"I suppose there's some truth in that. But what's the good of staying now Maria has gone to the seaside? I want to go home, and see my friends again," declared Miss Yard, declining the next garment until she should receive a satisfactory answer.

"This is your home," said Nellie.

"Then why don't we have tea parties, and why don't we meet every week to knit chest protectors for the people who eat one another?"

"Because we no longer live in a town full of old ladies with nothing to do."

"There was an old clergyman who used to make me shiver with his dreadful stories," added Miss Yard eagerly.

"Not exactly. While the rest of you knitted, one of the ladies used to read aloud from a book, written by a missionary who had spent thirty years upon an island in the Pacific; and he did mention that, when he first went there, the people were not vegetarians."

"And we sent him a lot of mufflers and mittens," cried Miss Yard.

"Yes, and he wrote back to say wool was much too warm for people who wore nothing at all."

"That's what made me shiver," said Miss Yard triumphantly. "It wasn't so much what they ate, as their walking about without clothes. They used to go to church with nothing on. It must have been dreadful for the poor clergyman. No wonder his health broke down. We must go back," said Miss Yard decidedly. "I can't think what made me so silly as to come here. Do you remember the lady who lived in a dandelion?"

"Now you really have puzzled me," laughed Nellie.

"A little yellow dandelion on a hill. There were no stairs to go up, but I didn't like it much in summer."

"I've got it! You mean the bungalow that belonged to Miss Winter. You didn't like her."

"She used to kiss the clergy," said Miss Yard sadly.

"My dear Miss Sophy you must not libel people. She told you once the only men she ever had kissed were clergymen; one was her father, and the other her uncle. What makes you remember all this?"

"Percy has written to me, and says he's going to be a missionary."

"Let me see the letter."

"It's on my table. I'm sure Percy will make a good missionary, for when he wants money, he's not ashamed to ask for it."

"This is an appeal from the Society for Supplying Paper-patterns of the Latest Fashions to the Ladies of the Solomon Islands."

"That's where Percy is going. I do hope they will dress themselves properly for his sake."

"Oh, here it is!" cried Nellie, discovering a letter on the carpet. "So Mr. Taverner is coming here next week."

"And he's going to bring me some tomatoes."

"He's going to bring his fiancée," said Nellie.

"Now I've quite forgotten what that is."

"The young lady he's going to marry."

"That's what I mean. I get so confused between tomatoes and mortgages."

"He has just come into some money most unexpectedly," Nellie read. "He arrived at the conclusion long ago that the climate of England is quite unsuitable for the cultivation of tomatoes; and as he is anxious to exploit the capabilities of his new variety, he is going to settle, after his marriage, in Tasmania, which he believes is an island with a future. He is coming to Highfield to bid his dear good aunt a long farewell. Whatever gave you the idea he was going to be a missionary?"

"Doesn't he say so?" asked Miss Yard.

"No, he is going to Tasmania to grow tomatoes."

"I suppose I used to know something about Tasmania; but then I used to be very good at acrostics, and I can't do them now."

"It's an island near Australia. But not every one who goes to an island in the Pacific intends to be a missionary," said Nellie, adding to herself, "This will be delightful news for George."

That gentleman was depressed, for he had just received an anonymous communication threatening him with a fearful end upon the day that the first boulder of the new railway was blasted. Also Crampy had sent him a perplexing note, mentioning that some experts believed the vases were genuine, while others declared them to be forgeries; but, in any case, he had succeeded already in disposing of them.

When George had read Percy's letter, which Miss Yard passed across the breakfast table, with the remark that she herself would like to live "in the Pacific," if he could find her an island where the police insisted upon the wearing of apparel during divine service, he became highly suspicious, and suggested to Nellie in an undertone that Percy had selected the Antipodes with a view to removing himself as far as possible from the Central Criminal Court.

"He's going to grow Tasmanias in Tomato," announced Miss Yard.

