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diff --git a/35455.txt b/35455.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b8dc126 --- /dev/null +++ b/35455.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3194 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Flight with the Swallows, by Emma Marshall + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Flight with the Swallows + Little Dorothy's Dream + +Author: Emma Marshall + +Release Date: March 2, 2011 [EBook #35455] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + + + + +A FLIGHT WITH THE +SWALLOWS + +_Or, Little Dorothy's Dream_ + +BY + +EMMA MARSHALL + +_Author of "Poppies and Pansies," "Silver Chimes," etc., etc_ + + + [Illustration: Swallow] + + +LONDON +S. W. PARTRIDGE AND CO +8 & 9 PATERNOSTER ROW + + + [Illustration: "YOU ARE THE YOUNG CANON." _p._ 13.] + + + + +Contents. + + Chap. Page + + I. DOROTHY'S DREAM 7 + II. PREPARATION 12 + III. OFF AND AWAY 20 + IV. NINO 27 + V. ONLY A DOG 35 + VI. THE VILLA LUCIA 40 + VII. VILLA FIRENZE 48 + VIII. DOROTHY'S LESSONS 55 + IX. LOST 66 + X. IN THE SHADOWS 72 + XI. WHAT FOLLOWED 82 + XII. THE LOST FOUND 89 + + + + +A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +DOROTHY'S DREAM. + + +In a deep window seat, hidden by crimson curtains from the room beyond, +a little girl was curled up, looking out upon a trim garden, where the +first autumn leaves were falling one September afternoon. The view was +bounded by a high wall, and above the wall, the east end of Coldchester +Cathedral stood up a dark mass against the pale-blue sky. Every now and +then a swallow darted past the window, with its forked tail and whitish +breast; then there was a twittering and chirping in the nests above, as +the swallows talked to each other of their coming flight. Little Dorothy +was an only child; she had no brothers and sisters to play with; thus +she made playmates of her two fluffy kittens, who were lying at her +feet; and she made friends of the twittering swallows and the chattering +jackdaws, as they flew in and out from the cathedral tower, and lived in +a world of her own. + +The position of an only child has its peculiar pleasures and privileges; +but I am inclined to think that all little girls who have brothers and +sisters to play with are more to be envied than little Dorothy. To be +sure, there was no one to want Puff and Muff but herself; no one to +dispute the ownership of Miss Belinda, her large doll; no one to say +it was her turn to dust and tidy Barton Hall, the residence of Miss +Belinda; no one to insist on his right to spin a top or snatch away the +cup and ball just when the critical moment came, and the ball was at +last going to alight on the cup. + +Dorothy had none of these trials; but then she had none of the pleasures +which go with them; for the pleasure of giving up your own way is in +the long run greater than always getting it; and it is better to have +a little quarrel, and then "make it up" with a kiss and confession of +fault on both sides, than never to have any one to care about what _you_ +care for, and no one to contradict you! + +As little Dorothy watched the swallows, and listened to their conversation +above her head, she became aware that some one was in the drawing-room, +and was talking to her mother. + +She was quite hidden from view, and she heard her name. + +"But how can I take little Dorothy?" + +"Easily enough. It will do her no harm to take flight with the swallows." + +"You don't think _she_ is delicate?" she heard her mother exclaim, in a +voice of alarm. "Oh, Doctor Bell, you don't think Dorothy is delicate?" + +"No, she is very well as far as I see at present, but I think her life +is perhaps rather too dreamy and self-absorbed. She wants companions; +she wants variety." + +Dr. Bell knew he was venturing on delicate ground. + +"Dorothy is very happy," Mrs. Acheson said, "very happy. Just suppose +San Remo does not suit her, does not agree with her; then think of the +journey!" + +"My dear madam, the journey is as easy in these days as if you could +fly over on the backs of the swallows--easier, if anything. You ask my +serious advice, and it is this, that you lose no time in starting for +San Remo or Mentone." + +"San Remo is best," said Mrs. Acheson, "for I have a friend who has a +house there, and she will be there for the winter." + +"Very well; then let me advise you to be quick in making your +preparations. I shall call again this day week, and expect to find you +are standing, like the swallows, ready for flight. Look at them now on +the coping of the old wall, talking about their departure, and +settling." + +When Dr. Bell was gone, Mrs. Acheson sat quietly by the fire, thinking +over what he had said. She had tried to persuade herself that her cough +was better, that if she kept in the house all the winter it would go +away. She had felt sure that in this comfortable room, out of which her +bed-room opened, she must be as well as in Italy or the south of France. +Dr. Bell was so determined to get his own way, and it was cruel to turn +her out of her home. And then Dorothy, little Dorothy! how hard it would +be for her to leave Puff and Muff, and her nursery, and everything in +it. And what was to be done about Nino, the little white poodle, and---- + +A host of objections started up, and Mrs. Acheson tried to believe that +she would make a stand against Dr. Bell, and stay in Canon's House all +the winter. + +Meantime little Dorothy, who had been lying curled up as I have +described, had heard in a confused way much of what Dr. Bell said. +"A flight with the swallows." The swallows, her uncle, Canon Percival, +had told her, flew away to sunshine and flowers; that the cold wind in +England gave them the ague, and that they got all sorts of complaints, +and would die of hunger, or cramp, or rheumatism if they stayed in +England! + +"As easy a journey as if you were on a swallow's back," the doctor had +said; and Dorothy was wondering who could be small enough to ride on a +swallow's back, when she heard a tap at the window, a little gentle tap. + +"Let me in, let me in," said a small voice, which was like a chirp or a +twitter, rather than a voice. + +And then Dorothy turned the old-fashioned handle which closed the lower +square of the lattice window, and in came the swallow. She recognised it +as one she knew--the mother-bird from the nest in the eaves. + +"Come to the sunny South," it said. "Come to the sunny South." + +"I can't, without mother," Dorothy said. + +"Oh yes, you can. Get on my back." + +"I am much too big. I am nearly eight years old." + +The swallow twittered, and it sounded like a laugh. + +"You are not too big; just get on." + +And then the swallow turned its tail towards little Dorothy; and, to her +surprise, she saw her hands were tiny hands as she put them round the +swallow's neck, and tucked a pair of tinier feet under its wings. + +"Are you ready?" said the swallow. + +"I don't know. Stop--I----" + +But in another minute she was flying through the air on the swallow's +back. Over the great cathedral tower, over the blue hills, away, away. +Presently there was water beneath, dancing and sparkling in the western +sunshine; then there were boats and ships, looking so tiny. Everything +did look so small. Then it grew dark, and Dorothy was asleep--she felt +she was asleep--and presently the swallow put her down on something very +soft, and there was a great light, and she sat up and found herself, not +in the sunny South, but on her mother's knee by the bright fire in the +drawing-room. + +"Why, Dorothy, you are quite cold," her mother said. "I did not know you +were curled up in the window seat, and so fast asleep." + +"Why, mother," said Dorothy, rubbing her eyes and giving a great yawn, +"I thought I was flying off to the sunny South with the swallows. How +funny!" she exclaimed. "It was, after all, a dream! I heard Dr. Bell +talking about your taking flight with the swallows, and then I thought +I got ever so wee and tiny, and then the old mother-swallow carried me +off. _Are_ you going to fly off with the swallows, mother, to the sunny +South?" + + [Illustration: Swallows] + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +PREPARATION. + + +"Well, Dorothy Dormouse!" exclaimed Canon Percival, when he came into +the drawing-room after dinner that evening. + +"Don't call me Dorothy Dormouse, Uncle Crannie." + +"Oh, but we call people what they are; and when little girls roll up +into a ball, and sleep away their time, they are like nothing so much +as--dormice." + +"Mother has been telling you at dinner all about my dream, Uncle Crannie. +I know she has, else how do you know?" + +"Oh, perhaps one of the swallows told me. I say, Dorothy, I have to talk +seriously to you for once. I am not joking this time." + +Dorothy looked up in her uncle's face, and saw that he really did look +grave--almost sad. + +"Before mother comes into the room, I want to tell you that Dr. Bell +thinks her cough is a bad cough, and that Coldchester is not the right +place for her to live in during the winter months. So poor Uncle Crannie +will be left alone all the long winter, and you must go with mother and +Ingleby to the sunny South--to Italy; think of that!" + +"I don't want to go," said Dorothy. "I mean--I mean I don't want to +leave Puff and Muff and old Nino, and----" + +"Poor old Uncle Crannie; but, my dear little niece, this is not a +question of what you _like_ or what you _want_. It is a question of what +is _right_ to do. Perhaps, little Dorothy, neither mother nor I have +taught you enough the meaning of the word duty. It means, what you owe +to others of service or love. Now, you owe it to your mother to be as +merry and happy as a bird; and, after all, many little girls would jump +for joy to be off to San Remo." + +Dorothy was silent. "How long will it take to get there," she asked--"to +the sunny South?" + +"Well, you won't go quite as fast as the swallows, but I daresay we +shall get there in less than a week; it depends upon the weather, and +upon how your mother bears the journey. You must ask God to-night to +bless your dear mother, and to make you a very good, helpful little +daughter to her. Will you do this?" + +"Yes," Dorothy said--"yes, Uncle Crannie. Why won't you stay with us +there all the time?" + +"Well! the cathedral might run away if I was not here to prevent it; and +what would the old Canons do if I deserted them?" + +"You are the young Canon, I know," Dorothy said. "Ingleby says that's +what you are called." + +"Ah!" said the Canon, rubbing his bald head, "there are degrees of +comparison, and I am afraid it is old, older, olderer, and oldest, in +the cathedral chapter. But I wanted to tell you that at San Remo you +will have playfellows--nice little girls and boys, who are living there +with their grandmother; and that is what we cannot find for you in +Coldchester." + +"I don't want any little girls and boys," Dorothy said. "I shan't play +with them." + +"Oh, nonsense! you will learn to play with them--Hoodman Blind, and Tom +Tickler's ground; won't that be jolly?" + +Dorothy made no response, and her mother coming into the room, with her +shawl wrapped closely round her, she slipped down from her uncle's knee +and took up her position at her mother's feet, with one of the kittens +in her lap, saying-- + +"Read, mother; please read." + +"Your mother can't read to-night, Dorothy," said the Canon, who had +taken up the _Times_. "She has coughed so much to-day, and is very +hoarse." + +Dorothy pouted, and her mother, clearing her throat, said-- + +"Oh, I will try to finish the chapter we left unfinished last night. +That will not hurt me." + +It was a pity that Dorothy was so seldom denied anything. It was simply +that there was no absolute necessity for refusing her what she asked, +and she had no idea yet that giving up her own will was a sweet gift the +youngest child may offer to her Father in heaven--the Father of the dear +Lord Jesus Christ, who offered Himself in life and in death for the +sinful, sad world He came to save. So Mrs. Acheson finished the chapter +of the story, and then it was time for Dorothy to go to bed, for Ingleby +appeared at the door, and said it was past eight o'clock, and much too +late for a little girl to be in the drawing-room. + +I daresay you wish to know what Dorothy was like, and as she goes up the +wide staircase of Canon's House, she makes a very pretty picture. She +had long, silky, fair hair, which was not frizzed and crimped, but hung +down to her waist, and even below it, with soft, curled ends. + +As Ingleby had no other child to look after, it was natural that she +should bestow much pains on Dorothy's appearance. She wore a pretty +white cashmere frock, with a wide rose-coloured sash, her black silk +stockings fitted her legs precisely, and her dainty shoes had pretty +buckles. + +Puff and Muff had been sent to bed downstairs, and only old Nino was +allowed to come into the nursery. He was a favoured dog, and slept at +the foot of his little mistress's bed. + +Dorothy went slowly upstairs, heedless of Ingleby's repeated "Come, my +dear, come!" And when at last they had reached the nursery, Dorothy +seated herself in the old rocking-chair, put her head back, and swinging +gently backwards and forwards, said seriously, almost solemnly-- + +"Jingle"--it was her pet name for her faithful nurse--"I hate 'playmates,' +as Uncle Crannie calls them. If I go to the sunny South, I shall not +play with any one." + +"Well, that will be very uncivil, my dear, though, to be sure, you are +an odd child, for when the little Miss Thompsons and Master Benson came +to tea on your last birthday, it did not seem to make you happy." + +"It made me miserable," said Dorothy. Then, with a sudden impulse, she +got up, and throwing her arms round her old friend's neck, she said, "I +want nobody but you and mother, and Puff and Muff, and Nino." + +Ingleby was certainly flattered by her darling's preference, and took +her on her knee and undressed her as if she were seven months, instead +of nearly eight years old, and brushed and combed the silky hair with +great pride and pleasure. Dorothy's face was rather too thin and +colourless for childhood; but her features were regular, and her large, +blue eyes, shaded by dark lashes, were really beautiful. + +"She is too much of a little woman," the Miss Thompsons' mother said; +"the child wants companions, and to be roused from her dreams;" while +Master Benson went away from the birthday party declaring it was slow +and stupid, and that Dorothy was a stiff starched little thing, and he +longed to shake her! + +Dorothy could not remember her father; he had died when she was scarcely +a year old, and just at that time her uncle, Canon Percival, went to +live in Canon's House, at Coldchester, and invited his sister to come +and take up her abode there, with her little girl, and Ingleby, her +nurse. + +Canon Percival was a bachelor, and till Dorothy came he had never had +much to do with children. His friends pitied him, and said that for the +most part children were noisy and troublesome, and that he would find +the peace of his house disturbed. But