ne wild moment, in my excitement, and the
boundless faith of childhood, I thought my mother had heard me, and
come back.

But it was only Nurse Bundle. She had been putting away some clothes
in my father's bedroom, and had been drawn to the dressing-room by
hearing my voice.

I think this scene decided her to take some active steps. I feel
convinced that in some way it was through her influence that a letter
of invitation was despatched the following day to Aunt Maria.

CHAPTER IV

AUNT MARIA--THE ENEMY ROUTED--LONDON TOWN

Aunt Maria was my father's sister. She was married to a wealthy
gentleman, and had a large family of children. It was from her that we
originally got Nurse Bundle; and anecdotes of her and of my cousins,
and wonderful accounts of London (where they lived), had long figured
conspicuously in Mrs. Bundle's nursery chronicles.

Aunt Maria came, and Uncle Ascott came with her.

It is not altogether without a reason that I speak of them in this
order. Aunt Maria was the active partner of their establishment. She
was a clever, vigorous, well-educated, inartistic, kindly, managing
woman. She was not exactly "meddling," but when she thought it her
duty to interfere in a matter, no delicacy of scruples, and no
nervousness baulked the directness of her proceedings. When she was
most sweeping or uncompromising, Uncle Ascott would say, "My dear
Maria!" But it was generally from a spasm of nervous cowardice, and
not from any deliberate wish to interrupt Aunt Maria's course of
action. He trusted her entirely.

Aunt Maria was very shrewd, and that long interview with Nurse Bundle
in her own room was hardly needed to acquaint her with the condition
of domestic politics in our establishment. She "took in" the Burtons
with one glance. The ladies "fell out" the following evening. The
Burtons left Dacrefield the next morning, and at lunch Aunt Maria
"pulled them to pieces" with as little remorse as a cook would pluck a
partridge. I never saw Miss Eliza Burton again.

Aunt Maria did not fondle or spoil me. She might perhaps have shown
more tenderness to her brother's only and motherless child; but, after
Miss Burton, hers was a fault on the right side. She had a kindly
interest in me, and she showed it by asking me to pay her a visit in
London.

"It will do the child good, Regie," she said to my father. "He will be
with other children, and all our London sights will be new to him. I
will take every c