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isn't like you, my littlegirl."

  "No, indeed," mamma agreed, "it isn't like our Sweet Content."

  "But I'm not Sweet Content at all just now," I said. "I've been just_boiling_ for Peter to go out of the room so that papa can tell us hisnews."

  Mamma had not heard of it. She, too, glanced up with interest in hereyes.

  "It isn't anything _very_ important," said papa. "No one has left us afortune, and all my patients are much the same; it is only that Ithink--nay, I may say I am sure--I have got a tenant for the Yew Trees."

  Mamma looked pleased.

  "I am very glad indeed," she replied. "I am quite tired of seeing theplace deserted, and it is a good deal of expense to keep it at all tidy.I hope the offer is from some nice people."

  I had not spoken. I was very disappointed. I did not care at allwhether the Yew Trees was let or not. I was far too unpractical tothink anything about the money part of it. I suppose papa saw theexpression on my face, for he turned to me as he answered mamma'squestion.

  "Yes," he said, "that is the best part of it. I think they arecertainly very nice people. And, Connie, there will be some companionsfor you among them--two girls just about your age, perhaps a littleolder. Their name is Whyte--a Captain Whyte and his family; he has beenin the navy, but is shelved for the present. They are old friends ofthe Bickersteths."

  "White?" I repeated. I think I pictured it with an "i," not a "y.""White: what a common name!"

  Mamma smiled. I think my pert speech seemed to her rather clever; butpapa turned upon me almost sharply.

  "Nonsense, child!" he said; "where do you get such ridiculous notionsfrom?"

  "_Our_ name is so pretty," I replied, "and not at all common. It is avery old name, everybody says."

  Our name is Percy; papa is Dr Percy. I don't think "Dr" suits it aswell as "Major," or "Colonel," or "Sir." "Sir something Percy," not"Thomas," which is papa's name, but some grander name, like "Harold" or"Bevis," would sound lovely before "Percy."

  Papa looked at me, and he, too, smiled a little.

  "It is a pretty name if you like, my dear," he said, "and I am glad itpleases you. But as for our family being `old' in the usual sense,don't get any fancies into your head. My father was an honest yeoman,and _his_ father was only a head-man on a farm, though thrifty andhardworking, and, best of all, God-fearing. So that, bit by bit, hecame to own land himself, and my father, following in his steps, wasable to give me a first-rate education."

  I had heard this before, or some of it, but it rather suited me toignore it. I gave my head a little toss.

  "I don't see that that has anything to do with `White' being a commonname," I said.

  "Perhaps not. But I don't want you to get silly fancies in your head,dear," said papa, gently. "Trust me that Captain Whyte and his familyare _not_ common. It would be a pity for you to lose the chance of nicecompanions by any prejudice."

  "Oh, Connie would never be so foolish as that," said mamma; "and theBickersteths' friends are sure to be nice people."

  Mr and Lady Honor Bickersteth, I may as well explain, were the formerrector of Elmwood and his wife. Mr Bickersteth was a very old man now,and had resigned the living some years ago in favour of Mr Gale, Anna'sfather, who had been his curate. Lady Honor was quite an old lady, andthough she was very kind, I think most of our neighbours were a littleafraid of her. She was what is called "a lady of the old school," andhad very precise ideas about how children should be brought up. I thinkshe was the only person who ever dared to hint that I was at all spoilt.The Bickersteths still lived at Elmwood, in a pretty house a little wayout of the town. They had never inhabited the vicarage, but had let thecurate have it, so when Mr Gale became vicar it made no difference inthat way. And even now Mr Bickersteth still preached sometimes when hewas feeling well enough.

  "I am quite sure the Whytes are nice people," papa repeated in a settledsort of way; "and I shall be very glad for Connie to make friends withthem."

  His tone was so decided that neither mamma nor I _could_ have made anykind of objection. In my heart, too, I was really pleased, and not alittle excited, at the idea of some new friends of my own age.