Dorothy--Dorothy Dormouse, as +he liked to call her--set these preconceived notions at defiance. She +was quiet and gentle, and she and her uncle Cranstone--Crannie, as she +called him--were great friends. She would sit on one of the red leather +chairs by her uncle, at his great writing table, and draw pictures by +the hour of birds, and butterflies, and flowers, and portraits, too--of +Miss Belinda, and Puff and Muff, and even of her uncle himself. Then she +would walk with him to the service in the cathedral, and sit demure and +quiet while the prayers were said and the organ rolled its waves of +music overhead. + +The Canon's little niece was a great favourite with the old vergers, +though they would say, one to the other, that she was too wise and +knowing for a little one. + +"It all comes of being with old people. There ain't enough of young life +about her. It's a thousand pities she has not some playmate." + +So it seemed, you see, a general opinion that Dorothy wanted companions; +and when she got to the sunny South the companions were ready for her. + +But it took some time to prepare for flight. People can get to the south +of France and Italy very quickly, it is true; but they are not like the +swallows, who don't want any luggage, and fly with no encumbrance. + +Ingleby's preparations were very extensive indeed, and Dorothy had also +a great deal in hand. She had to put Barton Hall in order, for one +thing, and to put up a notice on the door that this house was to let +furnished. Then Belinda had to have a little travelling ulster and +warm hat, like her mistress's, and Puff and Muff had to be settled +comfortably in their new quarters; for though they did not sleep in +the nursery, they were there all day, and were carried about the house +by their little mistress, while Nino trotted behind. The preparations +were an amusement to Dorothy, and she began to feel that if anything +prevented her going to the sunny South, she would feel sorry and +disappointed after all! + +Ingleby grew more and more serious as the time drew near. She murmured +a good deal about "foreign parts," and once Dorothy felt sure she heard +her say something about going away to die. Could these words possibly +refer to her mother? Poor little girl! She had lived so securely with +her mother, and had never been accustomed to think of her as apart from +her own comfort and pleasure, that a sharp pain shot through her heart +as she heard Ingleby's murmured words. + +Once, too, when Ingleby thought she was asleep in the inner nursery, she +heard her talking in low tones to the housemaid. + +"The child has no notion that her mamma is so ill. Childlike!" said +Ingleby. + +"Well, I don't call it childlike," was the reply. "Miss Dorothy is not +childlike; she is just eaten up with herself." + +"She is as dear a lamb as you could find anywhere," said Ingleby, +wrathfully; "a dear, sweet lamb. I suppose you like rampaging, noisy +children, like your own brothers and sisters in your mother's farmhouse?" + +"I like children," said Susan, bravely, "to think of other folks a +little, as well as themselves. But there! it's not the poor child's +fault; everyone in the house spoils her, and you are the worst of all, +Mrs. Ingleby." + +"I tell you what, Susan, I'd advise you, as a friend, to mind your own +business. If you are such a blind bat as not to see what Miss Dorothy +is--well, I am sorry for you, and I can't help it." + +"I did not mean any offence, I am sure," said Susan, as she left the +nursery. "As I said, it's not the child's fault; but it would be hard +lines for her if she lost her mamma, and you too, Mrs. Ingleby." + +A few minutes later, Ingleby was startled by the appearance of a little +white figure in the doorway. + +"Jingle," she said, in a low, choking voice, "is--my--mamma so very ill? +I want to know." + +"Ill? why, no. She has got a cough which shakes her rather. But, bless +your little heart--don't, Miss Dorothy, my sweet, don't." + +For, in a passion of weeping, Dorothy had thrown herself into her +nurse's arms. + +"Am I such a spoiled child?--am I, Jingle?" + +"You are a dear little creature; nothing could spoil you. There, there; +let me put you back to bed. Don't cry." + +But Dorothy did cry, and when Ingleby had left her at last, she buried +her face in the pillow, saying over to herself-- + +"Oh, is my mamma so ill? Will she die? Will she die? And I am such a +spoiled child. Oh dear, oh dear! I never thought of it before--never, +never." + +There are times when many older people than little Dorothy catch +suddenly, as it were, a glimpse of their true selves, and are saddened +at the sight, with what results for the future depends upon the means +they take to cure themselves of their faults. + +There is but one way for the children and for those who have left +childhood far behind--only one way--to watch and pray, lest they enter +into temptation. + + [Illustration: Cat in a Basket] + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +OFF AND AWAY. + + +The excitement of preparation for departure is always infectious, and, +however much Mrs. Acheson and little Dorothy had at first disliked the +idea of leaving home for the winter, before the actual day for saying +good-bye arrived, they were both in a measure reconciled to the coming +change. + +Dorothy had packed a large box, with things she _must_ take, and Ingleby, +glad she should be so amused, did not prevent her, as she really ought +to have done; for such a strange medley as that box contained had surely +scarcely ever been collected for transportation across the Channel: +paint-boxes; new and old picture-books, coloured by her own hand; +Belinda's wardrobe--an extensive one; pencils; india-rubber; her desk; +her workbox (which last, by-the-bye, was seldom used); her "Little +Arthur's History" and "Mrs. Markham's History;" boxes of dominoes and +draughts; magnetic ducks and geese and fish; and many more things of the +like kind, which would take me far too long to enumerate. + +When the luggage stood in the hall on the morning of departure, Canon +Percival shrugged his shoulders, and gave a low whistle. "As I am +courier," he said, "and must look after the luggage, I am rather alarmed +to see so many boxes. What is that old box with brass nails, Ingleby?" + +"Oh, that is Miss Dorothy's, sir; she packed it herself." + +"With toys, I suppose, and rubbish. No, I shall not be answerable for +that. If we take Nino and Belinda, that must suffice." + +Ingleby looked doubtful. "The best way will be, sir, to get it carried +into the servants' hall before the poor child comes down; she is +breaking her heart, as it is, over Puff and Muff." + +"Nonsense!" said Canon Percival, impatiently. "Dorothy must be more +reasonable; we have spoilt her long enough." + +Ingleby dreaded a scene, and began to drag away the box into a remote +region behind the red baize door, hoping to get it out of sight, and out +of mind, before Dorothy and her mother appeared. + +She had just succeeded, and was returning breathless, when Dorothy, with +Belinda in her arms and Nino toddling behind, came downstairs. + +The luggage was packed on a fly, and Mrs. Acheson, Dorothy, and Canon +Percival drove to the station in the carriage. All the servants were +gathered in the hall, and were saying good-bye, with many wishes that +Mrs. Acheson would come back soon quite well. A little telegraph boy, +with his bag strapped across his shoulder, came gaily up to the door. +Then he took out of his bag the dark orange envelope which often sends +a thrill of fear through the hearts of those whose nearest and dearest +ones are separated from them, and handed it to Canon Percival. + +"A paid answer, sir," said the messenger. + +And Canon Percival, after scanning the few words, took out his pencil +and wrote-- + +"Yes, with pleasure." + +"What is it, Cranstone? nothing wrong?" + +"Oh no, only that our travelling party is to be enlarged in London. +Little Irene Packingham is to spend the winter at San Remo with her +grandmother, and the telegram is from Mrs. Baker, the child's +schoolmistress, saying Lady Burnside had telegraphed to her to +communicate with me." + +"How very odd not to write! It must be a sudden determination." + +"Yes; but we shall not get to Paddington, much less to San Remo, if we +dawdle about here any longer; come, make haste." + +They were off at last, and at the station several friends appeared, +who came to wish them a safe journey. Ingleby and the footman had got +the luggage labelled and in the van; and Dorothy and her mother were +comfortably seated in a first-class carriage, while Canon Percival stood +by the door, exchanging a few last words with a gentleman; and then the +guard came up with the familiar question--"Any more going?" Canon Percival +jumped in, and they were gliding quietly out of the station and leaving +Coldchester far behind. + +For the convenience of early crossing the English Channel the next +morning, the party were to sleep at the Charing Cross Hotel; and here, +under the charge of one of Mrs. Baker's governesses, little Irene +Packingham was waiting for them. + +Dorothy's curiosity had been roused when her mother told her of a +little travelling companion, but the two children stood looking at each +other, shy and speechless, while Canon Percival and Mrs. Acheson were +engaged talking to the governess. + +She was a prim, stiff-looking, elderly woman, who was the useful +governess in Mrs. Baker's school. She only taught the little girls, +looked after the servants, and met girls at the station, or, as in this +instance, accompanied one who was leaving the school. + +"Irene has not been very well of late," Miss Pearce was saying; "and +Colonel Packingham seems to have written to Lady Burnside that he wished +her to spend the rest of the term till after the Christmas holidays at +San Remo. Mrs. Baker had a letter from Lady Burnside, requesting us to +prepare Irene to start with you to-morrow morning. It is very short +notice, but I hope she has her things all right." + +After a few more words of a like kind, Miss Pearce said she must hasten +back to St. John's Wood, and bade her little charge good-bye. + +"Good-bye, Irene; I hope you will be a very good girl, and give no +trouble; you have your keys in your pocket, and mind you keep the +comforter well round your neck on the boat." + +Then a kiss was exchanged, not a very warm one on either side, and Miss +Pearce departed. + +Rooms had been engaged on the upper floor of the big hotel through which +so many people pass coming and going from the Continent. The party went +up in a lift, which was a great novelty to Dorothy, who all this time +had not spoken a single word to Irene. + +A little bedroom next the one which had been arranged by Ingleby for +her mistress was found for Irene. And in a very independent, methodical +way she began to lay aside her hat and jacket, take out her keys, and +unlock her small travelling-bag. + +Dorothy, who had seated herself by the window, and was looking down into +the square below, watching with deep interest the rapid passing and +repassing of cabs and carriages in and out the station, did not invite +any conversation. + +The contrast between the two children was a very strong one, such as we +generally notice between those who from their babyhood have been, as it +were, little citizens of the world, and those who have been brought up, +as Dorothy had been till nearly her eighth birthday, with every care and +every luxury, in a happy, quiet home. + +Irene was tall for her age--nearly ten; and she had a determined +expression on her face, as if she knew there were rough places and +troubles to meet in her daily life, and that she had set herself to +overcome them. She had heard a murmur of Ingleby's--"Another child to +look after on the journey." And she was determined to give no trouble; +she had no long hair to smooth and comb, for her hair was cut short, +and her plain blue serge dress was quite free from any adornment. After +Dorothy had done with the square, she turned to watch Irene's movements, +and regarded her companion with a mingled wonder, and a feeling that was +certainly not admiration. + +Presently Dorothy called to Ingleby in the next room-- + +"When are you coming to undress me, Jingle? and when are we to have our +tea?" + +"I'll come directly, but I am busy getting your mamma's things put for +the night; she must go to bed early, and so must you." + +"Where's mother?" was the next question asked. + +"In the sitting-room opposite." + +"I want to go to her." + +"Wait a few minutes; she is lying on the sofa, and I want her to rest." + +"Where's Belinda to sleep, and Nino?" + +"Dear me," said Ingleby, impatiently, "I don't know; here's the cork +come out of your mamma's eau-de-Cologne flask, and everything in the +travelling basket is soaked. Dear, dear!" + +Dorothy now began to snatch at the buttons of her travelling ulster, and +threw off the scarf round her neck. + +"Let me help you," said Irene. "I am quite ready." + +Dorothy was not very gracious, and as Irene tugged at the sleeves of the +ulster, a lock of the silky hair caught in a button, and Dorothy +screamed-- + +"Oh, don't! you hurt me. Oh, Jingle!" + +Ingleby came running in at the cry of distress, and began to pity and +console. + +"I am very sorry," Irene said, moving away to the window, where, through +the gathering haze of tears, she saw the gas-lights beginning to start +out all round the square below. + +A sense of desolation oppressed her; and she wished--oh, how she wished +she had stayed at Mrs. Baker's! At first it had seemed delightful to go +to grannie, but now she thought anything was better than being where she +was not wanted. She was roused by Ingleby's voice-- + +"You are to have tea in the sitting-room with Mrs. Acheson. The Canon is +gone out to dine at St. Paul's Deanery; and as soon as you have had your +tea, you are to go to bed." + +Dorothy, shaking back her beautiful hair, ran away to a room at the end +of the passage, never thinking of Irene, who followed her with the same +uneasy sense of "not being wanted" which is hard for us all to bear. + + [Illustration: Bay Window] + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +NINO. + + +Mrs. Acheson roused herself to talk to the little girls, and was kindly +anxious that Irene should not feel strange and unhappy. But Irene was +not a child to respond quickly, and Mrs. Acheson could but contrast her +with her own little Dorothy, who was so caressing and tender in her +ways, and had a gentle voice, while Irene had a quick, decided way of +speaking. + +"Have you been unwell long, my dear?" Mrs. Acheson asked. + +"I have had a cough, and--and father does not wish me to keep a cough, +because of mother." + +"You don't remember your mother?" + +"No. I have a stepmother, you know, and two little brothers." + +"You will like being with your grandmamma and your cousins at San Remo. +Your grandmamma is such a dear old lady. Do you know, the thought of +being near her reconciled me to spending the winter abroad." + +Irene's face brightened at this. + +"I am glad you know grannie," she said. "Your cough is very bad, I am +afraid," Irene continued, as Mrs. Acheson