"He means to grow giant tomanias – I mean tomatoes, in – oh, bother!" laughed Nellie. "Miss Sophy has muddled me. Why shouldn't Mr. Taverner grow tomatoes in Tasmania?"

"What about this money? Would anybody leave money to Percy unless they had to?" cried George.

"It may have been left to his young lady," suggested Nellie.

"He has robbed someone," said George bitterly, "and now he's running off the earth to hide the swag."

"If I wanted to say something nasty about Mr. Taverner," said Nellie, "I might suggest he had become engaged to Miss Lee because this money had been left to her."

"I should be certain of it, if he wasn't clearing out of the country," replied George.

"Isn't this honey?" complained Miss Yard. "What makes it taste so bitter?"

"Heavens, don't swallow them! Have they stung you?" cried Nellie, perceiving suddenly that the good lady was spreading her buttered toast with a mixture of crushed wasps and honey.

"They are not at all nice. Did the doctor order me to have them?"

"They are wasps, Aunt," said George bluntly.

"Are they the things that turn into butterflies?" gasped Miss Yard, rising from her chair and showing signs of distress.

"Don't worry, dear. They are quite harmless. Come and lie down, and I'll bring you something to wash out your mouth," said Nellie; and she carried off the old lady. While George, always ready to play emergency-man, rushed into the kitchen, acquainted Kezia with what had happened owing to her gross carelessness in putting away the honey pot with the lid off, and ordered her to despatch a telegram to the doctor. Then he went into the parlour and observed consolingly:

"People can live a long time with bullets inside them. Wasps can't be worse, especially as they must be digestible."

"I am afraid of the stinging parts," said Nellie.

"Perhaps they are worn off," he replied.

Miss Yard lay upon the sofa breathing peacefully, thankful she had made her will, but looking wonderfully healthy. She complained, however, of drowsiness, whereupon Bessie, who had rushed across the road at the first alarm, and was then standing in the parlour armed with the brandy bottle and blue bag, exclaimed incautiously, "That shows they'm stinging her. Robert ses his father wur bit by a viper, and he drank a bottle of brandy and lay unconscious vor twenty-four hours."

"Was it really a viper?" groaned the sufferer.

"I don't think they will do her any harm," said George. "In some countries the people live on frogs and slugs."

"And St. John the Baptist always had grasshoppers with his honey," added Bessie reverently.

"And Germans eat worms, and thrive on 'em," George concluded.

Kezia was crying in the hall, declaring that the jury would bring it in manslaughter. Being called upon by Bessie to make some valedictory remark to the poor lady, she approached, and blubbered out:

"Mrs. Cann ses, miss, you ain't to worry. She can't hardly open her mouth in the post office without swallowing something; and one evening, miss, taking her supper in the dark, she ate a beetle; and there's more good food about than us knows of, she ses; and it 'twas all cooked, miss, and if it warn't vor the look of such things, we might live a lot more cheaply than we do; vor she ses, miss, 'tis horrible to think what ducks eat, but there's nothing tastier than a duckling, 'cept it be a nice bit of young pork; and she ses, miss, she saw a pig of hers eat a viper – "

"There's nothing here about internal wasp stings," broke in Nellie, who had been consulting a book of household remedies.

"I can't think how it got into the house," Miss Yard was moaning, with her eyes fixed upon vacancy. "It seems wonderful that it should have run down my throat when I wasn't looking."

"Are you in any pain, dear?" asked Nellie.

"No," replied Miss Yard in a disappointed voice.

"They'm always like that," wept Kezia. "My poor missus was wonderful well the morning she wur took."

"I'm going away too," said the invalid. "Will you find me a train, George?"

"Where to?" asked the obliging nephew.

"The place where Nellie and I came from. I don't know what they used to call it."

"We'll go directly you are well," Nellie promised.

George brought a railway timetable, a pair of compasses, and a map of the British Isles; and delivered a lecture which delighted the old lady so much that she forgot her pangs, and was greatly astonished when the doctor bustled into the room thankful to know he was not too late.

