"She isn't old, young gentleman. There are some little girls--or young ladies, perhaps you'd call them--that she has brought up. She says the neighbours have called on her." "Is Waynflete much of a place?" asked Guy. "Why have we never seen it?" "No, Guy," said Mrs Waynflete. "It's but a poor place, and while the house was let to strangers--as, indeed, a good part of the property is still in the hands of the old tenants--I did not care for you to go there. Now, you can both see what you think of it." Guy gave a quick glance at her, while Godfrey said-- "I don't suppose it's jollier than this." "Before you go," said the old lady, sitting up in her chair, "there's something I want to say to you." "Yes, auntie," said Godfrey, staring at her, while Guy said, "Yes?" politely. "You both know how Waynflete has been got back for the family. By hard work, and doing of duty, and courage. When my heart is set on a thing, lads, I don't fear trouble. I don't fear man, and I've no need to fear the devil, since I know I'm in the right. And I never shall fear what folks may say of any course I choose to follow. I'm an old woman, and I tell you that a single aim always hits the mark." As she spoke in her strong voice, and looked at the lads with her strong eyes, Guy felt that the manifesto had a purpose. Godfrey listened quite simply as to an improving remark. "You know how, bit by bit, your great-uncle Palmer and I have got Waynflete back. And I've often told you how _my_ great-uncle Guy lost it?" "Oh yes, auntie," said Godfrey, cheerfully. "He got screwed, and then made up a cock-and-bull story about the family ghost stopping him at the bridge. Awful bad lot he must have been. Then he died, didn't he, and Maxwell of Ouseley had the place till _he_ went to the bad, and had to sell it?" "Yes, he died delirious, and my grandfather was turned out to make his way in the world. So you see, 'twas self-indulgence, drinking and gambling that lost the place, and ruined the family." "I don't think my namesake deserves all the blame," said Guy. "His father, as I understand the story, got him into a pretty tight place." "He had his chance, Guy, and he lost it by his cowardice--if, as some think, he was stopped by highwaymen, or by his vicious habits, if he was drunk. He was a very fine gentleman, I've heard; played the fiddle, Guy, and wrote verses; but that was no stand-by in his hour of need." "The family ghost, himself," said Guy, in a slow, dry voice, "seems to have been an unpleasant person to know." "Ay; there was a young Waynflete who betrayed his friend in Monmouth's rebellion, to save his own life. He went mad, and shot himself--as the story runs--so ignorant folk say his ghost haunts Waynflete, and think, when the wind blows, they hear his horse galloping." "That Guy who was too late was an awful duffer, if he wasn't drunk!" said Godfrey. "I'd have got over the river, ghost or highwayman, or been killed on the spot."