Chester Humphreys was by no means a fool, nor was he unduly influenced by Ladybird’s rhapsodies; but the winsome and beautiful Stella had attracted him very strongly, and were it not for the absurd complications of the case, he would have greatly enjoyed making her further acquaintance; and although he realized that it would perhaps be wiser for him to go away at once, he felt a strong, though vague and undefined hope that he might see the young woman again before his departure.

At breakfast next day, then, when he announced his intention of leaving that morning, and his hostesses hospitably begged him to stay until afternoon, he willingly accepted.

“Let’s go for a walk,” said Ladybird, as they rose from the table; and the young man assented cordially, for this strange child had a peculiar fascination for him, and he was glad of a further opportunity to study her.

Ladybird chattered gaily as they walked through the gardens and orchards, and showed Mr. Humphreys all of her favorite haunts, and the trees which she liked best to climb. She led him through all the orchards of Primrose Place, and as they left the last one, they found themselves at the little brook, and sat down on the bank.

“I’m very glad,” said Ladybird, hugging her knees up under her chin, “that you have decided to do what I want you to do; but it seems to me you needn’t have been so long making up your mind.”

“Long!” cried Chester Humphreys, in astonishment. “What do you mean? And besides, I haven’t made up my mind!”

“Oh,” exclaimed Ladybird, “don’t begin to wobble again! Why, there’s only one thing for you to do! The greatest, beautifulest thing any man can have a chance to do is to rescue a fair lady from distress; and there’s plenty of distress; and here you are, and there’s the fair lady.”

“Where?” asked Humphreys, looking around.

“Never you mind,” said Ladybird, significantly. “But I’ll just tell you this while I think of it: there’s one thing you didn’t do that you ought to have done.”

“What’s that?” asked Humphreys, lazily. He was absently twisting a stem of timothy-grass around his finger and thinking about Stella.

“You didn’t bring me any candy. Now I would have preferred a man for Stella who knew enough to bring candy to me.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Chester Humphreys, heartily; “you’re quite right; and though I never can forgive myself, it may help a little if I send you a box as soon as I go back.”

“That will do nicely,” said Ladybird, gravely. “And now shall we go on?”

“Go on where?”

“Go on with our walk; we’re taking a walk, you know. Now we’ll cross the brook.”

Humphreys followed his elf-like guide as she swung herself across the line of stepping-stones, and together they walked through two fields. This brought them to another orchard – the same one in which some time ago Ladybird had discovered Stella; and the child well knew that the girl was more than likely at this hour of the morning to be up in the same old gnarled apple-tree.

Without so much as mentioning the fact that this particular orchard was the property of Stella’s grandparents, Ladybird led her companion to the apple-tree in question, and invited him to sit down beneath it.

“You haven’t told me yet,” said Ladybird, as they leaned comfortably back against the great crooked trunk, “what you really think of Miss Russell.”

She spoke in a high, clear voice, quite loud enough to be heard by any one who might happen to be sitting in the tree above them.

“I told you I thought her very beautiful,” said Chester Humphreys.

“But do you think her the most beautifulest girl you have ever seen?” persisted Ladybird.

“Yes,” said Humphreys, “I really do, and I have seen a great many; but never one with such exquisite coloring and such perfect features.”

“And don’t you think she’s as good as she is beautiful?” was the next question.

A slight disturbance was heard in the branches, and then a voice cried: “Ladybird, you’ll have to stop that. I really can’t allow myself to hear any more of it.”

“Miss Russell!” exclaimed Chester Humphreys, starting to his feet.

“Why, Stella,” cried Ladybird, innocently, “are you there? Won’t you come down; or shall we come up?”

“I’m not coming down,” said Stella; “and if you choose to come up, I shall be glad to receive you. There are plenty of vacant seats.”

“Thank you,” said Ladybird, “we’ll be delighted. Will you go first, Mr. Humphreys?”

Being sufficiently athletic, Chester Humphreys swung himself up by the low branches, and after shaking hands with Miss Russell, comfortably settled himself on a bough near her.

“Will you look at that child!” exclaimed Stella, pointing down the orchard, where, among the trees, Humphreys could see Ladybird’s flying figure, running as if her life depended upon it.