"I suppose you want a subscription," said Miss Yard.

"I had a telegram saying you were seriously ill, but I have never seen you looking better," replied the doctor.

"Yes, I am wonderfully well, thank you. I hope you're the same," said the merry patient.

"Oh, doctor!" cried Nellie, entering the apartment. "Miss Yard was eating her breakfast – "

"And I swallowed a snake! Do you know I had forgotten all about it!" cried the old lady.

Nellie revised this version, and the doctor was professionally compelled to act the pessimist. He advised a little walk in the garden, to complete digestion of the wasps, recommended a stimulant, prescribed a tonic, and promised to call every day until the patient should be in a fair way to recovery.

Then he departed, and Miss Yard immediately suffered a relapse brought on entirely by the visit. She was stricken with some mortal disease, and they were hiding the truth from her. She consented to walk round the garden, as it would be for the last time; then, having insisted upon being put to bed, she implored Nellie to tell her the worst; and, when the girl declared it was nothing but a little indigestion, the old lady lost her temper, and said it was very unjust she should have to die of a disease that was not serious.

"There's nothing whatever the matter," said Nellie.

"Then what's all this fuss about?" asked Miss Yard.

"You are making the fuss."

"I didn't send for the doctor. And he's coming again tomorrow. It's not measles, and it's not whooping cough, but I believe it's poison. Bessie put poison into the teapot."

"Why Bessie?"

"I knew she would do something dreadful if she didn't stop growing. And Robert is so short. It must all mean something. He held the teapot while Bessie put in the poison. Nasty bitter stuff it was too! I suppose I must forgive them, though I don't like doing it. Where is George?"

"He is packing. He's going away tomorrow."

"But he must stay for the funeral!"

"There's not going to be a funeral. You know Mr. George must leave us; he has told you so lots of times."

"Tell him to come here. I must give him a present. Look in the cupboard and find me something to give George. And pack up all my clothes, for I shan't want them again. Send them to that Bishop who wrote and said he hadn't got any."

"I don't think, really, your clothes are suitable for the ladies of the Lonesome Islands," said Nellie.

"You must keep the best things. I want you to have my black silk dress and the coat trimmed with jet ornaments. They will come in nicely for your wedding. Perhaps George would like a brooch. Tell Bessie and Robert to come here at five o'clock to be forgiven – but I won't promise. You must write to Percy, and tell him I was so sorry not to be able to say good-bye, but the end came suddenly, though I was quite prepared for it. Why aren't you packing my clothes – or did you say George was doing it?"

"I'll call him. And if you worry me much more I shall swear," said Nellie.

George came and mourned over his aunt because the time of separation was at hand. Miss Yard agreed, but almost forgot her own impending departure when George explained he was referring to himself.

"Oh, but you are not going to die yet. I'm sure that isn't necessary. Besides, you are looking so well," she said earnestly.

"He is not looking a bit better than you are," cried Nellie.

"I am about to start on a long journey, Aunt," said George piteously.

"Oh, yes! I remember now about the island in the Pacific where the tomatoes grow."

"I have been working rather too much lately, and need a rest," he explained; "but directly you want me back you have only to send an invitation."

"I shall be left all alone – oh, but I forgot," said Miss Yard, interrupting herself in a shocked voice. "You must stay, George, to do me a great favour. I want you to bury me in Westminster Abbey in the next grave to Queen Elizabeth."

"My dear Miss Sophy!" exclaimed Nellie.

"Don't listen to that child. She is in a nasty cross mood – and somebody has been teaching her to swear. I took a fancy to Westminster Abbey when I was quite young, and, even if it is rather expensive, I should like to treat myself to a grave there."

"I'll see to it," George promised.

"You shouldn't say such a wicked thing," cried Nellie.

"Are you suffering at all, Aunt?" he inquired, anxious to change the subject.

"I don't think so," said Miss Yard. "It's all going to be wonderfully peaceful. I'm so thankful!"

