The Glenwood post., 1910-03-19
CHAPTER Iv.-Continued.

Miss Crew smiled. 81 am afraid So"
"Oh dear!" exclaimed the house
keeper reprovingly at the lack of pro-
fessional enthusiasm. Mr.. Basil loves
his writin'! He was no more than six
years old when l remember him COM
Ing to my room with little stick of
wood. | was under-housekeeper then
and quite young woman. 'Henly.
he said, sharpen this into a pencil
and I'll write you a birthday story
And time and again / can see him in
the big chair by the fire in the house
keepers room with the maids and me
around him, maxim stories.' his eyes
big as saucers, his cheeks like roses"
Mrs. Henly had not reminisced
about Lady Ormond and she was not
conscious of reminiscing now Lady
Tempest died at his birth, and for all
the bringing up he'd had-poor dear.
One night, miss, | was in this very
room lit was his mothers morning
room, and when the family were away
i used to come in and dust the things
myself, and fly had driven up with
out my hearing it, for it was winter
time and snow on the ground; and
this door'-she pointed to twas
pushed in and Parsons (the old white
headed butler you may have remarked,
mfss) came with a little lad by the
hand. I'd not seen Mr.. Basil for near
ly five years. He stood there in his
little great-coat and fur cap and SAYS
out clear as a bell 'Henny, father
sent me back to Craven. There's a
letter for you in my pocket some
where's He was not much over ten
years old.
Just take this yellow stuff OF the
wall commanded Mrs. Henly with
Imagination, land put on blue pa
per and curtains to the window to
match, and give me back my plain
furnishings, and you have the dear old
room, miss, as he stood in it. l have
Thought sometimes he always con-
nected his lonely coming with it and
was glad to change it. l says to him:
They haven't ever sent you alone.
Mr.. Basil?' l couldn't believe nv
eyes-ail the way from Paris like a
lost foundling." she paradoxed.
why not? he answered me as
old-as old. If I'm to live alone, |
expect l can travel alone as we'll
Sir Godfrey had married a French
woman and she took a dislike TO the
child"
You call him Mr.. Tempest" the
guest said
There's Sir Cyril, his brother-he's
nine years older. How I've gone on!"
ON" exclaimed Miss Carew. mot
too much if you can talk to me-Jm
more than touched by it; you've been
q mother to him-or near it."
All he had. poor lamb. from then
I'LL he went to Oxford, and then he
made his friends. We had masters
here for him. Sir Geoffrey wrote me
month by month how to do for him
and i had but to follow. If you could
get him to talk of it all-there's a
study! 1 sometimes wonder! His
thoughts and feelings must have been
strange enough some of those days"
IN Miss Carews sympathetic silence
she went on: I've been glad he
wasn't my own if you will believe me.
many times, for such as he was to
me he has made my heart ache, and
1 suppose flesh and blood can ache
deeper still for it's own"
1t was singular ending. Miss
Carew felt 1t SO. Was he ungrateful
or base?
Il get quite savage here" Mrs.
Henly apologized. II never talk-I
live in the past"
1T is you who should write the
study. Mrs. Henly." said her listener.
There's no one so well fitted. Alfred
de Musset's nurse wrote her souvenirs
of her master"
"Oh, mel" exclaimed the old wom-
IN. can't write letter any more
and rve forgotten how to talk. I'd
1ke to see It written In another way.