was interrupted by a fit of +coughing. + +"Mother's cough is much better," Dorothy said, hotly. "Jingle says so, +and _she_ knows better than _you_ do." + +Irene made no reply to this, and soon after Ingleby came to put them +both to bed. + +Irene had been too much accustomed to changes to be much affected by +this change, and as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was asleep. +But Dorothy tossed and fidgeted, and besought Ingleby not to leave her, +and persisted in holding her hand in hers, though her nurse sorely +wanted rest herself, and to get all things forward for the early start +the next morning. + +At last Ingleby disengaged her hand from Dorothy's clinging clasp, and +went downstairs to cater for some supper. But her disappearance soon +roused Dorothy; she began to cry and call, "Jingle! Jingle!" This woke +Irene, who jumped out of her own bed in the next room, and coming to +her, said, "What do you want?" + +"I don't want _you_," was the somewhat ungracious reply. "I want Jingle +or mother." + +"Are you ill? have you a pain anywhere?" asked practical Irene. + +"No, but I want Jingle. Oh dear, dear!" + +"If nothing is the matter, I think you ought to go to sleep, and not +cry; it may frighten your mamma." + +"It is so horrid here," said poor little Dorothy; "and I wonder how Puff +and Muff are; and I want Nino. Why did Jingle take him away? Oh dear, +dear! and there's such a buzzing noise in the street, and rumble, +rumble; oh dear!" + +"Do you ever try saying hymns to get yourself to sleep?" Irene asked. +"If you like I'll repeat one, and then you can say it over when I get +back to my own bed." + +Dorothy turned her face away on the pillow, and was not very encouraging; +but Irene repeated this beautiful evening hymn for a child, which I hope +all the little girls and boys who read my story know with their hearts +as well as their heads:-- + + "On the dark hill's western side, + The last purple gleam has died; + Twilight to one solemn hue + Changes all, both green and blue. + + "In the fold, and in the nest, + Birds and lambs have gone to rest; + Labour's weary task is o'er, + Closely shut the cottage door. + + "Saviour, ere in sweet repose + I my weary eyelids close, + While my mother through the gloom + Singeth from the outer room, + + "While across the curtain white, + With a dim uncertain light, + On the floor the faint stars shine, + Let my latest thought be Thine. + + "'Twas a starry night of old + When rejoicing angels told + The poor shepherds of Thy birth, + God became a Child on earth. + + "Soft and quiet is the bed + Where I lay my little head; + Thou hadst but a manger bare, + Rugged straw for pillow fair. + + "Saviour, 'twas to win me grace + Thou didst stoop to this poor place, + Loving with a perfect love + Child and man and God above. + + "Thou wast meek and undefiled: + Make me gentle, too, and mild; + Thou didst foil the tempter's power: + Help me in temptation's hour. + + "Thou didst love Thy mother here, + Make me gentle, kind, and dear; + Thou didst mind her slightest word, + Teach me to obey, O Lord. + + "Happy now, I turn to sleep; + Thou wilt watch around me keep; + Him no danger e'er can harm + Who lies cradled in Thy arm." + +When Ingleby came up, she found Dorothy sound asleep, and her arm round +Irene's neck. Both children were in profound slumber. Ingleby gently +lifted Irene and carried her back to her own room, Dorothy murmuring +as she turned round on her pillow, "Away with the swallows, off to the +sunny South." + +They were off in good earnest the next morning--a bright and beautiful +morning. The sea was blue, and the sky clear; only a brisk wind chased +the waves shoreward, and gave just that motion which to good sailors is +so delightful. + +There were, of course, some unhappy people who could not bear even that +gentle motion, and had to take flight to the cabin. Poor Ingleby was one +of these, and in spite of all her brave attempts to keep up, she was +obliged to leave the children to Canon Percival's care, and retreat with +her mistress to the lower regions. + +Dorothy and Irene sat together on the middle seat of the deck, with +their faces to the dancing waves, over which some white birds were +darting, who had their nests in the face of the cliffs of Dover. It had +all the delightful sense of novelty to Dorothy, but Irene was already +a traveller. In a dim, dreamy way she was thinking of her voyage +home, four years before; she remembered the pain of parting with the +dark-skinned ayah, and her father's sad face, as they drew near England. + + + [Illustration: "OH, WHAT A CROSS LITTLE DOGGIE!"] + + +Those white cliffs brought it all back to her, and she recalled how her +father said,-- + +"England was your dear mother's home, and she loved it, but she is in a +better home now; I must not wish her back again." + +After that her life at Mrs. Baker's was dull and monotonous; going on +and on day after day, week after week, year after year, with but little +to mark the passing away of time. + +Irene was not particularly attractive to strangers, and the passengers +who turned upon Dorothy admiring glances, and even, in that foolish way +some people have, exclaimed, "What a lovely child!" scarcely gave a +thought to her companion. + +"A plain girl," one lady said; "they cannot be sisters!" + +Then one of the ladies ventured to put her hand on Nino's head, who was +curled up under the rug which was tucked round both little girls' legs, +with his head and ears and black nose just appearing. Nino growled, and +Dorothy made a gesture as if to get a little farther away. + +"Oh, what a cross little doggie!" was the remark. + +"He is not cross," Dorothy said, pressing Nino closer. + +"Don't you think so?" the lady said, in an offended tone. "Perhaps he +has learned of his mistress to be cross." + +She laughed, but Dorothy did not laugh, or even smile. + +"He is a spoiled little dog," said the younger of the two ladies, +reaching forward to give Nino another pat. + +Another growl, followed this time by a snap. + +"Horrid little beast!" was the next exclamation. "Children ought not to +be allowed to take pet dogs about with them, to the annoyance of other +people." + +Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who, to Dorothy's +surprise, spoke out boldly. + +"Nino did not growl till you touched him," she said; "no one ought to +pat strange dogs." + +"My dear, your opinion was neither asked for nor wanted," was the reply. +And Dorothy struggled from the rug, and hastened to call her uncle, who +was talking to a gentleman. + +"Uncle Crannie, do come and move our seat; there are some very rude +ladies who hate Nino." + +But Canon Percival was busy talking, and did not immediately listen to +Dorothy. Nino had toddled off to inspect the boat, and by some means, +how no one could quite tell, had slipped over the side of the steamer, +and was engulfed in the seething waves below. Irene saw what had +happened, and cried out,-- + +"Oh! Nino has fallen through that open place. Nino will be drowned." + +Then poor little Dorothy, turning, saw Irene rushing to the place, and +called aloud,-- + +"Nino, Nino will be drowned! Nino, Nino, my Nino! will nobody save him? +Oh, Uncle Crannie, Uncle Crannie, save him!" + + [Illustration: Ferry] + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +ONLY A DOG. + + +"It is only a dog!" the passengers on the steamer exclaimed, some with a +sigh of relief, for at first it was rumoured it was a child. + +"Only a dog!" and Canon Percival said that to stop the steamer and lower +a boat was out of the question. They were much behind as it was, and +there would be barely time to catch the train to Paris. + +There was no sign of Nino, and the surging waters had closed over him. +Poor Nino! Two or three fishing smacks were in sight, and almost within +speaking distance, but there was no hope of saving him. + +"Only a dog!" but the heart of his little mistress felt as if it would +break. She rushed down into the cabin, and with a wild cry of distress +threw herself into her mother's arms. + +"Nino! my Nino is drowned. Oh, Nino! Nino!" + +Poor Ingleby roused herself from her sickness to comfort her darling. + +"Oh! Miss Dorothy, perhaps it is all for the best; he would have been +unhappy, and in the way, and----" + +But Dorothy refused comfort; and by the time they were in the train, +which there was a great rush to catch at Boulogne, Dorothy was exhausted +with crying, and was only too glad to be tucked up on a seat near her +mother, and soothed to sleep and forgetfulness of her trouble. + +Irene felt very sorry for Dorothy, but she had never had a home and +pets, either dogs or cats; and she could not therefore enter into the +extent of Dorothy's grief. Having offered all the consolation in her +power, which had been repulsed, Irene resigned herself to a book that +Ingleby had given her out of her well-stocked basket, and before long +she, too, was asleep. + +"Perhaps we can buy another white dog in Paris," Mrs. Acheson suggested +to Canon Percival. + +"Oh no! that would not answer. I don't think you want any more trouble, +and if poor old Nino was troublesome sometimes, a young successor +would be certain to be ten times more troublesome. As a rule, dogs are +unwelcome visitors in other people's houses, and Lady Burnside may +dislike the race. I am sorry for Dorothy's trouble, and for the poor +little creature's end, but, as Ingleby says, there are worse sorrows +than the loss of a dog." + +"I suppose he was drowned at once," Mrs. Acheson said; "I do hope he did +not struggle long for life." + +"He was probably sucked under the steamer, and it would be over directly, +let us hope." Then Canon Percival pulled his travelling-cap over his +eyes, and was soon wrapped in profound slumber. + +When the party arrived at Paris at Meurice's Hotel, Dorothy's tears +broke forth afresh, and she had to be conveyed to her room by poor +Ingleby, followed by Irene, who carried Miss Belinda and a number of +other miscellaneous articles. + +Mrs. Acheson, tired and worn out, was forbidden by Canon Percival to +go to Dorothy, and again and again did Mrs. Acheson wish that she had +followed her brother's advice, and left poor Nino at home. + +It was not till the two children were left together, after partaking of +crescent-shaped rolls and coffee, that Irene ventured to say anything to +Dorothy. + +"Don't cry any more, Dorothy; it makes other people so unhappy--and," +said Irene, wisely, "it won't bring Nino back!" + +"I know that! I know that! What do you tell me _that_ for? Oh, dear! oh, +dear!" + +"Well," Irene said, "I want to tell you anything which will make you try +to stop crying." + +"_That_ won't," said Dorothy, crossly; "you never, _never_ had a dog; +how should _you_ know what I feel?" + +"I am not thinking so much about what _you_ feel," Irene said, with +refreshing frankness; "I am thinking of your mamma, and how vexed and +grieved _she_ is about you." + +At this moment a door from another room opened, and, rattling a big +bunch of keys, a pretty, bright _femme de chambre_ came in. + +"Ah!" she said, in her broken English, "Ah! what pains little ma'm'selle? +Is she ill? Does she want a doctor?" + +"No," Irene said; "her favourite little dog was drowned as we crossed +the sea. He fell over the edge of the steamer, and we never saw him +again." + +"Ah! but that is sad; but oh! dear _petite_," the kind woman said, going +up to Dorothy, "think what grief my poor mother has, for my little +brother Antoine fell into the river when all the flowers were coming out +in May, and was dragged out cold and dead. Ah! but that was grief." + +"How old was he?" Dorothy said. + +"Five years old, ma'm'selle, and as lovely as an angel." + +"What did your mother do?" Irene asked; "your poor mother!" + +"She comforted my poor father, for it was when cutting the rushes with +him that Antoine fell into the water. She dried her eyes, and tried to +be cheerful for his, my father's, sake. The pain at her poor heart was +terrible, terrible, but she said to me, 'Jeanette, I must hide the pain +for the sake of the dear father. I only tell it to God.'" + +Both the children listened to Jeanette's story with keen interest, and +Irene asked,-- + +"How is your poor mother now?" + +"She is calm, she is quiet; she does her work for them all, and her +face has a look of peace. M. le Cure says it is the peace that comes of +bearing sorrow, as the Lord Jesus bore the cross, and that is the way +for us all; little and young, or old, it is the same. But I must go; +there is so much work, night and day, day and night. See, dear little +ma'm'selle"--and Jeanette foraged in the deep pocket of her white +apron--"here are some bon-bons, chocolate of the best; see, all shining +like silver." + +She laid some round chocolate balls, covered with silver paper, in +Dorothy's hand, and said,-- + +"Try to sleep away your sorrow, ma'm'selle, and wake fresh and happy for +madame's sake." + +"Every one tells me that," said Dorothy, "except mother. She does not +tell me I don't care for her; she does not tell me to be happy for her +sake. As if I could--could--forget my Nino!" + +"No one thinks you can forget him," Irene said; "but if crying makes you +ill, and makes your mamma miserable, you should try to stop." + +Dorothy began to taste the excellence of Jeanette's chocolate, and +offered some to Irene, saying,-- + +"That was a pretty story of Jeanette's about her poor little brother. +Didn't you think so, Irene?" + +"Yes," Irene said, thoughtfully; "I hope God will comfort Antoine's poor +father." + +"It's the _mother_ that cared the most--it was the mother who was so +miserable." + +"Ah! but it was the father who let the little boy slip into the water; +it was a thousand times worse for him," Irene said. + + [Illustration: Nino] + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE VILLA LUCIA. + + +"Well, grannie, is she coming?--is Irene coming?" + +The question was asked eagerly by a boy of nine years old, who came into +the pretty sitting-room of the Villa Lucia at San Remo, with his hands +full of pale lilac crocuses. "Is she coming, grannie dear?" + +"Do not rush into the room before your sister, Willy. See, you have +knocked the basket out of her hand." + +"And all my flowers are upset, grannie," said a little plaintive voice. +"Every one!" + +"Pick them up, Willy; do not be so rough. Ah! look!"--for a third and +very important personage now toddled into the room, having struggled +down from his nurse's arms; and before any one could stop him, Baby Bob +had trampled on Ella's flowers, so that scarcely one was fit to present +to grannie. + +Quite unrepentant, and, indeed, unheeding of the cry--"Oh! Baby Bob! +what are you doing?"--Baby Bob stumped up to grannie, and deposited in +her lap a very much crushed and flattened crocus, saying-- + +"Kiss me for it; it's for _you_." + +"You darling!" Lady Burnside said. "Thank you. The poor little flower +is sadly squeezed; but it is a token of baby's love all the same." + +"Now, grannie," exclaimed Willy, "I want to hear about the cousin, +because, you see, I never even thought about her till the other day, +and I want to be ready--what do you call it?