"Shall I ask the vicar to call?" George whispered.

"Of course not," said Nellie fretfully. "She would think he had come to prepare her. I am very sorry you sent for the doctor. Here's another beastly wasp! Do kill it."

"Is she packing my clothes?" whispered Miss Yard, peering over the bedspread.

"No, and I'm not going to," replied the young rebel.

George struck out manfully at the living wasp, knocked it down somewhere, and began to search for the body which was still buzzing.

"Oh dear!" cried Miss Yard. "There's such a dreadful pain in my hand."

"I knocked it on the bed. She really is stung this time!" George shouted, seizing the insect in his handkerchief and destroying it; while Nellie fled for the restoratives which were necessary at last.

It was the best thing that could have happened, for immediately her hand was bandaged, Miss Yard's interest became centred in that, and she forgot there was anything else to worry about. When the doctor called next day, he was advised to say nothing about affairs internally, but to concentrate all his ability, and his bedside manner, upon the outward and manifest sting; with the result that Miss Yard was pronounced out of danger within forty-eight hours; by which time George had vacated the premises and made room for Percy.

Hardly had he driven away when there came a knock upon the back door, and when Kezia went to answer it, she found the Wallower in Wealth standing there, with twenty-five shillings in his hand and a bargaining expression on his face. Having inquired after the well-being of every one in the house, and made a few remarks upon the climate, he stated that he had lately enjoyed a conversation with the blacksmith, who had declared there never was a machine he couldn't mend and, if the musical box were brought to his forge, he would speedily compel it to play all kinds of music.

"What's it all about?" asked Kezia; and, as she put the question, Bessie crossed the road. Upon those rare occasions when she happened to be at home, there was nothing going on in the house opposite which Bessie did not contemplate from her upstairs window.

"Mr. Drake promised me the musical box," explained the visitor, who had watched the departure of George before setting out on his expedition.

"It ain't his, and he knows it. And you knows it too," said Kezia warmly, "else you wouldn't ha' waited till he'd gone away."

"Gone away, has he!" exclaimed the Wallower in Wealth. "You give me his address and I'll send the money on to him."

"That musical box belongs to me," said Kezia.

This was a critical moment in Bessie's career; to have yielded then would have meant the complete abandonment of all her rights in furnishings. She did not hesitate in declaring war upon her ancient ally with two steely words:

"'Tis mine!"

"I'm surprised to hear you say such a thing, Bessie Mudge; and Miss Sophy lying ill in bed too," replied Kezia.

"Mrs. Drake left me the musical box, and I ha' got writing to prove it, and me and Robert are only waiting vor Miss Sophy's funeral to take it."

"Mrs. Drake said I wur to have all the furniture in the house."

"I wouldn't like to have to call you anything," said Bessie.

"And I'd be cruel sorry to fancy you craved to hear the like," retorted Kezia.

Then they paused to think out new ideas, and to place their arms in more aggressive attitudes.

"When furniture be left to more than one person simultaneous, 'tis usual to divide it," explained the Wallower of Wealth.

"Half a musical box b'ain't of no use to me."

"Nor me."

"You sell me the box, and I'll give you twelve shillings, and twelve shillings to Mrs. Mudge, and I'll get it put right at my own expense," said the Wallower in Wealth, seeking to introduce the peaceful principle of compromise.

"I wouldn't take twelve pounds. The Captain told me there warn't another box like that in this world," said Kezia.

"He told me there wur another, but 'twas lost," replied Bessie, adding with the same spirit of determination, "I wouldn't take twelve pounds neither. Robert ses not a thing in the house can be sold without his consent."

"Who's Robert Mudge?" cried Kezia, in the voice of passion.

"He's my husband," replied Bessie.

"And who be you?"

"I'm his wife."

"Sure enough! They'm husband and wife. I saw 'em married," said the Wallower in Wealth, with a distinct impression that Bessie was winning on points.

