There was no resisting Hildegarde’s smile; the young Merryweather wavered, smiled, smiled again, and in five minutes they were all seated together, and chatting away like old friends.

It appeared that Master Will was pleased with his new surroundings, but that the absence of a base-ball nine was a tragic thing, not lightly to be contemplated.  The house was “no end;” the dwelling they had just left was entirely too small for them.

“You see,” he said, “when we went to that house we weren’t born at all, most of us; that is, there was only Bell and the boys.  So it was big enough then, and they had rooms to themselves, and all kinds of things.  But then we began to come along, and at last it got so small that the boys had to sleep in the barn, and when there was more than one visitor I had to go on the parlour sofa, and it’s a beast of a sofa to sleep on,—­haircloth, you know, and you slide off all night; so father thought we’d better move, and we came here.”

“Is Bell your eldest sister?” asked Hildegarde, not sure how far it would be right to question this frank youth.

“Yes, that’s Bell.  She’s no end nice and jolly; and she’s in college, you know, and we have such larks when she comes home.”

In college!  Hildegarde’s hopes fell.  She knew she could not get on with college girls, though she had great respect for them.  Dear me!  Probably Bell would be very learned, and would despise her as an “unidead girl.”  Cruel Dr. Johnson, to originate that injurious epithet!

At this moment she heard a fresh, joyous voice calling,—­

“Will!  Willy boy!  W—­I—­Double—­L, where are you?”

“That’s Bell,” cried Will, starting up.  “She’s come after me.”

“Here I am, Bell!” he shouted.  “Here’s a jolly place; come along!  I say, may she come along?” he added, turning to Hildegarde with a conscience-stricken look.  Hildegarde nodded eagerly, hoping that his request had not been heard.  Just beyond the Ladies’ Garden was a high board-fence which separated Braeside from the neighbouring place.  At the top of this fence appeared two small but strong-looking hands, and following them, a girl’s face, blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked and smiling.

“You little rascal!” cried the girl; and then she caught sight of Hildegarde.  “Oh, I beg your pardon!” she cried, hastily.  “I didn’t know,—­I was looking for my brother—­”

“Oh, please come up!” cried Hildegarde, running to the fence.  “Please come over!  Oh, you mustn’t hang by your hands that way; you’ll get splinters in them.  You are Miss Merryweather, and I am Hildegarde Grahame; so now we are introduced, and let me help you over, do!”

Hildegarde delivered this breathlessly, and held out both hands to help the stranger; but the latter, with a frank smile and a nod, drew herself up without more ado, perched on the top of the fence, then sprang lightly to the ground.

“Thank you so much!” she said, warmly, taking Hildegarde’s outstretched hand.  “Of course I didn’t know I was trespassing, but I’m glad I came.  And oh, what a lovely place!  I didn’t know there was such a place out of a book.  Oh, the hedges! and the brook! and the trees!  How can it be real?”