ou have not stolen it. And you never meant to give it to me.
And she is not to know anything about it.'

'It feels like high treason!' said Mrs. Bywank. 'And she is
certain to get another. But I'm sure I'd be glad there was
some one there to look after things; for if she once got into
that, and found young Nightingale or some of the rest with
her, she'd be fit to fly. And there she comes, this minute.'

As they looked, Wych Hazel came out from the deep shadow of
the trees that clothed this end of the garden approach;
faultlessly dressed as usual, and with her apron gathered up
full of flowers; and herself not alone. A young 'undress
uniform' was by her side.

'Captain Lancaster,'--said Mrs. Bywank.

They came slowly on, talking; then stopped where the road to
the main entrance branched off,--the young officer cap in hand,
extremely deferential. They could see his face now; handsome,
soldierly, and sunburnt; with a pleasant laugh which came
readily at her words. Her face they could not see, beneath the
broad garden-hat. The gentleman touched his ungloved hand to
Wych Hazel's little buff gauntlet; then apparently preferred
some request which was not immediately granted; so gestures
seemed to say. Finally he held out his hand again; and she
took from her apron a flower and placed in it; and it looked
as if fingers and flower were taken together for a second. It
was a pretty scene; and yet Mrs. Bywank sighed. Then with a
profound reverence the young officer moved away, and Wych
Hazel entered the side door. She came on along the passage
singing; trilling out the gay little lullaby by virtue of
which Mrs. Bywank had long ago earned her name.

'Byo, bye! baby bye!
Byo, bye, little baby!
Byo, byo, byo, byo'--

'Where are you, Byo dear?' she said, opening the door. Then
stopped short in undoubted surprise. 'Mr. Rollo!--You two!' she
said, looking from one to the other; adding mentally, 'And you
have been talking about me!'

It was not just a pleased flush that came; and it was with a
little needless straightening of herself up that Wych Hazel
crossed the floor, and untying her apron of flowers laid it
down on Mrs. Bywank's sofa. Then she was the lady of Chickaree
again, graceful and composed. She came back and held out her
hand.

'I hope your luncheon is ready, Byo?' she said; 'and that you
have something very good to reward Mr. Rollo for his long
waiting. I had no idea I was delaying any one but you, or I
sh