At that moment three or four young people rushed in with arms full of books, and announcing that the uncle and aunt were coming.  The next moment they appeared, and stood amazed at the accession of volunteer auxiliaries.  Mr. Ogilvie introduced his sister, while Caroline explained that she was an old friend,-—meanwhile putting up a hand to feel for her cap, as she detected in Ellen’s eyes those words, “Caroline, your cap.”

“We came to see how you were getting on,” said the Colonel, kindly.

“Thank you, we are getting on capitally.  And oh, Robert, Mr. Ogilvie will tell you; he thinks Armine too-—too—-I mean he thinks he had better not go into school yet,” she added, thankful that she had not said “too clever for the school.”

The Colonel turned aside with the master to discuss the matter, and the ladies went into the drawing-room, the new room opening on the lawn, under a verandah, with French windows.  It was full of furniture in the most dire confusion.  Mrs. Robert Brownlow wanted to clear off at once the desks and other things that seemed school-room properties, saying that a little room downstairs had always served the purpose.

“That must be nurse’s sitting-room,” said Carey.

“Old nurse!  She can be of no use, my dear!”

“Oh yes, she is; she has lived with us ever since dear grandmamma married, and has no home, and no relations.  We could not get on without dear old nursey!”

“Well, my dear, I hope you will find it answer to keep her on.  But as to this room!  It is such a pity not to keep it nice, when you have such handsome furniture too.”

“I want to keep it nice with habitation,” said Caroline.  “That’s the only way to do it.  I can’t bear fusty, shut-up smart rooms, and I think the family room ought to be the pleasantest and prettiest in the house for the children’s sake.”

“Ah, well,” said Mrs. Brownlow, with a serene good nature, contrasting with the heat with which Caroline spoke, “it is your affair, my dear, but my boys would not thank me for shutting them in with my pretty things, and I should be sorry to have them there.  Healthy country boys like to have their fun, and I would not coop them up.”

“Oh, but there’s the studio to run riot in, Ellen,” said Carey.  “Didn’t you see?  The upper story of the tower.  We have put the boy’s tools there, and I can do my modelling there, and make messes and all that’s nice,” she said, smiling to Mary, and to Allen, who had just come in.

“Do you model, Carey?” Mary asked, and Allen volunteered to show his mother’s groups and bas-reliefs, thereby much increasing the litter on the floor, and delighting Mary a good deal more than his aunt, who asked, “What will you do for a store-room then?”

“Put up a few cupboards and shelves anywhere.”

It is not easy to describe the sort of air with which Mrs. Robert Brownlow received this answer.  She said nothing but “Oh,” and was perfectly unruffled in a sort of sublime contempt, as to the hopelessness of doing anything with such a being on her own ground.