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diff --git a/41906.txt b/41906.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c816c7d..0000000 --- a/41906.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6856 +0,0 @@ - PRINCESS SARAH AND OTHER STORIES - - - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: Princess Sarah and Other Stories -Author: John Strange Winter -Release Date: January 23, 2013 [EBook #41906] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRINCESS SARAH AND OTHER -STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - -[Illustration: "'Princess Sarah,' he shouted, 'Her Royal Highness -Princess Sarah of Nowhere.'" (Page 41.)] - - - - - PRINCESS SARAH - - AND OTHER STORIES - - - BY - - JOHN STRANGE WINTER - - - - AUTHOR OF - "BOOTLES' BABY" "MIGNON'S SECRET" "MY POOR DICK" - "HE WENT FOR A SOLDIER" ETC ETC - - - - LONDON - WARD, LOCK & CO LIMITED - WARWICK HOUSE SALISBURY SQUARE E C - NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE - 1897 - - - - - Contents - -Princess Sarah - - CHAPTER I - -ORPHANED - - CHAPTER II - -HER NEW-FOUND AUNT - - CHAPTER III - -SARAH'S FUTURE IS ARRANGED - - CHAPTER IV - -HER NEW HOME - - CHAPTER V - -A TASTE OF THE FUTURE - - CHAPTER VI - -THE AMIABLE FLOSSIE - - CHAPTER VII - -COUSINLY AMENITIES - - CHAPTER VIII - -FLOSSIE'S GRIEVANCES - - CHAPTER IX - -AN ASTUTE TELL-PIE - - CHAPTER X - -A PLEASANT RAILWAY JOURNEY - - CHAPTER XI - -AUNT GEORGE - - CHAPTER XII - -SARAH MAKES AN IMPRESSION - - CHAPTER XIII - -THE TURNING POINT OF HER LIFE - - CHAPTER XIV - -A BRILLIANT MARRIAGE - - CHAPTER XV - -A FAMILY CATASTROPHE - - CHAPTER XVI - -A CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES - - CHAPTER XVII - -SARAH'S OPPORTUNITY - - - -MISS MIGNON - -BOY'S LOVE - -YUM-YUM: A PUG - -OUR ADA ELIZABETH - -HALT! - -THE LITTLE LADY WITH THE VOICE - -JEWELS TO WEAR - - - - - Princess Sarah - - "Take this lesson to thy heart; - That is best which lieth nearest." - --Gasper Bacerra - - - CHAPTER I - - ORPHANED - - -In a poor little street in a crowded city there stood a small house, not -alone, but in the middle of a row of other houses exactly like it. -There was a tiny bow window on the left of the door, and two very small -sash windows in the storey above; the frames were warped, and the paint, -like that of the door, was blistered and cracked in many places. And -the doorstep looked as if it had been cleaned a week or so before with -whiting instead of pipe-clay, and evidently the person who had done it -had, doubtless with the very best intentions in the world, given the -lower part of the door a few daubs with the same cloth, which had not at -all improved its shabby surface. - -Between the house and the pavement there was a small garden, a very -humble attempt at a garden, with a rockery in one corner and a raised -bed in the middle. - -It was a noisy street, though it was not a thoroughfare, for on that -hot, sultry day the doors and windows were all open and the children -were all playing about pavements and road, caring little for the heat -and dust, screaming, laughing, shouting, crying, as children will, -except when they found themselves within reach of the house which I have -described; then their voices were hushed, their tones sobered; then they -stood to gaze up at the closed blinds which beat now and then against -the open windows, as if a door had been opened and allowed a draught of -air to sweep through the house; then one little maid of ten years old or -so lifted a warning finger to check a lesser child, upon whom the fear -and knowledge of death had not yet fallen. "Hush--sh! Don't make a -noise, Annie," she said. "Mr. Gray is dead." - -The younger child, Annie, ceased her laughter, turning from the closed -house to stare at two ladies who came slowly down the street, looking -from side to side as if they sought one of the houses in particular. - -"This must be it," said one, as her eyes fell upon the closed blinds. - -"Yes," returned the other; "that must be it." - -So they passed in at the little gate and knocked softly at the shabby -door. - -"Poor fellow!" said one, with a glance at the bit of garden before the -bow window, "_his_ doing, evidently; there's not another garden in the -street like it." - -"No. And what pains he must have taken with it. Poor fellow!" echoed -the other. - -There was a moment's scuffle within the house, the sound of -loudly-whispering voices; then a heavy footstep, and the door was opened -by a stout, elderly person in a shabby black gown and white apron--a -person who was unmistakably a nurse. She curtsied as she saw the ladies, -and the one who had spoken last addressed her. - -"We heard early this morning. I see the sad news is too true," she -began. - -"Yes'm," shaking her head. "He went off quite quiet about ten o'clock -last night. Ah, I've seen a-many, but I never saw a more peaceful -end--never!" - -The two ladies each made a murmur of sympathy. - -"And the little girl?" said one of them. - -"Well, mum, she do fret a good bit," replied the nurse pityingly. - -"Poor little thing! We have brought some fruit and some other little -things," said the lady, handing a basket to the nurse. - -"It's real kind of you, mum!" the old woman cried. "She'll be rare and -pleased, she will, poor little missy! You see, mum, it's been a queer, -strange life for a child, for she's been everything to him, and she -never could go out and play in the street with the other children. That -couldn't be, and it was hard for the little thing to see 'em and be shut -off from 'em all day as she was; and the master on that account used to -make hisself more to her, which will make it all the harder for her now, -poor fatherless, motherless lamb that she is!" - -"Of course, of course. Poor little maid! And what will become of her, -do you think?" - -"I can't say for certain, mum; but the mistress, she had relations, and -the master wrote to one of them on Thursday. He was sore troubled about -little missy, was the master--aye, sore troubled. The letter was sent, -and an answer came this morning to say that one of missy's aunts was -coming to-day. The vicar opened it." - -"Oh, well, I'm glad somebody is coming to the poor child," said the lady -who had brought the basket of fruit. "I hope it will be all right. And -you will give her the things, nurse?" with a look at the basket. - -"Oh, yes, mum," with a curtsey. - -There was not only some fruit in the basket, but a pot of jam and a jar -of potted meat, a glass of jelly, some sponge cakes, and a packet of -sweeties, such as little folk love. - -The old nurse carried them into the sitting-room and set them down on -the table before a little girl who was sitting beside it. - -"See, missy, what a nice basket of good things Mrs. Tracy has brought -for you!" the old woman cried. "Wasn't it kind of her?" - -"Very kind," said the little girl, brightening up somewhat at the -unexpected kindness from one almost a stranger to her. - -"Grapes, Miss Sarah, and peaches, and Orleans plums; and see--potted -meat! Now how could she know you're so fond of potted meat?" - -"I don't know, nurse; _he_ liked potted meat too, you know." - -"Yes, dear, yes; but he's gone where he has all he's most fond of, you -know." - -"Except me," murmured Sarah, under her breath. - -"Ah, that's true, my lamb; but you mustn't repine. Him as took the -master away so calm and peaceful last night knew just what was best to -do, and He'll do it, never fear! It's hard to bear, my honey, and -sure," with a sigh, "no one knows better what bearing such is than old -nurse. And--hark! to think of any one coming with a knock like that! -enough to waken the----" But then she broke off short, and went to open -the door. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - HER NEW-FOUND AUNT - - -A short, stout, well-dressed woman stood upon the door-step, and the -cabman was just hauling a box off the roof of his cab. - -"Mr. Gray's 'ouse?" demanded the stout lady. "Ah, pore thing! I see -it's all over. Pore thing! Well, I'm sorry, of course, though I don't -suppose 'e'll be much loss to any one; pore, dreaming, shiftless thing!" - -"Miss Sarah is here, mum," said the old nurse, pointing severely towards -the door of the sitting-room. - -"Miss Sarah--oh, the child! Eh, well, my dear," going into the room, -and taking Sarah's limp and shaking hand, "I'm sorry to come on such an -errand the first time ever I see you; but that was your pore pa's fault, -not mine. I never was one to turn my back on my own flesh and -blood--never, though perhaps I say it that shouldn't; but your pore pa, -he was that awkward when he got a crotchet into his 'ead, that there was -no doing aught with him. I think you favour your ma, my dear," she -continued, with a complete change of tone. "Your pore pa-- Eh? What? -oh, the cab! Yes, I'll come," and then she bustled out, fumbling at the -fastening of a small leather bag which hung over her wrist, and leaving -poor Sarah struck dumb with astonishment. - -The child crept to the door and watched her new-found aunt settle with -the cabman; and it is certain that never had Sarah seen a cabman settled -with in that fashion before. They had not indulged in many cabs during -the course of her short life; but, on the few occasions that they had -enjoyed such luxuries, her father had paid for them with the air of a -prince, and with a liberality such as made dispute out of the question. -Alas, poor child! if the loving father now lying white and silent in the -room above had had less of that princely air, and still less of that -princely instinct of hospitality and generosity, life would at that -moment probably have been very different for her. But all this was -beyond Sarah, who was very young, and therefore not likely to see the -advantages of the lengthened haggling process going on just then at the -gate. A moment later Mrs. Stubbs entered the house again in triumph. - -"Lot of thieving vagabonds them cabmen are, to be sure!" she remarked, -with an air of indignation mingled with satisfaction. "But he don't get -the better of me, not if I know it; and so I told him. But, dear! dear! -_'Ow_ like your pore ma you are, child! Stubbs 'll be glad of it--he -never could abide him as is gone, pore thing! Well, well, we needn't -say aught again him now, for he won't trouble us no more; only, as I -say, Stubbs 'll be glad of it." - -"Please, who _is_ Mr. Stubbs?" Sarah asked plaintively, feeling -instinctively that she had better not try to argue with this strange -relative. - -Mrs. Stubbs, however, was so taken aback at so unexpected a question, -that she was obliged to sit down, the better to show the extent of her -astonishment. - -"Well, I don't 'old with it!" she exclaimed to the nurse, who had come -in to spread the cloth for a cup of tea which the visitor had expressed -herself able and willing to take. "It's bringing up the child like a -'eathen in ignorance of what her own flesh and blood's very names -is--'pon my word it is; it's 'eathenish." - -"_Miss Sarah_ doesn't understand," put in the old nurse pointedly. - -For a moment Mrs. Stubbs gasped, much as she might have done if the -older woman had dashed a pail of water in her face; but she took the -hint with a very good grace, and turned to Sarah again. - -"Your pore ma, my dear, was Stubbs' own sister," she said. - -"Then Mr. Stubbs is my uncle--my own uncle?" Sarah asked. - -"Your own uncle, and I'm your aunt; not your own aunt, of course, Sarah, -but that's no matter. I've a good and a feeling 'eart, whatever other -faults I may have to carry; and what's Stubbs' flesh and blood is my -flesh and blood, and so you'll find. Besides, I've seven children of my -own, and my 'eart feels for them that has no father nor mother to stand -by 'em. And I believe in sticking to your own--everybody's not like -_that_, Sarah, though maybe I say it that shouldn't. There is folks -that believes in wearing yourself to the bone for other people's -advantage, and letting your own flesh and blood starve in the gutter, so -to speak. Ah, well, I ain't one of that sort, and I'm thankful for it, -Sarah." - -Poor little desolate Sarah, with her suddenly empty life and great -aching void in her heart, crept a shade closer to her new-found aunt, -and rested her tired head against her substantial arm. - -"And I have seven cousins of my own?" she said, the shadows in her eyes -clearing away for a moment. - -"_Seven_ cousins of your own!" cried Mrs. Stubbs, in an ecstasy of -enjoyment. "_Seven_, Sarah, my dear! Why, I have seven children!" - -"And have I some more aunts and uncles?" Sarah asked, feeling not a -little bewildered. - -"Why, dear, yes, three aunts and two uncles on your pore ma's side, to -say naught of all there may be on your pa's side, with which I'm not -familiar," said Mrs. Stubbs, with a certain air such as conveyed to -Sarah that her ignorance was a decided loss to her father's family in -general. - -"There's your Uncle Joe--he 'as five boys, and lives at 'Ampstead; and -there's your Uncle George--he 'as only three girls, and lives in great -style at Brighton. He's in the corn trade, is your Uncle George." - -Instinctively Sarah realized why once, when they had been going to the -seaside for a fortnight, her father had said, "No, no, not Brighton," -when that town was suggested; and as instinctively she kept the -recollection to herself. - -"And then there's Polly--your Aunt Mary, Sarah! She's the fine lady of -the family--very 'aughty, she is, though her and me 'as always been very -good friends, always. Still, she's uncommon 'aughty, and maybe she 'as -a right, for she married a gentleman in the City, and keeps her carriage -and pair and a footman, too. Ah, well! she 'asn't a family, 'asn't Mrs. -Lennard; perhaps if she 'ad 'ad seven children, like me, she'd have 'ad -to be content with a broom, as I am." - -"We have a broom, too," said Sarah, watching the visitor stir her tea -round and round; "indeed, we have two, and a very old one that Jane uses -to sweep out the yard with." - -For a minute Mrs. Stubbs was too thoroughly astounded to speak; then she -subsided into weak fits of laughter, such as told Sarah she had made a -terrible mistake somehow. - -"A very old one to sweep out the yard with!" Mrs. Stubbs cried in gasps. -"Oh, dear, dear! Why, child, you're just like a little 'eathen. A -broom is a carriage, a close carriage, something like a four-wheel cab, -only better. Oh, dear, dear! and we keep three, do we? Oh, _what_ a -joke to tell Stubbs!" - -"Miss Sarah knows," struck in the old nurse, with some indignation; "the -doctor's carriage is what Mrs. Stubbs calls a broom, dearie." - -Sarah turned her crimson face from one to the other. "But Father always -called that kind of carriage a _bro_-am," she emphasized, "and I didn't -know you meant the same, Aunt." - -"Well, never mind, my dear; I shouldn't 'ave laughed at you," returned -Mrs. Stubbs, stirring her tea again with fat complaisance. "Little -folks can't be expected to know everything, though there are some as -does expect it, and most unreasonable it is of 'em. Only, Sarah, it's -more stylish to say broom, so try to think of it, there's a good girl." - -"I'll try," said Sarah, hoping that she had somewhat retrieved her -character by knowing what kind of carriage her aunt meant by a "broom." - -Then Mrs. Stubbs had another cup of tea, which she seemed to enjoy -particularly. - -"And you would like to go upstairs, mum?" said the nurse, as she set the -cup down. - -"Why, yes, nurse, it's my duty to go, and I'm not one as is ever -backward in doing 'er duty," Mrs. Stubbs replied, upheaving herself from -the somewhat uncertain depths of the big chair, the only easy chair in -the house. - -So the two women went up above together to visit that something which -Sarah had not seen since the moment of death. - -She sat just where they left her--a way she had, for Sarah was a very -quiet child--wondering how life would be with this new-found aunt of -hers. She was very kind, Sarah decided, and would be very good to her, -she knew; and yet--yet--there was something about her from which she -shrank instinctively--something she knew would have offended her father -beyond everything. - -Poor Sarah! At that moment Mrs. Stubbs was standing beside all that was -left of him that had loved her so dearly during all the years of her -short life. - -"Pore thing!" she was saying. "Pore thing! We weren't good friends, -nurse, but we must not think of that now; and I'll be a mother to his -little girl just as if there'd never been a cloud between us. Pore -thing, only thirty-six! Ah, well, pore thing; but he makes a pretty -corpse!" - -[Illustration: "Pore thing!" she was saying. "Pore thing!"] - - - - - CHAPTER III - - SARAH'S FUTURE IS ARRANGED - - -Two days later Sarah's father was buried, laid quietly away in a pretty -little churchyard two miles outside the town, beside the young wife who -had died nine years before. - -The funeral was a very unostentatious affair; only one cab followed the -coffin, and contained Sarah and Mrs. Stubbs, the old nurse, and Jane, -the untidy little maid, who, after the manner of her sort, wept and -sobbed and choked, until Mrs. Stubbs would right willingly have given -her a good shaking. - -Sarah was very subdued and quiet, and Mrs. Stubbs cried a little, and -would have cried more had she not been so taken up with keeping an eye -on "that stupid ninny Jane." - -And then they went back to the little hot, stuffy house, and had a cup -of tea, after which the vicar of the parish called and had a long talk -with Mrs. Stubbs about Sarah's future. - -"I can't say we was good friends with him, pore thing," Mrs. Stubbs -explained; "but when death comes between, little differences should be -forgotten. And Stubbs and me will forget all our differences now; it's -Stubbs' wish as well as mine. I believe in sticking to your own flesh -and blood, for if your own won't, whose can you expect to do it? So -Sarah and me is the best of friends, and she is going back with me to -share and share alike with my own children." - -"Oh, you are going to take Sarah," said the vicar, who had felt a great -interest in the dreamy artist whom they had just left to his last long -rest in the quiet country churchyard; "that is very good of you, very -good of you. I have been wondering what would become of the poor little -woman." - -"Why, what should become of her?" Mrs. Stubbs said indignantly. "Her -mother was Stubbs' own sister." - -"Yes," said the vicar, smiling; "but it is not every lady who would at -all encourage the idea of bringing up a child because her mother -happened to be her husband's sister." - -"You're right there, Mr. Moore; you are right," Mrs. Stubbs cried; "but -some women 'ave 'earts of stone instead of flesh and blood. I'm not one -of that sort." - -"And about the furniture, and so on," the vicar broke in, having heard -Mrs. Stubbs's remarks about her own good qualities several times -already. - -Mrs. Stubbs looked round the room in good-natured contempt. "There's -nothing to speak of," she answered--and she was right enough--"but what -there is 'll have to go to paying for the doctor and the undertaker. If -there's a few pounds left over, Stubbs says put it into the savings bank -and let the child 'ave it when she grows up. She'll want to buy a ring -or something to remember her father by." - -"And you are going to take the sole charge and expense of her?" the -vicar exclaimed. - -"Oh, yes. We've seven of our own, and when you've so many, one more or -less makes very little difference. But I wanted to ask you something -else, Mr. Moore, and I'll ask it before it slips my memory. You know Mr. -Gray--'e's gone now, pore thing, and I don't wish to say aught against -him--brought Sarah up in a very strange way; indeed, as I said at the -time to the nurse, it's quite 'eathenish; and, it you'll believe me, -sir, she didn't even know how many aunts and uncles she 'ad, nor what -our very names were. But he 'as taught her some things, and playing the -fiddle is one." - -"Yes, Sarah plays the violin remarkably well for her age," said the -vicar promptly. - -"Yes, so the old nurse says," returned Mrs. Stubbs, with an air of -melancholy. "But I don't altogether 'old with it myself; it seems to me -such an outlandish thing for a little girl to play on. I wish it had -been the piano or the 'arp! There's so much more style about them." - -"The violin is the most fashionable instrument a lady can learn just -now, Mrs. Stubbs," put in the clergyman hastily, wishing to secure Sarah -the free use of her beloved violin, if it were possible. - -"Dear me. You don't say so. What, are young ladies about 'ere learning -it?" Mrs. Stubbs asked, with interest. - -"Yes. I was dining at Lord Allington's last week, and in the evening -one of his daughters played a violin solo; but she doesn't play nearly -as well as Sarah," he replied. - -"Then Sarah shall keep her violin and play to her 'eart's content," Mrs. -Stubbs cried enthusiastically. "That was what I wanted to ask you--if -you thought I should encourage or discourage the child in keeping it up. -But, as you say so plainly encourage, I will; and Sarah shall 'ave good -lessons as soon as she's fairly settled down at 'ome." - -[Illustration: "Then Sarah shall keep her violin and play to her 'eart's -content."] - -"That will be the greatest delight to Sarah, for the child loves her -violin," said the vicar heartily; "and that is not all, Mrs. -Stubbs--but, if she goes on as she has begun, there will always be a -useful, or at least a remunerative, accomplishment at her fingers' -ends." - -"Oh, as to that," returned Mrs. Stubbs, with a lordly indifference to -money such as told her visitor that she was well blessed with worldly -goods, "Stubbs 'll provide for the child along with his own, and maybe -her other uncles and aunts 'll do something for her, too. I will say -that for _his_ family, as a family they're not mean. I will say that -for 'em." - -So Sarah's future was arranged. She was to go home with Mrs. Stubbs, -who lived at South Kensington, and be one with her children. She was to -have the best violin lessons to be had for love or money; and Mrs. -Stubbs, in the warmth of her kindly but vulgar heart, even went so far -as to suggest that if Sarah was a very good, industrious girl, and got -on well with her practising, her uncle might very likely be induced to -buy her a new violin for her next birthday, instead of the dingy old -thing she was playing on now. - -Poor, well-meaning Mrs. Stubbs! She little knew that the whole of -Sarah's grateful soul rose in loathing at the suggestion. She dropped -her bow upon the nearest chair, and hugged her precious violin as -closely to her breast as if it had been a thing of life, and that life -was threatened. - -"Oh, Auntie!" she burst out; "a new violin!" - -"Yes, child; I think it's very likely," returned Mrs. Stubbs, delighted -to see the effect of her suggestion upon her pale little niece, and -quite mistaking the meaning of her emotion. "Your uncle is very fond of -making nice presents. He gave May a new piano last Christmas." - -"But," gasped Sarah, "my violin is a real Amati! It belonged to my -grandfather." - -"And if it did, what then?" ejaculated Mrs. Stubbs, in no way impressed -by the information. "All the more reason why you should 'ave a new one. -The wonder to me is you play half as well as you do on an old thing like -that." - -"It's--it's worth five hundred pounds!" Sarah cried, her face in a -flame. - -[Illustration: "It's--it's worth five hundred pounds!"] - -Mrs. Stubbs fairly gasped in her surprise. "Sarah," she said, "what are -you saying? Little girls ought not to tell stories; it's wicked. Do -you know where you'll go to? Sarah, I'm shocked and surprised at you!" - -"Auntie, dear," said Sarah, "it's true--all true. It is, indeed! Ask -the doctor, ask the vicar--ask _any_ one who knows about violins, and -they'll tell you! It's a real Amati; it's worth five hundred -pounds--perhaps more. I'm not telling stories, Auntie, but Father was -offered that much for it, only he wouldn't take it because he said it -was all he had to give me, and that it would be worth more to me some -day." - -Never had Mrs. Stubbs heard Sarah say so much at one time before; but -her earnest face and manner carried conviction with them, and she saw -that the child knew what she was talking about, and was speaking only -what she believed to be the truth. - -"You really mean it, Sarah?" she asked, putting out a hand to touch the -wonderful instrument. - -"Oh, yes, Auntie, it's _absolutely_ true," returned Sarah, using the -longest adjective she could think of the better to impress her aunt. - -"Then," exclaimed the good lady, with radiant triumph, "you'd better -'old your tongue about it, Sarah, and not say a word about it--or you'll -be 'aving the Probate people down on you, robbing the fatherless and the -orphan." - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - HER NEW HOME - - -At last Mr. Gray's affairs were all cleared up, and Sarah was about to -leave dingy old Bridgehampton behind for ever to take up her new life in -London, the great city of the world. - -There were some very sad farewells to be made still; and Mrs. Stubbs was -a woman of very good feeling, and encouraged the child to go and say -good-bye to everybody who had been kind to her in the past. - -"There is Mrs. Tracy," said Sarah on the last day. "She brought me all -that fruit and jam and the other things, Auntie." - -"Oh, you must go and say good-bye to 'er, of course," returned Mrs. -Stubbs; "and we must go and see your pore pa's grave, for 'eaven knows -when you'll see it again." - -"I should like to do that, please," said Sarah in a very low voice. - -"Well, _I_ can't drag out all that way," remarked Mrs. Stubbs, who, -being stout, was not good at walking exercise. "We'll have an open -carriage if nurse can get one; and nurse shall go too." - -So Sarah went and said "good-bye" to her father's grave; and the wise -old nurse, after a minute spent beside it, drew Mrs. Stubbs away to the -other side of the pretty churchyard to show her a curious tombstone -about which she had been telling her as they drove along. So Sarah, for -a few minutes, was left alone--free to kneel down and bid her farewell -in peace. - -It was a relief to the child to be alone, for Mrs. Stubbs, though -meaning to be kindness itself, was not a woman in whose presence it was -possible to grieve in comfort. Her remarks about "your pore pa" -invariably had the effect of stifling any feeling of emotion which was -aroused in her childish heart. - -She was very good. Sarah knew that she meant to be so. - -"I'll try not to mind the difference, dear Father," she whispered to the -brown sods above his dear head. "It's all so different to you, so -different to when there was just you and I together. Nobody will ever -understand me like you, dear Daddy; but Auntie means to be very kind, -and I'll try my hardest to grow up so that you'll love me better when we -meet again." - -As she rose up, Mrs. Stubbs and the nurse were coming across the grass -between the graves to fetch her. Mrs. Stubbs noticed the tears on her -cheeks and still flooding her eyes. - -"Nay, now, you mustn't fret, Sarah," she said kindly; "'e's better off, -pore thing, than when he was 'ere, so you mustn't fret for 'im, there's -a good girl." - -Sarah wiped her eyes, and turned to go away. She said nothing, for she -knew it was no use trying to make her aunt understand that her tears had -not been so much for him as for herself. And Mrs. Stubbs stood for a -moment looking down upon the mould, with its covering of brown, -disjointed sods and its faded wreaths. - -"Pore thing!" she murmured; "it's a sad end to 'ave. And he must 'ave -felt leaving the little one badly 'fore he brought himself to write that -letter! Pore thing! Well, I'm not one to bear ill-will for what's past -and gone, and so beyond 'elp now; and I'll be as much a mother to Sarah -as if 'im and me had always been the best of friends. 