"I say, Mother, don't hurry off, wait a jiff, won't you?"  
The morning "confab" was over; the boat was pulled up close to the bank, and Mrs. Vaughan stood at the river-side; she was just turning to go back to the Chase when Robin's voice detained her. "What is it?" she asked, "Anything wrong? Are you sick of camping?
 
"Rather not. It's something jolly different. It's——" Robin hesitated. "We're gradually finding out something," he said, "and we want to go on. It's about—— Mother, have we got an Uncle Derrick? For, if so, is there anything mysterious about him?"
 
There was a minute's pause, then Mrs. Vaughan looked straight at the boys. "Who told you about him?" she asked slowly.
 
"I'm afraid it was me. I didn't——" began Donald.
 
"Mother, don't listen to him, it wasn't him," burst in Peter; "at least, just at the end, he told us that was who the photograph was of. But we've suspected something all along. Brownie's knowing something, and trying so hard not to let us twig, that's what has given it away. Then up in the attic there's Hooker's things!"
 
"Hooker?" Mrs. Vaughan started, "what have you found out about him?"
 
"Only that if there is an Uncle Derrick, he was Uncle Derrick's friend; that he was keeper in Grandfather's time, and that he was dismissed. And—Brownie won't tell us where he is," Robin spoke slowly.
 
"Also that he was a jolly sporting sort, the room's got ripping little engines and machinery sort of things about; he ought to have been a Scout. And that he could take jolly snapshots when you come to think that this has been lying round for fifteen years; and——" Peter stopped and held out the picture. "We found this, Mother," he said.
 
"Yes … it's poor Uncle Derrick," said Mrs. Vaughan; she looked sadly at the picture for a minute, then she turned to the group. "Your father and I did not tell you," she said, "we wanted to keep sad things from you as long as we could. But perhaps we were not wise; Donald and Dick have evidently been told more than you know. Brown and his wife, too, know all the sad story, but—oh, I cannot tell you now, this is neither the time nor the place. Donald may tell you what his mother has told him; and you may ask Brownie. For every one loved your Uncle Derrick, and you will hear the story just as lovingly told by the old servants as I can tell it to you myself." Mrs. Vaughan turned, and still holding the little picture, she walked towards the Chase without turning, while the boat was rowed silently back to the other side of the water.
 
It was not until after tea that old Brownie's story was told; all day the campers had half dreaded and half longed to hear the tale, for Donald knew little more than he had told them already, that there had been an Uncle Derrick, that there was an Uncle Derrick. Beyond that, the story was a mystery to him and Dick, as well as to the Vaughans. "Mother said we should know more some day," he told his cousins, "but I've nev............