The Two Sides of the Shield. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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      ‘No, a Black Brunswicker.’

      ‘Oh ah! They are coming—the enemy! Into the fortress! Bar the wolf’s passage!’

      And as Dolores struggled through the bushes, she saw the whole family dashing into an outhouse, and the door slammed. She pushed against it, but an unearthly compound of howls, yells, shouts and bangs replied.

      ‘Gillian! Harry, I say,’ she cried in great anger; ‘come out, I want to speak to you.’

      But her voice was lost in the war-whoops within, and the louder she knocked, the louder grew the din, till she walked off, swelling with grief and indignation. Mysie, after all her professions of friendship, to use her in this way! And Harry and Gillian, who should have kept the others within bounds!

      Slowly she crossed the lawn, just as Lady Merrifield, the other two aunts, and Fergus, all came out from the glass door of the drawing-room. Aunt Jane, a trim little dark-eyed woman, looking at two and forty much the same as she might have done at five and twenty; and Aunt Adeline, pretty and delicately fair, with somewhat of the same grace as Lady Merrifield, but more languor, and an air as if everything about her were for effect. Though not specially fond of theses aunts, Dolores was glad to have them as witnesses of her ill-usage.

      ‘There stands Dolly, like a statue of Diana, dart in hand,’ exclaimed Aunt Adeline.

      ‘Yes,’ said Dolores; ‘I wish to know, Aunt Lilias, if Wilfred and Valetta are to call me names, and shoot arrows at me?’

      ‘What do you mean, my dear?’

      ‘They came at me while I was sitting quietly reading—there—and shot at me, and called me such horrid names I can’t repeat them, and ran away. Then the others, Gillian and Harry and all, would not listen to me, but shut themselves up in an out-house and shouted at me.’

      ‘I think there must be some mistake, Dolores,’ said her aunt. ‘Where are they?’

      ‘Out beyond there,’ said Dolores, pointing in the direction in which Fergus was running.

      Lady Merrifield set off with her, and the other two ladies followed more slowly.

      ‘I thought it would not do,’ said Aunt Jane.

      ‘Lily’s children are so rough,’ added Aunt Adeline.

      ‘I am not so sure that the fault is theirs,’ was the reply. ‘She is a priggish little puss, who wants shaking up.’

      ‘Ah! here come the hordes,’ sighed Adeline, shrinking a little, as the entire population, summoned by Fergus, came pouring forth to meet the advancing mother.

      ‘How is this, Wilfred? Have you been shooting arrows at your cousin?’

      ‘Mama!’ cried Valetta, indignantly, ‘he did not shoot at her; he only pretended, and shot the old crocodile-bench. He never meant any more. It was only play.’

      ‘Have you not been forbidden to shoot in the direction of any person?’

      ‘Nor I didn’t!’ said Wilfred. ‘I only shot the crocodile. I never tried to hit her. She is quite big enough to miss.’

      ‘And she did look such a nice Croat, mamma,’ added Valetta. ‘We were scouts out of the Thorn Fortress, Willie and I, and it was such a jolly dodge to steal upon one of the enemy.’

      ‘You should have warned her.’

      Then it would not have been a surprise,’ said Val, seriously.

      ‘Was she not at play with you?’

      ‘No, mamma,’ said Mysie. ‘We asked her, and she would not. I say,’ pausing in consternation, ‘Dolores, was it you that came and called at the door of the Wolf’s passage?’

      ‘Of course. I wanted to show Gillian how Wilfred behaved to me.’

      I thought it was Fergus come home to be the enemy.’

      ‘Didn’t you know her voice?’ asked the mother

      ‘We were all making such a noise ourselves in the dark,’ said Gillian, ‘that there was no hearing any one; and Primrose was rather frightened, so that Hal was attending to her. Indeed, Dolores, I am very sorry. If we had guessed that it was you, we would have opened the door at once, and then you would have known that it was all fun and play, and not have troubled mamma about it.’

      ‘Wilfred and Valetta knew,’ said Dolores, rather sullenly.

      ‘Oh! but it was such fun,’ said Val.

      ‘It was fun that became unkindness on your part,’ said her mother. ‘You ought not to have kept it up without warning to her. And what do I hear about names? I hope that was also misunderstanding of the game. What did you call her?’

      ‘Only a Croat,’ said Valetta, indignantly, ‘and a Black Brunswicker.’

      ‘Was that it, Dolores?’

      ‘Perhaps,’ she muttered, disconcerted by a laugh from her Aunt Jane.

      ‘I do not know what you took them for,’ said Lady Merrifield, ‘but you see some part of this trouble arose from a mistake on you part. Now, Wilfred and Valetta, remember that is not right to force a person into play against her will. And as to the shooting near, but not at her, you both know perfectly well that it is forbidden. So give me your bow, Wilfred. I shall keep it for a week, that you may remember obedience.’

      Wilfred looked sullen, but obeyed. Dolores could not call her aunt unjust, but as she look round, she met glances that made her think it prudent to shelter herself among the elders. Aunt Jane asked what the game was.

      ‘The Thorn Fortress,’ said Gillian. ‘It comes out of that delightful S.P.C.K. book so called, where, in the ‘Thirty Years’ War,’ all the people of a village took refuge from the soldiers in a field in the middle of a forest guarded by a tremendous hedge of thorns. Val had it for a birthday present, and the children have been acting it ever since.’

      ‘It has quite put out the Desert Island passion, which used to be a regular stage in these children’s lives. Every voyage we have taken, somebody has come to ask whether there was any hope of being wrecked on one.’

      ‘Fergus even asked when we crossed from Dublin,’ said Gillian.

      ‘He was put up to that, to keep up the tradition,’ observed Harry.

      On reaching the house, the elders proceeded to five o’clock tea in the drawing-room, the juniors to gouter in the dining-room. As Dolores entered, she beheld a row of all her five younger cousins drawn up looking at her as if she had committed high treason, and she was instantly addressed—

      ‘Tell-take tit!’ began Valetta.

      ‘Sneak!’ cried Wilfred.

      ‘I will call her Croat!’ added Fergus.

      ‘Worse than Croat! Bashi Bazouk!’ exclaimed Valetta.

      ‘Worse than Crow!’ chimed in Primrose.

      ‘Oh, Dolores! How could you?’ said Mysie.

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