--_prepared_ for her." + +"After all, Willy," said a grave-eyed maiden of twelve, who was lying +on a couch in the window, "it won't make much difference to _you_ what +Irene is like. A rough and noisy boy like you can't expect a stranger to +put up with him as _we_ do." + +"She's not a stranger," said Willy. "She is a _cousin_, and who knows? +she may like me better than anybody. She may be a jolly girl, who isn't +made of sugar and salt, like Ella!" + +"I am not made of sugar and salt," pleaded Ella, who had patiently +gathered up her flowers, and was answering the call of their nurse to go +with Baby Bob to take off his jacket and hat. + +"No, that's true," said Willy; "you are all salt and vinegar, no sugar. +Now, grannie, as the little ones are cleared off at last, tell me about +the cousin." + +But Lady Burnside said gravely, "Willy, I wish you would try to please +me by being more considerate and gentle to your sisters." + +"Ella is so whiny piny! she is always saying '_Don't_', and 'You +_shan't_!'" + +"Not always, Willy. Do you remember how ready she was to give up +her turn to you to play draughts with Constance last evening? Do you +remember how kindly she helped you to find those places in the map for +Mr. Martyn?" + +"Yes, grannie," Willy said. "I will go and tell her I am sorry I +have been so cross; but she _is_ provoking, and you don't know _how_ +provoking." + +"Well, making all allowance for that, I still think that you should +never forget you are a boy and she is a little girl, and should for that +very reason be gentle and forbearing, because it is a rule, which all +noble-hearted people recognise, that the weak should be protected by the +strong." + +Willy gave his grandmother a rather rough kiss, and said,-- + +"I'll go and stroke Ella the right way, and _when_ I come back you +_will_ tell me about the cousin." + +When Willy was gone, Constance laid down the book she had been reading, +and said,-- + +"I do not envy Irene Packingham coming here. Willy is an awful tease, +and if she is a prim little thing, turned out by a boarding-school, she +will have a bad time of it." + +"I think you are hard upon Willy, dear Constance," was the gentle reply. +"He is a very high-spirited boy, very much like what your father was; +and then Willy has the great disadvantage of having no brother near his +own age." + +"I think," said Constance, "he ought to go to school. Mr. Martyn thinks +so also, I know. It is such a pity mother is so set against schools." + +"There is a reason for it, and you must remember your mother's great +grief." + +"Poor Arthur's dying at school, you mean; but he was a very delicate +boy, and Willy is as strong as a horse. I wish I were strong--half as +strong! Here I lie, week after week, and my back does not get a bit +better. I had the old pain this morning when I just moved to take my +work from the little table;" and Constance's eyes filled with tears. + +She was the eldest living child of Lady Burnside's eldest daughter, who +had married a gentleman high in the Civil Service in India, and who had +always lived there. As so often happens, the children could not bear +the climate after a certain age, and they had been committed to their +grandmother's care, who lived during the winter at San Remo, and of late +years had not returned to England in the summer, but had spent the hot +season in Switzerland. + +The first detachment of children had been Arthur and Constance, both +very delicate. Arthur had been sent to school near London, and had died +there, to the great grief of his father and mother. He had caught a +chill after a game of cricket, and died before any of his relations +could reach him. Although no one was really to blame, poor Mrs. Montague +found it hard to think so, and she lived in perfect dread of sending +Willy to school, although he was a robust, vigorous boy. + +The next detachment which came to be committed to Lady Burnside's care +were little Ella and Baby Bob. Mrs. Montague had brought them to San +Remo herself, now more than two years before this time, and with the +help of Mrs. Crawley, the old and trusted nurse, who had lived with Lady +Burnside for many years, their grandmother had been able to bear the +burden of responsibility. Constance had lately complained of a pain in +her back, and had been condemned to lie down on an invalid couch for +the greater part of the day; but Willy and the baby were as healthy as +could be desired, and Ella, although not strong, had seldom anything +really amiss. She was a gentle, sensitive child, and apt to take a low +view of herself and everybody else. But Lady Burnside did not encourage +this, and while she held Willy in check, she was too wise to let Ella +look upon herself as a martyr to her brother's teasing and boisterous +mirth. + +Presently Constance said,-- + +"Is Irene like Aunt Eva, I wonder?" + +"Not if I may judge by her photograph," Lady Burnside said. + +"Why did not Uncle Packingham let Irene live with you, grannie, as we +do?" + +"Perhaps he thought I could hardly undertake another grandchild, and you +know Irene has a second mother; and her home will be eventually with her +and her little brothers when her father leaves the service." + +"And our home will be with father and mother one day," Constance said. +"Not that I wish to leave you, dear grannie," Constance added. "Indeed, +I often think I have the grandmotherly sort of feeling about mamma, and +the motherly one about you!" + +Lady Burnside laughed. + +"Your mamma would be amused to hear that. I always think of her as so +young and bright, and she and Aunt Eva were the light of my eyes." + +"I hope Irene will be nice," Constance said; "and then there is another +girl coming. We forget that." + +"I do not forget it. I have been with Crawley this morning to look at +the Villa Firenze; it is all in nice order for Mrs. Acheson, and there +are two good Italian servants, besides Stefano and his wife, who, +being an Englishwoman, understands the ways of the English thoroughly, +especially of invalids, so I hope the travellers will be pleased when +they arrive." + +"What is the girl's name? do you remember, grannie?" + +"Yes, her name is Dorothy. I saw her when she was a very little girl, +and I remember she had beautiful silky hair; she was a pale, delicate +child." + +"Dear me!" said Constance. "Every one seems to be delicate. Irene +Packingham is coming because of a cough, and so is Mrs. Acheson, and +really the only strong ones are the boys. I suppose Irene takes after +Aunt Eva in being delicate?" + +"Yes; her father thought she would do well to escape the fogs of London, +and have the advantage of the sunshine here; but I hope we shall send +her back in the spring quite well." + +"_Take_ her back, grannie, say take her back, for I should so like to go +to England." + +Lady Burnside shook her head. "I do not think I shall return to England +next spring with the swallows. What a flight that is!" she said, looking +out of the window, where a long line of birds could be seen flying +across the blue sea. + +"Happy birds!" said Constance, wearily; "I wish I could fly with them!" + +Lady Burnside made no rejoinder to this, and sat knitting quietly by the +wood fire, which was pleasant at sunset, when the chill is always great +in southern countries. After half an hour's quiet, there were sounds of +coming feet, and Baby Bob, in all the glory of a very short frock and +wide sash, came in with a shout, which would have shaken the nerves of +any one less accustomed to children than Lady Burnside. + +Behind him came Ella, with a little work-basket in her hand, with which +she went up to Constance's couch, and seating herself there, took out +her little bit of cross-stitch, and settled herself to work. + +Baby Bob took possession of his grandmother, and she had to go over +one of his picture-books, and tell for the hundredth time the story of +Mother Hubbard, which, illustrated with large coloured pictures, was +Baby Bob's great favourite. + +He would ponder over the pictures with wondering interest, and wish that +the dog had not cheated, and made believe to be dead, because no good +people or dogs could cheat. Crawley said so, and Maria said so, and +Willy said so, Willy being the great authority to which Baby Bob always +referred in any difficulty. + +Willy was doing his work for Mr. Martyn in the study, and making up for +lost time. This was his general habit. He would put off his lessons +to the last moment, and then, as he said, "clear them all off in a +twinkling." + +Willy was clever and quick at everything, but this way of getting over +work is not really satisfactory. Time and thought are necessary to +fasten what is learned on the mind, and what is gathered up in haste, +or, rather, sown in haste, does not take deep root. + +That night, when Ella was getting ready for bed, she consulted Crawley +about the new-comer. + +"How is it we know so little of the cousin, Crawley?" + +"Well, my dear, her papa married a lady who thinks schools and all that +sort of thing necessary. At least, that's what your dear grandmamma has +told me, and I daresay you'll find little Miss Packingham very forward +with her books. So you must make haste and learn to read better. For you +are getting on for eight years old." + +Ella sighed. + +"I _can_ read," she said, "and I can speak French and Italian; I daresay +Irene can't do that." + +"Well, _that's_ nothing," said Crawley, "for I can talk French after my +fashion, just because I have lived with my dear mistress out of England +so long. But there's another little lady coming, you know. Her mamma +knew your mamma. She used to be a pretty creature, and I daresay she's +like her." + +"She mayn't be like her, for grannie says Irene isn't like Aunt Eva. I +want to see her. I wish to-morrow would come." + +And Baby Bob murmured from his little bed in the corner, "Wish 'morrow +would come." + + [Illustration: Sleeping Baby] + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +VILLA FIRENZE. + + +To-morrow came, and brought with it the tired travellers, who arrived at +San Remo, after a night journey from Marseilles, as Ingleby said, "more +dead than alive." + +This was a figure of speech on Ingleby's part, but there is no doubt +that the two sleepy, tired, way-worn children who were lifted out of +the carriage which had been sent to the station to meet them gave very +little sign of life or interest in what happened. + +Canon Percival, who took the management of everything, promptly ordered +a bath and bed, and the kind English wife of Stefano showed every wish +to be accommodating, and carried Dorothy herself to the room prepared +for her and Irene. + +Two little beds stood there, with a white net cage let down over them. +The children were too sleepy to notice them then, but when Dorothy +opened her eyes, she was greatly amused to see that she was looking +through fine net, like the net she had seen made for fruit in England +to protect it from wasps. + +The western sun was lying across the garden before the villa when +Dorothy felt it was time to get up. She called Irene, who answered at +once,-- + +"Yes! what do you want? Can I help you?" + +"I want to get up," said Dorothy, "but I can't get out of this white +cage." + +"Oh yes, you can," said Irene, who drew a bit of narrow ribbon, which +hung inside her own bed, and then the net curtain was lifted, and she +said,-- + +"Look! you have the same bit of ribbon; pull it!" + +Dorothy did as she was told, and, to her delight, the net was raised in +a pretty festoon. + +"Isn't it funny?" she said; "what can the curtains be for? Are they just +for prettiness?" + +"No, for use; they are mosquito curtains; and I remember some very like +them in India." + +"What are mosquitoes?" + +"Little gnats, very, very thin and small, but they sting dreadfully, +and especially at night, and make big bumps on your forehead, and the +curtains shut them out. I should like to get up now," Irene said; "for +I ought to go to grannie." + +"Oh, I don't want you to go to your grannie; you must stay with me." + +"I don't think that would do," Irene said, "for father wished me to live +with grannie and the cousins." + +"I'm so sorry," Dorothy exclaimed, "for I know I shan't like the +cousins. I think--I really do--you are the only playmate I ever cared +for; not that we've _played_ together, but that's the word every one +uses. Dr. Bell said I wanted playmates; and Ingleby says so; and Uncle +Crannie says so; and so did that dreadful Mrs. Thompson. Ah! when I had +my Nino, and Muff and Puff, I wanted nobody;" and Dorothy was beginning +to cry, when Ingleby, hearing the children's voices, now came from +another room, where she had begun unpacking, bearing in her arms a +bundle of clean, fresh clothes for Dorothy. + +"Well, you have been asleep ever since eleven, and it is nearly four +o'clock. You must want your dinner, I am sure; and then Miss Packingham +is to go to her grandmamma's house. Your box was taken there, my dear, +and so I cannot give you fresh things, but I must brush your frock and +bend your hat straight." + +The children were ready in a few minutes, and presented a strong +contrast, as usual. + +Dorothy was a little _too_ smart in her pale blue cashmere with grebe +trimming, and it was hard to believe she had been in the train all +night; for they had left Paris in the morning of the preceding day, +and had reached San Remo at half-past ten. Irene, on the contrary, +looked travel-worn, and she was a good deal more tired than Dorothy, +who had slept off her fatigue and her sorrow for poor Nino's loss, +and looked--so Ingleby said to herself--"as fresh as any daisy." + +When the two little girls reached the sitting-room, which, like Lady +Burnside's, opened on a verandah, they heard voices outside, and +presently a boy and a girl stepped into the room. + +Ella shrank back, but Willy, who never knew what shyness meant, said,-- + +"Grannie said we might come and fetch Irene--she is to come home now, if +she is ready." + +As Willy surveyed the two girls, he wondered which was his cousin. The +thought passed through his mind, "I hope it is the pretty one!" and +advancing, he said to Dorothy,-- + +"Grannie has sent us to take you to the Villa Lucia; are you ready?" + +Ingleby, who was busy looking after the travelling basket, from which +she was taking some of Dorothy's favourite biscuits, said,-- + +"Your cousin, Miss Packingham, had better take her dinner before she +goes with you; perhaps you will sit down with her and Miss Dorothy. Now, +my dear," Ingleby continued, addressing Dorothy, "I hope you will be +able to fancy something," as Stefano brought in a tray with coffee and +crescent-shaped rolls, and a dainty omelette done to a turn by his wife. + +Willie now put his hand out to Irene, and said, in a tone in which there +was a little ring of disappointment,-- + +"Then _you_ are my cousin?" + +"Yes," Irene said, "and I am very glad to come and see you all--and +grannie." + +"Do you remember her?" Willie asked. + +"Just a _very_ little, but she always writes me very kind letters, so I +feel as if I remembered her." + +"Come, Ella, don't be so silly," Willy said, pushing his sister forward; +"go and speak