So Bertie knew that there would be no climbing that day for him, and he was keenly disappointed; for he was sure that Queenie would accuse him of cowardice, and he was well aware that he had acquired, by practice in trees and crumbling walls, and about the roof of the old Manor House, a skill and agility in climbing with which he had quite hoped to take his companions by storm. However, there was nothing for it now but to obey,—for, to do the child justice, he never dreamed of disobedience,—and it was with a heart a good deal less light than he had expected that he joined his companions at the place they had agreed upon. Phil had a good big basket with him, which was transferred to the cart, and the little cavalcade set forwards. Conversation was not altogether easy between the riders and driver, so Bertie’s silence passed unnoticed; but the faithful David felt certain his little master was cast down about something, and, making a shrewd guess, he whispered,— “Don’t ’ee be sad about it, Master Bertie; I’ll get thee the best eggs as can be had in the bay. I know where them birds build, I do, and I’ll see thee has all thee wants. I’ll get thee a pair of young uns too, if so be as they’re hatched and fledged; but we’re full early for birds yet.” “Yes, but Phil has to go back to school so soon that we had to come to-day. Don’t you get into any danger, David. I don’t care about the eggs—at least not so very much.” “Bless thy heart! ’tis nothing to me. I’ve been born and bred to it all my life long.” By the time the little party had reached the bay, the sun was riding high in the sky, and the children were hungry and thirsty as well as hot. David took the ponies away to the farm, and the others carried the baskets down the rocky path into the bay. Lunch was, of course, the first consideration, and as Queenie set to work upon her sandwiches and cake, she looked across at Phil and said,— “Why, we haven’t told Bertie about Uncle Fred!” “What about him?” asked Bertie. “Why, he’s landed in England—he and his wife, you know. They came one steamer before we expected. They’re in London now—at least they were last night. They stayed a few days there, and to-day they’re coming down to us. The house belongs to Uncle Fred now, you know, and we shall soon leave it. When we get home Uncle Fred will be there.” “Yes, and a new aunt,” added Queenie, laughing; “it will seem so funny to have a new aunt. What did mamma say her name was? Wasn’t it Aunt Winifred?” Bertie suddenly put up his hand to his head, as he used sometimes to do when he first came, but hardly ever now. Queenie noticed the movement, and paused to ask,— “What is it?” “I don’t know,” he answered. “What were you saying? Go on, please.” “Well, it is not our house any longer, and we shall go very soon. Shall you mind?” “I shall be sorry,” answered Bertie, slowly. “But I suppose you will come there sometimes?”