'E once said I -was vulgar--and perhaps I am--it's vulgar to 'ave 'earts and such like, -and he knows better now, pore thing! For I have a 'eart. Yes, and the -Queen upon 'er throne, she has a 'eart, too, bless her." - -There were tears on the good soul's cheeks as she turned to follow -Sarah, whom she found at the gate waiting for her. By the time she had -reached the child she had wiped them, but Sarah saw that they had been -there. - -"Dear Auntie," she said. "He wasn't friends with you, but he knows how -good you are now,"--and then she flung her arms round her, and her -victory over her uncle's wife was complete. - -"Sarah," she said, when they were nearly at the end of their journey, -"you have never 'ad any playfellows, have you, dear?" - -"Never, Auntie--not _real_ playfellows," Sarah answered, and flushing up -with joy at the anticipation of those who were in store for her. - -"Well, I'd better warn you, Sarah--it may not be all sugar and honey -till you get used to them," said Mrs. Stubbs solemnly. "There's a good -deal of give and take about children's ways; that is, if you want to get -on peaceable. If you get a knock, you must just bear it without -telling, or else you get called a 'tell-pie,' and treated according. -It's what I've never encouraged, and I must do my children the justice -to say if they gets a knock they gives it back again, and there's no -more about it." - -Thus Sarah was somewhat prepared for the darker side of her new life, -though she gathered no true idea of the nest of young ruffians to whom -she was made known an hour later. - -They came out with a rush to the door when the carriage stopped, and -welcomed their mother home again with a fluent and boisterous torrent of -joy truly appalling to the little quiet and retiring Sarah, who was not -accustomed to the domestic manners of children of the Stubbs class. - -"Ma, what have you brought me?" - -"Is that Sarah, Ma? My, ain't she a littl'un!" - -"Ma, Mary was late this morning. Yes, and our kao-kao was burnt--I told -her I should tell you." - -"Pa slapped Johnnie last night, because he wouldn't be washed to come -down to dessert." - -"And Flossie has torn her best frock." - -"And May----" - -"Hush! Be quiet, children!" exclaimed Mrs. Stubbs, holding her hands to -her ears. "'Pon my word, you're like a lot of young savages. Miss -Clark can't have taken much care of you whilst I've bin away. Really, -you're enough to frighten Sarah out of her senses. This is your cousin -Sarah. She's going to live 'ere in future, so come and say ''Ow d'ye -do?' to her nicely." - -Thus bidden, the young Stubbses all turned their attention on their new -cousin, and said their greeting and shook hands with various kinds of -manner. - -There was May, aged fourteen, a very consequential young person, with an -inclination to be short and stout, like her mother, and had her nice -fair hair plaited into a tail behind and tied with a bunch of mauve -ribbon, worn with a white frock in memory of the uncle by marriage whom -she had never seen. - -"How d'you do, Cousin Sarah?" she said, with a fine-lady air which -petrified poor Sarah, who thought that and her cousin's earrings and -watch-chain the finest things she had ever beheld about any human being -before. Then there came the redoubtable Flossie, who had torn her best -frock, and was twelve and a half. Flossie, who was nearly as big as -May, came forward with a giggle, and said "How----" and went off into -fits of laughter at some private joke of her own. - -"I'm ashamed of you, Flossie," cried Mrs. Stubbs sharply; "shake 'ands -with your cousin Sarah at once. Ah! this is Lily--Lily's five and a -'alf, Sarah--she's the baby." - -Then there was Tom, the eldest boy, who gripped hold of Sarah's hand and -wrung it until she could have shrieked with the pain, but, taking it as -an expression of kindness and welcome, she bore it bravely and looked at -him with a smiling face; she knew better afterwards. - -After Tom came the twins, Minnie and the Johnnie who had been slapped -the day before; and last of all, Janey, the prettiest, and Sarah fancied -the sweetest, of them all. Janey was seven, or, as she said herself, -nearly eight. - -"I suppose," said Mrs. Stubbs, addressing herself to Flossie, "that your -pa 'asn't got 'ome yet?" - -"No, Ma, not yet," returned Flossie. - -But, presently, when Mrs. Stubbs had changed her dress for a garment -such as Sarah had never beheld before, and which May told her was a -tea-gown, and was enjoying a cup of sweet-smelling tea in the large and -shady drawing-room--to Sarah a perfect dream of beauty--he came! Came -with a bustle and noise like a tempest, and caught his stout wife round -the waist, with a "Hulloa, old woman, it's a sight for sore eyes to see -you 'ome again!" - -Sarah had determined to be surprised at nothing, but her Uncle Stubbs -was altogether too much for her resolution. In apologising to herself -afterwards, she said she was obliged to stare. - -"And where's the little lass?" Mr. Stubbs asked when he had kissed his -wife. "Oh, there! Well, aren't you going to speak to your uncle, eh?" - -"Yes, Uncle," said Sarah shyly. - -He drew her nearer to him, and turned her face to the light. - -"Like her dear ma," put in Mrs. Stubbs. - -"Yes," said Mr. Stubbs shortly. - -"Not like her pa at all," Mrs. Stubbs persisted. - -"No!" more shortly still; then, after a pause, "I 'ope you'll be a good -gal, Sarah, and remember, though your father and me wasn't friends, yet, -as long as I've a 'ome to call my own, you're welcome to a shelter in -it. Your mother was my favourite sister, and though she turned 'er back -on me, I'll never do that on you, never." - -"Father knows better now, Uncle," said the child, with an effort; "he -knows how good you and Auntie are to me. You'd be friends now, wouldn't -you?" earnestly. - -"I don't know--I don't know at all," replied Mr. Stubbs shortly; then, -struck by the pleading look on the child's wistful face, added gruffly, -"I suppose we should; any way, I hope so." - -At this point Mrs. Stubbs broke in,-- - -"Any way, it's no fault of Sarah's that we wasn't all the very best of -friends, Stubbs; and Sarah and me's real fond of one another already, -aren't we, Sarah? So say no more about it; what's past and gone is -beyond 'elp. Flossie, you can take Sarah upstairs now. It's just -six--time for your tea. Be sure she gets a good tea." - - - - - CHAPTER V - - A TASTE OF THE FUTURE - - -Thus bidden, Flossie took Sarah's hand and led her upstairs. "You won't -like Miss Clark," she remarked, as they went. "We don't like her, not -any of us. She's so mean; always telling tales about somebody. She got -Johnnie slapped and sent off to bed last night; it was all spite--nasty -old thing!" - -"Who is Miss Clark?" Sarah asked, feeling rather bewildered. - -"Miss Clark! What! didn't Ma tell you about her?" ejaculated Miss -Flossie, in surprise. - -"No; Auntie never told me about her at all." - -"Lor! There, that shows Ma herself don't think much of her! I'll tell -Miss Clark, any way." - -"Don't, don't!" Sarah cried, in an agony. - -"Yes, I shall," the amiable Flossie returned, suddenly opening a door -and dragging her cousin into the midst of a noisy crew, all squabbling -round a tea-table. "Miss Clark, what d'you think? Ma actually never -told Sarah a single word about you!" - -"Well, my dear, never mind; perhaps Mrs. Stubbs didn't say very much -about any of us." - -"She didn't," put in Sarah hastily. - -"I suppose this is Sarah?" Miss Clark went on. - -"Yes," answered Flossie, adding, under her breath to Johnnie, "Stupid -little thing!" - -"How do you do, Sarah?" asked the governess, with the air of primness -which had made her unruly young pupils dislike her. "I hope we shall be -very good friends, and that you will do your best to be a very tidy and -industrious little girl." - -This rather took Sarah's breath away, but she replied, politely, that -she would try her best. - -"Come and sit by me, Sarah," said May, with a very condescending air of -protection. - -"Yes, sit by May," added Miss Clark. "May is my right hand; without May -I could not endure all the worry and trial of the others. Copy May, and -you will be quite right." - -So Sarah watched May mincing with her knife and fork, and -conscientiously tried to do likewise, to the infinite amusement of the -younger ones, of whom May took no notice whatever, and to whose jibing -remarks she showed a superb indifference. - -"Sarah," shouted Tom, stuffing his mouth so full of pressed tongue and -bread-and-butter that Sarah's heart stood still for fear of his choking, -"how many pieces of bread-and-butter can you put into your mouth at -once?" - -"Disgusting boy!" remarked May disdainfully, without giving Sarah time -to reply. "You grow more atrociously vulgar every day you live!" - -"Hi, hi!" shouted Tom, seizing a tablespoon and ramming it down his -throat until even boy's nature revolted and expressed disapproval. - -"Put that spoon down," cried Miss Clark authoritatively. "If I see you -do that again, Tom, you shall not go down to dessert." - -Now this was almost the only threat by which poor Miss Clark, whose life -was one long-continued struggle and fight, was able to hold her own over -Tom when he was at home for his holidays. Not going down to dessert -meant, not only the punishment of losing a share of the good things -below, but also it meant inquiry as to the cause of absence, and other -effects according to evidence. - -Tom's exuberance of spirits settled down promptly into discreet -behaviour, and Miss Clark had time to look round the table. - -"Johnnie, you are forbidden to eat jam for a week," she burst out. -"Minnie, take his plate away." - -"It's a shame poor Johnnie isn't to have any jam," Minnie began -whining--"all for nothing, too. It's a real downright shame, it is," and -forthwith she took the opportunity of daubing a thick slice of -bread-and-butter with jam off her own plate, and smuggling it into the -luckless Johnnie's hand in such a way that he might eat it upside down, -to the intense delight of Tom opposite, who had seen the little -manoeuvre, and was bursting to disclose it. - -For once nodding and winking had no effect, for nobody happened to be -looking at him. So Tom, in despair lest such an amusing incident should -be altogether lost, began vigorously nudging Flossie, who sat next to -him, with his elbow. Flossie, unfortunately, was in the act of raising a -large cup of very hot tea to her lips, and Tom's nudge causing the hot -cup to touch her knuckle, made her jerk violently, and over the tea went -in a deluge on to her lap. - -It is almost impossible to give an adequate description of the scene -which followed. Flossie shrieked and screamed as if she was being -murdered by a slow process; Tom vowed and protested that it was not his -fault; Janey had pushed him over against Flossie; Janey appealed to Miss -Clark to remember that at the very moment she was handing her cup in the -opposite direction; and Miss Clark began to wring her hands and exclaim -that she would ask to have Tom sent back to school again, for stand his -cruel and unbrotherly behaviour she neither could nor would. And in the -midst of it all, young Johnnie seized the opportunity of helping Minnie -freely to jam and eating off her plate, as if he were eating for a -wager. - -Sarah sat looking, as she was, scared; and May calmly surveyed the scene -of uproar with disdainful face. - -"Disgusting boy!" she said to the still protesting Tom. "You get more -vulgar every day. Don't take any notice, Sarah; you will get used to it -by-and-by." - -Eventually Miss Clark began to cry weakly. - -"It's too much for me; how am I to bear four weeks more of this dreadful -boy?" she sobbed. - -"Do like me, take no notice," suggested May. - -"But I _must_ take notice," Miss Clark cried desperately. "My only -comfort is that you do sit still, May dear. As for Sarah, she is a good -girl, a pattern to you," with a withering glance at Tom. "I feel sure -Sarah has never seen such a disgraceful scene before; have you, Sarah?" - -"No," whispered Sarah, wishing fervently that Miss Clark had been -pleased to leave her out of the discussion. - -"I thought so. I knew Sarah's manners were far too good for her to have -been brought up among this sort of thing. Sarah is like a young -princess." - -By this time the tumult had subsided a little. Flossie had recovered -from her fright, and was consoling herself with buttered scones and -honey, looking darkly at Tom the while, just by way of reminding him -that she had not by any means forgotten. But Tom was unconscious of her -wrath--a fresh idea had presented itself to his volatile mind, and for -the moment he had utterly forgotten not only Flossie's wrath, but also -that other probable wrath to come. - -"Princess Sarah!" he shouted, pointing at his cousin. "Her Royal -Highness Princess Sarah--of Nowhere. Princess Sarah!" - -"Princess Sarah!" cried Johnnie, taking up the taunt, and waving his -bread-and-butter like a flag. "Three cheers for Princess Sarah!" - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - THE AMIABLE FLOSSIE - - -Miss Clark did not tell that time. It was not Flossie, but May, who -poured oil on the troubled waters. - -"It's no use making a fuss, Flossie," she said wisely. "Tom didn't mean -to spill your tea; he only wanted you to look at Johnnie cribbing jam -when he'd been told not to have any. And it's the first night Ma's at -home, and Tom's her favourite; and if you get him into trouble with Pa, -she'll give what she's brought for you to somebody else. So you just -hold your tongue, Flossie, and be a bit nice to Miss Clark, and get her -to say nothing about it. It isn't as if you were hurt--and besides, you -can't pretend you're hurt and then go down to dessert. It's your turn -to go down to-night." Thus advised, Flossie went to Miss Clark and -begged her to say nothing more about Tom's unfortunate accident. - -"Tom says he didn't mean to, Miss Clark, and Ma's tired, I dare say; so -you won't say anything about it, will you?" - -"I think I ought to say something about it, Flossie," said Miss Clark -severely, though in her heart she was as glad to get off telling as even -Tom himself could be. - -"No, Miss Clark, I don't think you ought. Ma always gets a headache -after a long journey, and if Pa's put out with Tom, and perhaps whips -him, Ma 'll go to bed and cry all night. And it wasn't as if Tom meant -to spill the tea over me--it was quite an accident. He was only jogging -me to look at Johnnie." - -With much apparent reluctance, Miss Clark at last consented to say no -more about it; and so occupied was she in making Flossie feel how great -a concession it was for her to do so, that she forgot to ask what -Johnnie had happened to be doing to attract Tom's attention. - -So Johnnie escaped scot free also, and Flossie and Tom went off to -prepare for going down to dessert, which the young Stubbses did in -strict turn, two at a time. - -As soon as the table was cleared, Miss Clark got out a little work-box -and began a delicate piece of embroidery. Sarah kept close to May, whom -at present she liked best of any of the young people and May sat down -with a piece of fancy work also, of which she did very little. - -"Miss Clark," she began, after she had done a few stitches, "isn't it -jolly without Tom?" - -"Very," said Miss Clark, with a great sigh of relief. - -"I don't think Tom meant to be disagreeable," said May, turning Miss -Clark's silks over with careless fingers; "but he's a boy, and boys are -very tiresome animals, Miss Clark." - -"Yes," Miss Clark replied. - -"How many times have you been engaged?" and May leant her elbows upon -the table and regarded the governess with interested eyes. - -[Illustration: "How many times have you been engaged?"] - -"Twice," answered Miss Clark, in a low voice. - -"And he was nice?" May inquired, with vivid interest. - -"I thought them both nice at the time," Miss Clark returned, with a sigh -and a smile. "But--oh, here is Flossie ready to go down. Flossie, my -dear, how quick you have been!" - -"But I'm quite tidy, Miss Clark," Flossie replied. "I wish Tom would be -quick. I say, Sarah, don't you wish you were going down, too?" - -"Sarah's quite happy with Miss Clark and me," put in May; "ain't you, -Sarah?" - -"Yes, quite," Sarah replied. - -"Oh, are you? Then I shall tell Ma you said you didn't want to go down -to see her, then," Flossie retorted. - -Poor Sarah's eyes filled with tears, and she turned to May in the hope -of getting protection from her. - -"Take no notice," said May superbly. "You'll get used to Flossie after -a bit. She's a regular tell-tale; but she won't tell Ma, for Ma won't -listen. She never does. Ma never will listen to tales, not even from -Tom." - -Flossie began to laugh uproariously, as if it was the greatest joke in -the world to tease Sarah, who had yet to learn the peculiar workings of -a Stubbs character. Then Miss Clark interrupted with a remark that -Flossie's sash was not very well tied. - -"Come here and let me tie it properly," she said sharply; and, as -Flossie knew that any shortcoming would be sharply noticed and commented -upon when she got downstairs, she turned obediently round and allowed -Miss Clark to arrange her garments to her satisfaction. By that time -Tom was ready, and the two went down together. - -"Thank goodness," remarked May piously. "Now, Miss Clark, we shall have -a little peace." - -May was destined to have even a greater peace for her little chat with -the governess than she had anticipated, for a few minutes after Flossie -and Tom had gone downstairs one of the maids came up and said that the -mistress wished Miss Sarah to come down at once. Miss Sarah, she added, -was not to stay to dress more than she was then. - -"Mayn't I just wash my hands?" Sarah asked imploringly of May. - -"Of course," May answered, good-naturedly. "I'll go with you and make -you straight." - -May was very good-natured, though it is true that she was somewhat -condescending; and she went with Sarah and showed her the room she was -to share with Janey and Lily, showed her where to wash her face and -hands, and herself combed her hair and made her look quite presentable. - -"There! you look all right; let Miss Clark see you," she said. And, -after Sarah had been for inspection and approval, she followed the maid, -and went down, for the first time in her life, to dessert. - -"'Ere she is!" Mrs. Stubbs exclaimed, as the little figure in black -appeared in the doorway. "Flossie ought to have known you would come -down to dessert the first evening; and, after that, you must take it in -turn with the others." - -"Yes, Auntie," said Sarah shyly, taking the chair next to Mrs. Stubbs, -for which she was thankful. - -"Will you 'ave some grapes, my dear?" Mrs. Stubbs asked kindly. - -"Sarah 'd like a nectarine," said Mr. Stubbs, who made a god of his -stomach, and loved good things. - -"I doubt if she will," his wife said; "they're bitter to a child's -taste; but 'ave which you like best, Sarah." - -"Grapes, please, Auntie," said Sarah promptly. - -As a matter of fact, Sarah did not exactly know what nectarines were; -and, not liking to confess her ignorance, lest by doing so she should -bring on herself sarcastic glances, to be followed later by sarcastic -remarks from Flossie and Tom, she chose what she was sure of; besides, -she did not want to run the risk of getting something upon her plate -which she did not like, and perhaps could not eat. Poor Sarah still had -a lively recollection of once helping herself to a piece of crystallised -ginger when out to tea with her father. She could not bear hot things, -and it seemed to her that that piece of ginger was the hottest morsel -she had ever put in her mouth. She sucked and sucked in the hope of -reducing it, and so getting rid of it, and the harder she sucked the -hotter it grew. She tried crushing it between her sharp young teeth, -but that process only seemed to bring out the heat more and more. - -And at last, in sheer desperation, Sarah bethought herself of her -pocket-handkerchief, and, putting it up as if to wipe her lips, ejected -the pungent morsel, and at the same time seized the opportunity of -putting her poor little burning tongue out to cool. - -"Have another piece of ginger, dear," the lady of the house had said, -seeing that her plate was empty. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - COUSINLY AMENITIES - - -The following morning Mrs. Stubbs began preparing vigorously for the -move to Brighton, which the family invariably made at this time of the -year. Usually, indeed, they went a week or so earlier, but Mrs. Stubbs -being at Bridgehampton, Miss Clark had done no more towards going than -to see that the children's summer and seaside frocks and other clothes -were all ready. - -"I think May and Flossie must 'ave new white best frocks," Mrs. Stubbs -remarked; "and Sarah's things must be attended to. I knew it was no use -getting the child anything but a black frock in that old-fashioned -Bridge'ampton. I'd better go and see about them this morning; and if -they're not done by Thursday they can come after us." - -So Sarah was dressed, and with May went out in the neat "broom" with -Mrs. Stubbs; and when she had arranged about the white frocks for her -own children, Mrs. Stubbs began to lay in a stock of clothes for Sarah. -Poor Sarah was bewildered, and felt more ready to cry than anything -else. - -"Am I to wear _all_ these?" she asked, with what was almost horror, as -she surveyed the pile of stockings, petticoats, gloves, sash-ribbons, -pocket-handkerchiefs, and such things, which quickly accumulated upon -the counter. - -Mrs. Stubbs laughed good-naturedly. "You won't say 'all' when you've -been a month at Brighton grubbing about on the shingle and going -donkey-rides, and such like. You must be tidy, you know, Sarah. And I -told you" (in an undertone) "that you would be the same as my own. I -never do things by 'alves; I'm not one of that sort, thank 'eaven." - -So, to Sarah's dismay, she bought lavishly of many things--frocks, -boots, smart pinafores, a pretty, light summer jacket, and two hats, one -a white sailor hat, the other a black trimmed one for best. - -"Do you take cold easy, Sarah?" Mrs. Stubbs inquired, pausing as they -went out of the showroom before a huge pile of furs. - -"I think I do rather, Auntie; and I had bronchitis last year." - -"That settles it!" her aunt exclaimed. "I don't believe in bronchitis -and doctors' bills; waste of money, I call it. You shall 'ave a fur -cape." - -Now for two years past the dream of Sarah's life had been to possess a -fur cape--"a beautiful, warm, soft, and lovely fur cape," as she -expressed it; but until now, poor child, she had never dared to think it -might ever be more than a dream--that it might come to be a possibility -or a reality. The sudden realization was almost too much for her. She -gave a little gasp of delight, and squeezed her aunt's arm _hard_. - -"Oh, Auntie!" she whispered, with a sob of delight, "what shall I ever -do for you?" - -"Nay, nay! don't, Sarah!" Mrs. Stubbs expostulated, fearing the child -was going to break down. "Be a good girl and love your aunt, that's all, -dear." - -"Oh, Auntie, I do, I do!" Sarah whispered back; "but if only Father -knew--if only he knew!" - -"Why, maybe he does," said Mrs. Stubbs kindly. "But come, Sarah, my -dear, let us try your cape on. We are wasting this gentleman's time." - -The gentleman in question protested that it was of no consequence, and -begged Mrs. Stubbs not to hurry herself. But time was passing, and Mrs. -Stubbs wanted to get home again, so she urged Sarah to be quick. - -Ten minutes later Sarah was the proud possessor of a beautiful brown fur -cape, just a little large for her, "that she might have room to grow," -but so warm and cosy, and so entirely to her liking, that, in spite of -the sultry day, the child would willingly have kept it on and gone home -in it. She did not, however, dare to propose it to her aunt, and if she -had done so Mrs. Stubbs had far too much good sense to have allowed it. - -So they went home gaily enough to lunch, which was the young folk's -dinner, but not without a petition from May that they should stop at -some nice shop and have ices. - -"It will spoil your dinner!" exclaimed Mrs. Stubbs. - -"Oh, no, Mother," said May, who sometimes called her mother so. "And -Sarah _ought_ to have an ice the very first time she has ever had a -drive with you." - -Thus pressed, Mrs. Stubbs gave in, and stopped the carriage at a -confectioner's in Regent Street. - -"I'll have Vanilla," said May. "Which are you going to have, Sarah?" - -"Whichever you like," said Sarah, who had never tasted an ice in her -life, and was thus gaining another new experience. - -"Try strawberry, then," said May, "and then we can help one another to a -spoonful." - -Sarah did try strawberry, and very good she found it. And then, when -they had each eaten about half of their ices, May proposed that they -should change about. Sarah did not find the Vanilla ice nearly so much -to her liking as the strawberry one had been; but not liking to say so, -as her cousin seemed to appreciate the change, she finished her portion, -and said she had enjoyed herself very much. - -"You'll buy us some sweets, Ma?" said May. - -Sarah stared aghast; it seemed to her a terrible extravagance to have -had the ices, particularly after having spent so much money as her aunt -must have done for the clothes that morning. And then to ask for -sweets! It seemed to her that May had no conscience. - -And perhaps she was not very far wrong. But May, if she had no -conscience, had a wonderful knack of smoothing the path of daily life -for herself. Mrs. Stubbs demurred decidedly to buying sweets; but May -gave a good reason for her demand. - -"Oh, Ma, dear, do! Flossie 'll be as cross as two sticks at Sarah being -out with you instead of her. And she's sure to ask if we had ices, and, -you know we can't either of us tell a story about it--at least, I can't, -and I don't think Sarah's at all the story-telling sort--are you, -Sarah?" - -"Oh no, indeed, Auntie, I'll never tell you a story," Sarah protested. - -"And Flossie will go on anyhow, and taunt her; I know she will. She and -Tom were at it last night--calling her Princess Sarah--her Royal -Highness Princess Sarah," May went on--"didn't they, Sarah?" - -"Never mind," said Sarah, trying to make light of it. - -"But what did they call her that for?" Mrs. Stubbs asked, listening in a -way that was rare with her to a bit of tittle-tattle from the -schoolroom. - -"Well, Ma, dear, you know what Tom is. He doesn't mean to be rough or -rude, but he's just a boy home for the holidays; and after she's had the -little ones all day, and perhaps not me to talk to at all, Tom does get -a bit too much for Miss Clark's nerves. And last night Tom was just a -bit more boisterous than usual, and poor Miss Clark didn't feel very -well, and it tried her, you know. And Sarah was sitting by me, and very -quiet, and Miss Clark happened to say she behaved like a princess--and -so she did. And Tom took it up--Princess Sarah, of Nowhere; her Royal -Highness Princess Sarah, of Nowhere, and such-like. I don't think Tom -meant to be unkind, but it wasn't very nice for Sarah, being strange to -us all; and then Flossie took it up, and Johnnie, but Miss Clark told -Johnnie he should go to bed if he said it again, so he soon shut up." - -"Well, it's no use taking any notice of it," said Mrs. Stubbs, stroking -Sarah's hand kindly, "but you'd better put a stop to it whenever you -hear 'em at it, May. I only 'ope Tom won't let his pa 'ear him. He'd be -very angry, for Sarah's pore ma, that's dead and gone, was 'is favourite -sister, and Pa'd never forgive a slight that was put on her little girl. -It isn't," said Mrs. Stubbs, warming to her subject, "any fault of -Sarah's that she's left, at nine years old, without a father, or a -mother, or a 'ome; and it's no credit of any of yours that you've got a -kind pa and ma, and a lux'r'ous 'ome, and a broom to ride about in. So, -Sarah, my dear, don't take no notice if they begin teasing you about -anything. Remember, your ma was your uncle's favourite sister, and that -you was as welcome as flowers in May to him when I brought you 'ome." - -Sarah looked up. "I don't mind anything, Auntie, dear," she said -bravely, though her lips were trembling and her eyes were moist. "I'll -remember what you told me when we were coming--give and take." - -"That's a brave little woman!" Mrs. Stubbs exclaimed. "Yes, you'd -better go and choose some sweets, May. Perhaps it was a little 'ard on -Flossie she should have to stop at 'ome, but I can't do with more than -three in the broom--it gets so 'ot and so stuffy. Perhaps, some day, -your pa 'll buy us an open carriage, and then I don't mind 'ow many -there are." - -May went out into the shop--for they had been sitting alone in an inner -room--to choose the sweets, and Mrs. Stubbs continued her talk to Sarah. - -"I don't 'old with telling, as a rule; I want my children to be better -than tell-pies," she said; "but I am glad May told me of this. If -anything goes wrong with you, you tell May about it, Sarah; she's my -right 'and; I don't know what I should do without her." - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - FLOSSIE'S GRIEVANCES - - -It was just as well that May had had sufficient forethought to provide -herself with a bundle of sweets in the shape of a peace-offering for -Flossie, for when they got in they found Flossie in anything but an -amiable mood. - -And when Flossie was not in an amiable mood, she was anything but an -agreeable young person. - -She was sitting in the schoolroom, staring sullenly out of the window -and kicking impatiently against the window-board in a way which upset -Miss Clark's nerves until they could only be fairly described as -"shattered." - -[Illustration: She was sitting in the schoolroom, staring sullenly out -of the window.] - -For everything from first to last had gone wrong with poor Flossie that -morning. In the first place, she had been intensely disappointed at -being left at home that Sarah might go in the carriage with Mrs. Stubbs. -Flossie was particularly fond of going out with her mother in the -carriage, and was also very fond of shopping. It was, therefore, quite -in vain that Miss Clark tried to make her understand that Sarah had not -been taken for favouritism, but simply in order that her aunt might buy -her the clothes necessary for their trip to Brighton. Flossie thought -and said it was a horrid shame, and vowed vengeance on the unfortunate -and inoffensive, though offending, Sarah in consequence. - -"Nasty little mean white-faced thing!" she exclaimed. "I suppose I -shall always be shoved into the background now, just that she may be -coddled up and made to think herself better than anybody else. Princess -Sarah! Yes, that's to be the new idea. We're all to be put on one side -for Princess Sarah." - -"Flossie," said Miss Clark, very severely, "you ought to be thoroughly -ashamed of yourself. To be jealous of a poor little girl who has no -father or mother, who has come among strangers at nine years old, and is -fretting her poor little heart out for the sake of the father who loved -her better than any one in all the world; to be jealous of her being -taken out once when you know it is only on business they have gone--oh! -for shame, Flossie! for shame!" - -"Oh, well, she needn't fret after her pa so much," Flossie retorted, not -taking Miss Clark's remarks to heart at all. "He didn't do so much for -her. He wasn't a gentleman like Pa. If he had been, he'd have left her -some money of her own." - -Miss Clark's whole soul rose up in absolute loathing within her. - -"You vulgar, vulgar child!" she thought. Aloud she said, "Flossie, my -dear, a _lady_ would not say such a thing as that. Your mother would be -very, _very_ angry if she heard it. Come, it is useless to stay -grumbling and sulking here; you will have to accept the situation. Mrs. -Stubbs is your mother, and the mistress of this house and family. She -does not ask your leave whether she shall take you out with her or not. -She would be a very bad mother to you if she did, instead of being, as -she is now, a very good one. Let me hear not another word, but put your -things on to go out with me." - -"Is Tom going?" Flossie inquired, not daring to refuse, though she would -dearly have liked to do so. - -"No. Tom and Johnnie are going out with Charles." - -"And I have to just go out with you and three stupid girls?" - -"With your three sisters, certainly." - -"It's a beastly shame," Flossie burst out. - -"Not another word," said the governess sharply. "Go and get ready at -once." - -And poor Flossie had to go. Of course it happened that as she began -wrong at the beginning nothing went very well with her during the rest -of the morning. Miss Clark went the one way she hated above all others; -but Miss Clark had to do a small but important commission for Mrs. -Stubbs, and was obliged to take it. - -Then her sisters, whom she heartily despised--Tom being her -favourite--annoyed her excessively. Janey would persist in lagging -behind, and Minnie got a stone in her shoe and had to stop and take it -off and