to Irene." + +Irene took Ella's hand, and then, at Ingleby's advice, they all sat down +to their meal together. + +Two thick-edged white cups were brought by Stefano, and Willy and Ella +enjoyed the good things more than the two tired travellers did. + +Irene could scarcely touch the omelette, and Dorothy, in spite of +Ingleby's entreaties, only nibbled a quantity of her own biscuits, which +were, as Ingleby said, "not fit to make a meal of." They were those +little pink and white fluffy light balls, flavoured with vanilla and +rose, a large tin of which had been bought in Paris, and were Dorothy's +favourite food just then. + +They found favour with Willy, and he took a handful from the box several +times. Dorothy did not approve of this, and said to Ingleby,-- + +"Put the lid on the box, Jingle; there won't be any biscuits left." + +This was not very polite, and Willy shrugged his shoulders, and said to +himself, "After all, I am glad she is _not_ my cousin." + +Irene was really thankful when Willy said it was time to go, for her +head ached, and she was far more tired than Dorothy was. + +And now poor Dorothy began to cry, and say she did not want Irene to go +away--that she must stay with her, and not go and live with that big boy +who was so greedy. + +"Hush! hush! my dear," said Ingleby; "you must not forget yourself." + +"I don't mind," said Willy, good-temperedly; "she is only a baby, and is +tired." + +"A baby!" sobbed Dorothy. "I am _not_ a baby, and I love Irene, and she +is _not_ to go away with you." + +Ingleby was anxious to cut the parting short, and said to Irene, who was +trying to comfort Dorothy,-- + +"Make haste and have it over. She will forget it, and----" + +"I shan't forget Irene. You said I should forget Nino--dear, dear Nino. +I don't forget him, and now--now I have lost him, I want Irene, I do!" + +"I shall see you very often," Irene said, kissing her; "don't begin to +cry again." + +"Dear me!" Willy said, as they left the house; "she is worse than you, +Ella. At first I thought her so pretty, and now I find she is only a +little spoiled thing. However, we will soon teach her better, won't we, +Ella?" + +Ella, who had possessed herself of Irene's hand, said,-- + +"You must not be so rude to Dorothy as you are to me, Willy, or you will +make her cry." + +"No, I'll cure her of crying. But here we are. This is Villa Lucia." + +Irene followed Willy into the house, and very soon Irene felt she was no +longer lonely--a stranger in a strange land. + +Irene had not seen her grannie for some years, and, with the instinct of +childhood, she had discovered, without being told, that her father did +not care much for her grannie. He rarely mentioned her, and, indeed, he +always called her step-mother's mother "grannie" when he had occasion to +write of her. + +Till Irene had seen Lady Burnside she felt no difference between them. +Mrs. Roscoe was a very grand, fashionable lady, who had called on her at +Mrs. Baker's sometimes, and sent her large boxes of chocolate and French +sweets. + +But _that_ did not make Irene feel as if she belonged to her; and now, +when the gentle lady by the fire rose to greet her and folded her in a +warm embrace, Irene felt a strange choking sensation in her throat, and +when she looked up at her grannie she saw tears were on her cheeks. + +"I feel as if I had come home," she said, simply, "and it _is_ so nice." + +Happily for every one, a loud voice was heard at the door--"Let me in! +let me in!" And when Ella ran to open it, there was Baby Bob, who came +trotting across the room to Lady Burnside, and said,-- + +"I want the cousin; is that the cousin?" + +"Yes. Go and give her a kiss, and say you are glad to see her." + +But Baby Bob sidled back towards his grannie, and suddenly oppressed +with the solemnity of the occasion, hid his round, rosy face in her +gown, and beat a tattoo with his fat legs by way of expressing his +welcome, in a manner, it must be said, peculiar to himself. + + [Illustration: Mountain Scene] + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +DOROTHY'S LESSONS. + + +Every child who reads my story must have felt how quickly strange things +begin to grow familiar, and before we are reconciled to what is new it +becomes almost old. + +So it was with Dorothy, and in a less degree with Irene. + +It was New Year's Day, and Dorothy was seated at the table in the +schoolroom at Villa Lucia, writing to her uncle Cranstone. + +She wrote a very nice round hand, between lines, thanks to the patient +teaching which Irene bestowed on her. To be sure, the thin foreign paper +was rather a trial, as the pen was so apt to stick when a thin up-stroke +followed a firm down-stroke; but still the letter, when finished, was a +very creditable performance to both mistress and pupil. + +Lady Burnside had wisely decreed that Irene should have no lessons while +she was at San Remo, for she was very forward for her age, having gone +through the regular routine of school, and writing at ten years old +almost a formed hand, while Dorothy had only _printed_ words when Irene +took her up as a pupil. + +"It will be a nice occupation for Irene to help Dorothy with her +lessons," Lady Burnside said; and Dorothy felt the importance of going +to school when, every morning at ten o'clock, she was escorted by +Ingleby to the Villa Lucia, and joined the party in the schoolroom. + +Dorothy had a great deal to learn besides reading and writing and +arithmetic, and as she had never had any one to give up to, she found +that part of her daily lessons rather hard. + +Baby Bob, in whom Irene delighted, tried Dorothy's patience sorely, and, +indeed, he was a young person who required to be repressed. + +Dorothy had just finished her letter to her uncle, and with aching +fingers had written her name at the bottom of the second sheet, when +Baby Bob appeared, followed by Ella. + +"We are to have a holiday, because it is New Year's Day, and go on +donkeys to La Colla." + +"Yes," said Willy; "I have been to order Marietta's donkeys--the big +brown one for me, the little white one for Dorothy, the little grey one +for Ella, and the old spotted one for Irene. It's such fun going to La +Colla, and we'll put Ingleby and Crawley on as we come down, and----" + +But Willy was interrupted by a cry from Dorothy-- + +"He's got my letter! Oh, my letter!" and a smart slap was administered +to Baby Bob, who, I am sorry to say, clenched his fat fist, and hit +Dorothy in the mouth. + +"Put the letter down at once, you naughty child!" Crawley said. "How +dare you touch Miss Dorothy?" + +The letter was with difficulty rescued from Baby Bob, in a sadly +crumpled condition, and Irene smoothed the sheet with her hand and put +it into a fresh envelope. + + + [Illustration: THE DONKEY EXPEDITION TO LA COLLA.] + + +"I was only going to the post," Baby Bob said. "Grannie lets me drop her +letters in the post, o' course." + +"Well, wait till you are asked another time, Bob; then you won't get +into trouble; but I don't think you deserved the hard slap," Ella said. + +Dorothy, who was still crying and holding her apron up to her mouth, now +drew herself up and said, "I shall go home to mother, I shall. I shan't +stay here, to be ill-treated. Mother says Bob is the naughtiest spoiled +boy _she_ ever knew." + +"She has known a girl as much spoiled, anyhow," said Willy. + +"Come, Dorothy, forget and forgive," said Irene; "and let us go and get +ready for our donkey ride." + +"I shan't go," persisted Dorothy; "I don't want to go; and just look!" + +There was undoubtedly a tiny crimson spot on Dorothy's apron, and she +began to sob again at the sight, and say she must go home that minute to +Ingleby. + +"Go along, then," said Willy, roughly; "we don't want a cry-baby with +us. Look at Bob; he has quite forgotten the thump you gave him, and +wants to kiss you." + +I am sorry to say Dorothy turned a very unwilling cheek towards Baby +Bob, who said-- + +"I'll never take _your_ letter no more, Dolly." + +Dorothy had, as we know, several nicknames from her uncle, but she had a +particular aversion to that of "Dolly," and just touching Baby Bob with +her lips, she said, "I hate to be called Dolly." + +"Well," Willy said, "here come the donkeys, and Marietta and Francesco, +and no one is ready. Come, make haste, girls." + +"Come, Dorothy," Irene said, "let me put on your skirt." For the +children had each a neat little blue serge skirt which they wore for +their donkey expeditions. "Come, Dorothy," Irene pleaded. But Dorothy +said she should stay with Lady Burnside till Ingleby came for her. + +"You can't stay with grannie--she is very _busy_ with _business_; and +Constance has one of her headaches, and is in bed." + +"Then I'll wait here till Jingle comes." + +There was a wonderful amount of obstinacy expressed in that pretty, fair +little face; and then Crawley came in to say the donkeys must not be +kept waiting. Irene, finding it useless to say more, went to get ready, +as Ella had already done, and left Dorothy in the sitting-room playing a +tattoo on the window as she curled herself up in a circular straw chair. + +Ella made one more attempt when she was dressed for the ride. + +"_Do_ come, Dorothy dear. We have got three baskets full of nice things +to eat at La Colla, and the sun is so bright, and----" + +"Go away," said Dorothy; adding, "Good-bye; I hope you'll enjoy jogging +down over those hard rough stones on the donkeys." + +A little girl, the daughter of a friend of Lady Burnside, came with her +brother to join the party, and Dorothy watched them all setting off, +Crawley holding Bob before her on the sturdy old brown donkey; Willy +and Jack Meredith riding off with Francesco running at their heels, with +his bare brown feet and bright scarlet cap; then Ella and Irene under +Marietta's guidance; Ella looking back and kissing her hand to as much +as she could see of Dorothy's hair, as she sat by the window under the +verandah. + +Then Dorothy was alone; it was no punishment to her, and she fell into +one of her old meditations. + +The chirp and twitter of swallows were heard, for, as we know, Dorothy +had taken flight from England with them. And as one perched for a moment +on the big aloe which grew just outside the verandah, Dorothy said, "I +wonder if that's my old mother swallow; it looks just like her." + +Presently another joined her, and the two twittered, and chirped, and +wagged their restless forked tails, and turned their little heads from +side to side, and then darted off in the warm sunshine. Glancing at the +little timepiece which stood on the table, Dorothy saw it was not yet +eleven, and Ingleby never came till twelve o'clock. + +After all it was rather dull, and there was no need for her to wait for +Ingleby, who often did not come till half-past twelve. A little more +meditation, and then Dorothy uncurled herself and put down her legs +slowly, first one, then the other, and then, with something very like a +yawn, which ended in "Oh, dear!" her eyes fell on the letter which had +been put into the envelope by Irene. It had a stamp on it, but was not +addressed. + +So Dorothy thought she would address it herself, and taking the pen, +made a great blot to begin with, which was not ornamental; then she +made a very wide C, which quite overshadowed the "anon" for "Canon." +"Percival" would by no means allow itself to be put on the same line, +and had to go beneath it. As to "Coldchester," it was so cramped up in +the corner that it was hardly legible, but imitating a letter which +she had seen Mr. Martyn address one day, she made up for it by a big +"England" at the top. The envelope was not fastened down, and Dorothy +remembered Irene said she had seen some dear little "Happy New Year" +cards at a shop in the street, and that she would ask Ingleby to take +her with Dorothy to buy one, and put it in the letter before it was +posted. + +"I'll go and get a card," Dorothy thought, "and post my own letter, and +then come back, or go home to mother. I'll go and get ready directly." + +As it happened, Dorothy's hat and pretty velvet jacket, trimmed with +lovely soft fur, were kept in a little closet, with a window in it, +behind the schoolroom. They were put there when she came to the Villa +Lucia every morning by Ingleby, who never failed to send her in to see +Lady Burnside, drawing secret comparisons between the appearance of her +darling and that of Miss Packingham or little Miss Ella Montague. + +Dorothy had some difficulty in getting herself into her jacket, and her +hair notched into the elastic of her hat, which, springing back, caught +her in the eyes, and made them water. Then, when she thought she was +ready, she remembered she had not taken off the apron which was stained +with the little crimson spot. A little rim of white showed under the +jacket between the fur and the edge of her frock, but she pushed it up +under the band, and then went softly down the hall to the glass door, +and lifting the _portiere_, or thick curtain, which hung over the outer +door, she found herself in the road. For the Villa Lucia did not open +into the garden which lay between the Villa and sloping ground and the +blue sea, but from the back, into a road which led towards the old town +of San Remo. + +Dorothy held the letter firmly in her hand, and walked on with some +dignity. It was rather nice to go to the post by herself, and she +measured the distance in her own mind, as she had often been there +with Ingleby and Crawley. + +The shop where the New Year's cards were sold was near the post-office, +and she had two shillings in her little leather purse at the bottom of +her pocket. + +Several Italian women, carrying heavy burdens on their heads, passed her +and smiled, and said in a pleasant voice, "Buon gionno!" and one young +woman, with a patient baby tightly swathed and fastened to her back, +called out,-- + +"Ah, la piccola bella!" + +Somehow Dorothy was so lost in meditation upon herself and her own +cleverness in finding the way to the post, that she missed the first +turning which would have led her down to the English part of the town. +She took the next, but that brought her out beyond the shops and the +post-office. + +She did not at first notice this, and when she found she was much +farther from home than she expected, she began to run, but still she did +not get any nearer the shops and the post-office. Now the street of the +English part of San Remo runs almost parallel with the sea, and there +are several narrow lanes between the houses, which lead down to the +quay, where all the boats sail from the pier, and where a great many +women are mending the holes in the brown nets. + +There are streets also leading up to the old town--that quaint old town, +which was built on the steep sides of the hill, long, long before any +English people thought of erecting their new houses and villas below +it. + +The streets of the old town are so steep that they are climbed by steps, +or rather ridges, of pavement, which are set at rather long intervals. +These streets are very narrow, and there are arches across them, like +little bridges, from one house to another. + +The houses in old Italian towns were built with these arches