"Ought! I can't bear that word ought: 'tis dinned into my ears morning, noon, and night. Now, I tell you what we'll do: we'll fling 'ought' to the winds, and go a nutting expedition this morning." In came Mrs. Grant. "Well, Master Oscar, I should hope you'd go down to Mr. Fane's for lessons to-day," said she. "I can't; I've a prior engagement," said he, as loftily as a mouth full of bread and butter and egg could utter it. "And what's that, may I ask?" "I've made a promise to a lady to go elsewhere." "Oh, Oscar! never mind me; you ought to do your lessons, you know." "I thought we flung that horrid word to the winds just now. There's no ought in the case; I had a holiday yesterday, and I mean to to-day. I mean to take Inna to Black Hole, and round through the woods, on a nutting expedition--so there!" This last to Mrs. Grant. "Very well, Master Oscar; I shall have to set the doctor on to you again. I hope, Miss Inna, you'll be a good little influence with him and teach him to obey his uncle." Oscar laughed, pushed back his plate, and left the table. "Now, Inna, run and put on your hat and jacket, and we'll be off," said he to the little girl. "Go, dear," said the housekeeper, as the child hesitated. "I suppose he means all right for this once, but he must take the consequence;" and away went Inna for hat and jacket, wondering if it was right to go. When she came down, Oscar showed her a packet of sandwiches in the nutting basket, which Mrs. Grant had cut for them to eat if they were hungry. "She isn't a bad sort; her bark is worse than her bite," said Oscar of her, when the two were well on their way. On and on--over stubble fields they went, till by-and-by they were taking a short cut through a carriage drive in Owl's Nest Park, as Oscar informed Inna. It was a pretty bowery walk, overarched with beeches and elms in all their autumn glory, and full of the clamour of rooks. Here they met an old lady in a wheel-chair, pushed by a page-boy--such a sweet sad-faced old lady was the occupant of the chair, with shining grey curls peeping out from beneath her black satin hood. She was wrapped in some sort of fur-lined cloak; and by her side walked two little dark-faced, shy-looking girls of seven, quaintly dressed in rich black velvet, very like two wee maidens stepped out of some old picture, and each wearing a hood similar to that worn by their aged companion. [Illustration: "A DONKEY AND CART CAME DRIVING UP."] "This is Madame Giche--spelt G-i-c-h-e--and her two grand-nieces; a queer party, all of them," said Oscar, still leading on. "This isn't her place: she can't live at her own place, they say, all about some trouble she's had; and so she took the Owl's Nest of Sir Hubert Larch, who never lives there, on lease." "Are we intruding here?" inquired Inna. "Oh, no; there is a right of way: that is, madame gives it, and people take it. Come on."