“What is she, anyway?” he exclaimed. “I never saw such a child. And yet she fascinates me by her very queerness.”

“She is fascinating,” said Stella; “and she has the dearest, sweetest nature in the world. I don’t always understand her vagaries, but I do understand her warm, loving heart, and her brave, impetuous soul.”

“She doesn’t seem to inherit the characteristics of her aunts,” said Humphreys.

“No, she is not like them, except in her courage and indomitable will. Her father must have been something unusual. She is probably like him.”

“And she was brought up in India.”

“Yes; that might account for many of her peculiarities; or perhaps the truth is that she grew up in India without having been brought up at all.”

“That’s more like it,” assented Humphreys. “But she is not here now, and you are, so I wish you would tell me something about yourself; won’t you?”

“Oh, there’s nothing interesting about me,” said Stella, laughing: “I’m not eccentric, I didn’t grow up in India, and I’m really very much like all the other young women you’ve ever met.”

“Not exactly,” said Humphreys; “for none of them ever received me in a tree before.”

“Oh, that’s mere force of circumstance – I had no intention of doing so; and it’s really only through one of Ladybird’s crazy pranks that you are here now.”

“That is true,” said Humphreys, with more meaning than she knew.

If Stella Russell had seemed to him beautiful the night before, she seemed a thousand times more so now. Her type is often at its best in the morning.

Her youth and wonderful color, with the accessories of fresh, crisp, pink muslin, and the green leaves of the apple-tree, made a picture which Chester Humphreys never forgot.

And beside all this perfection of æsthetic beauty, he saw in the girl a beauty of mind and soul which shone in her dark eyes as they met his across the apple-boughs. All this was brought home to him so positively that only his subconscious sense of the fitness of things kept him from speaking his thoughts aloud; and the situation was appreciably relieved when Stella said casually:

“Are you staying down to-day, Mr. Humphreys?”

“Yes,” he said conventionally; “I go back this afternoon.”

“Ah! you are a relative of the Misses Flint?”

“No, not that, but my mother was an old friend; though I had never met the Flint ladies until yesterday.”

“And you live in the world? – the great outside world? I have always longed for it.”

“And why shouldn’t you have it?” Humphreys’s eyes across the green apple-boughs looked straight into Stella’s.

“Because I am not of the world,” she said simply; “because I’m a country girl – country born and bred.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you must always continue to live in the country.”

“No; though I feel sure I shall. But tell me of the great world. Have you been all over it?”

“Not quite that; but I’ve seen the best and worst of it.”

“And which did you prefer?”

“Neither, I think – I’m not an extremist.”

“Nor an enthusiast?”

“That, of course. Life wouldn’t be worth living without enthusiasm. It is a part of our youth. Don’t you possess it?”

“Yes,” said Stella, very earnestly, “I’m sure I do. But mine has so little to feed on that I fear it may die of insufficient nutrition.”

“That seems a pity,” said Humphreys, “when the world is so full of a number of foods for enthusiasm.”

“It is a pity,” said Stella, quietly.

Their conversation was interrupted just then by Enthusiasm Incarnate, which, in the shape of Ladybird, came flying across the orchard to announce luncheon.

“And Stella is invited too,” she declared; “Aunt Priscilla said so.”

But Stella declined the invitation, and so Chester Humphreys and Ladybird strolled back to Primrose Hall the same way they had come.

“Now,” said Ladybird, with an air that would have sat well upon Napoleon after the battle of Austerlitz, “what have you to say for yourself?”

“I have a great deal to say for myself,” said Humphreys, “and it is to be said now, and it is to be said to you, and it is strictly confidential.”

“That means I mustn’t tell, doesn’t it?” inquired Ladybird, nodding her wise head.

“It means just that; and it also means that I trust you implicitly: that I have faith in your honor, loyalty, and truth.”

“You may,” said Ladybird, looking at him with her eyes full of an integrity suggestive of the rock of Gibraltar – “you may depend on me. I am a Flint.”

“Very well, then,” said Chester. “Now, my little Flint, listen to me. You did a rash and daring thing when you wrote that letter to the governor; but never mind that part now: it may be that an inscrutable Fate used you for a straw to show which way the wind was blowing.”

