"I suppose so," agreed Constance. "Don't bother about letting me down softly. Trot off and do anything you think you have to do.

Here are the Marque children already. And there come the Thaynes."

"I will perform a vanis.h.i.+ng act," said Max quickly. "Connie, I really am booked for an hour with Uncle d.i.c.k, but I'll send that subst.i.tute. Watch for him."

Constance looked after him suspiciously, but Max was already half across the sunken garden, whistling to Tylo as he went.

"Are we too early, Miss Connie?" asked Frances as they came up.

"Just on the dot," replied Connie, greeting them all. "The children are arriving. We will play games first and then have tea.

Excuse me, please, while I go and speak to the Reverend Fred."

Constance departed to greet the curate thus disrespectfully designated, a youthful individual of rather prepossessing appearance. Just behind him appeared Rose and Muriel LeCroix and other girls whom Frances knew at school.

Soon the children came thick and fast, shy youngsters propelled by older brothers and sisters, independent groups, a few babies in arms, a scattering of older people.

Two white-draped tables by the yew hedge were the target for the children's eyes as they wondered what those linen-covered baskets concealed. There would be tea of course, buns in plenty, possibly cake.

Presently the children, poked and pulled into line were started playing London Bridge, two of the biggest girls forming the bridge.

For a moment Frances stood apart, watching the marching, shouting youngsters, scrubbed till they shone, clothed in clean though often clumsy garments and heavy shoes. No great poverty was indicated by their apparel, and some, evidently of French origin, were dressed with real taste and daintiness. These were also remarkable for a more vivacious appearance than the stolid little Anglo-Saxons. Some few were of striking beauty.

As one game succeeded another, the children grew less stiff and self-conscious. The Reverend Fred was joining in the sport with conscientious zeal, as were his two sisters and Edith and Miss Connie. Fran caught the contagion and found herself flying about the Manor lawn, tying a handkerchief over one child's eyes to lead in Blindman's Buff, helping another group play King of the Castle, finally organizing a game of Drop the Handkerchief.

With amused surprise she saw Roger actually helping Muriel LeCroix with a number of the smallest children, and this fact so impressed Frances that she failed to note Win's absence.

Her brother was not far away. Had Frances been nearer the opening in the hedge, leading into the sunken garden in its season full of roses, she might have seen an interesting picture, for with great glee, Win was helping prepare for appearance Max's promised subst.i.tute.

Down in the rose-garden, where an old sundial marked "only the sunny hours," the afternoon shadows grew long. The older people, somewhat exhausted by strenuous play, seated the children in a big circle ready for tea. From the Manor emerged Yvonne, Pierre, and Paget, Constance's old nurse, armed with s.h.i.+ny copper cans, to fill cups for distribution.

Frances seized a basket of buns and for a time was so occupied with playing Lady Bountiful to a host of little hands, now rather grimy, that it seemed quite natural to be sharing in this unusual festivity. But as she was hurrying back to the table to refill her empty basket, she met Edith on a similar errand. Suddenly it struck her as very odd that she should be helping.

"This is the funniest affair I ever saw," she confided merrily.

"Why?" asked the puzzled Edith, lifting grave eyes to look at her.

"Don't you give the Sunday school children treats in America?"

"Oh, yes," admitted Frances, "but we'd never fill them up on weak tea and buns. They'd expect ice-cream and cake."

Edith looked much shocked. "Ices are very dear," she remarked, "and not fitting for these children. Would you really serve ices in winter?" she asked incredulously.

"On the very coldest day of the year," a.s.serted Frances emphatically. "Oh, America is so _different_, Edith! Why there's scarcely a town so tiny that you can't buy ice-cream any time of the day or any time of year."

"It must indeed be different," Edith agreed. Basket refilled, she returned to her charges.

For a minute Frances lingered, looking around at the circle of hilarious children, each with a mug, more or less precariously clasped, each stuffing big plummy buns; looked at the older people so anxiously attending to them. Yes, it was very different, very English, but also very interesting.

As Frances pa.s.sed the entrance to the sunken garden, her basket filled this time by solid-looking pieces of cake, she heard her name.

"Fran," came Win's voice, "call Tylo. Get him to come out on the lawn."

Frances called. She could see no one in the garden, only hear amused voices trying to induce Tylo to answer the summons.

"He won't start," said Win again. "Ask Miss Connie to whistle for him, Fran."

On receiving Fran's message, Constance looked puzzled.

"I'd as soon Tylo would stop away," she said. "The kiddies may not fancy him begging for their cake. Still, I'll call."

At the summons from his mistress, Tylo instantly came, causing a sudden silence among the chattering children, silence succeeded by wild shrieks of pleasure.

The beach dog emerged from the garden wearing a wreath of roses around his neck, with an open pink silk parasol fastened to his collar and tipped at a fas.h.i.+onable and coquettish angle over his head and holding firmly in his mouth the handle of a basket filled with as varied an a.s.sortment of English "sweets" as Max could secure in his hasty gallop into St. Helier's.

Connie, too, gave an exclamation of laughter. "Oh, look at my best Paris brelly!" she groaned. "Max stole that. Yvonne never gave it to him."

Fully conscious that he held the center of the stage, Tylo advanced, waving his tail and casting amiable glances upon the children as they came crowding around, buns and cake forgotten. He seemed perfectly to understand what was expected and held the basket until the last sugar plum was secured by little searching hands, then employed to caress the bearer. Max's subst.i.tute certainly scored the greatest hit of the Manor "bun worry."

From their seclusion in the rose-garden, the two conspirators watched Tylo's successful appearance.

"Let's come in and wash," said Max, seeing that no further responsibility remained to them. "Or are you keen on a bun worry?

I like them, like them awfully, you know, but somehow, I'm afraid Uncle d.i.c.k may be lonely. I feel it's my duty to look him up."

Win would have seen through this flimsy excuse without the betrayal of Max's merry eyes, but the proposal chanced to be what he most wished to do. Very gladly he followed Max through the gardens to a side entrance to the house, where they went up to Max's room, a high oak-paneled chamber that would have been sombre were it not for three sunny mullioned cas.e.m.e.nts overlooking the sea. Cases crowded with books stood by the fireplace, fis.h.i.+ng rods, cricket bats and oars decorated the walls.

"Those aren't mine," said Max, noticing Win's glance as he stood drying his hands; "only the skiis and racquets. This was Richard's room, Uncle d.i.c.k's only son. He was a subaltern in the British army, just twenty when he was killed in the charge on Majuba Hill.

They have always given me his room at the Manor. I fancy Uncle liked to have it occupied by a boy again."

"Colonel Lisle himself must have done some fighting," observed Win. "How did he lose his arm?"

"For years he was an officer in India. He lost his arm defending the Khyber Pa.s.s against the Afghans."

Max took his guest down the main staircase to the great entrance hall, with its high raftered roof, and stone floor half covered by valuable Oriental rugs. Suits of s.h.i.+ning armor lent glints of light; curious spears, ancient swords and firearms, many of them very old, were fastened on walls dark with age. Win stopped to look at the carved mantel over the great fireplace, sporting the leopards of Jersey, the Lisle coat of arms and the date 1509.

"Imagine living in a house built all those centuries ago," he sighed. "This is older than the library, isn't it?"

"Somewhat," replied Max. "The wing here is the oldest part of the house. Let's come to Uncle's study. I fancy he'll be there."

Colonel Lisle was lounging near the fire, but appeared very willing to put aside his book and welcome the two.