CHAPTER II.

At length they were dressed, and Nancy stood on the court-steps, shading her eyes, and looking after them, as they climbed the heathery slope leading to Combehurst.

“I wish she’d take her hand sometimes, just to let her know the feel of her mother’s hand.  Perhaps she will, at least after Master Edward goes to school.”

As they went along, Mrs. Browne gave the children a few rules respecting manners and etiquette.

“Maggie! you must sit as upright as ever you can; make your back flat, child, and don’t poke.  If I cough, you must draw up.  I shall cough whenever I see you do anything wrong, and I shall be looking at you all day; so remember.  You hold yourself very well, Edward.  If Mr. Buxton asks you, you may have a glass of wine, because you’re a boy.  But mind and say, ’Your good health, sir,’ before you drink it.”

“I’d rather not have the wine if I’m to say that,” said Edward, bluntly.

“Oh, nonsense! my dear.  You’d wish to be like a gentleman, I’m sure.”

Edward muttered something which was inaudible.  His mother went on: 

Of course you’ll never think of being helped more than twice.  Twice of meat, twice of pudding, is the genteel thing.  You may take less, but never more.”

“Oh, mamma! how beautiful Combehurst spire is, with that dark cloud behind it!” exclaimed Maggie, as they came in sight of the town.

“You’ve no business with Combehurst spire when I’m speaking to you.  I’m talking myself out of breath to teach you how to behave, and there you go looking after clouds, and such like rubbish.  I’m ashamed of you.”

Although Maggie walked quietly by her mother’s side all the rest of the way, Mrs. Browne was too much offended to resume her instructions on good-breeding.  Maggie might be helped three times if she liked:  she had done with her.

They were very early.  When they drew near the bridge, they were met by a tall, fine-looking boy, leading a beautiful little Shetland pony, with a side-saddle on it.  He came up to Mrs. Browne, and addressed her.

“My father thought your little girl would be tired, and he told me to bring my cousin Erminia’s pony for her.  It’s as quiet as can be.”

Now this was rather provoking to Mrs. Browne, as she chose to consider Maggie in disgrace.  However, there was no help for it:  all she could do was to spoil the enjoyment as far as possible, by looking and speaking in a cold manner, which often chilled Maggie’s little heart, and took all the zest out of the pleasure now.  It was in vain that Frank Buxton made the pony trot and canter; she still looked sad and grave.

“Little dull thing!” he thought; but he was as kind and considerate as a gentlemanly boy could be.