village friends, 'Miss Jane.' And it was wonderful what a
companion Miss Jane had become to them: they never felt really alone
when they were sitting beside her. Betty made up stories about her,
and Angelica wondered about her and about the days when she was alive,
and how old she was when she died, and whether she ever saw Edward the
Black Prince, and whether she had a father and a mother who were very
sad when they put that figure over her grave. And often when anything
had gone wrong with the sisters, they would come and sit down on the
grass by the arbour and tell it to Miss Jane, and feel as if she
sympathized with them and comforted them. And if more lucky little
girls are inclined to laugh at them, I would ask them to be thankful
that they are happier than my two little sisters, and have a mother to
whom they can go and tell their troubles instead of whispering them
into the broken stone ear of Miss Jane.

And perhaps it was partly that old custom of theirs that made Betty at
this moment, when she wanted to tell about the great change that was
coming into her life, lead the way to the arbour and sit down on the
bench close to the silent figure among the trailing creepers. Peter
and Nancy stood in front of her and waited for her to speak, both a
little embarrassed, as we are when we aren't quite sure how we ought to
feel and what we ought to say. It was very sad, of course, about Mr.
Bernard Wyndham being dead, but, as they had neither of them ever seen
him in their lives, it was rather difficult to mind very much. But
then they knew they ought to think about what Miss Betty was feeling.
Nancy looked at Pete and felt that it would be dreadful to have one's
brother killed, even if he did scold one and keep one in order rather
too much. But then a brother who had been in the West Indies for
twelve out of the thirteen years of one's life was different from a
brother who was always there to get one blackberries and lift one over
hedges, and even box one's ears when one required it. And besides, as
I have said, Miss Betty did not look exactly very sad, only grave and
just the least little bit important. So they waited to hear what she
had to say.

'It is quite true, Pete and Nancy,' she began; 'Mr. Bernard has been
killed in a dreadful rising of the natives in the West Indian Islands.
He was very, very brave--of course we knew he would be that--and he has
died as an Englishman ought to die, so we shall neve