my namesake outwitted Sir Humphrey
Warden. I wish you would tell them the story, Mother."

"Oh, do, please," pleaded Lindsay and Cicely; "we'd like so immensely to
hear it!"

"I believe I shall just have time while we finish tea," said Mrs.
Courtenay. "I suppose you need not be back in school until half-past
five? Have you been in the long gallery at the Manor, and looked at the
pictures?"

"Yes, often," said Cicely.

"Then you will remember one, at the far end, of a girl in a white
dress, holding a bunch of roses in her hand?"

"Yes; it's the prettiest of them all. We always say it's the exact image
of Monica."

"It is the portrait of a Monica Courtenay who lived here in the time of
the Civil War. Her father was killed fighting for the king at Marston
Moor, and her only brother, Sir Piers, was also one of the hottest
supporters of the crown. When Cromwell came into power, Sir Piers had to
flee for his life. He was chased from one hiding-place to another.
Sometimes, like Prince Charles, he had to clamber up a tree until the
soldiers had passed by, and once he spent a night in a fox's hole.

"At length, one summer evening, hunted almost to desperation, he
returned to his old home. He met his sister in the garden, and though
she exclaimed with joy at seeing him, she immediately made a sign for
silence, and motioned him to conceal himself under a large box tree
which stood near.

"It was not safe, so she whispered, to go to the Manor. There were spies
about, and Sir Humphrey Warden, the most zealous Roundhead in the
district, had set a watch upon the house. At any moment they expected he
might arrive with a troop of soldiers. Piers must stay where he was, and
she would run and bring him the key of the boathouse; then, under cover
of the darkness, he might creep away to the river, get out the boat, and
drop with the current until he reached the sea, where possibly he might
find a ship to take him over to France.

"She hurried indoors at once to fetch the small key that unlocked the
boathouse, but as she was returning down the avenue she found she was
just too late. There was a tramp of horses' hoofs, and Sir Humphrey
Warden came riding up at the head of a band of men.

"'Good even, fair neighbour,' he said. 'I must needs make an inspection
of your house, and with your permission I will give myself the honour of
supping with you to-night. What brings you hither?'

"'I do but take the air, and pluck a few of th