shake out the pebble; and then, of course, she had to stop also -to have her shoe tied again, and one or two people stopped to see what -was amiss, as people do stop when they see any impediment to the general -traffic in the London streets. "Making a perfect show of them all," -Flossie said angrily. - -And when they got home, Flossie not feeling quite so bad as when they -set off, Mrs. Stubbs and May and "_that_ Sarah" actually had not come -back. It really was too bad, and Flossie sat down in the schoolroom -window to watch for them with a face like a thunder cloud and a heart in -which every outraged and injured feeling capable of being felt by weak -human nature seemed to be seething and struggling at once. - -If only Tom had come back, it would not have been so bad. But Charles, -the indoor servant, had taken him and Johnnie down to Seven Dials to buy -some guinea-pigs, and Seven Dials being a long way from South -Kensington, they could not possibly have got back by that time if they -had tried ever so. Poor Flossie! - -So she sat and brooded--brooded over what she was pleased to call her -wrongs. She would not so much have minded not going out with the -"broom" if only she might have gone with Charles and Tom and Johnnie to -enjoy the somewhat doubtful delights of Seven Dials. That, however, -Mrs. Stubbs had resolutely and peremptorily refused to allow. So it -happened that Flossie sat in the window waiting for their return. - -At last they came. She saw them get out of the carriage and disappear -within the house; she saw the carriage drive round to the stables. - -And then there was a long pause. But they none of them seemed to think -of coming upstairs, even then. Poor Flossie kicked at the window-board -more noisily than ever, and in vain Miss Clark, driven almost to -desperation, cried, "Flossie, _will_ you be quiet?" - -And then the door opened quietly, and May came in, looking radiant. -Flossie felt more ill-used even than before. - -"Oh, you are here, Flossie. I've been looking for you _every_where," -she remarked. - -"Well, you can't have looked very hard, or you'd have found me," Flossie -snapped. Then with a fierce glance at the parcel in her sister's hand, -she blurted out, "You've been having ices!" - -"Yes, we have," answered May; "but you needn't look like that, Flossie; -I've brought you back a great deal more than both our ices cost." - -"What have you brought?" half mollified. - -"Caramels in chocolate." - -"I hate caramels!" Flossie declared, fearing, with the old clinging to -ungraciousness that sulky people have, that her last reply had sounded -too much like coming round, a concession which Flossie never made too -soon or made too cheap. - -"Nougat?" said May, putting the caramels on one side. - -"You _know_ I can't eat nougat; it _always_ makes my teeth ache!" -Flossie cried. - -"Fondants?" May knew that her sister was passionately fond of that form -of sweetmeats. But Flossie would have none of it. - -"I detest fondants!" she said, with an impressiveness which would have -been worthy of the occasion had she said that she detested--well, -prussic acid, or some pleasant and deadly preparation of that kind. - -"Well, it's a pity I worried Ma for them at all," May remarked with her -usual placid air of disgust. "Perhaps, though, you'll think differently -after lunch. Come down, and pray don't look like that! Pa's at home." - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - AN ASTUTE TELL-PIE - - -But not even the presence of Mr. Stubbs, who was held in great awe by -his sons and daughters, and was most emphatically what is known as -"master in his own house," was sufficient to restore the redoubtable -Flossie to her usual careless, happy-go-lucky, giggling sauciness. - -She went down and took her seat at table, speaking only when spoken to, -but nevertheless contriving to eat an uncommonly good meal. And Tom -entertained her with an account of his excursion to the Dials; and -although Flossie had spent the last three hours in a passion of -jealousy, envy, and unhappiness too great for alleviation, even when it -came in the shape of caramels, nougat, and fondants, yet she could not -resist the temptation of hearing all that Tom had to say, and of -arranging to go round to the stables with him to see his new pets when -lunch should be over. - -And presently she was graciously pleased to accept the caramels and -nougat and the fondants. But for some hours she did not forgive -Sarah--"Princess Sarah" she unceasingly called her, although solemnly -warned by May that "Ma" had already heard of the name, and that if "Pa" -heard it the consequences would indeed be dreadful. - -"Ah, I suppose Miss Tell-pie has been making up to Ma this morning!" -suggested Flossie, with a frightful sneer. - -"Nothing of the kind!" returned May quickly, but in her most -condescending tone; "it was quite another person. Sarah has never said -a word, not even when she was asked. But, any way, Ma did hear it, and -she's very angry about it. And Ma says if Pa gets to know about it -he'll be fearfully angry, for Sarah's ma was his favourite sister. And -so you'd better just mind what you're doing, Miss Flossie!" - -"I do hate that Miss Clark!" Flossie remarked. - -"Miss Clark!" exclaimed May. "Why, whatever for?" - -"Nasty, mean, spiteful tell-pie!" Flossie explained. - -"It _wasn't_ Miss Clark. I tell you Ma got to hear about it." - -"Who was it then?" - -"Ah, that I can't tell you; but, any way, Ma got to hear of it, and she -told me to put a stop to it, and so you'd better be careful, that's -all." - -And never for a moment did Flossie suspect that some blades are so sharp -that they can cut two ways, and that her informant was quite as clever -at carrying tales to one side as to the other. Ah! but blundering, -boisterous Flossie was not nearly so astute as Mrs. Stubbs's right -hand--May. - -When they had come from Bridgehampton Mrs. Stubbs had only brought her -own box and one which contained Sarah's modest wardrobe with them. Her -father's pictures and the precious Amati, with one or two bits of old -carved oak, a chair, a table, a little chest, and a stool, with one or -two bits of armour and a few pieces of very good china, were all packed -and sent off by goods train. - -They arrived that afternoon, and Mrs. Stubbs had them all unpacked, and -declared her intention of putting them into the little bedroom which, -after they came back from Brighton, should be Sarah's own. - -"They're lovely things, and belong to the child herself, and it's right -she should have them kept for 'er, you know, Stubbs." - -"Quite right, quite right," returned Mr. Stubbs promptly, and turning to -see the effect of his wife's consideration on Sarah, whose character he -was studying earnestly and diligently for the purpose of finding out -whether any taint of what he called her "fine gentleman father" was -about her. - -But Sarah was quite oblivious. She had got hold of her beloved violin, -from which she had never been parted before in all her life, and was -dusting it jealously with her little pocket-handkerchief. - -Mrs. Stubbs saw the look and understood it - -"The child didn't 'ear," she explained; and having attracted Sarah's -attention, told her what her plans were for her future comfort. "You'll -like that, won't you?" she ended. - -Sarah's reply was as astounding as it was prompt. "Oh, no, dear Auntie, -not at all," she said earnestly. - -"And why not?" Mrs. Stubbs inquired, while her husband stared as if he -thought the world might be coming to an end. - -"Why, Auntie, didn't you say your own self how beautiful they were, and -how well they would set off a hall? I'd much rather you'd put them -downstairs than in a bedroom, for you would see them every time you went -in and out, and that _would_ please me." - -"There's unselfishness for you!" Mrs. Stubbs cried. - -"No, Auntie. I don't think it is," said Sarah in her sweet, humble -voice. "It's nothing so grand as unselfishness; it's just because I -love you." - -"Kiss me, my woman," cried Mrs. Stubbs with rapture. - -"And come and kiss _me_," said Mr. Stubbs. "You're a good girl, Sarah, -your mother's own daughter. She was right, my lass, to stick to the -husband she loved and married, though I never thought so till this -moment." - -"Oh, Uncle!" Sarah gasped, for to hear him speak so of the mother she -had never seen, but whom she had been taught to love from her babyhood, -was joy almost greater than her child's heart could bear. - -"There, there! If aught goes wrong, come to me," Mr. Stubbs murmured. -"And if you always speak to your aunt as you've done to-day, I shall -think your pore father must have been a fine fellow, or you'd never be -what you are." - -Oh, Sarah was so happy! After all, what could, what _did_ it matter if -Flossie and Tom did call her Princess Sarah of Nowhere? Why, just -nothing at all--nothing at all. - -"Uncle," she said, after a moment or two, "may I play you something on -my violin?" - -"Yes," he answered. - -"That," remarked Mrs. Stubbs, as Sarah opened the piano and began to -tune up in a way which made her uncle open his eyes with astonishment, -"is the fiddle Sarah says is worth five hundred pounds." - -"Like enough. Some of 'em are," he answered. - -And then Sarah played a German _lied_ and a Hungarian dance; then "Home, -Sweet Home." - -"Well," said Mrs. Stubbs, looking at him, when she ceased, "what do you -think of it?" - -"I think she's--a genius," answered Mr. Stubbs. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - A PLEASANT RAILWAY JOURNEY - - -On the Thursday following the whole Stubbs family went to Brighton. -Sarah enjoyed the journey intensely, journeys being still almost a -novelty with her. She would have enjoyed it more if May had not -grumbled at going second-class, and if Flossie and Tom had not vied with -one another in trying how far they could lean out of either window of -the carriage. Poor Miss Clark was almost beside herself with fright. - -"Tom, put your head in immediately," she cried in desperation, and -expecting every moment to see the door fly open and Tom shoot out -headlong, to be picked up a mangled corpse or in actual fragments. "Tom, -do you hear me? Tom, I insist upon it." - -But if Miss Clark had shouted till she had killed herself with shouting, -Tom, leaning half his body out of the window, with the wind whistling in -his ears and the roar and rattle of the engine and wheels all helping to -deaden any such small sounds as that of a human voice, and that the -voice of a weak and rather helpless woman, could not have heard her, and -Miss Clark had no choice but, with May's help, to tug Tom in by the -nether part of his garments. This done, she pulled up the window with a -jerk. - -[Illustration: Tom leaning half his body out of the window with the wind -whistling in his ears.] - -"I forbid you to open that window again," she said with such severity -that even Tom was cowed, and sat meekly down with a somewhat sulky air. - -Miss Clark had thus time to turn her attention to the other children, -when, to her horror, she found that Flossie was not only emulating but -far surpassing her brother, not contenting herself with leaning well out -of the window, but was actually standing on the seat that she might push -herself out the farther. To pull her in and put her down on her seat -with a bump was the work of but a moment. - -"If I have to speak to you again, Flossie," she said in accents of -solemn warning, "I shall get out at the next station and take you to -your father's carriage. I fancy you will sit quiet there." - -Flossie thought so too, and sat quietly enough till the next station was -passed; but after that May complained so bitterly of the closed windows -and the horrid stuffiness of the carriage that Miss Clark's sternness -relented a little, and she allowed the window beside which May was -sitting to be let down. And the very fact of the window being open -seemed to set all Tom's nerves, and muscles, and longings tingling. He -moved about uneasily in his seat, kept dodging round to look sideways -through the glass at the side, and finally jumped up in a hurry and -pushed his head and shoulders through the window. In vain did Miss -Clark tug and pull at him and his garments alike. Tom had his elbows -out of the window this time, and, as he chose not to give way, not all -the combined strength of Miss Clark and May, with such help as Sarah and -Minnie could give, had the smallest effect upon him. At last Miss -Clark, who, as I have said, was not very strong, sat down and began to -sniff in a way which sounded very hysterical, for she really was -horribly afraid some dreadful accident would happen long before they got -to their destination. However, as the suspicious little sob was heard -and understood by May, that young lady took the law into her own hands -and administered a sharp corrective immediately. - -"Tom," she shouted, "come in." - -Tom did not hear more than that he was being shouted at, and, as a -natural consequence, did not move. Whereupon May quietly reached up to -the rack and fished out Tom's own, his very own, riding-whip, and with -that she began to belabour him soundly. - -It had effect! After half a dozen cuts, Tom began to struggle in, but -May was a stout and heavily-set young lady, and as resolute in will as -ever was her father, when she was once fairly roused. So she calmly -held him by his neck and went on administering her corrective until she -was utterly tired. - -Then she let him go, and when he, blind with rage and fury, and vowing -vengeance upon her, made for her, and would have fought her, she sprang -up at the knob by which you can signal to the driver and stop a train, -and threatened to pull it if he touched her. - -And oh, Tom was angry! Angry--he was furious; but he was mastered. For -it happened that on the very day that he and Johnnie had gone with -Charles to Seven Dials, he had asked Charles all about the alarm bell, -by means of which trains may be stopped if necessary, and Charles had -explained the matter in a clear and lucid way peculiar to himself--a -talent which made him especially valuable in a home where there were -boys. - -"Why, Master Tom," he exclaimed, "you see that's a indicator. If you -wants to storp the trayin you just pulls that knob, and it rings a bell -on the engine somewhere, and the driver storps the trayin at once." - -"Let's stop it," suggested Tom, in high glee at the prospect of a walk -through a dark and dangerous tunnel. - -It must be admitted that Charles's heart fairly stood still at the -thought of what his explanation had suggested. - -"Master Tom," said he, with a face of horror which was so expressive -that Tom was greatly impressed by it, "don't you go for to do nothing of -the kind! It's almost a 'anging matter is storping of trayins--useless -like. If you was took ill, or 'ad a fit, or somebody was a-murdering of -you, why, it would be all right; but to storp a trayin when there's -naught wrong, is--well, I believe, as a matter of fact, it's seven -years." - -"Seven years--seven years what?" Tom asked, thinking the whole thing a -grand joke. - -"Prison," returned Charles laconically; "that is, if it was me. If it -was you, Master Tom, it would mean reformatory school, with plenty of -stick and no meat, nor no 'olidays. No, I wouldn't go for to storp no -trayins if I was you, Master Tom." - -"But we needn't say it was us that rang," pleaded Tom, whose fingers -were just itching to ring that bell. - -Charles laughed. "Lor! Master Tom, they're up to that game!" he -answered. "Bless you! they 'ave a lot of numbers, and they'd know in a -minute which carriage it was that rang. No, Master Tom, don't you go -for to ring no bells and storp no trayins. I lived servant with a young -fellow once as had had five years of a reformatory school, and the tales -he used to tell of what went on there was enough to make your blood -curdle and your very 'air stand on end--mine did many a time!" - -"Which--your blood or your hair, Charles?" Tom inquired, with keen -interest. - -"Both!" returned Charles, in a tone which carried conviction with it. - -Thus Tom had no further resource, when May vowed to ring the bell and -stop the train if he touched her, but to sit down and bear his aches and -his defeat in silence. But, oh, he was angry! To be beaten and beaten -again by a girl! It was too humiliating, too lowering to bear. Yet -poor Tom had to bear it--that was the worst of it. So they eventually -got to Brighton in safety. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - AUNT GEORGE - - -It would be hard for me to tell of all the joys and pleasures which -Brighton gave to the Stubbs family and to Sarah in particular. To the -younger of the Stubbs children all was joy and delight, though they had -been there several times before; to Miss Clark it was rest and peace, -because she was not much troubled with Tom; and Flossie, too, was -allowed to go about with him and Johnnie a great deal more freely than -she ever was at home. May--always Miss Clark's favourite--spent much of -her time beside her, though she went shopping sometimes with her mother, -and also driving. But, on the whole, Mrs. Stubbs did not give up very -much of her time just then to her children. - -For Mr. Stubbs was taking his holiday, and Mr. Stubbs was troubled with -a threatened fit of the gout, and do with the sound of the children's -racket and bustle he simply could not. He was often threatened with the -gout, though the threatenings seldom came to anything more than temper. -So, whilst they were at Brighton, Mrs. Stubbs--who was as good a wife as -she was a mother--devoted herself to him, and left the children to take -care of themselves a good deal. - -Their life was naturally quite a different one to what it was in town. -They had a furnished house in which they slept and took their meals, but -which at other times they did not much affect--they had early dinner -there, and a high tea at seven o'clock, at which they all ate like -ravenous wolves, Sarah amongst the number. This was a very happy, -free-and-easy meal; for, though Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs joined in the early -dinner, and called it lunch, they did not go in for the high tea but -invariably went to the Grand Hotel and had dinner there. - -Oh, what happy, happy days they were! There was the early run out on -the Parade or the Sea Wall before breakfast; then the delicious seaside -breakfast, with fresh whitings every morning. There was the daily dip in -the sea, and the daily donkey ride or goat-chaise drive. There was the -ever new and delightful shingle, on which they played and skipped, and -dug and delved to their hearts' content. There were the niggers, and -the blind man who sang to his own accompaniment on a sort of hand-organ, -and wore a smart blue necktie, and a flower in his button-hole. There -was a sweet little child, too, wearing a big sun-bonnet, whom they used -to watch for every morning, who came with toddling three-year-old -gravity with a penny for the niggers, to the infinite amusement of the -bystanders. - -"Here, black man." - -"Thank you, my little Snowdrop," was the invariable reply of the nigger -minstrel; and then the little wee "Snowdrop" would make a stately bow. -The nigger would take off his hat with a bow to match it, and the little -scene was over till the morrow. - -Then there was the Aquarium, and the delightful shop, which they called -"The Creameries," a little way past Mutton's; and once or twice they -all, except Mr. Stubbs, went for a trip in the steamer, when Mrs. Stubbs -took chief charge, and Miss Clark was so horribly ill that she thought -she would have died. - -And once Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs went to Newhaven, and thence to Dieppe, -taking Tom with them--not at all because Tom wanted to go, but because -May represented to her mother that neither she nor Miss Clark were -feeling very well, and that without "Pa's" restraining influence she was -sure Tom would not only worry them all to death, but would also incite -Flossie into all manner of dreadful pranks, the consequences of which -might be dire and terrible. - -So Tom went with them over the water on to French soil, and May -remarked, triumphantly, to the governess, "I've got rid of him, Miss -Clark, so now we shall have a little peace, and enjoy ourselves." - -And so they did. To be without Tom was like the enjoyment of the calm -which comes after a storm; and they, one and all, with the exception of -Flossie, enjoyed it to the full. Flossie was very much aggrieved at -being thus deprived of her playfellow. - -"It is too bad that Tom should have to go with Pa and Ma," she -complained. "He won't have a soul to speak to or a boy to play with, or -anything, except some stupid little French boy, perhaps, who can't speak -a word of anything but gibberish. I call it a beastly shame. I suppose -it's old Clark's doing, and that she was just afraid Tom would get an -extra good time while they were away. Nasty old cat!" - -"Miss Clark had no more to do with it than you had," May replied. "Ma -chose to take him, and that's enough." - -As Tom was actually gone, there was not the smallest use in grumbling. -So Flossie, thus left idle, turned her attention upon Sarah. It is -needless to say that very, very soon Flossie also began to tease her, -and, in consequence, Sarah's life became more or less of a burden to -her. In this way Sarah, who was a singularly uncomplaining child, crept -nearer and nearer to Miss Clark and May, as there she was safe from -Flossie's taunts and jeers; and it was in this way that some notice was -taken of her by one of the great lights of the Stubbs family, Mrs. -George Stubbs, the corn-factor's wife, who lived in great style at -Brighton. - -It happened that one morning Sarah and May were waiting for Miss Clark -to come out with the younger children, when Mrs. George came slowly -along in a bath-chair. As she passed by them she called to the man to -stop. "Dear me, is that you, May?" she remarked; "how you've grown. -Your papa and mamma came to see us the other day, but I was not at home. -I was out." - -"They have gone over to Dieppe," said May, "and Tom with them. This is -our cousin, Sarah, Aunt George." - -"Oh! is it? Yes, your mamma told me when she wrote last that she was -coming to live with you. How do you do, Sarah?" - -All this was uttered in a languid tone, as if, on the whole, life was -too much trouble to be lived at all. Sarah had met with nothing of this -kind in all her life before, and looked only impressed; in truth, she -looked a good deal more impressed than she was, or rather she looked -_differently_ impressed to what she was, and Mrs. George Stubbs was -pleased to be a little flattered thereby. - -"You must come and have tea with me," she observed graciously to May. -"I have not been able to get out except the day your mamma called--my -unfortunate neuralgia has been so very trying. You may bring Sarah. -Would you like to come to-night? - -"Very much indeed, thank you, Aunt George," responded May. - -"Very much indeed," echoed Sarah. - -"Your cousins are, of course, all at school in Paris, and your uncle is -in London, so we will have high tea at seven o'clock. Bring your music -with you." - -"Sarah plays the violin," said May, who hated playing in company -herself. "She plays it beautifully. She's going to have lessons." - -"Then bring your violin and let me hear you," said Mrs. George to Sarah; -"it is a most stylish instrument." - -"I will," said Sarah. - -"Oh, is Flossie to come, Aunt George?" asked May, as they shook hands. - -"Flossie? No. I can-_not_ do with Flossie," replied Mrs. George, in a -tone which was enough to remind May that the very last time they had -visited their aunt, Flossie had been clever enough to break a beautiful -Venetian glass, which was, as Mrs. George had remarked pathetically over -the fragments, simply of priceless value. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - SARAH MAKES AN IMPRESSION - - -"What a shame!" said Flossie, when she heard of the invitation. "Just -like the nasty old thing, to remember an accident that I couldn't help. -Not that I care! I shall enjoy myself far better at home"; and Flossie -caught hold of Minnie's arm, and stalked along the Parade as if she -cared so little that she did not want to hear any more about that great -lady, her Aunt George. - -"What did you think of her?" May asked of Sarah. - -"Is she very ill?" Sarah asked, thinking of the bath-chair and her -aunt's languid wrists and tones. - -"Ill?--no! Ma says she's a hy-po-chon-driac," returned May, pronouncing -the long word in syllables. "That's fancying yourself ill when you -ain't. See? But all the same, Aunt George is very stylish." - -"She's not half so nice as Auntie," Sarah flashed out. - -"No, she isn't! But she's a great deal stylisher than Ma is," May -returned. "Didn't you hear the way she told the man to go on? -'Go-on-Chawles!'" and May leant back on the seat, slightly waved a -languid hand, flickered her drooping eyelids, and gave a half-languid, -half-supercilious smile. - -It was a fine imitation of Mrs. George's _stylish_ airs, and Sarah was -lost in admiration of it. - -"I wonder," she remarked presently, after thinking the question over, "I -wonder if she eats her dinner like that; because, if she does, it must -generally get cold before she has half finished it." - -"Oh, Aunt's much too stylish to eat much," May explained. "She nibbles -at this and picks at that. You'll see to-night." - -And Sarah did see--saw that, in spite of her airs and her nibbling and -her picking, Mrs. George contrived to put a good meal out of -sight--quite as much as ever her sister-in-law could manage to do. That -evening was also a new experience to Sarah; it was so much more stately -than anything she had seen before. - -Mr. and Mrs. George Stubbs lived in a very large house in a large square -in the best part of Brighton. A resplendent footman received them when -they got out of the cab--yes, they had a cab, though it was only a short -way from their own house--and a solemn butler ushered them into Mrs. -George's presence. She wore a tea-gown of soft yellow silk, with a very -voluminous trailing skirt, and showers of white lace and broad yellow -ribbons about it. It was a garment that suited the languid air, the -quivering eye-lids, the weak wrists, and the soft, drawling voice to -perfection. - -The resplendent footman had relieved Sarah of her violin-case and -carried it upstairs for her. Mrs. George motioned to it as he announced -her visitors. "With great care, Chawles," and "Chawles" put it down on a -chair beside the inlaid grand piano as if it were a baby and might -squeal. - -[Illustration: "With great care, Chawles."] - -"How are you, dears?" Mrs. George said, giving each a limp and languid -hand. "How oppressive the evening is!" Then to "Chawles," "Let tea be -served." - -Very soon tea was announced, and they went downstairs. It was all new -to Sarah--the large, spacious dining-room, with its rich, costly -art-furniture; the pretty round table, with flowers and pretty-coloured -glasses, with quaint little figures holding trays of sweets or -preserves, or wheeling barrows of tiny ferns or miniature palms. - -And the board was well-spread, too. There was salmon, salad, and a -boiled chicken covered with white, frothy sauce. There was an aspic -jelly, with eggs and green peas, and certain dark things which May told -her afterwards were truffles; and there were several kinds of sweet -dishes, and more than one kind of wine. - -To Sarah it was a resplendent feast--as resplendent as the gorgeous -footman who stood midway between her chair and May's, only a little in -the rear; the solemn butler keeping guard over his mistress, whom he -served first, as if she had been a royal queen. - -"Now you shall play to me," Mrs. George said to Sarah, when they had got -back to the drawing-room again. - -Sarah rose obediently - -"What shall I play?" she asked. - -"What _can_ you play?" Mrs. George asked, in reply. - -"Oh, a great many things," Sarah said modestly. - -"Let Sarah play what she fancies," put in May, who had established -herself in a low, lounging chair, and was fanning herself with a fan she -had found on a table at hand with the closest imitation of Mrs. George -she could manage; "she always plays the best then." - -"Very well," Mrs. George said graciously. So Sarah began. - -She felt that in all her life before she had never played as she played -then. The influence of the luxurious meal of which they had just -partaken was upon her. The exquisite coloured glass, the sweet-scented -flowers, the smell of the fragrant coffee, the stately servants moving -softly about with quiet footsteps and smooth gestures, each and all had -made her feel calm and peaceful; and now the soft-toned drawing-room, -with its plush and lace hangings, its delicate china, its Indian -embroideries, and those two quiet figures lying back in the half light, -making no movement except the slow waving to and fro of their fans, -completed the influence. It was all food to Sarah's artistic soul, and -she made the Amati speak for her all that was passing through her mind. -Mrs. George was spell-bound. She actually forgot to fan herself in the -desire not to miss a single note. Nay, she did more, she forgot to be -languid, and sat bolt upright in her chair, her head moving to and fro -in time with Sarah's music. - -"Why, child, you are a genius!" she exclaimed, as Sarah came to a close -and turned her speaking eyes upon her for comment. - -"That's just what Papa said," put in May, adjusting her language to her -company. - -"If you go on--if you work," Mrs. George continued, "your violin will be -your fortune. You will be a great woman some day." - -Sarah's great eyes blazed at the thought of it; her heart began to beat -hard and fast. - -"Do you really think so, Aunt George?" she asked. - -"I really do. I am sure of it. But, child, your violin seems to me a -very good one. Where did you get it?" - -"Father gave it to me; it was his grandfather's," said Sarah, holding it -out for inspection. "It is an Amati." - -"It is worth five hundred pounds," said May, who was eminently -practical, and measured most things by a pounds, shillings, and pence -standard. - -"Of course--if it is an Amati," murmured Mrs. George, becoming languid -again. "But go on, my child. I should like a little more." - -So Sarah played and played until the room grew darker and darker, and -gradually the shadows deepened, until it was only by the lamps from the -square that she could distinguish the outlines of the figure in the -yellow