from
which he did not wake until the misty September dawning crept over the
wide plantations of beech and larch for which Beechleigh was famous.

CHAPTER II

The Deputation

It was well for Nealie Plumstead that she could mostly laugh in spite of
troubles, for her life had been shadowed by a great disaster which had
brought in its turn a battalion of cares, worries, and responsibilities.

Until she was almost twelve years old life had been one unbroken
happiness. She had been at the head of an ever-increasing nursery, and
she had governed her small kingdom to the very best of her ability. Then
had come a cloud of black trouble, the exact nature of which she did not
understand even now, only vaguely she had gathered that it was something
professional.

Then Ducky, whose name was Hilda Grace, had been born, and the dear
mother had sunk out of life, leaving a distracted husband and seven
children to mourn their loss.

Following this came the long journey from the busy manufacturing town,
where they had always lived, to Beechleigh and the home of Miss Judith
Webber. Dr. Plumstead had come with them to see them safely settled, but
on the day that Ducky was one month old, he had kissed them all round,
in a heartbreaking goodbye, and had set off on the voyage to Australia.

Sometimes he used to write to Aunt Judith and send her money for the
children's keep, when he had any to send; but he almost never wrote to
his children, although they simply pelted him with letters of the most
affectionate description.

Two years ago, however, a great weakness had fallen upon Aunt Judith;
she could write no letters nor do any business at all, and another
nephew of hers, a Mr. Runciman, undertook the administration of her
affairs.

The seven hated him in a hearty, downright fashion, for he always made
himself as disagreeable as possible to them, and certainly seemed to
resent their existence.

It was soon after Aunt Judith had been taken ill that a letter coming
from Australia, directed to Miss Webber, had been opened by Nealie in
all good faith, for she never supposed that her father would write
anything to her aunt that she might not read; but to her dismay she
learned that the numerous letters of the children, instead of bringing
pleasure to the heart of the exile, gave him so much pain that he
begged Miss Webber not to let them write to him, because it reminded him
too sadly of all that he had lost in the past, and