"I've always felt a regret," said Mrs Warren, "that we couldn't take better care of Harry when he was sent to us here. And I've been thinking, Elizabeth, that if John Whittaker would trust us with Florence I should be glad to have her here for a time, and see if I could make anything of her. It would be a change, and if she's got with idle girls, it would separate her from them." "Well, there'd be no streets here for her to run in," said Mrs Stroud. "You're very kind, Charlotte, but I doubt you don't know what a handful that there girl is!" "I've seen a good many girls in my time," said Mrs Warren, smiling, "though my Bessie is a quiet one; and if she finds herself a bit dull at first, it's no more than she deserves, by your account of her, poor thing!" "I believe my brother 'll send her off straight," said Mrs Stroud. "It's downright friendly of you, Charlotte, and Florrie shall come, if I have to bring her myself." Mrs Warren was a kind and conscientious woman; but she would hardly have proposed to burden herself with such a maiden as Florence was described to be but for circumstances which had always dwelt on her mind with a sense of regret and responsibility. When Harry Whittaker had, as his aunt put it, made Rapley too hot to hold him, he had been sent to Ashcroft to try if his cousin could make him fit for an under-keeper's place, alongside of his own son Ned. Harry's spirit of adventure and active disposition were not unfitted for such work, and the plan looked hopeful. At that time Ashcroft Hall had been a gayer place than it was now. Mr Cunningham was still a young man, taking his full share in society, and his two sons were active, high-spirited youths of sixteen and twenty, devoted to sport and to amusements of all kinds. Alwyn, the eldest, was at home at the time when Harry Whittaker was sent to Ashcroft. He had the sort of grace and good-nature which wins an easy pardon, at any rate among old friends and dependents, for a character for idleness and extravagance, and naturally he and his brother were intimate and companionable with the young keepers, side by side with whom they had grown up. It was quite new to Harry Whittaker to spend long days in a gentleman's company, fishing and shooting, joining in conversation, and often sharing meals together; but he contrived, with tact, to adapt himself to the mixture of freedom and deference with which his cousin treated the young squires. It was a happy relation, and one which is often productive of much good to both parties; but neither Alwyn Cunningham nor Harry Whittaker was good company for the other. Alwyn took a fancy to the saucy, sharp lad, and encouraged him in talcs of mischievous daring, and Harry was quick to perceive that, as he put it, "the young gentleman was not so mighty particular after all."