sweeping robes. - -It was like a shock when the door was gently opened and the footman came -in, bearing a huge lamp with a crimson shade. Then the coffee followed, -and before very long one of the servants came back, and said that the -cab for the young ladies had come. - -"You have given me great pleasure," said Mrs. George to Sarah; "and when -Mrs. Stubbs comes back I must make an afternoon party, and Sarah shall -play at it. I have not been so pleased for a long time." And then she -kissed them both, and with "good-night" they left her. - -"Won't Ma be pleased!" remarked May, with great satisfaction, as they -drove along the Parade. "I shan't mind a bit her being vexed that -Flossie wasn't asked. Really, Sarah, I never saw Aunt George so excited -before. She's generally so die-away and all that." - -But Sarah was hardly listening, and not heeding at all. With her -precious Amati on her knee, she was looking away over the moonlit sea, -thinking of what her aunt had said to her. "If you go on--if you -work--your violin will be your fortune. You will be a great woman." - -"I will go on; I will work," she said to herself. "If I can be a great -woman, I will." - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE TURNING POINT OF HER LIFE - - -Mrs. George's opinion of Sarah's violin-playing proved to be the turning -point of her life as a violin-player. A few days later, when Mr. and -Mrs. Stubbs had returned from Dieppe, she gave a large afternoon -reception, to which Sarah took her violin, and played--her best. And the -visitors--elegant ladies and gentlemen--crowded round the child, and -would have turned her head with praises, had it not been such a sensible -little head that they had no sort of effect upon it. - -"They talked such a lot," she said to her aunt afterwards, "that I felt -frightened at first; but I found that they didn't really know much about -it, for one of my strings got flat, and they praised that more than -anything." - -But her aunt, Mrs. Stubbs, was proud enough and elated enough for a -dozen violin-players, and she stood beside Sarah, explaining who she was -and how she was going to have lessons from the best master they could -get, until Mrs. George felt sick to think that her grand friends should -know "that dreadful woman" was a relation of hers. - -"Sarah, my dear, Lady Golladay wishes you to play again. Something -pathetic." - -So Sarah tuned up again, and Mrs. Stubbs was silent. - -"She _can't_ talk when the child is playing," murmured Mrs. George to -her husband. "Do take her down to have some tea or something, and keep -her as long as you can--anything to keep her out of sight." - -"All right," he answered, and immediately that Sarah's melody came to an -end, followed by a burst of applause, he offered his arm to his -sister-in-law, and begged her to go with him and have some refreshments. - -This reception completely opened Mrs. Stubbs's eyes, and she went back -to London strangely impressed with a belief that Sarah was not only a -genius, but a new fashion. She gave a party, too--not an afternoon -party, for she wanted her husband to be there, and he was never at home -before six o'clock. No, it was not an afternoon, but an evening party, -at which the elder children were all present, and at which Sarah played. - -And then Sarah began with her violin lessons, and worked hard, very -hard. Mrs. George wrote from Brighton that she would provide all the -new music she required, and that her Uncle George enclosed a sovereign -for herself. - -So time went on. Sarah had two lessons a week, and improved daily in -her playing. Tom went back to school, and Johnnie with him, and -Flossie's turbulent spirit became a good deal subdued, though she never -forgot to keep Sarah reminded that she was "Princess Sarah of Nowhere." - -The weeks rolled into months, and months into years. Miss Clark went -away and got married--to May's mingled sorrow and delight, and to -Flossie's unfeigned and unutterable disgust--for Mrs. Stubbs chose a -lady to fill her place, who was what she called "a strict -disciplinarian," and Flossie had considerably less freedom and fun than -she had aforetime. For Miss Best had not only a strong mind and a -strong will, but also a remarkably strong body, and seemed able to be on -the alert at all times and seasons. She had, too, not the smallest -objection to telling tales in school or out of it. The slightest -infringement of her rules was visited with heavy punishment in the form -of extra lessons, and the least attempt to shirk them was reported to -headquarters immediately. In fact, Miss Best was a power, a power to be -felt and feared, and Flossie did both accordingly. - -Of all her pupils, Sarah was Miss Best's favourite. In her she -recognised the only worker. May was good-tempered, and possessed the -blessing of a placid and dignified disposition; but May's capacity for -learning was not great, and Miss Best soon found that it was no use -trying to drive her a shade faster along the royal road to knowledge. -She went at a willing jog-trot; she could not gallop because she had not -the power. With Flossie it was different. Flossie had brilliant -capacities which she would not use. Miss Best was determined that she -should use them and exert them. Flossie was equally determined that she -would not; and so for the first few months life in the Stubbs's -schoolroom was a hand-to-hand fight between Flossie and Miss Best; and -Miss Best came off winner. - -Yet, though she got the better of Flossie and made her work, she never -gave her the same place in her heart that she gave to Sarah, who worked -with all her heart and soul, because she was impressed with the idea -that if she only worked hard enough she might be a great woman one day. - -And as she was a favourite with Miss Best, so was she a favourite with -Signor Capri, the master who taught her the violin. He was quick to -recognise the true artist soul that dwelt within her, and gave her all -the help that lay in his power; in fact, Sarah was his favourite pupil, -his pet, and he put many chances of advancement toward her great -ambition in her way. - -[Illustration: Sarah was his favourite pupil.] - -For instance, many times he took her out with him to play at concerts -and private houses, so that she might grow accustomed to playing before -an audience of strangers and also that she might become known. - -And known very soon Sarah was, and welcomed to many a noble house for -the sake of the exquisite sounds she was able to draw from the strings -of the Amati. Besides that, Sarah was a very pretty child, and, as she -grew older, was an equally pretty girl. She never had that gawky -legginess which distinguishes so many girls in their teens--there was -nothing awkward about her, nothing rough or boisterous. All her -movements were soft and gentle; her voice was sweet, and her laugh very -musical, but not loud; and with her tall, slim figure, and the great, -grey, earnest eyes looking out from under the shining masses of sunny -hair, she was, indeed, an uncommon-looking girl, and a great contrast to -the young Stubbses, who were all short, and inclined to be stout, and -had twine-coloured hair, and pale, pasty complexions; though, in spite -of that, they all had, like their mother, a certain bonniness which made -them pleasant looking enough. - -Sarah had been nearly four years living at Jesamond Road, where Mrs. -Stubbs's home was, when May "came out." May was then nearly eighteen, -and just what she had been when Sarah first saw her--placid, -good-tempered, and obliging, not very quick in mind, nor yet in body; -willing to take advantage of every pleasure that came in her road, but -not willing to give herself the smallest trouble that other people might -have pleasure too. She was very different to Flossie, who was a regular -little spitfire, and had neither consideration for, nor fear of, -anything on earth, except Miss Best, whom she detested, but whom she -dared not openly defy; if she had dared, Flossie would have done it. - -As for Tom, he was beyond the control of anybody in that house, -excepting his father. He was wilder, rougher, more unmerciful, and more -impudent than ever; and whenever Tom's holidays drew near, Sarah used to -quake for fear lest her precious Amati should not survive the visit; and -invariably she carried it to the cupboard in Miss Best's room for -safety. Happily, into that room Master Tom did not presume to put even -so much as the tip of his nose. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - A BRILLIANT MARRIAGE - - -When May left the schoolroom behind her, Sarah found a great difference -in her life. In her placid, good-natured way, May had always been fond -of her, and had in a great measure stood between her and Flossie; but -Flossie, when she became the senior of the schoolroom, took every -opportunity she had of making the younger ones, particularly Sarah, -aware of that fact. - -Sarah was then nearly fourteen, and rather taller than Flossie, who was -turned sixteen; so, had she chosen to do so, she could easily have got -the best of her; but Sarah never forgot--never, indeed, was allowed to -forget--that she was not a daughter of the house, and was not, -therefore, free to fight and wrangle as much and as disagreeably as the -others allowed themselves to do. - -Very, very often, in those days, did she have the old taunt of Princess -Sarah thrown at her. "Oh! _Princess_ Sarah is quite too high and mighty -to quarrel over it. _Princess_ Sarah is going to do the mute martyr -style of thing." - -So Flossie would--though she did not know it--encourage her cousin to -work harder than ever, just by way of showing that she had something -more in her than to spend her life in bickering and snarling. Stay! I -do Sarah an injustice there--she was moved by another and a better -motive, both in trying to keep peace and in trying to get on with her -work, for she had always the grateful feeling, "It will please Auntie -so," and always a feeling that it was a slight return to her uncle's -wife if she bore Flossie's attentions without complaining. - -They did not see much of May; all day she was in the drawing-room with -her mother, if she was not out on some errand of pleasure. And at -night, when the schoolroom tea was over, she used to come down for a -minute and show herself, a vision of comeliness--for May was considered -a great beauty in the Stubbs' set--in white or roseate airy garments, -with hair crimpled and fluffy, feathers and flowers, fans and bangles, -pearls and diamonds, and all the other necessaries for a young lady of -fashion in her first season. - -Some time previously Mr. Stubbs had made his wife a present of an -elegant landau and a pair of high-stepping horses. But Flossie, to her -disgust, found that her drives were no more frequent than they had been -in the days of the one-horse "broom." Then her mother had not -unreasonably declared herself unable to bear the stuffiness of a -carriage full of people. Now May objected to any one going with them on -the score of her dress being crushed and the unpleasantness of "looking -like a family ark." - -They had become very gay. Scarcely a night passed but they went out to -some gay entertainment or other, and many parties were given at home, -when the elder of the younger members of the family had the pleasure of -participating in them. - -Flossie was terribly indignant at being kept at home that May might have -more room in the luxurious and roomy carriage. - -"Just you wait till I come out, Miss May." She said one day, "and then -see if your airs and graces will keep me in the background! The fact -is, you're afraid to show off against me; you know as well as I do that, -with all your fine dress and your finer airs, you are not half so much -noticed as I am! And as for that Sarah----" - -"Leave Sarah out of it!" laughed May; "she doesn't want to go." - -"I'd soon stop it if she did!" growled Flossie. - -It was really very hard, and Flossie thought and said so. But May was -inflexible, and long before Flossie was ready to come out May became -engaged to be married. - -It was a very brilliant marriage indeed, and the entire family were -wonderfully elated about it. True, the bridegroom was a good deal older -than May, and was pompous to a degree. But then he was enormously rich, -and had a great cheap clothes manufactory down the East End somewhere, -and could give May bigger diamonds than anybody they knew. He had, too, -a house in Palace Gardens and a retinue of silk-stockinged servants, in -comparison with whom Mrs. George's footman at Brighton was a mere -country clod. - -So in time May was married--married with such pomp and ceremony that -feelings seemed left out altogether, and if tender-hearted Mrs. Stubbs -shed a few tears at parting with the first of all her brood, they were -smothered among the billows of lace which bedecked her, and nobody but -herself was any the wiser. - -After this it became an established custom that Flossie should take -May's place in the carriage; and it was not long before she managed to -persuade her mother that it was time for her to throw off Miss Best's -yoke altogether, and go out as a young lady of fashion. - -Before very long Mrs. Stubbs began dearly to repent herself of her -weakness; for Flossie, with her emancipation, seemed to have left her -old self in the schoolroom, and to have taken up a new character -altogether. She became very refined, very fashionable, very elegant in -all her ideas and desires. - -"My mother really is a great trial to me," she said one day to Sarah. -"She's very good, and all that, you know; but she's so--well, there's no -sort of style about poor mother. And it is trying to have to take men -up and introduce them to her. And they look at her, don't you know, as -if she were something new, something strange--as if they hadn't seen -anything like her before. It's annoying, to say the least of it." - -"Well, if I were you," retorted Sarah hotly, "I should say to such -people, and pretty sharply, 'If my mother is not good enough for you, -why, neither am I.'" - -"But then, you see, I am," remarked Flossie, with ineffable conceit. - -"You don't understand what I mean," said Sarah, with a patient sigh. - -"_That's_ because you're so bad at expressing yourself, my dear," said -Flossie, with a fine air of condescension. "It all comes out of -shutting yourself up so much with that squeaking old violin of yours. I -can't think why you didn't go in for the guitar--it's such a pretty -instrument to play, and it backs up a voice so well." - -"But I haven't got a voice," cried Sarah, laughing. - -"Oh, _that_ doesn't matter. Lady Lomys hasn't a voice either, but she -sings everywhere--everywhere." - -"Where did you hear her?" Sarah asked. - -"Oh, well, I haven't heard her myself," Flossie admitted; "but then, -that's what _everybody_ says about Lady Lomys." - -"Oh! I see," murmured Sarah, not at all impressed by the mention of her -ladyship's accomplishments. - -It happened not very long after this that the Stubbses gave a ball--not -just a dance, but a regular ball, with every available room in the house -cleared and specially decorated, with the balconies covered in with -awnings, and with every window and chimney-shelf, every fireplace and -corner, filled with banks of flowers or stacks of exquisite palms or -ferns. The entire house looked like fairyland, and Mrs. Stubbs went to -and fro like a substantial fairy godmother, who was not quite sure how -her charms were going to work. - -May came, with her elderly husband, from her great mansion in Palace -Gardens, wearing a white velvet gown and such a blaze of diamonds that -the mind refused to estimate their real value, and ran instinctively to -paste. And Mrs. George, who was in town for "the season," came with her -daughters, and languidly patronised everything but those diamonds, which -she cheapened at once as being a little "off colour" and a "trifle -overdone." Mrs. George herself had put on every single stone she was -possessed of--even to making use of her husband's breast-pin to fasten a -stray end of lace on the bosom of her gown; but that, of course, had -nothing really to do with her remarks on her niece's taste--oh, no! - -Flossie had a new dress for the occasion, of course; and she had coaxed -a beautiful diamond arrow out of her father on some pretext or other. -Sarah thought she had never seen her look so charming before, and she -told her so; it was with a smile and a conscious toss of her head that -Flossie received the information, and looked at herself once more in the -glass of her wardrobe. - -As she stood there, with Sarah, in a simple white muslin gown, watching -her, a maid entered with a large white cardboard box. - -"For Miss Flossie," she said. - -The box contained a beautiful bouquet of rare and fragrant hothouse -flowers, and attached to the stem was a small parcel. The parcel proved -to contain a superb diamond bangle, and Flossie went proudly downstairs, -wearing it upon her arm. - -And that night it crept out among the young ones in the Stubbs' -schoolroom that Flossie was going to be married. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - A FAMILY CATASTROPHE - - -I am bound to say that Flossie's brothers and sisters (and Sarah) -received the news of her approaching departure from her father's roof -with unmixed feelings. Not a drop of sorrow was there to mar the cup of -joy which the occasion presented to every one. Not a regret at the -blank her going would cause leavened the general satisfaction at her -happiness. And Flossie herself was the least sorrowful, the least -regretful, and the most satisfied of all. - -Like May, she was marrying well--that is to say, she was marrying money. -But, unlike May's husband, who was old, her future lord and master was -young--only five years older than herself. It is true he was not much -to look at; but then, as Mrs. Stubbs remarked to her husband, that was -Flossie's business. It was equally true that he was reputed to be a -young scamp, with an atrocious temper; but then, as Tom said, that was -Flossie's look-out, and decidedly Flossie was not without little -failings of that kind--though why, if one bad-tempered person decides -upon marrying another bad-tempered person, it is generally considered by -the world to be all right, because the one is as bad to get on with as -the other, it would be hard to say; perhaps it is on the principle of -two negatives making an affirmative, or in the belief that two wrongs -will make eventually a right; I cannot say. But, odd as it is, that is -the very general opinion. - -The engagement was an unusually short one. Indeed, the bride had barely -time to get her things ready by the day, and a great part of her -trousseau was not able to be ready before her return from her honeymoon. -But still they never seemed to think of putting off the wedding for a -single day, although it was fixed to take place just six weeks from the -day of the ball, when the engagement had begun. - -It seemed to Sarah, well used as she had become to seeing liberal -expenditure, that at this time the entire family seemed to be spending -money like water! May's wedding had been a very grand one, but -Flossie's outshone it in every way--in the number of the bridesmaids, in -the number of the guests, in the number of the carriages, and the -servants, and the flowers, in the splendour of the presents and the -dresses of the trousseau, nay, in the very length of the bride's train. - -The presents were gorgeous! Mr. Stubbs gave his daughter a gold-mounted -dressing-case and a cheque for a thousand pounds; Mrs. Stubbs gave a -diamond star, and May a necklace of such magnificence that even Flossie -was astounded when she saw it. - -So Flossie became Mrs. Jones, and passed away from her old home; and -when it was all over, and the tokens of the great feast and merry-making -had been cleared away, the household for a few days settled down into -comparative quietude. - -Only for a few days, however. With the exception of Sarah, who was too -deeply engrossed in her work to care much for passing pleasures, the -entire family seemed to have caught a fever of restlessness and love of -excitement. After ten days the bride and bridegroom returned, and there -were great parties to welcome them. Every day there seemed some reason -why they should launch out a little further, and yet a little further, -and instead of the family being less expensive now that two daughters -were married, the general expenditure was far more lavish than it had -ever been before. They had a second man-servant and another maid, and -then they found that it was impossible to get on any longer without a -second "broom" horse for night-work. - -They did, indeed, begin to talk about leaving Jesamond Road, and going -into a larger house. The boys--Tom was just seventeen, and Johnnie only -fifteen--wanted a billiard-room, and Minnie wanted a boudoir, and Mr. -Stubbs wanted a larger study, and Mrs. Stubbs wanted a double hall. That -change, however, was never made, although Mrs. Stubbs and Minnie had -seen and set their hearts upon a mansion in Earl's Court at a modest -rental of five hundred a year, which they thought quite a reasonable -rent--for one awful night the senior clerk came tearing up to the door -in a cab, with the horse all in a lather and his own face like chalk, -and asked for the master. - -[Illustration: And asked for the master.] - -The master and mistress were just going out to a great dinner-party at -the house of Mrs. Giath, their eldest daughter, in Palace Gardens, but -Mr. Stubbs came down and saw him in the study. They were shut up there -together for some time, until Mrs. Stubbs grew impatient, and knocked -several times at the door, with a reminder that they would be very late, -and that May would not like to be kept waiting. And at last Mr. Stubbs -opened the door and came out. - -"Get my coat, James," he said to the servant; then, as he buttoned it, -added, "Mr. Senior will have a glass of wine and a biscuit before he -goes. Good-night, Senior. See you in the morning." - -"Lor, Pa!" exclaimed Mrs. Stubbs, as they rolled away from the door, "I -thought something was the matter." - -"No, my dear, only some important business Senior thought I ought to -know about," he answered; and Mr. Stubbs that evening was the very light -and life of his daughter's party. - -But in the morning the crash came! Not that he was there to see it, -though; for just as they reached home again, and he passed into his own -house, Mr. Stubbs reeled and fell to the ground in all the hideousness -of a severe paralytic seizure. - -Nor did he ever, even partially, recover his senses; before the day was -done he had gone out of the sea of trouble which overwhelmed him, to -answer for his doings before a high and just tribunal, which, let us -hope, would give him a more merciful judgment than he would have found -in this world. - -Mrs. Stubbs was broken-hearted and inconsolable. "If he had only been -spared for a bit," she sobbed to her married daughters, who came to her -in her trouble; "but to be taken sudden like that! oh, it is 'ard--it -is 'ard." - -"Poor Pa," murmured May; "he was so active, he couldn't have borne to be -ill and helpless, as he would have been if he'd lived. I wouldn't fret -so, if I were you, Ma, dear, I really wouldn't." - -"There's nothing dishonourable," Mrs. Stubbs sobbed; "all's gone, but -your poor Pa's good name's 'ere still. I do thank 'eaven for that--yes, -I do." - -"H'm! If Pa'd been half sharp," Flossie remarked, "he'd have taken care -there was something left." - -"He's left his good name and his good deeds behind him--that's better -than mere money," said Sarah softly, holding her aunt's hand very -tightly in both of hers. - -"Oh, well, as to that, Sarah," said Flossie, "of course it isn't likely -_you'll_ blame Pa for being so lavish as he was; dressed just the same -as us, and expensive violin lessons twice a week, and all that." - -Mrs. Stubbs and May both cried out upon Flossie for her words. - -"Cruel, cruel!" Mrs. Stubbs exclaimed; "when you've had every lux'ry you -could wish, to blame your poor Pa for his charity before he's laid in -his grave. I'm ashamed of you, Flossie, I am!" And then she hid her -face on Sarah's slim young shoulder, and broke into bitter sobs and -tears. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - A CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES - - -When her husband's affairs were all investigated and arranged, it was -found, to Mrs. Stubbs's great joy, that matters were scarcely quite so -bad as had at first been anticipated. True everything--or what she -called everything--was gone; but no stain was there to sully a name -which had always been held among City men as a blameless and honourable -one. - -The actual cause of the crash had been the failure of a large bank, -which had ruined two important houses with which the firm of Stubbs & -Co. had very large dealings; these houses were unable to pay their debts -to Stubbs & Co.; and Stubbs & Co., having been living in great -extravagance up to the last penny which could be squeezed out of the -business, were not able to stand the strain of the unexpected losses. - -But when everything was arranged, it was found that, with careful -nursing and management, the business could be carried on for the benefit -of the children until such time as the boys should be of an age to take -the management of it themselves. Meanwhile, the trustees took Tom away -from the expensive public school at which he was at the time of his -father's death, and, instead of sending him to Oxford, as his father -intended to have done a few months later, put him into the clerks' -department of a large mercantile house, where they made him work--as Tom -himself said indignantly--as if he were a mere under-clerk at a few -shillings a week. - -It happened that the trustees were both bachelors, who understood the -management of a large and expensive household just about as well as they -sympathised with the desire for social prominence. Therefore, they -believed themselves to be doing a really generous and almost unheard-of -action when they agreed to allow Mrs. Stubbs three hundred a year out of -the proceeds of the business. "And the lad will have his pound a week," -they said to one another, as a further proof of their consideration for -their old friend's widow. - -But to Mrs. Stubbs it seemed as if the future was all so black that she -could not even see where she was to get food for herself and her -children. Poor soul! she had forgotten what the old friends of her dead -husband remembered only too well--the days when she had run up and down -stairs after her mother's lodgers, of whom poor John Stubbs was one. On -the whole, it is pretty certain that we rise much more easily than we -fall. We find climbing up much easier than we find slipping down. And -Mrs. Stubbs had got so used to spending twice three thousand a year, -that to her a descent to three hundred seemed but very little better -than the workhouse. - -"A nice little 'ouse at Fulham!" she exclaimed, when Flossie tried to -paint such a home in glowing colours. "You know I never could a-bear -little 'ouses. Besides, 'ow am I to get them all into a nice little -'ouse? There's Sarah and me----" - -"Oh, Sarah first, of course!" snapped Flossie. - -"For shame, Flossie; you seem as if you don't know how to be mean enough -to Sarah. I said 'er name first because she's my right 'and just now, -and I lean on her for everything. There's Sarah and me, and Tom and -Johnnie, and there's Minnie, and Janey, and Lily--that's seven. 