or little +bridges because they formed a support to the tall houses, which were +sometimes shaken by earthquakes. + +Now it happened that as Dorothy was wondering how it could be that she +had missed the post-office, she caught sight of a little white fluffy +dog, with brown ears, running up towards the opening of one of these +narrow streets. + +"My Nino! my Nino!" she exclaimed. "It must be Nino." She did not stop +to consider that Nino would have answered her call, if, indeed, it had +been he. She did not stop to consider that he was old, and could never +have run so fast uphill as this little dog could run. She turned out +of the broad street into one of the narrow ones, and chased the little +white dog till she was out of breath. + +There were not many people about, and no one took much notice of her; +and she never stopped till she found herself in the market square of the +old town, where, out of breath and exhausted, she sat down on a flight +of steps, hopeless of catching the dog, who had now quite disappeared. + +An old and dirty-looking church was before her, and several peasant +women, with their baskets on their heads, were passing in and out. Red +and yellow handkerchiefs were bound round their dark hair, and some of +them wore pretty beads round their necks. One or two stopped to look at +Dorothy, and talked and made signs to her; but she could not understand +what they said, and they smiled at her and passed on. The streets +leading up from the market square looked very dim and very steep, and +Dorothy began to feel lonely and frightened, especially when an old +woman, who might have been a hundred years old, so wrinkled was her face +and so bowed her back, stopped before her as she sat on the steps, and +began to mumble, and make grimaces, and open her mouth, where no teeth +were to be seen, and point at Dorothy with her lean, bony, brown +fingers. + +Dorothy got up and began to run down towards the town again as quickly +as she had come up, when, alas! her foot caught against the corner of a +rough stone step before one of the tall houses, and she fell with some +violence on the uneven, rugged pavement, hitting her head a sharp blow. + +Poor little Dorothy! Getting her own way, and doing exactly as she +wished, had brought her now a heavy punishment. While Ella and Willy and +Baby Bob, with their two little friends, were enjoying the contents of +the luncheon basket at La Colla, Dorothy was lying all alone amongst +strangers in the old town of San Remo! + + [Illustration: Swallow and Butterfly] + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +LOST. + + +Ingleby arrived at the Villa Lucia at the usual time, and went, as was +her custom, to the schoolroom door, and knocked. + +She was generally answered by a rush to the door by Ella and Dorothy, +and a cry of-- + +"Grannie says she is to stay to luncheon to-day," or, "Don't take her +away yet." + +But to-day silence reigned, and when Ingleby looked in, the schoolroom +was empty. + +She turned away, and met the maid who waited on Constance with a tray in +her hand and a cup of cocoa, which she was taking upstairs. + +"Where is Miss Dorothy, and where are the children?" + +"All gone out on donkeys to Colla," was the answer. "Her ladyship was +glad to get the house quiet, for Miss Constance has had a very bad +night." + +"Talk of bad nights!" exclaimed Ingleby; "my mistress has done nothing +but cough since four o'clock this morning. Well, I hope Miss Dorothy was +well wrapped up, for the wind is cold enough out of the sun, though +Stefano is angry if I say so. I wish we were back in England. I know, +what with the nasty wood fires, and the 'squitoes, and the draughts, +and----" + +Ingleby was interrupted here by Lady Burnside, who came out of the +drawing-room. + +"Good-morning, Ingleby; how is Mrs. Acheson?" + +"But very poorly, my lady; she has had a bad night." + +"Ah! that is why you have not gone to Colla with the party. But I am +sure Crawley will take care of Miss Dorothy, and Miss Irene is quite to +be trusted." + +"I knew nothing of the party going to Colla, my lady. I hope it is not +one of those break-neck roads, like going up the side of a house." + +"It is very steep in some parts, but the donkeys are well used to +climbing. Give my love to Mrs. Acheson, and say I will come and see +her to-morrow." + +Ingleby walked back rather sadly. She wished she had known of the +expedition, for there was safety for her darling when she could walk +behind the donkey going uphill, and by its head coming down again. What +did it matter that the fatigue was great, and that she panted for breath +as she tried to keep up? She held Dorothy's safety before her own, and +all personal fatigue was as nothing to secure that. + +If any little girls who read this story have kind, faithful nurses like +Ingleby, I hope they will never forget to be grateful to them for their +patience and kindness in their childish days when childhood has passed +away, and they no longer need their watchful care. Ingleby's love was +not, perhaps, wise love, but it was very true and real, and had very +deep roots in the attachment she felt for her mistress, whom she had +served so faithfully for many years. + +Between Stefano and Ingleby no great friendship subsisted, and when she +returned alone from the Villa Lucia, he said,-- + +"Where's the little signora, then?" + +"Where? you may well ask! gone up one of those steep mountains to Colla +on a donkey." + +"_Si!_ well, and why not?" + +"Why not? Because it is very dangerous, and I think fellows who take +other people's children from them ought at least to give notice of it." + +"_Si!_ well," was Stefano's rejoinder, "that's a fine ride up to Colla, +and there are more books there than there are days in the year, and +pictures, and----" + +"Come now, Stefano," his wife called, "it is time to stop thy talking, +and to get the luncheon ready. Gone to Colla, do you say, Mrs. Ingleby?--a +very pretty excursion; and there, high up in the heart of the hills, is +a wonderful library of books, and many fine pictures, collected by a +good priest, who starved himself to buy them and store them there." + +But Ingleby was not to be interested in any details of the library at +Colla, which is visited with so much delight by many who spend a winter +at San Remo. She was anxious about Dorothy, and Stefano said,-- + +"It will be wonderful if they are home before sunset." + +"Home before sunset!" exclaimed poor Ingleby; "well, I should think Mrs. +Crawley will have sense enough for _that_, though I don't think much of +her wisdom, spoiling that baby of three years old as she does." + +Stefano chuckled. + +"Ah, _si!_ but others are spoiled, as well as _Bambino Bobbo_." + +Ingleby had now to go to Mrs. Acheson, and tell her that Dorothy was not +coming home to luncheon. + +As this often happened when she stayed at Lady Burnside's, Mrs. Acheson +was not anxious. Ingleby kept back the expedition to Colla, and Mrs. +Acheson asked no questions then. + +But as the afternoon wore on, and Dorothy did not return, escorted as +usual by Willy and Irene Packingham, Mrs. Acheson told Ingleby she had +better go to Lady Burnside and bring Dorothy home with her. + +"I have not seen the child to-day," she said, "except when I was half +asleep, when she came to wish me a 'Happy New Year!' And this present +has arrived for her from her uncle at Coldchester. Look, Ingleby; is +it not sweet? I could not resist peeping into the box. Won't she be +delighted!" + +The box contained two little figures like dormice, with long tails and +bright eyes, in a cosy nest. The head of each little mouse opened, and +then inside one was the prettiest little scent-bottle you can imagine, +and inside the other a pair of scissors, with silver handles, and a tiny +thimble on a little crimson velvet cushion. + +How Ingleby wished Dorothy Dormouse, whose name was written on the +card tied to the box, was there, I cannot tell you; but how little +did Ingleby or any one else guess _where_ she was at that moment! + +Ingleby put off going to the Villa Lucia till the last moment, and +arrived at the gate just as the donkeys came merrily along the road. + +Francesco could not resist the delight of sending them all at full trot +for the last quarter of a mile, and Crawley, grasping Baby Bob tightly +with one arm, and with her other hand holding the pommel of the saddle, +jogged up and down like any heavy dragoon soldier; while Irene, and +Willy, and Ella, and the Merediths came on urging their tired steeds, +and asking Crawley if it was not "jolly to canter," while poor Crawley, +breathless and angry gasped out that she had a dreadful stitch in her +side, and that she would never mount a donkey again. + +Marietta came on behind, with the ends of her scarlet handkerchief +on her head flapping in the wind, and though apparently not hurrying +herself, she took such strides with her large, heavily-shod feet, that +she was soon at the gate. + +There was the usual bustle of dismounting, and some scolding from +Crawley, and a few sharp raps administered by Marietta to Francesco for +making the donkeys canter; while poor Ingleby's excited questions were +not even noticed. + +"Miss Dorothy--where is Miss Dorothy?--do you hear me, Miss Packingham?--do +you hear me, Master Willy?--speak, won't you?--has she fallen off one of +these brutes?--is she--is she--Master Willy--Miss Ella--Miss Irene!" + +Then Ella turned from giving a parting pat to her donkey, and seeing +Ingleby's distressed face, said,-- + +"Dorothy did not come with us; she is not hurt?" + +"Oh, Miss Ella, Miss Ella!" exclaimed poor Ingleby, holding up her hands +and sinking back against the wall. "Oh, Miss Ella, Miss Ella! oh, Miss +Irene!" + +"Why, what is the matter, Mrs. Ingleby?" said Crawley, who had set down +Baby Bob to toddle into the house, and was settling the payment for the +donkeys with Marietta. "Why, you look like a ghost." + +"Miss Dorothy! Miss Dorothy! Where can she be?" + +"Well, she is safe enough, isn't she?" + +"No," said Ingleby; "she is gone! she is lost! she is lost!--and oh, +what will become of me?" + +"_Lost!_" the children all repeated; "she can't be lost." + +And then they all ran into the house, and Lady Burnside, who was sitting +with Constance in the room upstairs came hurriedly down. + +"What do you say?--little Dorothy has not been with you to Colla? She +must have gone home, then." + +"No, no, my lady," Ingleby said. "No, no; I have been waiting for her +there till ten minutes ago. She is lost--lost--and oh! I wish we had +never, never come to these foreign places; and the mistress so ill!" + +Lady Burnside was indeed greatly distressed, but she took immediate +action. She sent Willy to fetch Stefano, anxious that Mrs. Acheson +should not be alarmed and she despatched him at once to the Bureau of +Police, and told him to describe Dorothy, and to tell every one that she +was missing. + +Ingleby tried to follow them, but her legs trembled, and she sat down on +a bench in the hall and burst into tears. + +And this was the trouble which little Dorothy's self-will had brought +upon every one; this was the end of her determination to do as _she_ +liked best, without thinking what it was right and best to do, and what +other people liked best--a sad end to a day that might have been so +happy; a hard lesson for her to learn! + + [Illustration: Swallows] + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +IN THE SHADOWS. + + +At first Dorothy was scarcely conscious of what had happened to her, and +when she really recovered herself she found she was in a dark, low room, +where she could hardly see. + +There was a great chatter going on around her, of which she could not +make out a word. As her eyes got accustomed to the dim light, she saw +the figures of two women, a boy, and an old crone sitting by a wood fire. +The room seemed very full, and was very hot; a smell of smoke, and dried +fish, and of tar, made Dorothy gasp for breath. She was lying on what +seemed to her a wooden shelf, but was in reality a bed, and she felt +something cold on her head. She put up her hand, and found her forehead +was bandaged with a wet cloth. + +"I want to go home," she said, struggling to get down from the bed; but +she was seized by a pair of strong arms, and a great many words were +addressed to her as she was almost forced again to lie down. + +But Dorothy now began to cry and scream, and presently the narrow +doorway was filled with inquiring faces, and the strife of tongues +became more and more loud and noisy. + +Not one word could Dorothy understand, except, perhaps, "signorina," +with which she had become familiar, and a few words which she had caught +up from Stefano. + +The brown hands which held her down were firm, if gentle, and, though +she fought and struggled, she could not regain her feet. Presently she +felt something warm trickling down her cheek, and then there were fresh +exclamations, and Dorothy, putting up her finger, saw it was stained +with crimson blood. + +She gave herself up for lost, poor little girl, and began to sob and cry +most bitterly; then, to her surprise, the pair of strong arms lifted +her gently from the bed, and carried her to the smoking embers on the +hearth; and, looking up, she saw a kindly face bending over her, and +she was rocked gently to and fro, just as Ingleby had often rocked her +by the nursery fire at Coldchester. More wet bandages were put to her +forehead, and the boy, drawing near, touched the long, silky hair, and +said,-- + +"Bella, e bella." + +"Oh! do let me go home--take me home--please--please----" + +But no one knew what she said, and the woman only began to sing as +she rocked, in the soft Italian language, while the rest talked and +chattered, and raised their hands in wonder, and gazed down at the child +with their large dark eyes; and if Dorothy could have understood them, +she would have known they only intended to be kind. + +To be sure, they told Giulia that the little signorina must belong to +rich English, and she would get a reward; and that she ought to go down +to the town and inquire at the hotels and the villas. + +A good deal passed through Dorothy's mind as she lay in the arms of the +rough though kindly Italian woman. How long ago it seemed since the +morning, since she had been angry with Baby Bob, and had refused to go +to Colla. Oh, how she wished she had gone now. How she longed to say she +was sorry, to kiss Baby Bob, to throw her arms round Irene, and to tell +mother she would never, never be naughty again! Convulsive sobs shook +her, and she clung to the kind woman's neck, praying and entreating to +be taken home. + +But where _was_ home? No one knew, and no one could understand her; and +at last, worn out with crying, Dorothy fell fast asleep. + +Neighbours came in and out, and looked curiously at the little +golden-haired signorina, whose head seemed to make a spot of light in +the dark dwelling. + +"They will miss her, and search for her," the neighbours said, "and then +you will get a reward, Giulia. She is like an angel with the light round +her head in the window in the church." + +"She is like a sorrowful little lost kid bleating for its