“Are you going to marry Stella?” demanded Ladybird, who took little interest in proverbial philosophy.

“That’s the first thing I want to speak to you about,” said Humphreys; “you must overcome your propensity for asking that question. It is a habit, and unless broken, it may defeat your own ends.”

“Oh, talk so I can understand you,” said Ladybird, impatiently. “And, anyway, are you?”

“Listen, Ladybird,” said Chester Humphreys, suddenly becoming very straightforward and serious. “You are very fond of your friend Stella, and you want to help her; and it may be that you will be able to do so if you are willing to listen to reason. And first you must stop asking me if I’m going to marry Stella, because that is a thing that a man does not tell other people until he has discussed it with the lady most interested. Also, if it is your wish that I shall marry Miss Russell, the surest way to prevent it is for you to go about repeating that foolish question. Now I told you I intended to be confidential with you, so I will say that I admire Miss Russell very much indeed – more, I think, than any other young woman I have ever met; but it is not nice nor wise from that fact to jump immediately to the conclusion of a wedding. Because I admire Miss Russell is an especial reason why I wish you to treat her with deference, consideration, and delicacy. Matters of this sort must advance slowly and unfold their possibilities as they go on. What may happen in the future cannot be decided now, or even discussed. You have done your part, and though your methods were unusual, your plan succeeded. Now any further attempt on your part to assist will prove only a hindrance. Am I clear?”

“You’re not very clear,” said Ladybird, with a thoughtful pucker between her eyebrows, “but I think I understand what you mean. You mean that you’d like to marry Stella, but it isn’t polite to hurry her so, and, anyway, you’re not quite sure about it.”

“Well,” said Humphreys, “that states the situation pretty fairly, though without mentioning its more subtle details.”

“Well, I’m satisfied,” said Ladybird; “it’s all right, and I think we understand each other. Don’t hurry any faster than you choose; and, anyhow, now that Stella has seen you, I know she’ll never look at Charley Hayes again. And as to your not being quite sure of yourself, I know very well that you’ll only get surer every time you see her.”

“Very likely,” said Humphreys. “But remember, Ladybird, this is a confidence that I have intrusted to you, feeling sure that you will prove yourself worthy of it.”

“See my finger wet,
See my finger dry,
See my finger cut my throat if I tell a lie!”

chanted Ladybird, suiting to her words actions rather more realistic than dramatic, but which carried conviction.

After luncheon Chester Humphreys had an interview with the Misses Flint that somehow induced those ladies to invite him to remain longer under their roof.

“You see, aunty,” said Ladybird, when she heard of Humphreys’s acceptance of this invitation, – “you see I am not such a fool as I look.”

“Which is fortunate for us all,” said Miss Priscilla, grimly.

“Quite so,” said Ladybird, serenely; “for I know sometimes I do look and act most exceeding foolish. But I suppose that is because I am really a Flint.”

Whereupon, for some inexplicable reason, Miss Priscilla kissed her.

CHAPTER XVIII
LAVINIA LOVELL

It must be that the exception proves the rule, for though the love of Chester Humphreys and Stella Russell was undoubtedly true, its course ran smooth.

One afternoon in August, Stella, Chester, and Ladybird sat out in the orchard.

“Now that you two are engaged,” said Ladybird, “if you wish, I will go away and leave you to your own self.”

“Don’t bother, Ladybird,” said Chester; “understand once for all that when we wish to be left to our own ‘self,’ we will either arrange it cleverly and unostentatiously, or else ask you frankly to take your departure.”

“Then that’s settled,” said Ladybird, leaning comfortably against a tree-trunk; “you are really the nicest engaged couple I ever knew.”

“Have you known many?” asked Stella.

“Not many,” said Ladybird, truthfully; “but I knew a few in India, and India’s the place for them.”

“Child,” said Chester, suddenly, “tell us something of your life in India. It seems to me a bit mysterious.”

“I don’t see any mystery about it,” said Ladybird, cheerfully. “My mama died when I was born, and I lived all my life with my old ayah. Sometimes I didn’t see my papa for two or three years at a time; but when he did come he brought me the most beautiful presents.”