'Ow am -I to put seven of us away in what you call a nice little 'ouse?" - -"Why, you'll have five bedrooms," Flossie cried. - -"And where are the servants to go?" Mrs. Stubbs demanded. "Oh, I -suppose I'm to do without a servant at all!" - -"Well, I shouldn't think you'll want more than one," returned Flossie, -who had six. - -Mrs. Stubbs rocked herself to and fro in the depth of her misery and -despair. - -"And what's to become of me when Lily comes of age?" she cried. - -For, by Mr. Stubbs's will, the business was to be carried on for the -benefit of his children until the youngest should come of age, when the -two boys were to have it as partners. - -He had believed his wife and children were safely provided for out of -his property, which had nothing to do with the business, of which Mrs. -Stubbs was to take half absolutely, and the other half was to go equally -among the children. Every penny of this had, however, been swallowed up -by the losses which had in reality killed him; so that, though there was -a provision for the children, Mrs. Stubbs was, except through the favour -of the trustees, absolutely unprovided for. - -"Oh, well, it's a good long time till then," Flossie returned coldly. -"And really, Ma, I do think it's ungrateful of you to make such a fuss, -when things might be so different. Just supposing, now, May and I -weren't married; you might grumble then." - -"I 'aven't as much," Mrs. Stubbs cried, "to bring up five children on as -you and May each 'ave to dress on." - -"Perhaps not; but then, we have to go into a great deal of society; and -look what that costs," Flossie retorted. "Any way, Mr. Jones is too -much disgusted at all this happening just now to let me help you. And -as for my allowance, I have to pay my maid out of it, so I really don't -see that you can expect me to do anything for you." - -"I don't think Auntie wants you to do anything for her; I'm sure she -doesn't expect it," put in Sarah, who was so utterly disgusted that she -could keep silence no longer, though she had determined not to speak at -all. - -"Well, Sarah, I really can't see what occasion there is for you to put -your word in," said Mrs. Jones, with an air of dignity. "We have heard -a great deal about what you were going to do; perhaps now you will do -it, and let us see whether the princess is going to turn out a real -princess after all or not." - -For a moment Sarah looked at her with such utter disdain in her grey -eyes that the redoubtable Flossie fairly quailed beneath her gaze. - -"I am going always to treat my dear aunt with the respect and love she -deserves, Flossie," she said gravely; "and, even if I prove an utter -failure in every other way, you might still take a lesson from me with -great improvement to yourself." - -"Oh, you think so, do you?" sneered Flossie. - -"Yes, I do," said Sarah promptly. - -"Then let me tell you, Miss Sarah Gray, that I think your tone and -manner exceedingly impertinent and familiar. In future, call me Mrs. -Jones, if you please, and try if you can remember to keep your place." - -"Mrs. Jones, I will; and do you remember to keep yours," Sarah replied; -"and do you remember, too, that you need not insult my aunt any -further." - -"I shall speak as I like to my own mother," Flossie cried furiously. - -Sarah opened her eyes wide. - -"If I do put you out of the house, Mrs. Jones," she said, speaking with -ominous calmness, "I may be a little rough with you." And then the door -opened, and May came languidly in. - -"What _is_ the matter?" she cried. "Flossie, is that you--at it again? -Do go away, please. I am not well. I came to have a little talk to Ma, -and I can't bear quarrelling. Do go away, Flossie, I beg." - -"That Sarah has insulted me," Flossie gasped--but May was remarkably -unsympathetic. - -"Oh, I've no doubt--a very good thing, too, for you've insulted her ever -since you first saw her. Do go away. I'm sure I shall faint. I never -could bear wrangling and fighting; and poor Pa's going off like that has -upset me so--I just feel as if I could burst out crying if any one -speaks to me." - -On this, Flossie, finding that May was unmistakably preparing herself -for a nice comfortable faint, went stormily away, and rolled off in her -grand carriage, looking like a thunder-cloud. May recovered -immediately. - -"I really don't envy Flossie's husband the rest of his life," she -remarked. "What a comfort she has gone away! Well, Ma, dear, I came in -to have a quiet talk with you, and that tiresome girl has upset you. I -would not take any notice if I were you, dear. I don't suppose Flossie -means it. But she is so impetuous, and she's so jealous of Sarah. I'm -sure I don't know what you ever did to upset her, Sarah; but you and I -were always the best of friends." - -"The best of friends, May," said Sarah; then bent down and kissed her -cousin's soft ungloved hand. "I didn't mean to speak, not to say a -word--but she was so unkind to poor Auntie--and, May, it is hard on -Auntie after all this"--looking round the room--"and her beautiful -carriages and horses, and her kind husband who was so fond of her, to -have just three hundred a year to keep five children on. It is hard." - -Poor Mrs. Stubbs broke down and began to sob instantly. "Sarah puts it -all so beautifully," she said. "That's just as it was--your poor -Pa--and----" but then she stopped, unable to go on, choked by her tears. - -"Now, Ma, dear, don't," May entreated; "we don't know why everything is. -It might have been worse, you know, dear; just think, if you'd had -Flossie at home." - -"Ah! it is a comfort to me to think Flossie is married," said Mrs. -Stubbs, drying her eyes; "she's never been like a child to me." - -"And there might have been nothing, you know; after all there is -something, and you'll be able to keep them all together. I shall help -you all I can, Ma, dear; you know I shall do that! And if I can't do -much else, I can take you for drives, and see if I can't help Minnie to -get married. You'll think it queer, Ma, dear, that I'm not just able to -say 'I'll give you a cheque for a hundred now and then.' But I can't. -Life isn't all roses for me either. Of course I have a grand house in -Palace Gardens, and diamonds, and carriages, and all that; but Mr. Giath -doesn't give me much money; he isn't like poor dear Pa. Of course he -made a very big settlement--Pa insisted on that--but only at his death. -I don't get it now, and he pays my dress bills himself; and," with a -sob, "I don't find it all roses to be an old man's darling. But I don't -want to trouble you with all that, Ma, dear; you've got enough troubles -and worries of your own. But you'll understand just how it is, won't -you, dear? And, of course, there'll be many little ways that I shall be -able to help you." - -"Well, I have got my troubles," said Mrs. Stubbs, drying her eyes, and -looking at her daughter's pretty flushed face; "but others has them as -well. You were always my right 'and, May, from the time you was a -little girl in short petticoats; and you're more comfort to me now than -all my other children put together, all of them. Flossie's been 'ere -turning up her nose at her mother and insulting Sarah shameful; and -Tom's grumbling all day long at what he calls his 'beggarly screw'; and -saying it won't pay for 'is cigars and cabs and such-like; and Minnie's -been crying all this morning because it's her birthday and nobody's -remembered it; and, really, altogether I feel as if it wouldn't take -much more to send me off my head altogether." - -"But I did remember it," cried May; "I've brought her a birthday -present, poor child." - -"I'm sure it is good of you, May," poor Mrs. Stubbs cried. "Minnie 'll -be a bit comforted now. You know it is 'ard on her, for we used to make -so much of birthdays. But neither she nor the little ones ever seem to -think of what they've 'ad--and no more I do myself for that matter--only -of what they 'aven't got. 'Pon my word, there is but one in the 'ouse -to-day who hasn' 'ad their grumble over something or other, and that's -Sarah." - -Sarah laughed as she patted her aunt's fat hand. "I've got something -else to do just now, Auntie," she said bravely. "I've got to put my -shoulder to the wheel now. I've been riding on the top of the wagon all -along." - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - SARAH'S OPPORTUNITY - - -A few days later they made the move to the little house at Fulham, -which, in poor lavish Mrs. Stubbs's eyes, was but a degree better than a -removal to the workhouse. - -But Sarah--who somehow seemed to have naturally the management of -everything--worked like a slave to get everything into good order before -her aunt should set foot in the place at all. She turned the house in -Jesamond Road out that she might take the prettiest and most suitable -things for the little Queen Anne box to which they were going, and, with -the help of Johnnie and the new servant, succeeded in having everything -in perfect order by the time of Mrs. Stubbs's arrival. - -But it was very, very small. Mrs. Stubbs looked hopelessly at the -narrow passage and the narrower doorways when she entered, sobbed as she -recognised one article of furniture after another, or missed such as -Sarah had not thought it wise or in good taste to bring. - -"Oh, dear, dear! I ought to think it all very pretty and nice," she -wailed; "I left it all to you, Sarah, and I know you've done your -best--I know it; but I _did_ think I should have been able to keep my -own inlaid market writing-table that Stubbs gave me on my last -wedding-day--I did." - -"Dear Auntie, you shall have it," Sarah explained, soothingly. "I -couldn't get you to choose just what you would have, and I had to be -guided by size a good deal. But we can fetch the table easily enough; -it will stand here in the window beautifully, and just finish off the -room nicely." - -"Flossie says she'll not be able to come and see us very often." Mrs. -Stubbs wandered off again. "She says it knocks the carriage about so, -coming down these new neighbourhoods. Ah, _I_ never used to think of my -carriages before my relations, never!" - -"Flossie will have more sense by-and-by," said Sarah, who had but small -patience with Mrs. Jones's airs and graces. - -Poor Sarah was so tired of Flossie and her airs! To her mind, she was -hardly worth a moment's consideration or regret; to her she was just an -ungenerous, self-sufficient, very vulgar and heartless young person, who -would have been more in her place had she been scrubbing floors or -washing dishes than she was, or ever would be, riding in her own -carriage behind a pair of high-stepping horses that had cost four -hundred guineas. - -"Don't think about Flossie at all, dear," she said to her aunt. "Some -day she'll be sorry for all that has happened lately; perhaps some day -she may have trouble herself, and then she will understand how unkind -she has been to you. But May is always sweet and good, though she is -tied up by that horrid old man, and can't help you as she would like; -and the little ones are different--they would never hurt your feelings -willingly." - -Poor Mrs. Stubbs shook her head sadly. She had said nothing to Sarah, -for a wonder--for as a rule she carried all her troubles to her--but -only that morning Tom had flung off to "his beastly office" in a rage, -because she had not been able to give him a sovereign and had suggested -that the pound a week he was receiving ought to be more than enough for -his personal expenses; and Minnie had pouted and cried because she could -not have a pair of new gloves; and the little ones had looked at her in -utter dismay because there was not a fresh pot of jam for their -breakfast. Perhaps Mrs. Stubbs felt that Sarah was young, and must not -be disheartened when she was doing her best; I know not. Any way, she -kept these things to herself, and after shaking her head as a sort of -tribute to her troubles, promised that she would try to make herself -happy in her new home. - -And then Sarah felt herself at liberty to go and pay a visit to Signor -Capri, her violin master, one she had been wishing to pay ever since her -uncle's death. She went at a time when she knew he would be alone, and -indeed she found him so. - -"Ah, my little Sara!" he cried; "I was hoping to see you again soon. -And tell me, you have lost the good uncle, eh?" - -"Yes, Signor," she answered, and briefly told him all the story of her -uncle's misfortune and death. "And now," she ended, "I want to make -money. They have done everything for me; now I want to do something for -them. Can you help me?" - -[Illustration: "They have done everything for me; now I want to do -something for them. Can you help me?"] - -"You are a brave child!" the violin-master cried; "and God has given you -the rarest of all good gifts--a grateful heart. I think I can help you; -I think so. Only this morning I had a letter from a friend who is -arranging a concert tour; he has first-rate _artistes_, and he wants a -lady violinist." - -"Me!" cried Sarah excitedly. - -"But," said the maestro, raising his hand, "he does not give much -money." - -"But it would be a beginning," she broke in. - -"He gives six pounds a week." - -"I'll go!" Sarah cried. - -"Then we will go and see him at once; I have an hour to spare," said the -Italian kindly. - -Well, before that hour was ended, Sarah had engaged herself to go on a -twelve weeks' tour, at a salary of six pounds a week and her travelling -expenses; and before ten days more had gone over her head, she had set -off on her travels in search of fame and fortune. - -Flossie's remarks were very pious. "I'm sure, Sarah," she said, setting -her rich folds of crape and silk straight, "I am heartily glad to find -that you have so much good feeling as to wish to relieve poor Ma of the -expense of keeping you. How much happier you will be to feel you are no -longer a burden on anybody! There's nothing like independence. I'm -sure every time I think of poor Ma, I say to myself, 'Thank Heaven, -_I'm_ no burden upon her!" - -"That must be a great comfort to you, I'm sure, Flossie," said Sarah -gravely. - -"Yes; I often tell Mr. Jones so. And what salary are you going to have, -Sarah?" - -"Enough to help my aunt a little," replied Sarah coldly. - -"Well, really, I can't see why you need be so close about it," Flossie -observed, "nor why you should want to help Ma. I'm sure she'll have -enough to live very comfortably, only, of course, she must be content to -live a little less extravagantly than she did before. I do believe," -she added, with a superb air, "in people being content and happy with -what they have; it's so much more sensible than always pining after what -they haven't got. By the bye, Sarah, we are going to have a -dinner-party to-morrow night; I couldn't ask Ma because of her mourning, -but if you like to come in in the evening, and bring your violin, we -shall be very pleased, I'm sure." - -"If you like to ask me as a professional, and pay my fee," began Sarah -mischievously. - -"Pay your fee! Well, I never! To your own cousin, and when you owe us -so much!" Flossie exclaimed. - -"I don't think I owe _you_ anything, Flossie, not even civility or -kindness," said Sarah coldly; but Mrs. Jones had flounced away in a -huff. - -"Such impudence!" as she said to her husband afterwards. - -Well, Sarah went off on her tour, and won a fair amount of -success--enough to make her manager anxious to secure her for the -following winter on the same terms. But Sarah had promised Signor Capri -to do nothing without his knowledge, and he wrote back, "Wait! Before -next winter you may be famous." - -But the months passed over, and still fame had not come, except in a -moderate degree. The manager was very glad to take Sarah on tour again -at a salary advanced to seven pounds a week instead of six, and Sarah -was equally glad to go. - -In the meantime, she had made a good deal of money by playing at private -houses and at concerts. She had taken a well-earned holiday to the -Channel Islands, and had given her aunt and the little ones a very good -time there, all out of her own pocket, and had added a very liberal sum -to the housekeeping purse of the little Queen Anne house at Fulham. - -Twice she had dined with the Giaths in Palace Gardens, and had taken her -violin because May had not asked her to do so. And more than once she -had been asked to go in the evening to grace the rooms of Mrs. Jones--an -honour which she persistently declined. - -So time went on, and Sarah worked late and early, hoping, longing, -praying to be one day a great woman. - -Thus several years went by, and at last there came a glad and joyous day -when she received a command to play at a State concert--a day when she -woke to find herself looked upon as one of the first violinists of the -age. It was wonderful, then, how engagements crowded in upon her; how -she was sought out, flattered, and made much of; how even the -redoubtable Flossie was proud to go about saying that she was Miss -Gray's cousin. - -Not that she ever owned it to Sarah; but Sarah heard from time to time -that Mrs. Jones had spread the fact of the relationship abroad. The -object of Flossie's life now seemed to be to get Sarah to play at her -house; for, as she explained to her mother and May--now a rich young -widow--"Of course it looks odd to other people that they never see Sarah -at my house, and I don't wish to do Sarah harm by saying that I don't -care to have her there. But sometimes when she's staying with you, May, -you might bring her." - -"I don't think she would come," laughed May. "You see, you sat upon -Sarah so frightfully when she wasn't anybody in particular, that now, -when she is somebody of more consequence than all the lot of us put -together, she naturally doesn't feel inclined to have anything to do -with you. I know I shouldn't." - -"And Lady Bright asked particularly if she was going to play on the -9th," said Flossie, with a rueful face, and not attempting to deny the -past in any way. - -"And what did you say?" - -"I said I hoped so." - -"Oh, well, that will be all the same. Lady Bright will understand after -a time that 'Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.'" May laughed. "And -perhaps it will be as well to remember in future that ugly ducklings may -turn out swans some day, and that if they do, they are sometimes -painfully aware of the fact that some people would have kept them -ducklings for ever. You see, you and Tom, who is more horrid now even -than he was as a boy--yes, I see you agree with me--gave her the name of -Princess Sarah! She has grown up to the name, that is all." - - THE END - - - - - - -Miss Mignon - - -It was a week before Christmas. There were no visitors at Ferrers -Court, although a couple of days later the great hall would be filled to -overflowing with a happy, light-hearted set of people, all bent, as they -always were at Ferrers Court, on enjoying themselves to the uttermost. - -The weather was cold and cheerless, though not cold enough to stop the -hunting, and Captain Ferrers had been absent all day, and might now come -home at any moment. Mrs. Ferrers was, in fact, rather putting on the -time, hoping he might return before Browne brought in the tea. The -children meantime were clamouring loudly for a story. - -"A story?" said Mrs. Ferrers doubtfully; she never thought herself very -good at story-telling, and often wondered that the children seemed to -like hearing her so much. - -"Yes, a story," cried three or four fresh young voices in a breath. - -"I'm afraid I've told you _all_ my stories," Mrs. Ferrers said -apologetically. "And I have told them all so many times." - -"Tell us about Mignon," cried Maud, for Mignon, their half-sister, was -still their favourite heroine. - -Mrs. Ferrers pondered for a moment. "I don't believe," she remarked, -"that I have ever told you about Mignon being lost." - -"Mignon--lost!" cried Maud. "Oh! never." - -"Lost!" echoed Pearl. "And where was she lost, Mother?" - -"Tell us," cried Bertie. - -"Yes; do tell us," echoed Cecil. - -"Tell us," cried Madge and Baby in the same breath. - -So Mrs. Ferrers gathered her thoughts together and began. - -"It was when Pearl was about four months old"--at which Pearl drew -herself up and looked important, as if she, too, had had a share in the -adventure--"we went to London for the season. That was in April. We -had not the house we have now, for that was let for a term, so your -father took a house near the top of Queen's Gate." - -"That's where the memorial is," said Pearl. "I know." - -"Yes; we know," echoed Maud. - -"Well, Humphie, who had attended Mignon ever since she was a year old, -had, of course, the entire care of Pearl, and I engaged a very nice -French maid--half-maid, half-nurse--for Mignon. She was under Humphie, -of course, but she had to take Mignon out--not very often, for she was -accustomed to going out a great deal with your father--and to dress her, -and so on. - -"Well, one day your father and I were going to a large afternoon party -where we couldn't very well take Mignon. We stayed rather late, rushed -back and dressed and went to a dinner-party, not really having time to -see the children at all. We had a party or two later on, but to them we -never went, for just as we ladies were going through the hall on our way -up into the drawing-room, I caught sight of Browne at the door of the -inner hall. I turned aside at once. - -"'Is anything the matter, Browne?' I asked. Indeed, I saw by his white -face that something dreadful had happened. - -[Illustration: "'Is anything the matter, Brown?'" (Page 141)] - -"'Oh, yes, ma'am, something dreadful!' he answered. 'I scarcely know -how to tell you. Miss Mignon is lost.' - -"'Miss Mignon lost, Browne! What do you mean?' I said. 'How can she be -lost?' - -"'I only know she is,' he said, in a shaking voice. 'That silly idiot -Hortense went out with her about three o'clock, with orders to go into -the Park. She--this is her story, I cannot vouch for the truth of it, -ma'am--she admits that she took her first to look at the shop-windows in -the High Street, and that then she thought she would like to go into the -Gardens, and that while there she fell asleep. The afternoon being so -warm, she sat on a bench asleep till half-past five, and when she woke -up with a start, feeling very shivery and cold--and serve her right, -too!--Miss Mignon was gone; there was not a trace of her to be seen.' - -"'If the silly creature had come straight home,' Browne went on, -'something might have been done; but instead of doing that, she must go -into hysterics--with nobody to see her, even!--and then go crying about -from one gate to the other, wandering about, as if Miss Mignon would be -likely to be sitting on the edge of the pavement waiting for her. At -last--I suppose when she began to get hungry'--Browne went on savagely, -'she bethought herself of coming home, and there she landed herself at -nine o'clock, and has been steadily going out of one faint into another -ever since. I have sent James round to the police station,' he said, -'but I thought I had better come straight away and fetch you, ma'am.' - -"Well," Mrs. Ferrers went on, "I said good-night to our hostess and sent -for your father, and we went back at once. We were five miles from -home, and it was half-past eleven when we got there. And there was no -trace of Mignon. James had taken a cab and gone round to all the police -stations within reach of the house, and Humphie was waiting for us, -shaking like a leaf and as white as death, and at the sight of us -Hortense went off into wild hysterics again and shrieked till--till--I -could have shaken her," Mrs. Ferrers ended severely. - -"Well, your father and I just stood and looked at one another. 'Where -can she be?' I said. 'Can't you get any information out of Hortense? -Surely the woman must know where she was last with her.' - -"But, as your father said, the Gardens were all deserted and closed -hours ago. She was not at all likely to be there. Almost without doubt -she had strayed out into the busy street, had then found herself in a -strange neighbourhood, and--and I simply shuddered to think what might -have happened to her after that. - -"For the time we were helpless; we did not know, we could not think what -to do next. A policeman came up from the nearest station as we stood -considering what we should do. But he had no news; he shook his head at -my eager inquiry. 'No, madam,' he said, 'I'm sorry we have no news of -the little lady; but we telegraphed to all the stations near, but no -lost child has been brought in. She must have fallen in with some -private person.' - -"As you may imagine," Mrs. Ferrers went on, "I felt dreadfully -blank--indeed, your father and I simply stood and looked at one another. -What should we, what could we do next? To go out and search about the -streets at nearly midnight would be like looking for a needle in a truss -of hay--we could not send a crier out with a bell--we were at our wits' -end. Indeed, it seemed as if we could do nothing but wait till morning, -when we might advertise. - -"Then just as the policeman was turning away, another policeman came and -knocked at the door. A little girl had been taken into the police -station at Hammersmith, a pretty fair-haired child about six years old, -who did not know where she lived, and could not make the men there -understand who she was. - -"'That's not Miss Mignon,' cried Humphie indignantly; 'Miss Mignon knows -perfectly well who she is and who she belongs to. That's never Miss -Mignon.' - -"'Ah, well, Humphie,' said your father, 'Miss Mignon has never been lost -at dead of night before; it's enough to frighten any child, and though -she's as quick as a needle, she's only a baby after all.' - -"The carriage was still at the door, and we went down as quickly as the -horses could go to Hammersmith, feeling sure that we should find Mignon -there, frightened and tired, but safe. And when we got there the child -wasn't Mignon at all, but a little, commonly-dressed thing who didn't -seem even to know what her name was. However, its mother came whilst we -were there, and scolded her properly for what she called 'running away.' - -"I couldn't help it," Mrs. Ferrers went on. "I was in such trouble, -wondering what had got Mignon, and I just spoke to her straight. 'Oh,' -I said, 'you ought only to be thankful your little girl is safe and -sound, and not be scolding the poor little frightened thing like that. -How can your speak to her so?' - -"'Well,' she said, 'if you had seven of them always up to some mischief -or other, and you'd been running about for hours till you were fit to -drop, and you hadn't a carriage to take her home in, I daresay you'd -feel a bit cross, too.' - -"And I felt," Mrs. Ferrers went on reflectively, "that there was a great -deal in what she said. They didn't live more than a mile off, and it was -our way back, so we drove them home, and the little girl went to sleep -on her mother's knee; and I told her what trouble we were in about -Mignon. She was quite grateful for the lift, and I promised to let her -know if we found Mignon all right. - -"Well, we reached home again, and there wasn't a sign of Mignon -anywhere. With every moment I got more and more uneasy, for Mignon was -turned six years old, and was well used to going about and seeing -strange people. I knew she wasn't a child to get nervous unduly, or be -frightened of any one who offered to take care of her, only I was so -afraid that the wrong sort of people might have got hold of her, and -might have decoyed her away for the sake of her clothes or a reward. - -"Oh, dear, what a dreadful night it was! Your father went out and got a -cab and went round to all the police-stations, inquiring everywhere for -traces of her. And then he went and knocked up all the park-keepers, -but none of them had noticed her either. - -"And Humphie and I sat up by the nursery fire; and about two in the -morning, Hortense crept down and went on her knees to me, praying and -imploring me to forgive her, and saying that if anything had happened to -little missie, she would make away with herself." - -[Illustration: "Hortense crept down and went on her knees to me, praying -and imploring me to forgive her."] - -"What's that?" asked Madge suddenly. - -"Hanging herself," answered Pearl. "Judas hanged himself." - -"Judas went out and hanged himself," corrected Maud, who had a passion -for accuracy of small details. - -"Yes, of course, but that doesn't matter," said Pearl. "The hanging was -the principal thing. He could have hanged himself without going out, but -going out without hanging himself would not have been anything." - -"Go on, Mother," cried a chorus of voices. "What happened next?" - -"Well, nothing happened for a long time," Mrs. Ferrers replied. "We all -stayed up; I think nobody thought of going to bed that night at all--I -know Humphie and I never did--and at last the morning broke, and your -father and Browne began to make arrangements for putting notices in all -the papers, and when they had written them all, they went off in the -grey dim light to try to get them put into that day's papers. Oh! it -was a most dreadful night, and a terrible morning. - -"I didn't like to put it into words, but all night long I had thought of -the Round Pond, and wondered if my Mignon was in there. I found out -afterwards that your father had thought of it too, and had made all -arrangements for having it dragged, though he wouldn't speak of it to -me, because he fancied I had not thought of it. - -"And over and over again Humphie kept saying, 'I'm sure my precious lamb -knows perfectly well who she is and all about herself. I'm sure of it. -Why, we taught her years ago, ma'am, in case it ever happened she got -lost. "I'm Miss Mignon, and I belong to Booties," and "Captain Ferrers, -the Scarlet Lancers." She knew it all, years since.' - -"'Yes, but, Humphie, has any one taught her 304, Queen's Gate, S.W.?' I -asked. - -"'No,' said Humphie. 'I can't say that we have.' - -"'Then she might fall in with hundreds and thousands of people in London -who wouldn't know Captain Ferrers from Captain Jones; and she might be -too frightened to remember anything about the Scarlet Lancers. It isn't -as if we were with the regiment still.' - -"The morning wore on; nothing happened. Your father went to Scotland -Yard, and detectives came down and examined Hortense, who went off into -fresh hysterics, and threatened to go right away and drown herself there -and then; but there was no news of Mignon. And then Algy came in and -told me they had dragged the pond, and, thank God, she wasn't there; -though the suspense was almost unbearable as it was. - -"But we seemed no nearer to hearing anything of her, and hardly knew -what to be doing next, though the day was wearing away, and it was -horrible to think of going through such another night as the one we had -just passed. - -"And then--just at four o'clock--a handsome carriage drew up at the -door, and I heard Mignon's voice: 'Yes, I'm sure that's the house,' she -said. - -"Oh! I don't know how I got to the door; I think I tore it open, and -ran down the steps to meet her. I don't remember what I said--I think I -cried. I'm sure your father nearly choked himself in trying to keep his -sobs back. We nearly smothered Mignon with kisses, and it was ever so -long before we had time to take any notice of the strange lady who had -brought her home. - -"'I'm afraid you've had a terrible night,' she said, with tears in her -eyes. 