St. Peter's Finger

was waiting, helped Miss Bonnet to change a wheel, she having punctured the right hand back tyre on a sharp flint somewhere on the coast road between Hiversand Bay and the convent. Both got extremely wet, for the work was done in the open. George was soaked to the skin by the time he had done. Miss Bonnet was no better off. Her last class should not have finished until half-past twelve, but Mother Patrick and Mother Gregory, who did not happen to teach on Saturday mornings, and who, therefore, were free to supervise the Physical Training lesson, took charge whilst the wheel of the car was being changed. Owing to the rain, the lesson was in the gymnasium—actually the school hall—and the girls played some games and practised high jumping.

Both Miss Bonnet and George were asked into the guest-house and offered hot baths whilst their clothes were being dried. Miss Bonnet, obviously reminded of the last time she had been offered a bath at the convent, pointed out that she “only had to change”—she was wearing shorts and a blouse, both of which were clinging to her sturdy, well-developed frame whilst runnels of water chased each other down her large, muscular, ugly legs and on to the polished wooden flooring—but George remarked that he would be much obliged. So Mrs. Bradley herself conducted him, under a large umbrella (loaned for the occasion by Mother Francis, who used it on wet days in getting from the school to the refectory), over to the guest-house, and ushered him into a bathroom with orders to cast his clothes outside the door as he took them off so that they could be dried.

George, who was an only child and who was accustomed to be mothered, obeyed with alacrity and cheerfulness, and afterwards was provided with the dressing-gown allotted to penurious infirmary patients, and a spare pair of pants, much darned, provided by the old priest, Father Garnier.

“I suppose you know, madam,” he remarked, as, the dressing-gown draped modestly and his wet hair plastered neatly to his head, he presented himself to Mrs. Bradley in the parlour, “that somebody’s been and used pipe-grips in that bathroom?”

“But that’s not the bathroom, George.”

“No, madam. There might be such a thing as practice making perfect.”

“I looked for indications in both bathrooms that pipe-grips had been used to open a joint, but could find no special indication, beyond the marks that any gas-fitter might leave.”

“No gas-fitter left these marks, madam, that I do know. They look inexperienced to me.”

“Thank you very much, George. That accounts for the unconscious mouse, at any rate. Are you quite warm? Don’t take cold. Ought you to plaster your hair so close to the head?”

George rumpled his hair obediently with a dry towel which Kitty, giggling shyly, came forward and presented.

“He’ll be having his clothes back soon, ma’am,” she remarked to Mrs. Bradley, avoiding any direct communication by word of mouth with George.

“When they are dry, George, I want you to take a girl from the school back to Wandles,” said his employer. “I suppose I had better come with you. The nuns won’t care for her to travel alone. It’s a nuisance, but cannot be helped. You must bring me back here to-morrow.”

“Very good, madam.”

The midday meal was served, and George sat down beside Mrs. Bradley. Bessie and Annie waited at table, the former with demure exemplariness, the latter with her usual good sense.

By half-past two George’s clothes were dry; by three they were pressed and ready. He was grateful and tried to say so, but Mother Jude cut him short.

“You did good service to poor Miss Bonnet,” she said. “She has a special engagement at Kelsorrow School this afternoon. They are having a Parents’ Day, and she has to be there to conduct a display of physical training. Sister Saint Francis let her have her last lesson to make the repairs to the car, and she said she would not have been able to get away in time, even then, had she lacked your kind assistance.”

“The young lady hadn’t any petrol, either, madam, so I gave her enough to get her twenty-five miles. We found, when we changed the wheel, she’d got a gash like you might expect she’d get if she’d run over an up-ended scythe or something. I’ve never seen such a gash, bar once, when I was in the States, and a tough slashed a tyre on a hold-up.” He smiled reminiscently. “Did I plug that baby!”

“George,” said Mrs. Bradley, “you’re a marvel.” She had no time to say more, for the front-door bell rang, and Kitty came in to announce that Sir Ferdinand Lestrange was at the door and would like to speak to his mother. “Although who in the name of the holy angels she is,” said Kitty, “unless it would be yourself?”

“It is myself,” said Mrs. Bradley. “If he’s not wet, show him in here.”

“He is only after having walked from his car, and it a large one, up to the door of the house,” said Kitty, who had the Irish talent for sociability with its resultant liking for conversation at all times.

“Bring him in, then. George, this is luck! Sir Ferdinand can go with you to accompany the girl. That leaves me free to stay here. By the way, I do hope Miss Bonnet got to the school in time. I suppose, George, you could pick her up and get her there, even now, if by chance she has broken down again?”

Ferdinand, all smiles, looking even taller than usual by the side of little Mother Jude, came in on the heels of Kitty.

“Come for the week-end, mother,” he announced. “Staying at Hiversand Bay to get some golf. Going back on Tuesday.”

“Going back on Saturday afternoon,” said Mrs. Bradley austerely. “And it’s no use to grumble, and protest,” she added, with a good deal more urbanity. “You dragged me into this affair, and you’ll have to help me out.”

Nothing would please Mother Jude, made acquainted with all the circumstances, but that Ferdinand should have a meal in the guest-house before he went back to Hiversand Bay to let his friends know about the change in his immediate plans, and off she went to see about it. Mrs. Bradley waited until the door was shut and then drew nearer to her son.

“I want these Doyle and Maslin children got rid of,” she said.

“But, mother, where are they to go?”

“You will have to take Ulrica back with you and put her in charge of Celestine at my house in Wandles Parva,