"I don't know what's going to happen to us, I'm sure," said Kezia. Then, in accordance with military strategy, she conquered the enemy by abandoning her position and slamming the door after her.

That evening Bessie advanced as usual for coffee, which included a hot meal, and during this campaign Robert did not accompany her, being detained, according to the best of his wife's belief, in the bakery, working overtime at buns. Kezia distrusted this communication, as no festival of buns was impending, and arrived at the conclusion that the assistant baker had absented himself from coffee drinking owing to a bashfulness not uncommon in the time of war and tumults. Having, as she supposed, abated the pride of Robert, Kezia sought to assuage the malice of Bessie by small talk concerning Miss Yard's convalescence, the departure of George, which was positively final like the last appearance of an actor, and the Turkish state of things at Black Anchor. But the musical box remained an obsession, playing a seductive jig for Bessie, and a triumphal march for Kezia; and at last the former said:

"Me and Robert ha' been talking, and he ses nothing should be took away avore Miss Sophy dies."

"That's what my dear missus said. Not me, nor you, nor Mr. George, wur to touch anything till Miss Sophy had been put away," agreed Kezia.

"Didn't Mr. George sell part o' the cloam?" asked Bessie.

"Well, Bess, I did give 'en a pair of old vases. I know I ought not to ha' done it, but we've got plenty o' cloam, and I wanted the poor fellow to have something, him being a relation."

"What us wants to think about is this," Bessie continued, "me and you ain't agoing to quarrel. Mrs. Drake made a lot of mistakes in her lifetime, poor thing, and 'tis vor us to make the best of 'em."

"I'm sure I put in a good word vor you many a time," declared Kezia.

"I know you did," said Bessie warmly.

"I used to say to missus, 'Never mind about me, but do ye leave Mr. George and Bessie something. I don't care about myself,' I said."

"When us come back from Miss Sophy's funeral, us will divide up the things. First I'll take something."

"First me!" said Kezia sharply.

"You'm the eldest. You can take first," said the generous Bessie. Then she inclined her head towards the door and whispered, "Ain't that someone in the hall?"

"'Tis only Miss Nellie," said Kezia. "There's a drop o' cocoa left in the saucepan, Bess."

"I'm sorry us had words today, Kezia," said Bessie, as she took the drop.

"Don't ye say anything more about it. I'm sure the dear missus would walk if she fancied we weren't friendly. But I do wish she hadn't got so forgetful like."

"That ain't Nellie!" cried Bessie, listening again.

"Sounds as if Miss Sophy had got out of bed and fallen down."

"'Twas a bump vor certain. I'm agoing to see," said Bessie, opening the kitchen door.

She advanced along the passage, but was back in a moment.

"The hall door's wide open – and I saw a light from the parlour."

"There's a man in the house!" screamed Kezia. "Don't ye go out, Bess!"

"Who's there?" called the valorous Bessie, advancing again to the passage. Then she shrunk back, crying:

"Here's a young man – and here's an old 'un. They're carrying something. Don't ye go out, Kezia."

"Oh, my dear, I ain't agoing to," faltered Kezia, retiring into the far corner of the scullery.

"They'm running!" Bessie muttered. "One wur youngish, and t'other wur oldish. They ha' gone now. I heard 'em shut the gate."

"'Tis they Brocks," whispered Kezia in terror of her life.

"'Tis somebody who knew Miss Sophy wur lying ill in bed."

Bessie took the lamp and went forth boldly, calling a challenge at every step. Presently Kezia plucked up courage to follow, and they went together into the parlour.

The musical box had disappeared: so had the pair of silver candlesticks, the Russian Ikon, and various other rich and rare antiquities.

"Oh, Kezia; ain't it awful in a Christian country!" exclaimed Bessie.

"Go vor policeman! No, don't ye – they may come back again."

Then Kezia's eyes fell upon the mummy, and she cried hysterically, "Thank heaven they ha' spared the King of Egypt!"