Paddy The Next Best Thing Part 3

"You are quite incorrigible," she said. "I might as well try and inspire Kitty," and she patted the spaniel, now curled up beside them.

"Perhaps, but it really isn't worth while to worry now, it is?

Everything's so jolly, it would be a pity to spoil it. You're so serious and solemn, Eileen. Paddy never bothers her head about any mortal thing--why do you?"

"I expect I'm made that way. It would not do for everyone to be the same. Shall we go home now? We shall be just in time for tea."

He got up at once and shouldered his gun, starting ahead of her to clear the brambles and stones out of her path, and turning to give her his hand where the descent became difficult. Had it been Paddy they would have scrambled down at a breakneck pace together, and he would have given no thought at all to her progress, for the simple reason that she would only have scorned it if he had.

But Eileen, somehow, was different. She was really quite as good a climber as Paddy, and probably a much surer one, but on the other hand she seemed more frail and dependent, and Jack liked helping her, even though he knew she would get along quite as well by herself.

At the lodge gates they met the two aunts, and Eileen was promptly carried off to the Parsonage to tea, the two little ladies at once commencing to pour into her sympathetic ears an account of the sad fate of one of their favourite cats as they went along.

"My dear, when we started out this afternoon," began Miss Jane, "we heard a most heartrending cry in the bushes, and after hunting about, we found such a pitiful object. It was scarcely recognisable even to us."

"Not even to us," echoed Miss Mary sadly.

"It was actually poor dear Lionel, one of Lady Dudley's last kittens,"

continued Miss Jane, "and what do you think had happened to him?"

"Was he caught in a trap!" asked Eileen.

"Oh, far worse," in a tearful voice. "Mary and I are feeling terribly upset about it."

"Yes; quite upset," came the sad echo.

"Has he singed the end of his tail?" asked Jack with due solemnity, "or has Lady Dudley been giving him a bad time because he stole her milk as usual?"

"Worse, my dear Jack, worse still," with a mournful shake of both heads.

"He has fallen into a barrel of tar." And the two little ladies stood still suddenly, to further impress the terrible nature of the calamity.

"Oh, Christmas!" exclaimed Jack, unable to resist laughing, while Eileen asked most anxiously, "But he got out again?"

"Yes, my dear, but think of the poor darling's condition!"

"What a home-coming!" said Jack irrelevantly.

"He was coated all over with tar," went on Miss Jane, now addressing Eileen only, and ignoring Jack with contempt, "and he had tried to clean himself, and of course, in licking his fur, had swallowed a lot of tar."

"Actually swallowed it," put in Miss Mary on the point of tears.

"And of course he was in a dreadful state, and probably in great pain, so we put him in a basket and took his straight away to Dr Phillips."

"Tar must be very indigestible," murmured Jack.

"And did he cure him?" asked Eileen kindly.

"Alas, no: he said nothing could be done for him at all, and the kindest thing would be to poison him at once."

A big tear rolled down Miss Mary's cheek.

"Poor Lionel," she murmured tenderly.

"_We_ buried him ourselves," finished Miss Jane, "under the cedar tree, as close to the churchyard gate as we could put him."

"Much better have put him by the rhubarb," said Jack, for which Eileen frowned at him over their heads, but instead of being in the least ashamed of himself, he looked up at the clouds and murmured feelingly: "Lady Dudley has still five living--let us be thankful for small mercies."

CHAPTER FOUR.

PADDY'S ADVENTURE.

Meanwhile in a very ruffled frame of mind, not only because Jack had kept her waiting half an hour, but also because she knew he had gone off quite contentedly up the mountain to look for Eileen, when he found he was in disgrace with her, Paddy trimmed her sail and sped across the Loch to Rostrevor. There was a fairly strong breeze, and the management of the boat kept her busy, but when she landed at Rostrevor alone, she had time to further anathematise Jack in her heart, and was in two minds about going up to the Hendersons at all. They had arranged to come over for tennis, but somehow Paddy did not think she wanted to play. She felt as if she wanted to work off her ill-humour by doing something daring, that would take her out of herself. So it happened that she stood on the quay irresolute and looked out to sea. Her quick eye was taking note of the wind and the tide, while her brain considered the advisability of taking a little trip toward Greenore. One half of her, the wise half, said, "Don't go; the wind is too choppy." The other half said coolly, "All the more fun! At the worst it would only mean a ducking, as you can keep near enough to the land to swim ash.o.r.e." Then, however, came the thought that Jack would certainly find out she had given up the tennis because of him, and feel ever so pleased with himself. That, of course, would never do. Whatever she had to put up with in the way of tennis was better than giving Jack such a triumph after his behaviour.

"I guess I'll do both," she said, "and I'll tell Jack it was the finest tennis I ever had in my life."

Consequently she made fast the painter, reached her racquet, and made her way briskly to the Hendersons, meaning to play one set and then get back to the boat and have her sail.

Directly she appeared, she was hailed with a chorus of delight, and was instantly claimed for a partner by four or five different players, from whom she calmly made her choice like a young queen.

"I'm not going to play with you, Harry Armstrong," she said, "because you poach too much. Nor with you, d.i.c.k, because you're so slow--you always reach the ball a second too late, and it's bad for my nerves.

And Basil Whitehead won't be serious enough. I guess I'll play with you, Bob," and she nodded to a shock-headed schoolboy of about fourteen, all arms and legs, and feet.

"How just jolly, thundering fine!" he exclaimed excitedly. "You are a brick, Paddy; we'll knock them into a c.o.c.ked hat, won't we!"

"You know the other girls here are such awful sillies," he remarked to her confidentially, as they walked toward a vacant court. "A fellow can't have half a good time with a set like this. They're no better than a pack of schoolgirls," and he turned up his snub nose contemptuously.

"Oh, well, of course! when a 'man-about-town' like you comes along,"

said Paddy, "we all feel horribly countrified and shy and awkward. It's only natural, living away out here among the mountains."

"I suppose so," said Bob, hesitatingly, not quite sure whether she was laughing at him or not. "Still," brightening up, "they might be more like you if they tried. You know I think you're just an awfully jolly girl," he finished with great condescension.

Paddy made him a mock bow. "I'm sure I feel highly honoured," she said, "but you mustn't tell the other girls, or they'd be frightfully jealous, and hate me like anything."

"Well, you needn't mind that," he replied stoutly. "I'll look after you, and settle them pretty quick if they're cheeky."

"That's all right, then. Let's set to work and win this set, because I have an important engagement directly after tea."

Bob's face fell a little at this, but he quickly decided to make the best of the prevailing good, and not worry about what came next.

But Paddy did not get away quite so quickly as she had intended, as Kitty Irvine came and pulled her on one side to tell her an important piece of news in confidence.

"Have you seen him?" she exclaimed in an eager undertone. "Isn't he perfectly scrumptious?"

"Seen who!" asked Paddy in bewilderment--"Who's perfectly scrumptious?"

"Why, Colonel Masterman's nephew, of course. You must have heard about him?"

"The Mastermans at Carlingford?" still unenlightened.

"Yes, Colonel Masterman has a nephew come to stay with them, from London. Fancy you not knowing!"