After hearing this, nobody troubled to make any further inquiries about him--he was beneath notice. It was stated by the neighbours whose grounds adjoined his that an army of workmen had been sent from somewhere, and were, of course, making a wreck of the beautiful old house. But no interest was taken in their proceedings, except by David and Sandy Bethune, who rapturously availed themselves of the kindly circumstances attending his advent. The short cut to school on the Green, up a gravelled path on the edge of the field, which the old General had put at the service of his friends who wished to visit the Green, had become lately to the Bethune boys a way to bliss. Marjorie and her brothers now slowly ascended the hill to "The Ridges" by this path. As they walked along, more like owners than suppliants for forgiveness, David pointed out to his sister the hiding-places they had found convenient. Marjorie's own conscience was asleep on the matter, and she did not put herself out to rebuke him. The man was angry. Her father had written that his boys would apologise. She supposed they would. They were generally able to do so when necessary, without in the least considering themselves bound thereby as to future action. Marjorie looked with interest at the places pointed out to her on the way up. She even enlarged a hole in the undergrowth to admit Sandy's plump body. But a vague irresolution and faint sense of discomfort came into her mind as the old red-brick house came in sight, and a blaze of colour from the flower-beds before the windows struck upon her vision. "Boys," she said, softly, "David, you will be nice, even if this man is a cad. Do you hear, Sandy?" she said more sternly, as Sandy panted to her side, returning from some exploration. "All right," said Sandy; "there he is!" They had emerged from the shrubbery path and had reached the edge of the lawn, which was divided from the long field by some white palings. Steadying herself by these, and an occasional grip at her father's trousers, as he walked beside her, was a little two-year-old girl. Her nurse was visible at some distance, sitting at needlework under the trees. [Illustration: "Father's put 'Dear Sir,' 'stead of 'Horrid Fellow,'" he announced.--_p. 68._] Undecided whether to advance on to the lawn, or to go further and ring at the front-door bell, Marjorie paused. The man's back was towards her. It did not present the appearance she had somehow expected. Why her imagination should have invested the new-comer with the attributes of a vulgar old man she could not afterwards recollect. But she had expected this. Instead, the back was young, and slim, and well-coated; and the finely poised head above it was adorned with a crop of short dark curls. Seeing him thus, Marjorie was conscious of a little embarrassment. A filtering doubt, creeping through her mind, made her give a hasty glance round at her young brothers.