mother," said +Giulia. + +So the hours went on, and the sunset gleamed from behind the old church, +and brightened the grey walls of the houses in the square, and made the +windows glitter and shine like stars. + + + [Illustration: "DOROTHY FELL FAST ASLEEP."] + + +But Dorothy did not wake, and still Giulia sat patiently with her in her +strong brown arms, and crooned over her the words of a hush-a-bye with +which the dark-eyed boy, who stood notching a stick by the open +fireplace, had been lulled to sleep in his turn-- + + "Ninni, ninni, nanna, + Allegrezza di la mamma! + Addormentati, addormentati, + Oh, mia bella!" + +This answered to the "Hush-a-bye, baby," which we all know, and really +meant-- + + "Joy of thy mother, sleep, sleep! + My pretty one, sleep." + +The sunset faded from the sky, and the smouldering wood ashes and embers +on the hearth now shone with only a dim red eye in the middle; and still +Dorothy slept, and still Giulia swayed her body to and fro, and sang on +in a low, soft voice. + +It was really very kind of Giulia, for a heap of brown net and a ball of +stout twine, into which a huge bone netting-needle was thrust, lay by +the rough wooden bench near the small window. And Giulia did very much +want to finish that net, and send her boy down to the quay with it to +the master fisherman who had given her the order to make it. + +But Giulia could not find it in her kind, motherly heart to risk waking +the child by laying her down on the bed again, and she dreaded to hear +the cries in the English tongue, which she could not understand, and so +could not heed. + +It was nearly dark when at last Dorothy opened her eyes and sat up, +with a prolonged yawn. The sleep had refreshed her, and she had been so +quieted by it, that she did not resist or cry when Giulia put her down +on a low wooden stool; and throwing another bit of wood on the fire, +a flame leaped up, which was pleasant and cheerful, and made the red +petticoat which the old crone by the fire wore look bright and warm. + +Then Giulia lighted a small lamp, which was hung to a hook on the +ceiling, and putting a big iron pipkin on the fire, began to prepare +some broth for the little signorina. + +Dorothy watched her as if she were still dreaming, and saw how the big +gold earrings bobbed up and down, and wondered why Giulia had such a +very wide waist, and why any one who had such a shabby petticoat should +wear earrings, and have shining gold pins in the handkerchief which was +bound round her head. + +Dorothy did not like the smell of the soup at all, and when Giulia +crumbled into it some dark bread, and finally offered it to her, with a +large wooden spoon, she turned away in disgust. + +But Giulia persisted, and Dorothy, having tasted nothing since +breakfast, was really hungry, and swallowed a few spoonfuls. + +An orange which a neighbour brought in hanging on the bough, with its +dark green leaves, was much more tempting, and when she took it from +the woman who offered it to her, she said, "Grazia"--she knew that meant +"Thank you"--for Francesco always said "Grazia" when he took the little +copper pieces of money, which seemed so many, and were worth so little, +from her hand or Irene's when they had dismounted from the donkeys. + +Presently a familiar voice at the door made Dorothy stop eating the +orange, and she turned her eye anxiously towards the new-comer. + +It was Francesco himself, who began to tell what grief there was in +Villa Firenze, and how a little signorina was lost, and he held up a +crumpled wisp of paper, and said he had picked it up in the market +square. + +"Oh! it is mine, it is mine, Francesco. Don't you know me, Francesco? +It is my letter to Uncle Crannie. Francesco! Francesco!" + +The boy began a series of jumps of joy and springs of delight, and +clapped his hands. + +"Trovata! trovata!--e la piccola signorina" ("Found! found! the little +lady is found"), he said. + +"Let me go with him! he knows where I live. Oh, tell them--tell them to +let me go with you!" + +A voluble stream of Italian was poured forth by every one, which Dorothy +could not understand; but Giulia got Dorothy's hat, and the white scarf, +and the pretty velvet jacket, and then she was dressed--not without many +expressions of profound admiration for the soft white feather and the +velvet--and made ready to start with Francesco. Not alone. No; Giulia +was not going to trust her to the donkey-boy without her, and Francesco +made a funny face and showed his white teeth between his bright red +lips, and whispered in Dorothy's ear the one English word he perfectly +understood-- + +"Money! money! she get money for the signorina--ah! ah! ah!" + +I will not say that there was no thought in Giulia's mind that the +mother whom Francesco had described as crying bitterly for her lost +treasure might not add some silver coins to her stock kept in the old +stone pipkin in the cupboard--a store which Giulia liked to see grow, +because, when her Anton was big and strong, she would pay it to the good +master fisherman who employed her to make and mend his nets, and had +often said her dark-eyed Anton was born to be a sailor. + +Dorothy felt strangely dizzy and bewildered when she began to walk, +and though she held fast to Giulia's strong hand on one side, and to +Francesco's on the other, she tottered and tumbled about from side to +side, and was not sorry when Giulia took her up in her arms and carried +her with swift, firm steps down into the wide street of San Remo. + +It would have been quite dark now if it had not been for the light of a +crescent moon, which hung like a silver bow over the sea. Just as they +reached the upper road the doctor who attended Mrs. Acheson passed them +quickly. He turned as he passed the group, and recognised Francesco, who +was a little in advance of Giulia and her burden. + +"Hi! Francesco," he said; "has anything been heard of the little lady?" + +"Oh, Dr. Forman! Oh, Dr. Forman!" exclaimed Dorothy. + +"Why, here is the lost lamb," said the doctor. He had a little girl +of his own, and he was as delighted as possible that Dorothy was safe. +"Why, Dorothy," he said, "your poor mamma has been made quite ill with +fright; and your nurse, and Willy Montague, and that nice little friend +of yours, have been hunting for you high and low. Where have you been?" + +But Dorothy was sobbing too much to speak, and Giulia told Dr. Forman, +who understood Italian as well as his own language, the story of +Dorothy's fall, the cut on her forehead, and how she had taken her into +her house and done all she could for her. + +"Well, bring her home," the doctor said; "and, Francesco, run off and +try to find the searching party; they must be worn out." + +"Please, Dr. Forman," Dorothy gasped, "this woman has been very, very +kind to me." Then she lifted her little hand, and stroking Giulia's +face, said,-- + +"Grazia, grazia." + +"The little angel!" Giulia said. "She is just an angel, and I am glad I +found her; that I am." + +In another five minutes the doctor and Giulia, carrying her burden, +arrived at the gate of the Villa Firenze. A group was collected there, +for, as we all know, when we are waiting for anyone about whose coming +we are anxious, we always go out to watch, and hope that every minute +they will arrive. They don't come any the quicker for this, but it is a +comfort in some unexplained way. + +"Let me take her to her mother," Giulia said to Dr. Forman; and he could +not refuse. So he led the way to the drawing-room, opening the door +gently, and standing for a moment behind the screen which protected the +room from the draught of the door. + +Lady Burnside, who had been with Mrs. Acheson all the afternoon, rose to +see who was coming. + +Oh! what a relief it was to hear Dr. Forman saying,-- + +"The child is safe; here she is;" and then Giulia strode in, and +kneeling down by the sofa where poor Mrs. Acheson lay, she put Dorothy +into her arms. + +You may be very sure that Giulia's store of coins in the pipkin was +increased, and that the delicate English lady put her arm round the +Italian one's neck and kissed her, saying the pretty word by which +Dorothy had won her heart-- + +"Grazia, grazia." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +WHAT FOLLOWED. + + +The consequences of self-will do not always pass away as quickly as we +hope and expect. Sometimes we have to suffer by seeing the suffering of +others, and feel bitterly that we have caused it. I do not think any +pain is more keen than that sorrow which is caused by seeing the pain we +have given those we love. + +Lady Burnside had been afraid on the first evening of Dorothy's return +that, in the rapturous joy of poor Ingleby and the general delight of +every one, Dorothy might be brought to think lightly of the fault which +had caused so much trouble. + +Seated in a low chair, her hand in her mother's, and the other children +gathered round her, while Ingleby stood feasting her eyes upon her +darling, Dorothy became something of a heroine; and no one, in the first +joy of receiving her safe and sound, could find it in their hearts to +reprove her for what had passed. + +Lady Burnside felt that it was not for her to speak seriously to Dorothy; +and yet, when she saw her carried away to bed by Ingleby, with her +uncle's present clasped in her arms, and heard her say, "I feel _quite_ +like Dorothy Dormouse now," she did long to say more than Mrs. Acheson +did--"Dorothy will never run away by herself again and frighten poor +mother." + +As it proved, the fright and long watching had a very serious effect on +Mrs. Acheson. The next day Dr. Forman ordered her to keep in bed; and +her cough increased so much that for some days there was great anxiety +about her. Dorothy was so accustomed to see her mother ill that it +did not strike her as anything unusual; but one morning, when she was +starting gaily for the Villa Lucia, Ingleby called to Stefano from the +top of the stairs that he must take Miss Dorothy, for she could not +leave her mistress. + +"I can go alone," Dorothy said; for neither Stefano nor his wife were +very great favourites of hers. + +"No, no," Stefano said; "the little signorina is not to be trusted;" and +taking her hand in his, he prepared to lead her along the sunny road to +the Villa Lucia. + +But Dorothy snatched away her hand, and said, "You should not speak like +_that_ to me." + +"Ah," Stefano said, "someone must speak, someone must speak at times to +little signorinas who give pain and trouble." + +Dorothy felt her dignity much injured, and repeated, with emphasis,-- + +"You should not speak like that to _me_." + +Stefano only shrugged his shoulders; and as they had reached the door of +the Villa Lucia, he left her, saying,-- + +"The little signorina will have to hear hard things, like the rest of +us, one day." + +Irene met Dorothy with the question--"How is your mother? Grannie is so +anxious to know." + +"Mother is not up yet," Dorothy replied. "Jingle is sitting with her." + +The other children now came clustering round Dorothy with the same +question; and Irene, after helping Dorothy to take off her jacket and +hat, said,-- + +"Come and see grannie." + +"Before my lesson?" + +"Yes; she wants to speak to you." + +Dorothy felt a strange misgiving at her heart, and said, sharply,-- + +"What for? What is she going to say?" + +"I think," said Irene, gently, "she wishes to comfort you; your mamma is +very, very ill." + +"No, she isn't!" said Dorothy, desperately. "No, she isn't; not a bit +more ill than she often is. I saw her last night, and she looked _quite_ +better--her cheeks pink, and her eyes bright." + +"Well," Irene said, "I know Dr. Forman thinks her very ill, and he has +sent for Canon Percival." + +"For Uncle Crannie? for Uncle Crannie?" + +"Yes," Irene said, "two days ago." + +Dorothy stood irresolute for a moment, and then, with a great effort to +control herself, said,-- + +"Let me go to your grandmamma; let me go." + +But Irene put her arms round Dorothy, and whispered,-- + +"I have been asking God to make your mamma better, and I think He will. +Have _you_ asked Him and told Him all about it?" + +"About what?" Dorothy said. + +"Everything--how sorry you are that you gave your mamma such anxiety; +and have _you_ asked to be forgiven?" + +But Dorothy said,-- + +"I never _tell_ God anything. I say my prayers, but I did not, could +not, tell Him about such things as my slapping Baby Bob, and getting +angry, and staying at home while you went to Colla. He is so far off, +and besides----" + +"Oh, Dorothy!" said Irene, seriously, "God is very near, Jesus is very +near, and He cares about every little thing." + +"Are you _sure_?" said poor little Dorothy. "Then He knows and cares +about mother--mother----" + +A sob choked her, and yet she tried not to give way; to cry very much +would show that she believed her mother was very, _very_ ill, and she +could not, _dare_ not believe it! But she said simply-- + +"I _know_ I am not good; but I love--oh! how I _do_ love mother!" + +Lady Burnside received Dorothy with her calm, sweet smile, and +Constance, lying on her couch, put out her hand, and said, "Come and +kiss me, Dorothy." + +Constance had not generally taken much notice of Dorothy. She had looked +upon her as a spoiled little thing, and had felt, like many invalids who +have been accustomed to be the centre of attraction and attention, a +little vexed that every one admired the child, and were, as she thought, +blind to her faults. Even Willy, though he was blunt and rough to Dorothy +sometimes, was really devoted to her. So was Jack Meredith, and as to +Irene and her own little sister Ella, they were ridiculously fond of +her. Irene particularly would always give up to Dorothy, though she was +so much younger than herself. Baby Bob had, in his own way, the same +feeling about Dorothy that Constance had. He strongly objected to anyone +who could possibly dethrone him from the position of "King of the +Nursery," which was Crawley's favourite title for her youngest child. +Baby Bob had ruled with despotic power, and was naturally unwilling to +see a rival near the throne. But Constance was now touched by the sight +of the little figure in the blue dress, over which the cloud of light +silky hair hung, when she saw the wistful questioning glance in those +blue eyes, which were turned entreatingly to Lady Burnside, as she +said,-- + +"Tell me _really_ about--about mother." + +Then Lady Burnside drew Dorothy close to her, and said,-- + +"Your dear mother is very ill, Dorothy, but we must pray to God to make +her better." + +Dorothy stood with Lady Burnside's arm round her, still gazing up at the +dear, kind face bending over her; and then, after a pause, she said, in +a low tone,-- + +"Is it _my_ fault? Is it all my fault?" + +Lady Burnside made Dorothy sit down on a low chair by her side, and +talked so kindly and wisely to her. She told her that her mother had +passed a very bad night of coughing the night before New Year's Day; +that when the news came of her loss, which Stefano had abruptly told +her, Mrs. Acheson had, forgetting how easily she was chilled, run out +into the garden with only a shawl thrown over her; that it was with +great difficulty she had been persuaded not to go herself to look for +Dorothy; that she had paced up and down the room in her distress; and +that that night, after the excitement and joy of her return were over, +she had been very faint and ill, and now she had inflammation of her +lungs, which she was very weak to bear up against. + +Lady Burnside had gone through many troubles herself, and she had the +sympathetic spirit which children, as well as grown-up people, feel to +be so sweet in sorrow. There were no reproaches, and no hard words, but +I think little Dorothy never forgot the lesson which she learned from +Lady Burnside that morning, and often when she was beginning to be +self-willed and irritable, if that self-will was crossed, she would +think of Lady Burnside's words,-- + +"Take care when the first temptation comes to pray to resist it." + +She did not return to the Villa Firenze that night, nor did Irene take +her into the schoolroom that day. She read to her, and amused her by +dressing a doll and teaching her how to crochet a little frock for it. + +Early the next morning Canon Percival arrived, and Dorothy was taken by +him to see her mother. + +As they were walking up the road together, Dorothy said,-- + +"Uncle Crannie, do you know _all_, all that happened on New Year's Day?" + +"Yes, Dorothy; I have heard all." + +"Oh, Uncle Crannie, to think of Baby Bob's taking my letter to you +beginning all the trouble!" + +"Nay, my little Dorothy, it was not Baby Bob who began the trouble; it +was _you_. We must never shift the blame from our own shoulders, and +say, if _he_ had not said that, or she had not provoked me, _I_ should +not have done what I did." + +"But it _was_ tiresome to squeeze up your letter, which I had taken such +pains to write." + +"Yes, very tiresome; but _that_ does not alter your fault." + +"Oh, Uncle Crannie, Uncle Crannie! I _wish_ I had not run off; but then +I thought I saw Nino." + +"Poor Nino!" exclaimed Canon Percival; "in all the trouble and sorrow I +have found here I forgot about Nino. I have something to tell you about +him, but----" + +Canon Percival was interrupted by meeting Dr. Forman. + +A few words were exchanged between them, and then little Dorothy, with a +sad, serious face, was taken by her uncle into her mother's room. + + [Illustration: Lake Scene] + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE LOST FOUND. + + +Many days of deep anxiety followed, and poor little Dorothy's heart +was sad and troubled. Irene proved a true and loving friend, and, with +wisdom far beyond her years, encouraged Dorothy to go on with her little +lessons, and learn to knit and crochet. "To make a shawl for mother by +the time she gets well" became an object of ambition; and Irene helped +her out of difficulties, and turned the troublesome corners at the four +parts of the square, and would read to her and Ella while she pulled the +soft Pyrenean wool in and out the long treble stitches. + +They were very busy one morning a week after Canon Percival's arrival, +when they saw his tall figure coming up the garden. He looked happier +than he had done for some time, and when Dorothy ran to meet him, he +said,-- + +"Good news to-day; mother is really better; and Dr. Forman thinks she +may soon be as well as she was before this last attack of illness." + +Good news indeed! If any little girl who reads Dorothy's story has ever +had to feel the weight upon her heart which a dear father's or mother's +illness has caused, she will know how, when the burden is lifted, and +the welcome words are spoken, like Canon Percival's, all the world +seems bright and joyful, and hope springs up like a fountain within. + +"Yes," Canon Percival said, as Dorothy threw her arms round his neck, +"we may be very thankful and glad; and now, while I go and see Lady +Burnside, will you get ready to take me to visit the old town, and----" + +"Giulia, and the old woman, and Anton!" exclaimed Dorothy. + +Oh yes! the children were soon ready, and they all set off towards +the old town, all except Willy, who had to wait for Mr. Martyn, and who +looked with longing eyes at the party as they walked away. + +"_Bother_ this horrid sum!" he said; "it _won't_ come right. What's the +use of asking such ridiculous questions? Who cares about the answer?" + +But Willy got the answer right in spite of his grumbling, and had the +pleasure of hearing Mr. Martyn tell his grandmother that he had improved +very much of late, and that he would take a good place at a school when +he was sent to one. + +It was a lovely spring morning, that beautiful spring of the sunny +South, which comes early in the year with a sudden burst of flowers +of all colours. All the acacias and mimosas in the gardens before the +villas were waving their golden tassels in the breeze, and the scarlet +anemones and the yellow narcissi were making a carpet under foot. + +Dorothy danced along in the gladness of her heart, and Canon Percival, +when he thought of what _might_ have been, felt thankful and glad also. +As they climbed the steep street leading to the square before the big +church, a little white dog with brown ears toddled out. + +"Oh, that is the dog I thought was Nino! How could I think so?" Dorothy +exclaimed; "his legs are so ugly, and he has such a mean little tail. +Ah! my poor Nino was beautiful when compared with _you_," she said, +stooping down to pat the little dog. "And, Uncle Crannie," she said, "do +you remember that sad, dreadful day, when you took me to see mother, you +said you had something to tell me about Nino, and then you left off." + +"Ah!" Canon Percival said, "I believe I did say so, but, Dorothy, can +you wait to hear what it is?" + +"I don't know," Dorothy said, doubtfully, "I don't know; it can't be +anything very happy." + +"Well, I advise you to wait," Canon Percival said. + +Dorothy looked up at her uncle, and said,-- + +"Is it that his dear dead little body has been found?" + +But Canon Percival only repeated, "I advise you to _wait_." + +"How long?" + +"Till we all go back to England." + +They were at Giulia's house now. She was sitting on the doorstep, +netting so fast, and such a big brown net lay in a heap behind her. +Anton was the first to see the visitors, and exclaimed,-- + +"Madre! madre mia! la signorina!" + +Giulia flung down her netting, and starting up, to Dorothy's surprise, +caught her in her strong arms once more, and kissed her. + +And now, what seemed to the children very wonderful, Canon Percival +began to talk to Giulia as fast in Italian as he did in English. And +such a history was poured forth by Giulia, and then followed such +gestures, and such exclamations! and Anton was caught by the arm, and +shaken by his mother, and then she pointed to Canon Percival, and when +Dorothy caught the word "Grazia," she knew that her uncle was promising +to do some kind thing. Ella, who from long habit could understand a +great deal of what passed, told Irene and Dorothy that Canon Percival +was promising to pay the money for Anton's apprenticeship to the master +boatman, and that he was writing the name in his pocket-book, and that +he said he would go down to the quay and harbour to find him, and if +he gave a good character of mother and son, he would have an agreement +made, and the boy should be made an apprentice, without touching that +store of silver pieces in the old pipkin in the cupboard. + +Then they all went into the house, and Dorothy showed the bed where she +had been placed, and Ella and Irene quite agreed with her that it was +very stuffy in the little low room, and the smell of tar and smoke +anything but nice. + +Then there was the old crone by the chimney-corner, who muttered and +murmured, and beckoned Dorothy to her side. + +Poor little Dorothy bore the kiss which was given her with great +composure, but she could not help giving a little shudder, and told Ella +afterwards the smell of garlic and tobacco was "dreadful." + +Canon Percival said a few words which were not intelligible to Dorothy, +but Irene whispered to her-- + +"He is speaking to them all about the Lord Jesus; that's why Giulia is +crossing herself. That is her way of showing reverence." + +Poor Giulia's eyes were full of tears as Canon Percival went on. He was +telling the story of the Cross, simply and earnestly, to these poor +people, as they seldom, if ever, heard it, in their own tongue, the +soft Italian tongue, which is so musical. + +When they left the house they were all very quiet, and could Dorothy +have understood what Giulia was saying as she stood on the large stone +step, watching them down the narrow street, she would have known she was +praying in her own fashion that blessings might follow them. + +Canon Percival next went down to the harbour, and there, from the pier, +is a most beautiful view of the old town, rising up, higher and higher, +to the crest of the hill till it reaches the large church which belongs +to the lepers' hospital. Canon Percival inquired for Angelo Battista, +the master fisherman; and a fine sailor, with a face as brown as a +chestnut, and big dark eyes, smiled when Canon Percival disclosed his +errand. + +"Yes, Anton was a good boy; his mother had a long tongue, but she was +very industrious--industrious with tongue and fingers alike," he said, +and then he laughed heartily, and two or three men standing near joined +in. + +At last all was settled, and Angelo Battista was to bring up a written +document that evening to the Villa Firenze, and bring little Anton with +him, to make the needful declaration required in such cases by the +notary, that he agreed to the terms proposed. + +Canon Percival left San Remo the next day, saying that Coldchester +Cathedral could not get on without him. He was so cheery and so kind, +the children all lamented his loss. + +But now golden days came for them all, as Mrs. Acheson got, as Ingleby +expressed it, "nearer well" than she had been for years. She took long +drives in the neighbourhood, and they visited several old Italian towns, +such as Taggia and Poggio. + +The road to them led along the busy shore of the blue Mediterranean, and +then through silvery olive groves, where flowers of every brilliant +colour were springing. + +And when May came, and the swallows twittered on the roofs of the +villas, and were seen consulting for their flight northward, the whole +party set off with them, _homewards_. + +Canon Percival met them at Paris, and they stayed there a week, and saw +many of its wonders--the beautiful pictures in the Louvre, and the noble +galleries at Versailles, where the fountains play, and the long, smooth +avenues which lead to La Petite Trianon, which are full of memories of +poor Marie Antoinette. + +Nothing made more impression on the children than the sight of her +boudoir in the palace at Versailles, where whoever looks up at the glass +panels sees, by their peculiar arrangement in one corner, the whole +figure without the head. It is said the young girl Dauphiness glanced up +at this, and starting back with horror, said--"Ah! J'ai perdu ma tete!" +A strange coincidence, certainly, when one remembers how her head was +taken off by the cruel guillotine in later years--the bright hair grey, +the head bowed with sorrow, and the heart torn with grief for her +husband, who had preceded her, and still more for the children she left +behind. + + * * * * * + +At last the time came to cross the Channel once more, and the passage +was calm, and the children enjoyed the short voyage. + +At Folkestone a very great surprise awaited Dorothy. She hardly knew +whether she was dreaming or awake when in the waiting-room at the +station she saw a man in a fisherman's blouse with a white dog in his +arms. + +"Nino! Nino! Oh, it must be my Nino!" + +There could be no doubt of it this time, for the little dog grew frantic +and excited, and leaped whining out of the fisherman's arms, and was in +ecstasies at again meeting his mistress. + +This, then, was Canon Percival's secret. And he told the story of Nino's +discovery in a few words. + +The day when he was at Folkestone, on his way to San Remo--summoned +there by Mrs. Acheson's illness--he saw a fisherman on the pier with +a little white dog by his side. It seemed hardly possible, but the +fisherman explained that, near one of the Channel steamers, in his +smack, he had seen a little white dog fall over the side, that he had +looked out for him as they crossed the precise place, and found his +little black nose just above the water, making a gallant fight for life. +They lowered a little boat and picked him up, and read the name on his +collar, "Nino." + +That collar he still wore, and it was evident that the sovereign Canon +Percival gave him did not quite reconcile the man to the parting. "His +children had grown so fond of the little beast," he said. + +But Nino, though he gave the fisherman a parting lick of gratitude, +showed his _old_ love was the stronger; and I do think it would be hard +to say which was the happier at the renewal of affection--Dorothy or her +dog Nino. + +Certain it is, we always value anything more highly when we _recover_ +possession of it, and Nino went back to Coldchester full of honours; +and the story of his adventures made a hero of him in the eyes of the +vergers of the Cathedral, who in past times had been wont to declare +this little white dog was a deal of trouble, rushing about on the +flower-beds of the Cathedral gardens. + + * * * * * + +With the homeward flight of the swallows we must say good-bye to +Dorothy. A very happy summer was passed in the Canon's house, brightened +by the companionship of Irene, and sometimes of Ella and Willy and Baby +Bob. For Lady Burnside took a house for a few months in the neighbourhood +of Coldchester, and the children continually met. But it was by Mrs. +Acheson's express desire that Irene did not return to Mrs. Baker's +school. She pleaded with Colonel Packingham that she might have her as +a companion for her only child; and they shared a governess and lessons +together. + +Irene had the influence over Dorothy which could not fail to be noticed +in its effects--the influence which a child who has a simple desire +to follow in the right way _must_ have over those with whom she is +associated. + +Dorothy's flight with the swallows had taught her many things, and with +Irene for a friend, she had long ceased to say she did not care for +playmates. She was even known to devote herself for an hour at a time to +share some rioting game with _Baby Bob_, while Nino raced and barked at +their heels. + +THE END. + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained. One change was made +to the text. The word "to" was added before the word "Dorothy's" in the +sentence: + +Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who, to Dorothy's +surprise, spoke out boldly. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Flight with the Swallows, by Emma Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS *** + +***** This file should be named 35455.txt or 35455.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/4/5/35455/ + +Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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