'I found your dear little maid wandering about in South -Kensington--oh! right down in Onslow Gardens. I saw that she was not a -child accustomed to being out alone, and I asked her how it was. She -was perfectly cool and unconcerned. - -"'"I've lost my maid," she said. "She sat down on a seat, and I was -picking daisies, and I don't know how, but I couldn't find her again." - -"'"And what is your name?" I asked her. - -"'"Oh! I'm Miss Mignon," she answered. - -"'"And where do you live?" I inquired. - -"'"Well, that's just what I can't remember. When I'm at home I live at -Ferrers Court, and when we were with the regiment, our address was, "The -Scarlet Lancers"--just that. But now we are in Town, I _can't_ remember -the name of the street. I thought when I lost Hortense that I should -know my way back, but I missed it somehow. And Mother will be so -uneasy," she ended. - -"'Well,' said the lady, 'I told her she had much better come home with -me, and that I would try to find out Captain Ferrers; and so I did, but -without success. Then it occurred to me that as soon as the offices -were open I would telegraph to the Scarlet Lancers, asking for Captain -Ferrers' address. And so I did; and when the answer came back, it was -your country address-- - -"CAPTAIN FERRERS, _Ferrers Court,_ - _Farlington, Blankshire._" - -"'So I had no choice but to telegraph to Ferrers Court for your town -address. And oh, dear lady! my heart was aching for you all the time, -for I knew you must be suffering agonies," she ended, holding out her -hands to me. - -"And so, of course, I had been," Mrs. Ferrers went on; "but 'all's well -that ends well'; and we at once taught Mignon the name of the house she -lived in, and, indeed, for a long time we sewed a little ticket on to -the hem of her frock, so that if she did forget it, she would easily -make some one understand where she wished to be taken." - -"And Hortense--what did you do with her?" Pearl asked. - -"Oh! we gave her a month's wages, and sent her away," Mrs. Ferrers -answered; "and now here is Browne with the tea, Pearl. Can you manage -it?" - -"Oh! yes, Mother," Pearl answered. She was nearly fourteen, and loved -to make the tea now and then. "Oh! here's Miss Maitland coming! Miss -Maitland, _I_ am to pour out the tea. Mother says so." - -"Willingly, so long as you don't scald yourself," said Miss Maitland, -smiling. - -"And here is Father," cried Maud. "Bootles, Mother has been telling us -the dreadful story of how Mignon was lost." - -"Has she, sweetheart? Well, we don't want to go through that particular -experience any more, do we, darling?" - -"No! once was once too often," said Mrs. Ferrers, slipping her hand into -his. - -"Two lumps of sugar," said Pearl, bringing her father his cup. - -"And muffins!" added Maud. - - - - -Boy's Love - -PART I - - -It was towards the close of the afternoon of a warm June day that a -short, sturdy, fair-haired boy, wearing a dark blue uniform with a touch -of scarlet here and there about it, sat down at a long desk to write a -letter. It was headed, "Duke of York's School, Chelsea, S.W.," and -began, "My dear Mother." - -When he had got thus far, the boy paused, leaned his elbow upon the -desk, and rested his head upon his hand. And then after a minute the -hand slipped downward, and rubbed something out of his eyes--something -hard to get rid of, apparently--for presently one bright drop after -another forced its way through his fingers and fell on to the desk -beneath. - -And yet, truth to tell, even those bright drops did not help to get rid -of the something, the something which had a firm foothold in the heart -below, making it swell till it was well-nigh to bursting. This was his -letter:-- - - -"My DEAR MOTHER,--This is my last day at school. To-morrow I am going -to Warnecliffe to join the 25th Dragoons; they call them the Black -Horse. I am very glad to leave school and be a soldier like my father, -but,"--and here the blurred writing was an evidence of the trouble in -the boy's heart--"but I don't like losing my chum. You know, he is Tom -Boynton, and we have been chums for more than three years. He is -orderly to the dispenser, and has leave to go out almost any time. I am -very fond of him, and haven't any other chum, though he has another chum -besides me. I think he likes me best. I do love him, mother; and I lay -awake all last night crying. Tom cried, too, a little. He is going to -the Scarlet Lancers, and I don't know when I shall see him any more. I -wish we were going into the same regiment. - -"I got your letter on my fourteenth birthday, the day before yesterday. -Tom is seven months older than me. He would have left school before if -he had not been orderly to the dispenser. We both got the V.G. Jack -Green is going into my regiment. I shall come home when I get my -furlough--and if Tom gets his at the same time, can I bring him too? -Tom hasn't any father or mother at all. This is a very long letter. I -hope you are very well. - -"I am your affectionate son, - EDWARD PETRES." - - -He read the letter over, brushing his cuff across his eyes when he came -to that part of the paper which showed traces of tears, and then he -folded it and directed the envelope, after which he had finished. Then -he got up, took his cap, and with the letter in his hand, went forlornly -out of the large room. - -When he had got rid of it, he went in search of his chum, Tom Boynton, -whom he met just coming away from his last service as "Dispenser's -Orderly" with a heaving chest and eyes almost as red and swollen as poor -Ted's own. - -Ted turned back with him and took hold of his arm. - -"Taken your last physic out, Tom?" said he, with a gallant attempt at -manly indifference to the dreaded parting of the morrow. - -"Aye," returned Tom in a choking voice and with eyes carefully averted. - -The dispenser had just bade him "good-bye," and had told him in wishing -him "God speed" that he was very sorry to lose him, and would most -likely have to wait a long time before he again had help as efficient; -and then he had given him a tip of half-a-crown, and had shaken hands -with him. So Tom's heart was quite as full as Ted's, and of the two, -being the older and bigger and stronger, he was far the most anxious to -hide the emotion he felt. - -"Have you seen Jack?" he asked, giving his head a bit of a shake and -crushing his trouble down right bravely. - -"Jack Green?" asked Ted shortly. He was not a little jealous of Jack -Green, who was his chum's other chum. - -"Aye! Where is he?" - -"I haven't seen him--not all the afternoon," returned Ted curtly. - -"I'll go and find him," said Tom, disengaging his arm from Ted's close -grasp. - -The two lads parted then, for Tom swung away in the direction of the -playground, leaving Ted staring blankly after him; and there he stood -for full five minutes, until, his eyes blinded with pain, he could see -no longer, and then he turned away and hid his face upon his arm against -a friendly sheltering wall. - -[Illustration: Hid his face upon his arm against a friendly sheltering -wall] - -But by-and-by his jealousy of Jack Green began to wear away. Perhaps, -after all, he argued, Tom only wanted to hide his trouble. Tom was a -big lad, and was even more ashamed than Ted of being betrayed into -weeping and such-like exhibitions of weakness. So, by the time they -turned in for the night--the last night--Ted had forgotten the pain of -the afternoon. - -"Tom," said he, going over to his chum's bed, which was next to his, -"Tom, I've come to talk to you." - -"Yes," whispered Tom in reply. The lights were all out then, and most -of the boys were fast asleep, so big Tom drew his chum's head down to -his, and put his arm round his neck. - -"It's the last night, Tom," said Ted in a strangled voice. - -"Yes," said Tom, in a whisper. - -"We've been chums for three years and more," Ted went on, "and we've -never been out of friends yet. P'raps I shall get an exchange to your -reg'ment yet." - -"Or me to yours," answered Tom eagerly. - -"I shan't have no chum now," Ted went on, taking no notice of Tom's -words. - -"You'll have Jack Green," said Tom. - -"Yes, there'll be Jack Green, but he ain't you," Ted answered -mournfully. "He'll never be my chum like you was, Tom; but if ever I've -a chance of doing him a good turn, I will, 'cause _you_ liked him." - -"Will you, Ted?" eagerly. - -"Yes, I will," answered Ted steadily. "And, Tom, it's our last time -together to-night--we mayn't ever get together again." - -"I know," sighed Tom. - -"I wish," Ted said hesitatingly--"oh, Tom," with a sorrowful catch in -his voice and a great gulp in his throat, "I--I--do wish you'd kiss -me--just once." - -And so Tom Boynton put his other arm around his chum's neck, and the two -lads, who had been friends for three years, held one another for a -minute in a close embrace; an instant later Ted Petres tore himself away -and sprang into his bed, dragging the clothes over his head, and burying -his face in the pillow in a vain attempt to stifle his sobs. And before -another day had gone over their heads they had parted, to meet -again--when--and where? - - - - -PART II - - -Seven years had gone by. A fierce and scorching sun shone down with -glaring radiance upon long stretches of arid and sandy country, covered -sparsely with coarse rank grass and brushwood--the country which is -called the Soudan; the country where so many brilliant lives ended, -sacrificed in the cause of a crusade as hopeless as the crusade of the -children--who sought to win Heaven with glory where the flower of the -nations had failed--sacrificed to the death in the too late attempt to -succour a gallant soldier, the noble victim of an ignoble policy. - -And between the brilliant glaring sky and the sun-scorched arid earth, -there hung a heavy cloud of gunpowder smoke while the flower of two -races fought desperately for conquest. In the midst a square of British -troops, with set white faces and sternly compressed lips, with watchful -eyes well on the alert, and in each brave heart the knowledge that the -fight was for life or death. And on all hands swarms of stalwart -Soudanese, reckless of life and counting death their chiefest gain, -shouting on Allah and the prophet to aid them, and dying happy in the -certain faith of entering paradise if but one Christian dog should fall -to their hand. - -Oh, what a scene it was! Only a handful of men at bay, while mass after -mass of the enemy came down upon them like the waves of the incoming -tide upon the sea shore; and as at times a rock-bound coast gives way -and falls before the encroaching advances of the ocean, so that -ill-fated square gave way before the overwhelming numbers of the -soldiers of the Prophet, and in a moment all chance for our men seemed -over. - -Ay; but the British lion can up and fight again after he has had a roll -over which would crush the life out of most of his foes. And so that -day, by sheer hard desperate fighting, the square closed up and was -formed again, and of all the enemy who had dashed into the midst of it, -not one lived to tell the tale. - -But, oh! what though the enemy fell half a score to one? How many a -brave life was laid down that day, and how many a bullet had found its -billet was proved by the shrieks of agony which rose and rang above all -the tumult of the fight. - -It happened that our old friend, Ted Petres, no longer a short and -sturdy boy but a fine-grown young fellow of one-and-twenty now, found -himself not very far from the place where the square had been -broken--found himself fighting hard to win the day and check the mad -on-rush of the sons of the Prophet. As the ranks closed up once more, -he, as did most others who were in the rear, turned his attention to the -seething mass of blacks thus trapped, and to his horror saw his comrade, -Jack Green, down on his knees, striking wildly here and there against -the attacks of three Soudanese. Quick as thought--the thought that this -was the first time he had ever had a chance of fulfilling his last -promise to his boy's love, Tom--Ted flew to his aid, sent one shouting -gentleman to paradise, and neatly disabled the right arm of a second -just as the third put his spear through poor Jack's lungs. - -To cleave him to the teeth was but the work of a moment, and Ted Petres -accomplished it before the follower of the Prophet had time to withdraw -his spear! but, alas! poor Jack's life was welling out of him faster -than the sands run out of a broken hour-glass! It was no use to lift -him up and look round for help; Jack Green had seen his last service, -and Ted knew it. But he did his best for him in those last moments, and -help came in the person of one of their officers, one D'Arcy de -Bolingbroke who, though badly wounded in the arm himself, was yet able -to lend a hand. - -"Petres, you're a splendid fellow," he exclaimed. "I shall recommend you -if we live to get out of this. You ought to get the Cross for this." - -"Thank you, sir," returned Ted gratefully. - -And then between them they managed to get the poor fellow to the -doctors, who were hard at work behind a poor shelter of wagons and -store-cases. But it was too late, for when they laid him down Jack Green -was dead and at ease for ever. - -One of the hospital orderlies turned from a case at hand, and Ted -uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of him. "Why, _Tom_!" he cried, -starting up to take his hand, "I didn't even know you were with us." - -There was no answering gleam of pleasure on Tom Boynton's face; he -stared at Ted, stared at the face of the dead man lying at their feet, -then dropped upon his knees beside him. "Oh, Jack, Jack, speak to me," -he cried imploringly. - -[Illustration: "Oh, Jack, Jack, speak to me," he cried imploringly.] - -"It's too late, Tom," said Ted, bending down. "I did my best, but it -was too late, old man. I did my best." - -Tom Boynton looked up in his old chum's face. "You let him die?" he -asked. - -"We were three to one," returned the other humbly. - -"You did your best, and you let him die," repeated Tom blankly. "And he -was my chum," he added miserably. - -"Tom," cried Ted passionately, "I was your chum too." - -"_You!_" with infinite scorn; then bending down he kissed the dead face -tenderly. - -Ted Petres turned away, blind with pain. He might have won the Cross, -but he had lost his friend--the friend who had loved him less than that -other chum of whom he had not the heart now to feel jealous. - -And that was how they met again--that was the end of Tom Petres' boy's -love. - - - - -Yum-Yum: A Pug - -CHAPTER I - - -For a pug Yum-Yum was perfect, and let me tell you it takes a great many -special sorts of beauty to give you a pug which in any way approaches -perfection. - -First, your true pug must be of a certain colour, a warm fawn-colour; it -must have a proper width of chest and a bull-doggish bandiness about the -legs; it must have a dark streak from the top of its head along its back -towards the tail; it must have a double twist to that same tail, and -three rolls of fat or loose skin, set like a collar about its throat; it -must have a square mouth, an ink-black--no, no, a soot-black mask (that -is, face) adorned with an infinitesimal nose, a pair of large and -lustrous goggle-eyes, and five moles. I believe, too, that there is -something very important about the shape and colouring of its toes; but -I really don't know much about pugs, and this list of perfections is -only what I have been able to gather from various friends who do -understand the subject. - -So let me get on with my story, and say at once that Yum-Yum possessed -all these perfections. She may have had others, for she was without -doubt a great beauty of her kind, and she certainly was blessed with an -admirable temper, an angelic temper, mild as new milk, and as patient as -Job's. - -And Yum-Yum belonged to a little lady called Nannie Mackenzie. - -[Illustration: Yum-Yum: A Pug.] - -The Mackenzies, I must tell you, were not rich people, or in any way -persons of importance; they had no relations, and apparently belonged to -no particular family; but they were very nice people, and very good -people, and lived in one of a large row of houses on the Surrey side of -the river Thames, at that part which is called Putney. - -Mr. Mackenzie was something in the city, and had not apparently hit upon -a good thing, for there was not much money to spare in the house at -Putney. I rather fancy that he was managing clerk to a tea-warehouse, -but am not sure upon that point. Mrs. Mackenzie had been a governess, -but of course she had not started life as a teacher of small children; -no, she had come into the world in an upper room of a pretty country -vicarage, where the olive branches grew like stonecrop, and most -visitors were in the habit of reminding the vicar of certain lines in -the hundred and twenty-seventh Psalm. - -In course of time this particular olive plant, like her sisters, picked -up a smattering of certain branches of knowledge, and, armed thus, went -out into the wide world to make her own way. Her knowledge was not -extensive; it comprised a fluent power of speaking her mother-tongue -with a pleasant tone and correct accent, but without any very -well-grounded idea of why and wherefore it was so. She also knew a -little French of doubtful quality, and a little less German that was -distinctly off colour. She could copy a drawing in a woodenly accurate -kind of way, with stodgy skies made chiefly of Chinese white, and -exceedingly woolly trees largely helped out with the same useful -composition. At that time there was no sham about Nora Browne's -pretensions to art--there they were, good, bad, or indifferent, and you -might take them for what they were worth, which was not much. It was -not until she had been Mrs. Mackenzie for some years that she took to -"doing" the picture-galleries armed with catalogue and pencil, and -talked learnedly about _chiar-oscuro_, about distance and atmosphere, -about this school and that, this method or the other treatment. There -were frequenters of the art-galleries of London to whom Mrs. Mackenzie, -_nee_ Nora Browne, was a delightful study; but then, on the other hand, -there was a much larger number of persons than these whom she impressed -deeply, and who even went so far as to speak of her with bated breath as -"a power" on the press, while, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Mackenzie's -little paragraphs were very innocent, and not very remunerative, and -generally won for the more or less weekly society papers in which they -appeared a reputation for employing an art-critic who knew a good deal -more about the frames than about the pictures within them. - -However, all this is a little by the way! I really only give these -details of Mrs. Mackenzie's doings to show that the family was, by -virtue of their mother being a dabbler in journalism, in touch with the -set which I saw the other day elegantly described as "Upper Bohemia." - -Now in the circles of "Upper Bohemia" nobody is anybody unless they can -do something--unless they can paint pictures or umbrella vases and -milking-stools, unless they can sing attractively, or play some -instrument beyond the ordinary average of skill, unless they can write -novels or make paragraphs for the newspapers, unless they can act or -give conjuring entertainments, or unless they can compose pretty little -songs with a distinct _motif_, or pieces for the piano which nobody can -make head or tail of. It is very funny that there should be so wide a -difference necessary between the composition of music for the voice and -music for the piano. For the first there must be a little something to -catch the ear, a little swing in the refrain, a something to make the -head wag to and fro; the words may be ever so silly if they are only -bordering on the pathetic, and if the catch in the refrain is taking -enough the rest of the song may be as silly as the words, and still it -will be a success. But with a piece it is different. For that the air -must be resolutely turned inside out, as it were, and apparently if the -composer chances to light on one or two pretty bits, he goes back again -and touches them up so as to make them match all the rest. It seems odd -this, but the world does not stop to listen, but talks its hardest, and -as at the end it says "How lovely!" I suppose it is all right. - -But all these people stand in the very middle of "Upper Bohemia," and, -as a pebble dropped into the water makes circles and ever-widening -circles on the smooth surface, so do the circles which constitute "Upper -Bohemia" widen and widen until eventually they merge into the world -beyond! There are the amateurs and the reciters, and the artists who -put "decorative" in front of the word which denotes their calling, and -then put a hyphen between the two! And there are the thought-readers, -and the palmists, and the people who have invented a new religion! All -these are in the ever-widening circles of "Upper Bohemia." And outside -these again come the fashionable lady-dressmakers and the art-milliners, -the trained nurses and the professors of cooking. After these you may -go on almost _ad libitum_, until the circle melts into professional life -on the one hand and fashionable life on the other. - -You have perhaps been wondering, my gentle reader, what all this can -possibly have to do with the pug, Yum-Yum, which belonged to a little -girl named Nannie Mackenzie. Well, it really has something to do with -it, as I will show you. First, because it tells you that this was the -set of people to whom the Mackenzies belonged and took a pride in -belonging. It is true that they had a stronger claim to belong to a city -set; but you see Mrs. Mackenzie had been brought up in the bosom of the -Church, and thought more of the refined society in "Upper Bohemia" than -she did of all the money bags to be found east of Temple Bar! In this I -think she was right; in modern London it does not do for the lion to lie -down with the lamb, or for earthenware pipkins to try sailing down the -stream with the iron pots. In "Upper Bohemia," owing to the haziness of -her right of entry, Mrs. Mackenzie was quite an important person; in the -city, owing to various circumstances--shortness of money, most of -all--Mrs. Mackenzie was nowhere. - -Mrs. Mackenzie had not followed the example of her father and mother -with regard to the size of her family; she had only three children, two -girls and a boy--Rosalind, Wilfrid, and Nannie. - -At this time Nannie was only ten years old, a pretty, sweet, engaging -child, with frank blue eyes and her mother's pretty trick of manner, a -child who was never so happy as when she had a smart sash on with a -clean white frock in readiness for any form of party that had happened -to come in her way. - -Wilf was different. He was a grave, quiet boy of thirteen, already -working for a scholarship at St. Paul's School, and meaning to be a -great man some day, and meanwhile spending all his spare hours -collecting insects and gathering specimens of fern leaves together. - -Above Wilf was Rosalind, and Rosalind was sixteen, a tall, willowy slip -of a girl, with a pair of fine eyes and a passion for art. I do not -mean a passion for making the woodenly accurate drawings with stodgy -clouds and woolly trees which had satisfied her mother's soul and made -her so eminently competent to criticise the work of other folk--no, not -that, but a real passion for real art. - -Now the two Mackenzie girls had had a governess for several years, a -mildly amiable young lady of the same class, and possessed of about the -same amount of knowledge as Mrs. Mackenzie herself had been. She too -made wooden drawings with stodgy clouds and woolly trees, and she -painted flowers--such flowers as made Rosalind's artistic soul rise -within her and loathe Miss Temple and all her works, nay, sometimes -loathe even those good qualities which were her chiefest charm. - -Rosalind wanted to go further a-field in the art world than either her -mother's paragraphs or Miss Temple's copies; she wanted to join some -well-known art-class, and, giving up everything else, go in for real -hard, grinding work. - -But it could not be done, for, as I have said, money was not plentiful -in the house at Putney, and there was always the boy to be thought of, -and also there was Nannie's education to finish. To let Rosalind join -an expensive art-class would mean being without Miss Temple, and Mrs. -Mackenzie felt that to do that would be to put a great wrong upon little -Nannie, for which she would justly be able to reproach her all her life -long. - -"It would not do, my dear," she said to Rosalind, when her elder -daughter was one day holding forth on the glories which might one day be -hers if only she could get her foot upon this, the lowest rung of the -ladder by which she would fain climb to fame and fortune; "and really I -don't see the sense or reason of your being so anxious to follow art as -a profession. I am sure you paint very well. That little sketch of -wild roses you did last week was exquisite; indeed, I showed it to Miss -Dumerique when I was looking over her new art-studio in Bond Street. -She said it would be charming painted on a thrush's-egg ground for a -milking-stool or a tall table, or used for a whole suite of bedroom or -boudoir furniture. I'm sure, my dear, you might make quite an -income----" - -"Did Miss Dumerique _offer_ to do one--to let me do any work of that -kind for her?" Rosalind broke in impatiently. - -"No, she did not," Mrs. Mackenzie admitted, "but----" - -"But, depend upon it, she is at work on the idea long before this," -cried Rosalind. She knew Miss Dumerique, and had but small faith in any -income from that quarter, several of her most cherished designs having -_suggested_ ideas to that gifted lady. - -"If I only had twenty pounds, twenty pounds," Rosalind went on, "it -would give me such a help, such a lift I should learn so much if I could -spend twenty pounds; and it's such a little, only the price of the dress -Mrs. Arlington had on the other day, and she said it was so cheap--'Just -a cheap little gown, my dear, to wear in the morning.' Oh! if only I -had the price of that gown." - -"Rosalind, my dear," cried Mrs. Mackenzie, "don't say that--it sounds so -like envy, and envy is a hateful quality." - -"Yes, I know it is, but I do want twenty pounds so badly," answered -Rosalind in a hopeless tone. - -Mrs. Mackenzie began to sob weakly. "If I could give it to you, -Rosalind, you know I would," she wailed, "but I haven't got it. I work -and work and work and strain every nerve to give you the advantages; ay, -and more than the advantages that I had when I was your age. But I -can't give you what I haven't got--it's unreasonable to ask it or to -expect it." - -"I didn't either ask or expect it," said Rosalind; but she said it under -her breath, and felt that, after all, her mother was right--she could -not give what she had not got. - -It was hard on them both--on the girl that she could not have, on the -mother that she could not give! Rosalind from this time forth kept -silence about her art, because she knew that it was useless to hope for -the impossible--kept silence, that is, from all but one person. And yet -she could not keep her thoughts from flying ever and again to the -art-classes and the twenty pounds which would do so much for her. So up -in the room at the top of the house, where she dabbled among her scanty -paints and sketched out pictures in any colours that she happened to -have, and even went so far in the way of economy as to utilize the -leavings of her mother's decorative paints--hedge-sparrow's-egg-blue, -Arabian brown, eau de Nil, Gobelin, and others equally unsuitable for -her purpose,--Rosalind Mackenzie dreamed dreams and saw visions--visions -of a great day when she would have paints in profusion and art-teaching -galore. There was not the smallest prospect of her dreams and visions -coming true, any more than, without teaching and without paints, there -was of her daubs growing into pictures, and finding places on the line -at the Academy and the New. It is always so with youth. It hopes and -hopes against hope, and when hope is dead, there is no longer any youth; -it is dead too. - - "There are youthful dreamers, - Building castles fair, with stately stairways; - Asking blindly - Of the Future what it cannot give them." - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -But there was one person to whom Rosalind Mackenzie poured out all that -was in her mind,--that was her ten-year-old sister, Nannie. In Nannie -she found a ready and a sympathetic listener; moreover, in Nannie's mind -there was no doubt, no hesitation in believing that if Rosalind only had -that twenty pounds there would be nothing to keep her back, nothing to -prevent her sailing on right ahead into the roseate realms of fame and -glory! If only she had that twenty pounds! - -Now Nannie undoubtedly had a very gay and jovial disposition. She was -always ready for fun and excitement, and had no tendency or any desire -to carve out a line for herself, as her brother and sister had both had -before they had reached her age. Yet she had what was better in many -people's eyes, a very tender heart and a very affectionate nature; and -her tender heart was wrung and wrung again at the thought of her -sister's unsatisfied longings and the great future that was being -blighted, all for the want of twenty pounds. - -Yet what could a little girl of ten years old do towards getting such a -sum as that together? Just nothing! Why, if the sum was shillings -instead of pounds, she would still find it utterly beyond her power and -out of her grasp! She thought and she thought, but thinking did not -help matters! She lay awake at night puzzling her little brain, but -that did no good, and Nannie's face grew a good deal paler, and set her -mother wondering if the house was unhealthy, or thinking that perhaps -the air from the river was damp and injurious. - -It was about this time that Yum-Yum, the pug which had been given to -Nannie by one of her mother's friends two years before, suddenly became -the person of the most importance in the household at Putney; for behold -one fine morning when Nannie came down to breakfast, Yum-Yum presented -her with three babies, three dear wee pugs, which sent Nannie into -ecstasies and made her forget for a few days all about Rosalind's -unsatisfied longings, and her craving after higher things than at -present were attainable to her. - -"You think they're real beauties, don't you, Father?" said Nannie -anxiously. - -"Yes, they are great beauties," said Mr. Mackenzie, holding one little -snub-nosed pug up and examining it closely. - -"And what should you think that they are worth, Father?" Nannie asked. - -"Worth? Oh! that would depend a good deal on how they turn out. Their -pedigree is a very fair one; and at the end of six weeks or two months -they might be worth three or four guineas apiece--more, for that -matter." - -Nannie fairly gasped, and she clutched hold of her father's arm. "Oh! -daddy dear," she exclaimed, "do you really, really think I might be able -to get _any_ thing like that for them?" - -"Oh! yes, I think so," he answered, smiling at her earnestness. "But, -Nannie, why do you want this money so much? Have you set your mind on a -watch and chain?" - -"Oh! no, dear daddy," she answered eagerly, "it's not for myself at all; -it's poor Rosalind I'm thinking of"--and forthwith she poured into her -father's surprised but sympathetic ear all the story of Rosalind's -artistic longings, her craving for better art-lessons, for all the good -things that may be had for the sum of twenty pounds. - -Long before the story came to an end Mr. Mackenzie had drawn his little -daughter very closely to him, and I fancy he was thinking, when she came -to the end of it, more of the goodness of his Nannie's heart than of the -greatness of Rosalind's future. - -"My Nannie," he said tenderly, "my generous, kind-hearted little woman! -Rosalind ought to love you dearly for----" - -"Rosalind does love me dearly, daddy," Nannie explained; "only she can't -help wanting to be a painter--it's in her, you know, and it's choking -her. And Rosalind doesn't know a word about it. She wouldn't want me to -sell Yummy's pups for her. Only you know, daddy, we can't keep three -dogs besides Yummy; and we may just as well sell them as give them away, -and then Rosalind would be able to have _some_ of the lessons that she -wants so badly." - -Mr. Mackenzie smiled at Nannie's voluble information. "Well, well, you -shall sell the pups and make Rosalind happy," he said; then after a -moment added, "You know, Nannie, that I am not rich--in fact, I am very -poor, but I