“Have you no picture of your mother,” said Chester, “no letters or books, or anything that was hers individually?”

“No,” said Ladybird; “my papa died of that fearful fever, and everything was burned up. The gentleman who came and brought me away said that my mama was the sister of Aunt Priscilla and Aunt Dorinda; so he sent me here; but that was the first I had ever heard of them.”

“Had your father never mentioned them?” asked Stella.

“No; but then, papa never mentioned anything. When he was at home, he was always having company and gay parties, and he never talked to me, except to ask me if I was happy, and if I wanted any dolls, or candies, or new clothes.”

“And were you happy?” said Stella.

“Yes; I’m always happy. I can’t help it. I was happy there, with my native servants and my Indian entertainments; and I’m happy here, with my aunts and Primrose Hall. And I’m specially happy because I’ve made you two happy; haven’t I?”

“You have, indeed!” said Chester, heartily kissing the wistful-eyed child.

“I’m glad,” said Ladybird; and with her queer suddenness, she walked away.

“Just suppose,” said Ladybird to Cloppy, as she strolled toward the house – “just suppose, Clops, that we hadn’t sent for Chester, and suppose – but that’s too perfectly horrid to suppose – that Stella had still been intending to marry that unpleasant Charley Hayes. For as you well know, Cloppy, Charley Hayes is not fit to tie Stella’s apron-string. Of course she doesn’t wear aprons, but I mean if she did. And now everything is beautiful: my aunts are happy as clams; Stella and Chester are happy as oysters; and you and I are happy as – as whales, aren’t we, Clops?”

She flung the dog high in the air and caught him as he came down; and then running into the house, discovered a letter for herself on the hall table. With a curious glance at the foreign epistle, Ladybird took it, and holding Cloppy firmly under her arm, went up to her bedroom.

“You see, Clops,” she said as she reached her haven from all interruption – “you see, Clops, we’ve got a letter now that means something. Of course I love Stella and Chester, and Aunt Priscilla and Aunt Dorinda, but furthermore, and beyond, and notwithstanding, there is something in our lives, Cloppy, that is outside of all these, and of course, my blessed dog, it would be postmarked India. And so, Cloppy, we will now sit down and read it.”

Read it they did; and in the quaint, old-fashioned bedroom at Primrose Hall, Ladybird read these words:

My dear Miss Lovell:

I am writing you, as you will observe, from London, and I am the daughter of John Lovell and Lavinia Flint. This daughter, they tell me, you think you are; but it is not so: you are the daughter of John Lovell and his second wife; while I am the child of Mr. Lovell and his first wife, who was Lavinia Flint.

My attorney, Mr. William H. Ward, tells me that he recently met a Mr. Bond who sent you to Primrose Hall thinking you were the daughter of Lavinia Flint. But you are not the right one, and I am, so you see you will have to resign your supposed rights in favor of me. Mr. Ward is dictating this letter for me to write; and as soon as I hear from you I shall go straight to Plainville, and as I have proper identifications of all sorts, I shall claim my birthright.

Yours very truly,
Lavinia Lovell.

“It is just as I thought, Cloppy,” said Ladybird, shaking the moppy dog, and looking straight into his blinky brown eyes; “it is just as I thought, and we are not Flints, after all; but goodness gracious me, Cloppy, I’d rather be a Flint than anything else in this world, and I’d rather be Lavinia Lovell than – than – than Ladybird, though I never realized it before.”

A deep sob interrupted this last utterance, and Ladybird flung her face down on the little dog and cried bitterly.

But after a time she calmed herself and said:

“We are not to be downed, you and I, Cloppy, and so we will answer this Miss Lovell’s letter quite as it calls for.”

With great dignity, Ladybird went to her little desk and wrote the following note:

Miss Lavinia Lovell,

My dear Miss Lovell:

I suppose what you say is true, and if it is, then you belong to my aunts and I don’t. But all I have to say is, you come right straight here, and Chester and Stella and my aunts and I will see about it.

Yours very truly.
Ladybird Lovell.

