Evening star., 1912-11-05
CHAPTER XIV.
The Four Pottles.

hC 4Ou1 i WINS.
Kate and Harriet went straight to their
bedrooms, Harriet to rehearse her part
in the Forthcoming scene with Horat!o:
Kate in an angry fever, to ring for Glib
son to pack her boxes without mo-
ment's delay. She rang several times be-
fore Il housemaid appeared and informed
her ladyship that Gibson was nowhere
TO be found There was suppressed
eagerness about the girl. as II she had
something further TO disclose, something
unusual. but Kate did not question her.
and she left the room, closing the door
reluctantly behind her.
On the tabe near the bed lay yellow
paper-bacKed book, open and face down
ward, in unseemly straddle, as Kate had
left it the day before to keep the place.
1t was a collection of stories by new
French author. She picked ii up ana be-
gan slowly turning the pages.
Still reading, she sat down on the bed.
In little while She lifted her feet and
lay back without taking her eyes from
the book. Half an hour later the yellow
book lay on the floor where Kate had
flung it. How could any one write such
trash. 1.
Alone in her room Harriet waited for
Horatio. Since the tragedy of the after.
noon before the husband and wife had
scarcely spoken, and Harriet welcomed
a storm to relieve the charged atmos-
phere She was ready with her opening
speech and she knew what fforato must
inevitably reply and she had prepared a
crushing rejoinder. But Horatio did not
come.
In the mournful exodus from the Ii
brary the gentle curate had been the
last, holding the door open for the others,
and after softly closing it behind HIM,
without lifting his eyes from the ground,
he had passed, unseeinS and unseen,
through the hall and out into the Sunlit
garden.
Scarcely noticing and caring not at all
where he went, Horatio found himself In
the lane, and now, while Harriet listened
in vain for his shuff1ing step on the stair,
the curate was a good mile and half
away in the very heart of the Millbrook
woods. He had followed at random any
path that appeared, If there We're
choice taking the one with the darkling
look. that might lead to the witches nut
or the cave of the Snomes.
And now, when he was beginning to
feel the creepy JOY of being lost, that he
had never quite outgroWn. the curate
came suddenly upon bright grassy hol-
low among the dark trees, guarded from
view on all sides by high ferns. The
dark old beeches gathered round it and
stretched their great elbows over 1t as II
to keep it's existence secret from all the
world but one little girl. Even the sun.
who was invited everywhere. was only
allowed to take furtive peeps through
the green fingers OF the jealous I'D
beeches 1t was as IL they said: Go
away. This little golden maid is all the
sunshine We need, thank YOU. For there
in green velvet chair formed by the
twisting mossy root of an immense beech
tree. sat An Petronia.
The curate stood still in the shadow
among the tall ferns. fearing to startie
her. She was listening with shut eyes
and parted lips. Twice through the green
solitude sounded the long, intensely sol
emn note of a wood thrush; then it was
gone leaving behind it an echo-haunted
stiffness.
An Petronia opened her eyes and caught
sight of the curate.
Daddy Merler' she called to him.
did you hear the thrush? I wonder
what he said, Daddy Merle?"
He said, L wonder who that little girl
is that sits all alone by herself in my
private wood 2 intoned the curate
aren't You afraid of getting lost?' he
said as he descended the ferny slope TO
where she sat.
Il isn't losted. l tan't det losted.
has four Politics.
She pointed to four dolls in various
stages of dilapidaton, sitting stiffly in
row in front of her, their eight feet i'm
mersed in trickle of water that seemed
to come from nowhere and disappeared
magically among the ferns, chuckling to
itself at the success of its vanishing
trick.
Dear me-" said Merle, inspecting the
dolls with a profound show of interest,
II had no idea you had SO many chill
dren. What are their names?' he in
qured.
They're not children" said An Pc
tronia, they're Pottles. Their names
are Maffew, Mart Loot, and this one"
she picked up the least-favored in ap-
pearance of the four, this one is Don.
She caressed him tenderly. 1t was pain
that Don was the one she loved best,
perhaps because of his great misfortune
Don was headless.
He had real hair once. but / losted
his head An Petronia sighed deeply. Il
wish had all the Pottles, Daddy Merle. ..
Then there are more? asked the Gu
rate, wondering whittier the child's s
strange fancy was leading her.
''Of torse there is. l had a picture OF
them. Don't you know the twelve Pot
ties, Daddy Merle?" She opened her blue
eyes in panied surprise at the woeful ig
norance of this otherwise perfect old gen
tleman.
Then a great light burst upon Horatio
Merle. why, to be sure, my dear' OF
course l know the twelve aposI should
say Pottles. i have known the twelve
Pottles ever since | can remember, my
child. Dear me! dear mel" His face
fairly beamed with pleasure at this lucky
intuition. Inc curdte $ happiness at nav
ing reinstated himself in the estimation
of his little friend was only equaled by
An Petronia's joy at the recovery OF her
SO nearly lost ideal
Il just knew you knew. Daddy Meriei"
she cried, and pressed her little pa ms
together in an ecstasy of childish delight.
But aren't you afraid they'll catch
cOld?" said the curate presently. in a
tone of proper concern, as An Petrona
was returning the headless John to his
place beside Matthew, Mark and Luke,
who still sat stoically with their feet in
the water.
She shook her head gravely. almost
reprovingly. ''Oh. no! The Pottles is
having their feet washed. They tan't
tatch told" Then, after moment of
pondering: ''Would YOU like to see the
picture, Daddy Merle?'
Before he could answer She had Jumped
up and disappeared behind the great
beech tree. She had only been gone a
moment when out of the stiffness came 4
small voice: .'Tum and see my little
house, Daddy Merle!'' 1t was the voice
of An Petronia, but strangely muffied and
far away.
Full of curiosity. Merle scrambled to
his feet and peered round the tree. An
had become of her? Another step and
the mystery was explained.
Between two of the buttresslike roots
on the other side of the ancient beech
was d dark fissure, extending from the
ground upward for three or four feet and
just wide enough to form a doorway for