Legend-led

IT was a very warm afternoon in July. In a front room with a large bay window overlooking the sea and beach at F— were the three little Thurstons; and they were having their tea at a round table, presided over by their governess, Miss Gubbins. The atmosphere was close; the children's faces hot, and—if I may say it—sticky; and Miss Gubbins leant back in her chair fanning herself with a newspaper and watching her charges in lazy wonder, as they ate slice after slice of bread and butter, and emptied a large plate of prawns between them, talking ceaselessly as they did so.

Donald, the eldest, was a bright, handsome little fellow, who thought and acted for himself, and was generally in trouble through his independent spirit. Claud was fair and sturdy, had quite as strong a will as Donald, but was always willing to take advice; and Gypsy, as she was called, and whose proper name was Eleanor, was a quicksilvery, gentle-looking little maiden, with a fragile appearance and a spirit as high as either of her two brothers.

"A reg'lar handful!" pronounced the landlady, who had now had them as her lodgers for some years. "The plagues of the terrace!" pronounced the two quiet maiden ladies next door.

"And the dearest children in the world when they're good," Miss Gubbins would say.

Miss Gubbins took life very easily. She always dressed in grey, was very short-sighted, and had a passionate love for poetry, which love she tried to foster in her young charges. She was not a young woman, but had a simple freshness of mind and heart that always kept her in touch with children. Her rule was not a severe one, and except in the three hours of morning study, her little pupils were left very much to their own devices. Good principles she sought to instil into their minds, and beyond this she did not go.

She sat now, as she often did, listening to the conversation, but taking no part in it unless she was appealed to.

"Old Cole said he'd lend me some red paint, and I'll do it in letters large as life," said Donald, with a little swagger in his tone.

"What will you put on it?" asked Claud thoughtfully, as he sucked a prawn's head and put it on the edge of his plate with a sigh, to think that he could get no more out of it.

"The resident's property."

"What grand words!" And Gypsy opened her blue eyes to their widest extent.

"Trespassers will be prosecuted!" continued Donald.

"What does prosecute mean?" asked Gypsy.

"Burnt at the stake, and cut up in little pieces, and drowned, and arms and legs twisted off, and eyes put out with red hot pokers!" said Claud with cheerful assurance.

"That's persecuted, you booby!"

Donald's tone was contemptuous. He added, "And if that won't keep the visitors off our corner, I'll fight every one of them!"

"You wouldn't beat them. You might the mother's children, but not the nursery ones, nor the schoolroom ones; and there are two sets of schoolroom ones coming to-morrow, the Stevens, and the Burkes who were here last year!"

"I shall get old Cole to help me."

"And I'll help you too, and I'll put on my boots, because the kicks will hurt more!"

This was from Gypsy, whose eyes sparkled in anticipation of a coming contest.

Then Miss Gubbins spoke.

"What are you all talking about? Don't let me hear of you fighting any one!"

"Well, it's our bit of beach, it has got the big rock on it, and the longest breakwater, and we're residents, aren't we, Gubby? And the visitor children aren't going to drive us from it—two boys tried it on this afternoon—and we'll let them know who we are!"

Donald spoke excitedly, and flourished his teacup in his hand like a war club.

"And they were only nursery children, too!" cried Claud with scorn.

"I don't understand what you mean by 'nursery children,'" said Miss Gubbins.

"Oh, Gubby, you know! We told you the other day; they are the ones that live in a nursery, of course. All the children that come here belong to three lots. The schoolroom ones come with their governess or from school; they're the jolliest. Some of the nursery ones aren't bad, but the nurses are horrid, and the mother's children are worst of all! They have company manners and best frocks and kid gloves, and always live in the drawing-room!"

Miss Gubbins smiled.

Donald went on: "And the residents always come first, before the visitors. The beach belongs to us in the winter, and we aren't going to give up our pet corner in the summer for any wretched little visitor!"

"You will not be residents here much longer," said Miss Gubbins, rousing herself; "I am only waiting till you have done tea to tell you about it. I heard from your step-brother this morning."

There were shouts at this. "The Ogre!" "Is he coming to see us?" "What did he say?"

Miss Gubbins would not satisfy any curiosity until the tea things were removed, hands and faces washed, and a tidy little group gathered round her.

The children were always curious when there was any correspondence between Victor Thurston and their governess. He was almost a stranger to them. He had been abroad when his father had married a young wife, and never saw the children till after their mother's death, which occurred when Gypsy was born. Then he came home for a few months, as his father was taken ill, and followed his second wife to the grave within six months of her death. Victor made arrangements for the children to be taken to Miss Gubbins, who was a friend of their mother, and she had come into rooms with them at the seaside, where they had remained ever since. And then Victor had gone abroad again, and, beyond a short visit one summer, during which he inspired the children with the greatest awe, he had not been near them.

"Do tell us, Gubby, quick!" pleaded Claud. "Is he coming here?"

"No, but we are going to him. Now don't scream so, and I will tell you. An uncle of yours has died, and has left your brother an old house in the country. He says it is too large for him to live in alone, and he wants us to go there at once."

"The Ogre's Castle! Hip, hip, hurrah! Are we going to-morrow?"

"The end of next week."

"And is he there?"

"No, he will not come till a month later, he says."

"Then we shall do just as we like, and you'll give us a holiday, like a dear good Gubby, won't you?"

"I shall see."