  "Have they only those two children--the girls you spoke of?" askedmamma.

  "Those are the only girls, but there are ever so many boys of all ages--from fifteen or sixteen down to a baby, I believe," papa answered. "Theelder boys are to be weekly boarders at Leam; that is one reason whythey have chosen Elmwood."

  Mamma raised her eyebrows a very little.

  "Then they are not--not rich?" she said.

  "Not at all rich," papa replied promptly. "I want to spare them all theexpense I can. Captain Whyte is to pay a very fair rent for the YewTrees--the same that old Mrs Nesbitt paid. I would have taken less hadhe pressed it, but he did not. He is very gentlemanlike and liberal--itis curious how you can see the liberal spirit even when people arepoor--so I want to meet him half-way. I shall have his final decisionto-morrow morning, and if it is closing with the thing, I should likeyou to drive over with me to the Yew Trees and have a look round. Thereare some things it is only fair we should do, and as it is your house,Rose, you have a voice in it."

  The Yew Trees had been mamma's own home as a girl. Her father had beenthe Elmwood doctor before papa, and this house was left to her as shewas older than her sister. Yet she had never lived there since herparents' death; it was larger than we required, and mamma fancied it waslonely.

  "I should like very much to go with you," she replied. "Except--Connie,dear, I don't like leaving you alone."

  "Connie is much better," said papa; "and I think the wind is changing.I should not wonder if we have a bright, mild day to-morrow. If so, shemight come too. Old Martha always has a good fire in the kitchen at theYew Trees, and if the rest of the house is draughty, she can wait for usthere."

  I was very pleased at this. Strange to say, the little prejudice,though it seems exaggerated to speak of it as that, which I had soridiculously taken up on the mention of the Whyte family, had quitemelted away when I heard they were not rich. I liked the idea of beingkind and generous to people less well off than ourselves, and thoughthere was, perhaps, a little love of patronage in this, I hope it wasnot _only_ that.

  "I should _so_ like to go too," I exclaimed. "I do hope it will be afine day. Papa, if you are going to paint and paper any of the rooms,_mayn't_ I choose the paper for the little girls."

  Papa smiled. I saw he was pleased.

  "How can we tell which room will be theirs?" he said.

  "Oh, I _think_ we can guess. They're sure to have a room together asthey're so near of an age. I daresay their papa and mamma will let themchoose, and if the paper is the kind of one I mean, it would _make_ themfix on the room where it is. I saw it in Fuller's shop-window the otherday; roses, mamma, little climbing ones on a pale grey ground. And thepainting shall be pale grey with a pink line. It'll be lovely."

  I felt so eager about it I could scarcely sit still.

  "I'm afraid that kind of paper is rather expensive," said papa. "Andthough I want to make the house neat and nice, still I can't spend verymuch. However, we shall see."

  "The room my sister and I had would be the nicest," said mamma, quiteentering into my plans. Dear mamma is not _very_ sensible about money--she won't mind my saying so, for she says it herself. She leaveseverything to papa, and a good deal _now_, I am proud to say, to me."You remember it, Connie? Mrs Nesbitt called it her best room. Itlooks out to the side with a sort of square bow-window, though thatsounds very Irish!" she added, laughing.

  Papa glanced at her with such pleasure. He is always _so_ delightedwhen mamma laughs.

  "I do hope it will go through with the Whytes," I heard him say tohimself in a low voice.

  "I am so glad they are not rich," I said, with such satisfaction thatpapa and mamma really looked rather startled.

  "Dear child--" mamma began.

  I had scarcely known I was speaking aloud
. I felt myself grow a littlered.

  "I mean," I began confusedly--"If they had been rich, you know, wecouldn't have done anything for them, and--and--they might have beenspoilt, and very likely they would have looked down on us."

  "Even though they have such a common name," said papa, mischievously."Eh, Connie? Try and keep your mind clear of all those prejudices, mydear. Take people as they really are, and be as good and kind to themin deed and thought, rich or poor,