'Now, remember that you are perfectly well, Hollyhock.'

'Yes, auntie dear, of course.'

'And there 'll be no more malingering.'

'Whatever's that, Aunt Cecilia?'

'Why, doing what you did--_pretending_ to be ill, and keeping your
family in a state of misery.'

'I won't do it again. Now for your news.'

'I want to make one last condition, Hollyhock.'

'What do you mean?'

'A lonely life does not suit you, my child. When you are forced to
have recourse to the kitchen cat, that proves the case. Now I want you
to go back to Ardshiel with the other girls on Monday.'

'Oh, oh, _auntie_!'

'No one wishes for you here, child, and you certainly won't get my
great piece of news unless you make me that promise. You will be as
happy as the day is long at that school.'

'They certainly do _look_ happy,' said Hollyhock, 'and I should like to
see the boy with the blue eyes.'

'The boy with the blue eyes'----

'Oh, nothing, auntie; nothing. I'll agree. The kitchen cat is poor
company. Now, then, out with your news.'

'You shall have it, dear. God bless you, darling! You have done a
brave thing. And I cannot describe to you the joys of that lovely
school, which you have wilfully absented yourself from. Now sit quite
close to me, and listen to my news.'

Certainly Aunt Cecilia _had_ a winning way. She was always remarkable
for that. She could fight her cause with any one--with man, woman, or
child; and she could fight it in the best possible way, by not fighting
it at all, by simply leaving the matter in the hands of Almighty Love,
by just breathing a gentle prayer for Divine guidance and then going
bravely forward.

This plan of hers had supported her when her beloved husband was killed
in battle; when her bonnie laddies, her Precious Stones, were sent to
Mrs Macintyre's school; and would support her when, according to the
arrangement made between herself and her husband, Major Constable, the
time came for her Precious Stones to go to Eton.

Major Constable had been an Eton boy, and he knew well the spirit of
the gallant words:

It's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote,
Play up! play up! and play the game!'
This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
B