With a sigh of successful attempt, Ladybird sealed her letter, and laid it on the hall table to be mailed. Then she went into the drawing-room, where her aunts were.

“Aunt Priscilla,” she said, addressing the elder of the Flint ladies – “aunty, why do you think I am the daughter of your sister?”

“Ladybird,” said Aunt Priscilla, smiling kindly at her, “what new crotchet is in your head now? You know Mr. Bond told us that you were the daughter of our sister Lavinia and Jack Lovell, to whom she was married fifteen years ago.”

“Yes; but, aunty,” said Ladybird, “Jack Lovell might have had two wives; and I might be the daughter of the second wife, you know. How would that be?”

“Ladybird, you’re crazy,” said Miss Priscilla. “You’re often crazy, I know, but this time you’re crazier than ever. Have you any reason to think Jack Lovell was married twice?”

“I have, aunty,” said Ladybird, solemnly, and she handed to her aunt the letter which was signed Lavinia Lovell.

Miss Priscilla read it through, and then saying, “Dorinda!” she handed it to her sister.

Miss Dorinda Flint was slow. She carefully read the letter through three times before she handed it back to her sister, and then she said:

“It does seem, Priscilla, as if Ladybird could not be Lavinia’s child. But that does not matter. In any event she is our child.”

“Yes,” said Miss Priscilla, in a tone which seemed to Ladybird almost solemn.

“Well, then,” said Ladybird, quivering with excitement, “what are you going to do about it? Because I’ve written to this girl, whoever she is, to come here.”

“You have!” said Miss Priscilla; and Miss Dorinda said: “Well, perhaps it’s just as well. Now we can straighten this thing out at once and forever. And it always has bothered me why Ladybird should have black eyes and hair.”

That afternoon, down under her own apple-tree, Ladybird told the whole story to Chester Humphreys.

“I don’t know, child,” he said, “but it seems to me this Lavinia must be the Flint heiress and not you; but don’t mind that, for you belong to Stella and me, and always will so long as we three shall live.”

“That’s all right,” said Ladybird, “and that’s satisfactory as far as you and Stella are concerned: but I just guess I don’t want some other girl taking my place with my aunts.”

“Of course you don’t,” said young Humphreys; “but still, if she is the rightful niece, and you’re not, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll kill her!” said Ladybird, passionately. “I’ll hang her! I’ll drown her!”

“There, there,” said Chester Humphreys, soothingly; “there, there, baby, what’s the use of talking nonsense? Those threats don’t mean anything and you know it. Now if Miss Lovell is your aunt’s niece and heiress, it is she who is the legal inheritor of Primrose Hall, and you – are nothing; that is, nothing to the Flint ladies.”

“Indeed I am,” said Ladybird; “I just guess you’ll find that my aunts, or whatever they are, love me for myself alone, and not because I’m the daughter of anybody.”

Chester Humphreys smiled uncertainly as he said:

“Well, I don’t know, Ladybird; but anyway, we’ll go now and talk to the Flint ladies, and see what they have to say.”

The interview with the Misses Flint resulted in long and earnest arguments by each of the four concerned; but Miss Priscilla wound up by saying:

“It may all be so; I don’t say it isn’t. There may be another child named Lavinia Lovell who is really the daughter of our sister; but this child, the one we call Ladybird, and who has lived with us for nearly a year, shall be our heir, the inheritor of our estates, and to all intents and purposes our grandniece, Lavinia Lovell.”

“Hooray for you, aunty!” cried Ladybird, and flying across the room, she wrapped her arms around Miss Priscilla’s shoulders and buried her face in the old lady’s neck. “You do love me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ladybird,” said Miss Priscilla, with a dignity that seemed possibly more than the occasion called for. “Yes, we do love you, and no other shall succeed in winning our love away from the little girl who has fought for and gained it.”

“Good old aunty!” cried Ladybird, pounding Miss Flint on the top of her somewhat bald head by way of approbation and encouragement. “You’re a dear, and Aunt Dorinda is another, and Chester is three, and Stella is four; and I just rather guess we four can come it over that ridiculous, absurd Lavinia Lovell, who’s going to thrust herself upon us.”

“I think so, too,” said Aunt Dorinda, placidly.