will make the sum up to ten pounds, and Rosalind can go on -thus far, at all events." - -Well, a few weeks passed over, and the secret was rigidly kept between -Mr. Mackenzie and Nannie. More than once Mrs. Mackenzie grumbled at the -expense and the trouble Yummy's three babies were in the kitchen, and -one afternoon when she came in from Town, she said--"Oh, Nannie, Lady -Gray would like to have one of Yummy's puppies. I told her I thought -you would let her have first choice." - -"Then her ladyship must pay five guineas for it, my dear," said Mr. -Mackenzie promptly. "Nannie and I are going to sell the puppies this -time." - -Mrs. Mackenzie rather lifted her eyebrows. "Oh! if that is so," she -said, "of course Lady Gray must stand on one side. But what are you -going to do with the money, Nannie? Buy yourself a watch?" - -"No, Mother, but----" and Nannie looked anxiously at her father, who -quickly came to the rescue, and evaded the question--which at that -moment was an awkward one, for Rosalind was present. - -It is probable that Mr. Mackenzie gave his wife just a hint of what was -a-foot, for she asked no more questions about the puppies, and made no -further complaints of the extra food and milk which Yummy required at -this time. - -And in due course, after a good deal of correspondence through the -columns of the _Queen_ and the _Exchange and Mart_, one by one the three -little pugs went away from the house at Putney to homes of their own, -and Nannie in return became the proud possessor of no fewer than eight -golden sovereigns. - -To these Mr. Mackenzie added the two which he had promised to make up -the sum of ten pounds, and then Nannie had the supreme joy of going to -Rosalind--who was hard at work in her studio painting a sunset in tints -so startling that her artist soul was sick within her--and flinging her -offering in a shower into her lap. - -"Why, what is this, Nannie?" Rosalind cried, half frightened. - -"It's your lessons, Rosie," Nannie cried, "or at least as much of them -as you can get for ten pounds; and I'm so glad, dear, dear Rosie, to be -able to help you, you don't know," and happy Nannie flung her arms round -her sister, almost crying for joy. - -"But where did you get it? Oh, the pugs! I forgot them," Rosalind -cried. "Oh! but Nannie, my dear, darling, unselfish sister, I can't -take your money in this way----" - -"You must," Nannie answered promptly. - -"But your watch--you've longed so for a watch, you know," said the elder -girl. - -"Well, I have, but I can long a bit more," returned Nannie -philosophically. "I shall like it all the better when I do get it." - -"I _can't_ take it, darling," Rosalind urged. - -"Oh! yes, you can, if you try," continued Nannie. "And as for my watch, -why, when you are a great swell painter you can buy me one--a real -beauty--and I shall like it _ever_ so much better than any other one in -all the world." - -Rosalind clasped Nannie close to her heart. - -"My Nannie, my Nannie," she cried, "I shall never be as brave and -helpful as you are. While I have been grumbling, and growling, and -railing at fate, you have been putting your shoulder to the wheel, -and----. Oh! Nannie, Nannie, it is good of you! It is good! I shall -never forget it. The first penny I earn, dear, shall be yours; and I -will never forget what my dear little sister has done for me, -never--never, as long as I live." - -A few days after this Rosalind was hard at work in the studio of the -artist for whose teaching she had longed for so many weary months. And -how she did work! - -"I have one pupil who _works_," her maestro got into the habit of -saying. "Some of you have a natural gift; you have a correct eye, and -you have firm touch. Every one of you might make progress if you tried. -But there is only one of you all who works. That is Miss Mackenzie." - -But, all too soon, Rosalind's ten pounds melted away, until they had all -gone. And, as there was no more where they had come from, Rosalind's -lessons must also come to an end! - -"Oh! Mother, can't you do _any_thing to help Rosie?" Nannie cried in -piteously beseeching accents the night before Rosalind was to go to the -studio for the last time. - -"Nannie," answered Mrs. Mackenzie reproachfully, "don't you think I -would if I could?" - -"Daddy, can you do nothing?" Nannie implored. - -"My little one, I am so poor just now," he answered. - -So poor Nannie went to bed in bitter disappointment for her sister's -trial. She felt that it was very, very hard upon Rosalind, who had -worked almost day and night that she might profit by every moment of the -time she was at the studio. Yes, it was very, very hard. - -However, Rosalind was brave, and put a good face upon the matter. - -"Don't worry about it, my Nannie," she said just before she got into -bed. "After all, I've learnt a great deal while I have been able to go -to Mr. Raymond, and perhaps, after a time, daddy may be able to help me -to go again, and I may do some work that will sell, and then I shall be -able to go again. So don't worry yourself, my darling, for you can't -help me this time. You see, Yummy hasn't got any more pups to sell." - -But Nannie had got an idea, and all through the hours of that long night -it stayed with her with the pertinacity of a nightmare. Still, whatever -it was, she did not say a word about it to Rosalind, and when Rosalind -looked round for her when she was ready to start for the studio in the -morning, she was nowhere to be seen. - -"Where is Nannie?" she asked. - -"Oh! she's out in the garden," Mrs. Mackenzie answered. - -"Well, I haven't time to go down; but don't let her worry about me, will -you, Mother?" said Rosalind anxiously. - -"No, no; I will look after her," Mrs. Mackenzie answered vaguely. - -So Rosalind went off fairly satisfied. - -"I have come for my last lesson, Mr. Raymond," she said, with rather an -uncertain smile, as she bade the maestro good-morning. - -"Oh! well, well; we must have a talk about that," he answered -good-naturedly. - -Rosalind shook her head a little sadly, and took her place without -delay--to her every moment was precious. - -But, though this was her last lesson, she was not destined to do much -work that day, for, as soon as she opened her little paint-box, which -she had taken home the previous day that she might do some work in the -early morning, she saw lying on the top of the paints a little note, -addressed in Nannie's round child's hand to "Rosalind." - -The next moment maestro and pupils were alike startled by the sight of -Rosalind Mackenzie with her face hidden in her hands, sobbing as if her -heart would break. - -"My dear child," cried the maestro, running to her side, "how now! What -is the matter? Pray tell me, my dear, tell me." - -[Illustration: "'My dear child, what is the matter?'"] - -Then little by little Rosalind sobbed out the whole story--how she had -longed and pined for these lessons, how her little sister Nannie had -sacrificed herself to help her, and then at last she put into the -maestro's hand the little note which she had brought from home in the -paint-box. - - -"Darling Rosalind," the maestro read aloud, "I thought of a way to help -you last night, but I did not tell you about it, because I know you -would stop it. You know that Mrs. Clarke, who bought Yummy's little -son, said she would give ten guineas for her any day, so I'm going to -get Father to take her there this afternoon, and you shall have the -money. I don't think I shall mind parting with her much.--NANNIE." - - -Mr. Raymond took off his glasses and wiped them. - -"Upon my word," he muttered in an uncertain voice; "upon my word!" - -"The darling!" cried one pupil. - -"Is she fond of the dog?" asked another. - -"Fond of her!" Rosalind echoed; "why, Yummy is the very idol of her -heart. She has had her from a puppy; it would break the child's heart -to part with her. Why, I would die," she said passionately, "before I -would let her do it. I would go out as a charwoman, and scrub floors -for my living all the days of my life, rather than do such a mean thing. -Mr. Raymond," she went on, "I must go back at once, or I may be too -late. I must lose my lesson--I can't help that. But I must go -back--for, look at the poor little letter; all tears and----" and there -Rosalind broke down into tears and sobs again; but, all the same, she -gathered her brushes together, and began to pack up all her belongings. - -The maestro stood for a moment in deep thought, but, as Rosalind put her -hat on and resolutely dried her eyes, he spoke to the others who were -standing around. - -"I should very much like to see this out," he said, "and, if you will -set me free this morning, I will give you each an extra lesson to make -up for the interrupted one to-day. What do you say?" - -"Yes! yes!" they all cried. - -So the old painter and Rosalind went back to the house at Putney -together, and at the door Rosalind put an eager question to the maid who -opened it for them. - -"My mother?" she asked. - -"Mrs. Mackenzie is dressing to go out, Miss Rosalind," the maid -answered. - -"And Miss Nannie?" - -"I believe Miss Nannie is in the garden," was the reply. - -So Rosalind led the maestro out into the garden, where they soon espied -Nannie curled up in a big chair, with Yummy in her arms. She did not -notice their approach; indeed, she was almost asleep, worn out by the -violence of her grief at the coming parting with Yummy, and was lying -with her eyes closed, her cheek resting against the dog's satin-smooth -head. - -Rosalind flung herself down upon her knees before the chair, and took -child and dog into her arms. - -"My own precious little sister, my unselfish darling," she cried; "as if -I would let you part with the dear doggy for my sake! I couldn't, -Nannie, my dear, I couldn't--I couldn't part with Yummy myself. But I -shall never forget it, Nannie--my dear, unselfish Nannie." - -[Illustration: "My own precious little sister, my unselfish darling," -she cried.] - -Nannie looked past her sister towards the tall old painter standing -behind her. - -"Your lessons," she faltered, with quivering lips. - -"My little heroine," said the old painter tenderly, "your sister is my -favourite among all my pupils. I would rather," he went on, laying his -hand on Rosalind's shoulder--"I would rather teach one real worker such -as she is for love, than fifty of the usual kind who come to me. She is -just the real worker one might expect with such a sister." - -"You will go on teaching Rosalind," Nannie cried in a bewildered way, -"for nothing?" - -"I will, gladly," the maestro answered; "and, in return, you shall come -one day, and bring the pug, and let me paint a picture of you both." - -And then the old man went away, leaving the sisters, in the fulness of -their joy, together. - -For him this had been somewhat of a new experience--a pleasant one. -They were young, and he was old; but he went back to his pictures with a -heart fresh and young as it had not been for years, asking of himself a -question out of the pages of a favourite poet: "Shall I thank God for -the green summer, and the mild air, and the flowers, and the stars, and -all that makes the world so beautiful, and not for the good and -beautiful beings I have known in it?" - - - - -Our Ada Elizabeth - -"The sublime mystery of Providence goes on in silence, and gives no -explanation of itself, no answer to our impatient -questionings."--_Hyperion_. - - -CHAPTER I - - -The Dicki'sons lived in Blankhampton. Not in the fashionable suburb of -Greater Gate, for the Dicki'sons were not fashionable people--far from -it, indeed. Nor yet in that exclusive part which immediately surrounds -the cathedral, which Blankhampton folk familiarly call "the Parish." -No; they lived in neither of these, but away on the poorer side of the -town and in the narrowest of narrow lanes--so narrow, indeed, that if a -cart came along the passer-by was glad to get into a doorway, and stand -there trembling until the danger was past and the road free again. - -I must tell you that, although they were always _called_ the Dicki'sons, -their name was spelt in the usual way, with an "n" in the middle and -without an apostrophe; but, as their neighbours made an invariable rule -of pronouncing the word, as they did themselves, in the way in which I -have written it, I will take the liberty of continuing the custom in -this story. - -For their position, they were rather well-to-do. Mr. Dicki'son, the -father of the family, was a plumber and glazier--not in business for -himself, but the foreman of a business of some importance in the town; -and Mr. Dicki'son was a plain man of somewhat reserved disposition. -There were ill-natured and rude persons in that neighbourhood who did -not hesitate to describe Mr. Dicki'son as "a sulky beast"; but then the -opinion of such was scarcely worth having, and even they had not a word -to say against him beyond a general complaint of his unsociable temper. - -They were lively people who lived round about Gardener's Lane. The -fathers worked hard all the week, and mostly got frightfully drunk on -Saturday nights, when they went home and knocked their dirty, slipshod -wives about, just by way of letting them know their duty to their lords -and masters. And after this sort of thing had subsided, the wives -generally gave the children a good cuffing all round, just by way of -letting them know that they need not hope to take any liberties with -their mothers because of their fathers' little ways; and then they all -got quieted down for the night, and got up late on Sunday morning with -headaches. If the day was fine, the men sat dull and sodden in the -sunshine on the pavement in the wide street out of which Gardener's Lane -ran, propping their backs against the wall and stretching their legs -out, greatly to the danger and annoyance of passers-by; and while the -men thus smoked the pipe of peace, the women stood in groups at their -doorways, scratching their elbows and comparing their bruises; and the -children, who had gone to sleep the previous night in tears and -tribulation, found keen enjoyment in watching for the parson and the few -people who went to the church round the corner, and called names and -uncomplimentary terms after them as they turned in at the gates which -led thereto. - -Now, as Mr. Dicki'son was a person of a reserved and taciturn -disposition, who was distinctly respectable in all his doings, who never -got drunk, and openly despised any one else who did, it will readily be -believed that he was not popular in the neighbourhood of Gardener's -Lane. He was not anxious to be popular, and had it not been that the -house in which he lived was his own, and that it suited his family as a -home, Gardener's Lane would not have counted him among its inhabitants. - -Mrs. Dicki'son was a good deal younger than her husband--a pretty, weak, -sentimental woman, rather gushing in disposition, and very injudicious. -She was always overwhelmed with troubles and babies; although, as a -matter of fact, she had but six children altogether, and one of them -died while still an infant. Gerty was twelve years old, and Ada -Elizabeth just a year younger; then came a gap of two years ere a boy, -William Thomas, was born. William Thomas, if he had lived, would, I -fancy, have inherited his father's reserved disposition, for, I must -say, a more taciturn babe it has never at any time been my lot to -encounter. He was a dreadful trouble to his dissatisfied mother, who -felt, and said, that there was something uncanny about a child who -objected to nothing--who seemed to know no difference between his own -thumb and the bottle which fed him, and would go on sucking as patiently -at the one as at the other; who would lie with as much apparent comfort -on his face as on his back, and seemed to find no distinction between -his mother's arms and a corner of the wide old sofa, which earlier and -later babies resented as a personal insult, and made remarks -accordingly. However, after six months of this monotonous existence, -William Thomas was removed from this lower sphere, passing away with the -same dignity as he had lived, after which he served a good purpose -still, which was to act as a model to all the other babies who resented -the corner of the sofa and declined to accept the substitution of their -thumbs, or any other makeshift, for the bottle of their desires. - -Two years later was a girl, called Polly, and two years later again was -Georgie; and then, for a time, Mrs. Dicki'son being free from the cares -of a baby, fretted and worried that "'ome isn't like 'ome without a baby -in it." But when Georgie was just turned three little Miriam arrived, -and Mrs. Dicki'son was able to change her complaint, and tell all her -acquaintance that she did think Georgie was going to be the last, and -she was sure she was "just wore out." - -Most of the children took after their mother. True, as I have already -said, William Thomas had given signs of not doing so; but William Thomas -had not really lived long enough for any one to speak definitely on the -subject. All the rest thrived and grew apace, and they all took after -their mother, both in looks and character, with the exception of the -second girl, "our Ada Elizabeth." - -"The very moral of her father," Mrs. Dicki'son was accustomed to sigh, -as she tried in vain to trim Ada Elizabeth's hat so that the plain -little face underneath it should look as bright and fresh as the rosy -faces of her sisters. But it was a hopeless task, and Mrs. Dicki'son -had to give it up in despair and with many a long speech full of pity -for herself that she, of all people in the world, should have such a -hard trial put upon her as a child who was undeniably plain. - -For the child was plain. She had been a plain, featureless baby, of -uncertain colour, inclining to drab--very much, indeed, what William -Thomas was after her. A baby who, even when newly washed, never looked -quite clean; a little girl whose pinafore never hung right, and with -tow-coloured hair which no amount of hair-oil or curl-papers could make -anything but lank and unornamental! A child with a heavy, dull face, -and a mouth that seldom relaxed into a smile though there were people -(not Mrs. Dicki'son among them, though) who did not fail to notice that -the rare smile was a very sweet one, infinitely sweeter than ever was -seen on the four pretty rosy faces of the other children. - -[Illustration: A child with a heavy, dull face.] - -Mrs. Dicki'son was eloquent about Ada Elizabeth's looks and temper. -"I'm sure," she cried one day to Gerty, who was pretty, and quick of -wit, and knew to a hair's-breadth how far she could go with her mother, -"it's 'ard upon me I should have such a plain-looking child as our Ada -Elizabeth. It's no use me trying to trim her hat so as to make her look -a credit to us. I'm sure it's aggravating, it is. I've trimmed your -two hats just alike, and she looks no better in hers than she does in -her old school hat, and I got two nice curly tips just alike. 'Pon my -word, it's quite thrown away on her." - -"And I want another feather in mine to make it perfect, Mother," -murmured Gerty, with insinuating suggestiveness. - -Mrs. Dicki'son caught at the bait thus held out to her. "I've a good -mind to take the tip out," she said hesitatingly. - -"Yes, do, Mother; our Ada Elizabeth won't care. Will you, Ada -Elizabeth?" appealingly to the child who had had the misfortune to be -born plain. - -"No, I don't care," returned Ada Elizabeth, whose heart was bursting, -not with jealousy, but with a crushing sense of her own shortcomings. - -"Just like her father," remarked Mrs. Dicki'son, loosening the feather -from its place with one snip of her scissors. "He never cares 'ow he -looks! ''Andsome is as 'andsome does,' is his motto; and though he's -been a good 'usband to me, and I'd be the last to go again' him, yet I -must say I do like a bit of smartness myself. But Ada Elizabeth's the -very moral of her father--as much in her ways as she is in her looks." - -So gradually it got to be an established custom that Ada Elizabeth's -attire should be shorn of those little decorations with which Mrs. -Dicki'son delighted to add effect to her eldest child's prettiness; it -was felt to be quite useless to spend money over curly tips and -artificial roses to put above such a plain little face, or "waste" it, -as her mother put it, in the not very delicate way in which she tried to -excuse herself to the child when some more obvious difference than usual -between her clothes and Gerty's was contemplated. - -Ada Elizabeth made no complaint. If asked her mind by the officious -Gerty, she said she did not care, and the answer was accepted as literal -truth by her mother and sister. But Ada Elizabeth did care. She was -not jealous, mind--alas! no, poor child--she was only miserable, crushed -with an ever-present consciousness of her own deficiencies and -shortcomings, with a sense that in having been born plain and in having -taken after her father she had done her mother an irreparable injury, -had offered her the deepest insult possible! She honestly felt that it -was a hard trial to her mother that she should have such a plain and -dull child. More than once she made a desperate effort to chatter after -Gerty's fashion, but somehow the Dicki'son family did not appreciate the -attempt. Gerty stared at her and sniggered, and her mother told her -with fretful promptness that she did not know what she was talking -about; and poor Ada Elizabeth withdrew into herself, as it were, and -became more reserved--"more like her father"--than ever, cherishing no -resentment against those who had so mercilessly snubbed her, but only -feeling more intensely than ever that she was unlike the rest of the -world, and that her fate was to be seen as little as possible and not -heard at all. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The time had come round for the great annual examination of the National -Schools where the young Dicki'sons received their education, and on the -great day itself the children came in at tea-time full to overflowing -with the results of their efforts. And Ada Elizabeth was full of it -too, but not to overflowing; on the contrary, she crept into the -kitchen, where her father and mother and little two-year-old -Miriam--commonly called "Mirry"--were already seated at the table, and -put her school-bag away in its place with a shamefaced air, as if she, -being an ignominious failure, could have no news to bring. - -"Well," exclaimed Mrs. Dicki'son to Gerty, who threw her hat and bag -down and wriggled into her seat with her mouth already open to tell her -tale, "did you get a prize?" - -"No, I didn't, Mother," returned Gerty glibly. "A nasty old crosspatch -Miss Simmonds is; she always did hate me, and I think she hates me worse -than ever now. Anyway, she didn't give me a prize--just to show her -spite, nasty thing!" - -Mrs. Dicki'son always declared that her husband was a slow man; and he -looked up slowly then and fixed his dull eyes upon Gerty's flushed face. - -"H'm!" he remarked, in a dry tone, and then closed his lips tight and -helped himself to another slice of bread and butter. - -Gerty's flushed face grew a fine scarlet. She knew only too well what -the "h'm" and the dry tone and the tightly-closed lips meant, and made -haste to change the subject, or, at least, to turn the interest of the -conversation from herself to her sister. - -"But our Ada Elizabeth's got the first prize of all," she informed them; -and in her eagerness to divert her father's slow attention from herself, -she spoke with such an air of pride in the unlooked-for result of the -examination that Ada Elizabeth cast a glance of passionate gratitude -towards her, and then visibly shrank into herself, as if, in having won -so prominent a place, she had done something to make her mother's trials -harder to bear than ever. "And there's going to be a grander treat than -we've ever had this year," Gerty went on, in her glibest tones. "And the -dean's lady, Lady Margaret, is going to give the prizes away, and all -the company is going to be at the treat, and--and----" - -"Oh! what a pity!" exclaimed Mrs. Dicki'son, turning a hopeless gaze -upon poor Ada Elizabeth. "Our Ada Elizabeth 'll never show up properly, -as you would, Gerty." - -"Our Ada Elizabeth's lesson-books 'll show up better than Gerty's, may -be," put in Mr. Dicki'son, in his quietest tone and with his driest -manner. - -"Oh! Ada Elizabeth's not clever like Gerty," returned Mrs. Dicki'son, -utterly ignorant as she was indifferent to the fact that she was rapidly -taking all the savour out of the child's hour of triumph. "And you were -so sure of it too, Gerty." - -"So was the hare of winning the race; but the tortoise won, after all," -remarked Mr. Dicki'son sententiously. - -"What _are_ you talking about, Father?" his wife demanded. "I'm sure if -tidy 'air has anything to do with it, Gerty ought to be at the top of -the tree, for, try as I will, I _can't_ make Ada Elizabeth's 'air ever -look aught like, wash it and brush it and curl it as ever I will; and as -for 'air-oil----" - -Mr. Dicki'son interrupted his wife by a short laugh. "I didn't mean -that at all"--he knew by long experience that it was useless to try to -make her understand what he did mean--"but, now you speak of it, perhaps -Ada Elizabeth's 'air don't make so much show as some of the others; it's -like mine, and mine never was up to much--not but what there's scarcely -enough left to tell what sort it is." - -It was quite a long speech for the unsociable and quiet Mr. Dicki'son to -come out with, and his wife passed it by without comment, only making a -fretful reiteration of Ada Elizabeth's plainness and a complaint of the -sorry figure she would cut among the great doings on the day of the -school treat and distribution of prizes. - -"_Is_ our Ada Elizabeth a plain one?" said Mr. Dicki'son, with an air of -astonishment which conveyed a genuine desire for information, then -turned and scanned the child's burning face, after which he looked -closely at the faces of the other children, so little like hers, and so -nearly like that of his pretty, mindless, complaining wife. "Well, yes, -little 'un, I suppose you're not exactly pretty," he admitted -unwillingly; "you're like me, and I never was a beauty to look at. But, -there, 'handsome is as handsome does,' and you've brought home first -prize to-day, which you wouldn't have done, may be, if you'd always been -on the grin, like Gerty there. Seems to me," he went on reflectively, -"that that there first prize 'll stand by you when folks has got tired -of Gerty's grin, that's what seems to me. I don't know," he went on, -"that I set so much store by looks. I never was aught but a plain man, -but I've made you a good husband, Em'ly, and you can't deny it. You'll -mind that good-looking chap, Joe Webster, that you kept company with -before you took up with me? He chucked you up for Eliza Moriarty. -Well, I met her this morning, poor soul! with two black eyes and her -lips strapped up with plaster. H'm!" with a sniff of self-approval, -"seems to me I'd not care to change my plain looks for his handsome -ones. 'Handsome is as handsome does' is _my_ motto; and if I want aught -doing for me, it's our Ada Elizabeth I asks to do it, that's all _I_ -know." - -The great day of the school treat came and went. The dean's wife, Lady -Margaret Adair, gave away the prizes, as she had promised, and was so -struck with "our Ada Elizabeth's" timid and shrinking air that she kept -her for a few minutes, while she told her that she had heard a very good -account of her, and that she hoped she would go on and work harder than -ever. "For I see," said Lady Margaret, looking at a paper in her hand, -"that you are the first in your class for these subjects, and that you -have carried off the regular attendance and good-conduct prize as well. -I am sure you must be a very good little woman, and be a great favourite -with your schoolmistress." - -Mrs. Dicki'son--who, as the mother of the show pupil of the day, and as -a person of much respectability in the neighbourhood, which was not -famous for that old-fashioned virtue, had been given a seat as near as -possible to the dais on which Lady Margaret and the table of prizes were -accommodated--heard the pleasant words of praise, which would have made -most mothers' hearts throb with exultant pride, with but little of such -a feeling; on the contrary, her whole mind was filled with regret that -it was not Gerty standing on the edge of the dais, instead of the -unfortunate Ada Elizabeth, who did not show off well. If only it had -been Gerty! Gerty would have answered my lady with a pretty blush and -smile, and would have dropped her courtesy at the right moment, and -would have been a credit to her mother generally. - -But, alas! Gerty's glib tongue and ready smiles had not won her the -prizes which had fallen to poor little plain Ada Elizabeth's share, and -Gerty was out in the cold, so to speak, among the other scholars, while -Ada Elizabeth, in an agony of shyness and confusion, stood on the edge -of the dais, first on one foot and then on the other, conscious that her -mother's eyes were upon her and that their expression was not an -approving one, feeling, though she would hardly have been able to put it -into words, that in cutting so sorry a figure she was making her poor -mother's trials more hard to bear than ever. Poor little plain child, -she kept courtesying up and down like a mechanical doll, and saying, -"Yes, 'm," and "No, 'm," at the wrong moments, and she altogether forgot -that the fresh-coloured, buxom lady in the neat black gown and with only -a bit of blue feather to relieve her black bonnet was not a "ma'am" at -all, but a "my lady," who ought to have been addressed as such. At -last, however, the ceremony, and the games and sports, and the big tea -were all over, and Ada Elizabeth went home with her prizes to be a -heroine no longer, for she soon, very soon, in the presence of Gerty's -prettiness and Gerty's glib tongue and ready smiles, sank into the -insignificance which had been her portion aforetime. She had not much -encouragement to go on trying to be a credit to the family which she had -so hardly tried by taking after her father, for nobody seemed to -remember that she had been at the top of the tree at the great -examination, or, if they did recall it, it was generally as an example -of the schoolmistress's "awkwardness" of disposition in having passed -over the hare for the tortoise. Yet sometimes, when Gerty was extra -hard upon Ada Elizabeth's dulness, or Mrs. Dicki'son found the trial of -her life more heavy to bear than usual, her father would look up from -his dinner or his tea, as it might happen to be, and fix his slow gaze -upon his eldest daughter's vivacious countenance. - -"H'm! Our Ada Elizabeth's too stupid to live, is she? Well, you're -like to know, Gerty; it was you won three first prizes last half, wasn't -it? A great credit to you, to say nought about the 'good conduct and -regular attendance.' Yes, you're like to know all about it, you are." - -"Dear me, Gerty," Mrs. Dicki'son would as often as not chime in -fretfully, having just wit enough to keep on the blind side of "Father," -"eat your tea, and let our Ada Elizabeth alone, do; it isn't pretty of -you to be always calling her for something. Our Ada Elizabeth's -plain-looking, there's no saying aught again' it, but stupid she isn't, -and never was; and, as Father says, ''andsome is as 'andsome does'; so -don't let me hear any more of it." - -And all the time the poor little subject of discussion would sit -writhing upon her chair, feeling that, after all, Gerty was quite right, -and that she was not only unfortunately plain to look at, but that, in -spite of the handsome prizes laid out in state on the top of the chest -of drawers, there was little doubt that she was just too stupid to live. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -It was a very mild and damp autumn that year, and the autumn was -succeeded by an equally mild winter; therefore it is not surprising that -the truth of the old saying, "A green Christmas makes a fat kirkyard," -became sadly realized in the neighbourhood of Gardener's Lane. - -For about the middle of December a dangerous low fever, with some -leaning towards typhoid, broke out in the parish, and the men being -mostly hard-drinkers, and the majority of the women idle drabs who did -not use half-a-pound of soap in a month, it flew from house to house -until half the population was down with it; ay, and, as nearly always -happens, not only the hard-drinkers and the idle drabs were those to -suffer, but the steady, respectable workmen and the good housewives came -in for more than their just share of the tribulation also. And, among -others, the Dicki'son family paid dearly for the sins and shortcomings -of their fellow-creatures, for the first to fall sick was the pretty, -complaining mother, of whom not even her detractors could say other than -that she was cleanliness itself in all her ways. And it was a very bad -case. The good parson came down with offers of help, and sent in a -couple of nurses, whom he paid out of his own pocket--though, if he had -but known it, he would have done much more wisely to have spent the same -amount of money on one with more knowledge of her business and less -power of speech--and the doctor and his partner came and went with grave -and anxious faces, which did not say too much for the sick woman's -chance of recovery. - -Mr. Dicki'son stayed at home from his work for a whole week, and spent -his time about equally between anxiously watching his wife's -fever-flushed face and sitting with his children, trying to keep them -quiet--no easy task, let me tell you, in a house where every movement -could be heard in every corner; and, as the schools were promptly -closed, for fear of spreading the epidemic, the children were on hand -during the whole day, and, poor little things, were as sorely tried by -the silence they were compelled to keep as they tried the quiet, dull -man whose heart was full almost to bursting. - -But he was very patient and good with them, and Ada Elizabeth was his -right hand in everything. For the first time in her life she forgot her -plain looks and her mother's trials, and felt that she had been born to -some purpose, and that purpose a good one. And then there came an awful -day, when the mother's illness was at the worst, when the two nurses -stood one on each side of the bed and freely discussed her state, in -utter indifference to the husband standing miserably by, with Gerty's -little sharp face peeping from behind him. - -"Eh, pore thing, I'm sure!" with a sniff and a sob, "it is 'ard at 'er -age to go i' this way--pore thing, it is 'ard. Which ring did you say -Gerty was to 'ave, love?" bending down over the sick woman, who was just -conscious enough to know that some one was speaking to her--"the keeper? -Yes, love; I'll see to it. And which is for Ada Elizabeth?" - -"Her breathing's getting much harder," put in the woman on the other -side; "it won't be long now. T' doctor said there was a chance with -care, but I know better. I've seen so many, and if it's the Lord's will -to take her, He'll take her. We may do all we can, but it's no use, for -I've seen so many." - -Mr. Dicki'son gave a smothered groan, and turning sharply round went out -of the room and down the narrow creaking stairs, with a great lump in -his throat and a thick mist in front of his eyes. A fretful wail from -little Mirry had fallen upon his ear, and he found her sobbing -piteously, while Ada Elizabeth tried in vain to pacify her. She was -more quiet when she found herself in his arms; and then he noticed, with -a sudden and awful fear knocking at his heart, that there was something -wrong with his right hand, Ada Elizabeth--that she looked fagged and -white, and that there was a brilliancy in her dull grey eyes such as he -had never seen there before. - -"Ada Elizabeth, what ails you?" he asked anxiously. - -[Illustration: "Ada Elizabeth, what ails you?" he asked anxiously.] - -"Nought, Father; I'm a bit tired, that's all," she answered, pushing her -heavy hair away from her forehead. "Mirry was awake all night nearly, -and I couldn't keep her quiet hardly." - -Mr. Dicki'son looked closely at Mirry; but though the child was -evidently heavy and inclined to be fretful, there was not the same -glitter in her eyes as there was in her sister's. - -"Here, Gerty," he said, "nurse Mirry a bit. I want to go upstairs for a -minute." - -"Can't Ada Elizabeth have her?" asked Gerty, who always wanted to be in -the sick-room, so that she might know the latest news of her mother and -be to the front whoever came--for in those dark days, between the rector -and the doctors and the neighbours who came in and out, there were a -good many visitors to the little house. "Our Ada Elizabeth always keeps -Mirry quiet better than I can, father." - -"Do as I bid you," returned Mr. Dicki'son sharply; and thus rebuked, -Gerty sat crossly down and bumped little Mirry on to her knee with a -burst of temper, which set the child wailing again. - -Mr. Dicki'son had already reached the sick-room, where the nurses were -still standing over his half-unconscious wife's bed. - -"I want you a minute, missus," he said to the one who had been so -anxious concerning the disposal of Mrs. Dicki'son's few bits of -jewellery. "Just come downstairs a minute." - -The woman followed him, wondering what he could want. "Just look at -this little lass," he said, taking Ada Elizabeth by the hand and leading -her to the window. "Do you think there is aught amiss with her?" - -There is little or no reserve among the poor, they speak their minds, -and they tell ill news with a terrible bluntness which is simply -appalling to those of a higher station; and this woman did not hesitate -to say what she thought, notwithstanding the fact that she knew that the -man was utterly overwrought, and that the child's fever-bright eyes were -fixed earnestly upon her. - -"Mr. Dicki'son," she cried, "I'll not deceive you, no; some folks would -tell you as nought ailed, but not me--wi' her pore mother dying -upstairs. I couldn't find it in my 'eart to do it; I couldn't indeed. -Pore Ada Elizabeth's took, and you'd better run round to Widow Martin's -and see if t' doctor's been there this morning. He telled me I might -send there for him up to one o'clock, and it's only ten minutes past. -Ada Elizabeth, lie down on t' sofa, honey, and keep yourself quiet. -Gerty, can't you keep Mirry at t' window? Ada Elizabeth's took with the -fever, and can't bear being tewed about wi' her." - -Mr. Dicki'son was off after the doctor like a shot, and less than a -quarter of an hour brought him back to see if the nurse's fiat was a -true one. Alas! it proved to be too true, and the kind-hearted doctor -drew the grief-stricken man on one side. - -"Look here, Dicki'son," he said, "your wife is very ill indeed; it's no -use my deceiving you--her life hangs on a thread, and it will be only by -the greatest care if she is pulled through this. The child has -undoubtedly got the fever upon her, and she cannot have the attention -she ought to have here. There is not room enough nor quiet enough, and -there's nobody to attend to her. Get her off to the hospital at once." - -"The hospital!" repeated Mr. Dicki'son blankly. He had all the horror of -a hospital that so many of his class have. - -"It's the child's best chance," answered the doctor. "Of course, it may -turn out only a mild attack. All the better that she should be in the -hospital, in any case; in fact, I wish your wife was there this minute." - -"Doctor," said Mr. Dicki'son hoarsely, "I don't like my little lass -going to the hospital. I don't like it." - -"But there is no help for it, and she'll be far better off there than -she would be at home," the doctor answered; "but, all the same, they'd -better not talk about it before your wife. Even when she is delirious -or half-unconscious she knows a good deal of what's going on about her. -I'll step up and have a look at her, and will speak to the women -myself." - -Before a couple of hours were over, Ada Elizabeth was comfortably in bed -in the quiet and shady ward of the well-managed hospital, and in the -little house in Gardener's Lane the struggle between life and death went -on, while Gerty had to devote herself as best she could to the children. -Gerty felt that it was desperately hard upon her, for Mirry and -six-year-old Georgie fretted without ceasing for "our Ada Elizabeth," -and would not be comforted; not, all the same, that Gerty's ideas of -comfort were very soothing ones--a bump and a shake, and divers -threatenings of Bogle-Bo, and a black man who came down chimneys to -carry naughty children away, being about her form; and little Mirry and -Georgie found it but a poor substitute for the tender if dull patience -of "our Ada Elizabeth." - -However, in spite of all the very real drawbacks which she had to fight -against, Mrs. Dicki'son did not die; slowly and painfully she struggled -back to her own senses again, with a dim realization of how very near -the gate of death she had wandered. But, alas! by the time the doctor -had, with a kindly pat upon his shoulder, told Mr. Dicki'son that his -wife would live if no very serious relapse took place, the fever had -fastened on another victim, and little Mirry was tossing to and fro with -fever-flushed face, and the same unnatural brilliancy in her bonny blue -eyes as had lighted up Ada Elizabeth's dull, grey ones. - -They had not taken her to the hospital; it was so full that only urgent -cases were admitted now: and since the mother was on the road to -recovery, there was time to attend to the child. And so she lay in the -next room to her mother, whose weakened senses gradually awoke to the -knowledge of what was going on about her. - -"Is that Mirry crying?" she asked, on the morning when the child was at -its worst. - -"Now don't you fret yourself, love," returned the nurse evasively. "T' -bairn's being took care of right enough; they will cry a bit sometimes, -you know"; and then she shut the door, and the mother dozed off to sleep -again. - -But in the evening the pitiful wail reached her ears again. "I want our -Ada 'Liz'bet'," the child's fretful voice cried; "Mirry do want our Ada -'Liz'bet' so bad-a-ly--me want our Ada 'Liz'bet'." - -Mrs. Dicki'son started nervously and tried to lift herself in her bed. -"I'm sure Mirry's ill," she gasped. "Mrs. Barker, don't deceive me. -Tell me, is she ill?" - -"Well, my dear, I won't deceive yer," the nurse answered; "poor little -Mirry's been took with the fever--yes, but don't you go and fret -yourself. Mrs. Bell's waiting of her, and she wants for nought, and t' -doctor says it's only a mild attack; only children runs up and down so -quick, and she's a bit more fretful than usual to-night, that's all." - -"Mirry do want our Ada 'Liz'bet'," wailed the sick child in the next -room. - -Mrs. Dicki'son turned her head weakly from side to side and trembled in -every limb. - -"Why _can't_ Ada Elizabeth go to her?" she burst out at last. - -The nurse coughed awkwardly. "Well, my dear," she began, "poor Ada -Elizabeth isn't 'ere." - -"Isn't 'ere!" repeated Mrs. Dicki'son wildly, and just then her husband -walked into the room and up to the bedside. - -She clutched hold of him with frantic eagerness. "Father," she cried -hysterically, "is it true our Mirry's took with the fever?" - -"Yes, Em'ly; but it's a very mild case," he answered, feeling that it -was best in her excited and nervous condition to tell her the exact -truth at once. "She's fretty to-night, but she's not so ill that you -need worry about her; she's being took every care of." - -"But she's crying for our Ada Elizabeth," Mrs. Dicki'son persisted. -"Hark! There she is again. Why _can't_ Ada Elizabeth be quick and go to -her? Where is she? What does Mrs. Barker mean by saying she isn't -'ere?" - -Mr. Dicki'son cast a wrathful glance at the nurse, but he did not -attempt to hide from his wife any longer the fact that Ada Elizabeth was -not in the house. "You know you was very ill, Em'ly, a bit back," he -said, with an air and tone of humble apology, "and our Ada Elizabeth was -taken with the fever just the day you was at the worst; and there was no -one to wait on her, and the doctor would have her go to the hospital, -and--what was I to do, Em'ly? It went against my very heart to let the -little lass go, but she was willing, and you was taking all our time. I -was very near beside myself, Em'ly I was, or I'd never have consented." - -Mrs. Dicki'son lay for some minutes in silence, exhausted by the -violence of her agitation; then the fretful wail in the adjoining room -broke the stillness again. - -"I do _want_ our Ada 'Liz'bet'," the child cried piteously. Mrs. -Dicki'son burst out into passionate sobbing. "I lie 'ere and I can't -lift my finger for 'er," she gasped out, "and--and--it was just like Ada -Elizabeth to go and get the fever when she was most wanted; she always -was the contrariest child that I had, always." - -Mr. Dicki'son drew his breath sharply, as if some one had struck him in -the face, but with an effort he pulled himself together and answered her -gently: "Nay, wife--Emily, don't say that. The little lass held up -until she couldn't hold up no longer. I'll go and quiet Mirry. She's -always quiet enough with me. Keep yourself still, and I'll stop with -the bairn until she's asleep"; and then he bent and kissed her forehead, -and passed softly out of the room, only whispering, "Not one word" to -the nurse as he passed her. - -But, dear Heaven! how that man's heart ached as he sat soothing his -little fever-flushed child into quietness! I said but now that he drew -his breath sharply as if some one had struck him in the face. Alas! it -was worse than that, for the wife of his bosom, the mother of his -children, had struck him, stabbed him, to the lowest depths of his heart -by her querulous complaint against the child who had gone from him only -a few hours before, on whose little white, plain face he had just looked -for the last time, and on which his scalding tears had fallen, for he -knew that, plain, and dull, and unobtrusive as she had always been--the -butt of her sister's sharp tongue, the trial of his wife's whole -existence--he knew that with the closing of the heavy eyes the brightest -light of his life had gone out. - -And little Mirry, wrapped in a blanket, lay upon his breast soothed into -slumber. Did something fall from his eyes upon her face, that she -started and looked up at him? She must have mistaken the one plain face -for the other, for she put up her little hot hand and stroked his cheek. -"You tum back, Ada 'Liz'bet'?" she murmured, as she sank off to sleep -again; "Mirry did want you _so_ bad-a-ly." The sick child's tender -words took away half the bitterness of the sting which his wife had -thrust into his heart, and his whole soul seemed to overflow with a -great gush of love as he swayed her gently to and fro. _She_ had loved -the unattractive face, and missed it bitterly; _she_ had wearied for the -rare, patient smile and the slow, gentle voice, and, to Mr. Dicki'son's -dull mind, the child's craving had bound Ada Elizabeth's heavy brows -with a crown of pure gold, with the truest proof that "affection never -was wasted." - -[Illustration: "You tum back, Ada 'Liz'bet'?" she murmured.] - - - - -Halt! - - -"Halt! Who goes there?" cried a man's voice through the thick gloom of -the dark night. - -There was no answer save silence; and, after listening for a moment, -Private Flinders turned, and began to tramp once more along the ten -paces which extended from his sentry-box. "I could have sworn I heard a -footstep," he said to himself. "It's curious how one's ears deceive one -on a night like this." - -Ten paces one way, ten paces the other; turn, and back again, and begin -your ten paces over again. Yes, it is monotonous, there is no doubt of -that; but it is the bounden duty of a sentry, unless he happens to -prefer standing still in his box, getting stiff and chill, and perhaps -running the risk of being caught asleep at his post--no light offence in -a barrack, I can tell you. Ten paces one way, ten paces the other--a -rustling, a mere movement, such as would scarcely have attracted the -attention of most people, but which caught Private Flinders' sharp ears, -and brought him up to a standstill again in an attitude of strict -watchfulness. - -"Halt! Who goes there?" he cried again, and listened once more. Again -silence met him, and again he stood, alert and suspicious, waiting for -the reply, "Friend." - -"By Gum, this is queer," he thought, as he stood listening. "I'll -search to the bottom of it though. I daresay it's only some of the chaps -getting at me; but I'll be even with 'em, if it is." - -He groped about in rather an aimless sort of way, for the night was -black as pitch; and his eyes, though they had grown used to the inky -want of light, could distinguish nothing of his surroundings. - -"Now, where are you, you beggar?" he remarked, beginning to lose his -habitual serenity, and laying about him with his carbine. After a -stroke or two the weapon touched something, though not heavily, and a -howl followed--a howl which was unmistakably that of a small child. It -conveyed both fear and bodily pain. Private Flinders followed up the -howl by feeling cautiously in the part whence the sounds had come. His -hand closed upon something soft and shrinking, and the howls were -redoubled. - -"Hollo! what the deuce are you?" he exclaimed, drawing the shrieking -captive nearer to him. "Why, I'm blessed if it ain't a kid--and a girl, -too. Well, I'm blowed! And where did you happen to come from?" - -The howl by this time had developed into a faint sniffing, for Private -Flinders' voice was neither harsh nor forbidding. But the creature did -not venture on speech. - -"Where did you come from, and what are you doing here?" he asked. "Do -you belong to the barricks, and has your mammy been wollopping of you? -Or did you stray in from outside?" - -"Lost my mammy," the small creature burst out, finding that she was -expected to say something. - -"What's your mammy's name?" Flinders asked. - -"Mammy, of course," was the reply. - -"And what's your name?" - -"Susy." - -"Susy. Aye, but Susy what?" - -"Susy," repeated the little person, beginning to whimper again. - -"Where do you live?" - -"At home," said Susy, in an insulted tone, as if all these questions -were quite superfluous. - -"Well! blest if _I_ know what to do with you," said Flinders, pushing -his busby on one side, and scratching his head vigorously. "I don't -believe you belong to the barricks--your speech haven't got the twang of -it. And if you've strayed in from outside, Gord knows what 'll become -of you. Certain it is that you won't be let to stop here." - -"Susy so cold," whimpered the mite pitifully. - -"I should think you was cold," returned Private Flinders -sympathetically. "I'm none too warm myself; and the fog seems to fair -eat into one's bones. Well, little 'un, I can't carry you back to where -you came from, that's very certain. I can't even take you round to the -guard-room. Now, what the deuce am I to do with you? And I shan't be -relieved for over a hour." - -Private Flinders being one of the most good-natured men in creation, it -ended by his gathering the child in his arms, and carrying her up and -down on his beat until the relief came. - -"Why, what's the meaning of this?" demanded the corporal of the guard, -when he perceived the unusual encumbrance to the private's movements. - -"Ah! Corporal, that's more than I can tell you," responded the other -promptly. "This here kid toddled along over a hour ago; and as she -don't seem to know what her name is, or where she come from, I just -walked about with her, that she mightn't be froze to death. I suppose -we'd best carry her to the guard-room fire, and keep her warm till -morning." - -"And then?" asked the corporal, with a twinkle in his eye, which the -dark night effectually hid. - -"Gord knows," was the private's quick reply. - -Eventually, the mite who rejoiced in the name of Susy, and did not know -whence she had come or whither she was going, was carried off to the -guard-room and made as comfortable as circumstances would permit--that -being the only course, indeed, at that hour of the night, or, to be -quite correct, of the morning--which could with reason be followed. - -She slept, as healthy children do, like a top or dog, and when she awoke -in the morning she expressed no fear or very much surprise, and, having -enquired in a casual kind of way for her mammy, she partook of a very -good breakfast of bread and milk, followed by a drink of coffee and a -taste or two of such other provisions as were going round. Later on -Private Flinders was sent for to the orderly-room, and told to give the -commanding officer such information as he was in possession of -concerning the stray mite, who was still in the warm guard-room. - -Now it happened that the commanding officer of the 9th Hussars was a -gentleman to whom routine was a religion and discipline a salvation, and -he expressed himself sharply enough as to the only course which could -possibly be pursued under the present circumstances. - -"We had better send down to the workhouse people to come and remove the -child at once. Otherwise, we may have endless trouble with the mother; -and, moreover, if it once got about that these barracks were open to -that kind of thing, the regiment would soon be turned into a regular -foundling hospital. Let the workhouse people be sent for at once. What -did you say, Mr. Jervis? That the child might be quartered for a few -hours among the married people. Yes, I daresay, but if the mother is on -the look-out, which is very doubtful, she is more likely to go to the -police-station than she is to come here. As to any stigma, the mother -should have borne that in mind when she lost the child. On second -thoughts, I think it is to the police-station that we should send; yes, -that will be quite the best thing to do." - -A few hours later the child Susy was transferred from the guard-room to -the police-station, and there she made herself equally at home, only -asking occasionally, in a perfunctory kind of way, for "Mammy," and -being quite easily satisfied when she was told that she would be coming -along by-and-by. - -During the few hours that she was at the police-station she became quite -a favourite, and made friends with all the stalwart constables, just as -she had done with one and all of the strapping Hussars at the cavalry -barracks. She was not shy, for she answered the magistrate in quite a -friendly way, though she gave no information as to her belongings, -simply because she had no information to give. And the end was that she -was condemned to the workhouse, and was carried off to that undesirable -haven as soon as the interview with the magistrate was over. - -"A blooming shame, I call it, poor little kid," said Private Flinders -that evening to a group of his friends, in the comfortable safety of the -troop-room. "She was a jolly little lass; and if I'd been a married -man, I'd have kept her myself, dashed if I wouldn't!" - -"Perhaps your missis might 'ave 'ad a word or two to say to that, -Flinders," cried a natty fellow, just up to the standard in height, and -no more. - -"Oh, I'd have made it all right with her," returned Flinders, with that -easy assurance of everything good that want of experience gives. "But -to send it to the workhouse--it's a blooming shame! They treat kids -anyhow in them places. Now then, Thomson, what are you a-grinning at? -Perhaps you know as much about workhouses as I can tell you." - -"Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't," replied Thomson, with provoking -good temper. "I wasn't a-laughing at the workhouse; cussing them is -more like what one feels. But to think of you, old chap, tramping up -and down with the blessed kid asleep--well, it beats everything I ever -heard tell of, blame me if it don't." - -Private Flinders, however, was not to be laughed out of his interest in -the little child Susy; and regularly every week he walked down to the -workhouse, and asked to see her taking always a few sweeties, bought out -of his scanty pay, the cost of which meant his going without some small -luxury for himself. And Susy, who was miserably unhappy in that abode -of sorrow which we provide in this country for the destitute, grew to -look eagerly for his visits, and sobbed out all her little troubles and -trials to his sympathetic ears. - -"Susy don't like her," she confided to him one day when the matron had -left them alone together. "She slaps me. Susy don't love her." - -"But Susy will learn to be a good girl, and not get slapped," the -soldier said, with something suspiciously like a lump in his throat. -"See, I've brought you some lollipops--you'll like them, won't you?" - -He happened to run up against the matron as he walked away toward the -door. "She's a tender little thing, missis," he remarked, with a vague -kind of notion that even workhouse matrons have hearts sometimes. And -so some of them have, though not many. This particular one was among -the many. - -[Illustration: "She's a tender little thing, missis," he remarked.] - -"A very self-willed child," she remarked sharply, "considering that -she's so young. We have a great deal of trouble with her. She does not -seem to know the meaning of the word obedience." - -"She is but a baby," ventured the soldier apologetically. - -"Baby, or no baby, she'll have to learn it here," snapped the matron -viciously; and then Flinders went on his way, feeling sadder than ever, -and yet more and more regretful that he was not married, or had at least -a mother in a position to adopt a little child. - -The next time he went they had cut the child's lovely long, curling -locks, indeed, she had been shorn like a sheep in spring-time. -Flinders' soft heart gave a great throb, and he cuddled the mite to his -broad breast, as if by so doing he could undo the indignity that had -been put upon her. - -"Susy," he said, when he had handed over his sweets and she was busily -munching them up, "I want you to try and remember something." - -Susy looked at him doubtfully, but nodded her cropped head with an air -of wise acquiescence. Flinders went on talking quietly. - -"You remember before you came here--you had a home and a mammy, don't -you?" - -"Yes," said Susy promptly. - -"What sort of a house was it?" - -"Where my mammy was?" she asked. - -"Yes." - -"Big," replied Susy briefly, selecting another sweetie with care. - -"And what was it called?" - -"The house," said the child, in a matter-of-fact tone. - -Flinders gave a sigh. "Yes, I dare say it was. Don't you remember, -though, what your mammy was called?" - -"Why mammy, of course," said Susy, as if the question was too utterly -foolish for serious consideration. - -"Yes, but other people didn't call her mammy--it was only you did that," -said Flinders desperately. "What did other people call her? Can't you -remember that?" - -It happened that Susy not only remembered, but immediately gave -utterance to her recollections in such a way as fairly made the soldier -jump. "They called my mammy 'my lady,'" she said simply. - -Private Flinders gave the child a great hug, and put her down off his -knee. "Gord bless you, little 'un," he ejaculated. "And see if I don't -ferret that mammy of yours out before I'm many days older--see if I -don't." - -He met the matron as he went towards the entrance. "Missis," he said, -stopping, "I've got a clue to that little 'un's belongings. I'm off to -the police station now about it. I'd advise you to treat her as tender -as you can. It'll come home to you, mark my words." - -"Dear me," snapped the matron; "is she going to turn out a princess in -disguise, then?" - -"It'll perhaps turn out a pity you was in such a hurry to crop her -hair," said Private Flinders, with dignity. - -In the face of that sudden recollection of the child's, he felt that he -could afford to be, to a certain extent, stand-offish to the cold-eyed, -unloving woman before him. - -"Oh, rules are rules," said the matron, with an air of fine disdain; -"and, in an institution like ours, all must be served alike. It would -be a pretty thing if we had to spend half of every day curling the -children's hair. Good-day to you." - -He felt that he had got the worst of it, and that it was more than -possible that little Susy would pay the penalty of his indiscretion. -Fool that he had been not to hold his tongue until he had something more -tangible to say. Well, it was done now, and could not be undone, and it -behoved him to lose no time, but to find out the truth as soon as -possible. - -The inspector whom he found in charge of the police-station listened to -his tale with a strictly professional demeanour. - -"Yes, I remember the little girl coming in and being taken to the -workhouse. I remember the case right enough. You'd better leave it to -us, and we will find out whether such a child is missing anywhere in the -country." - -I need hardly say that in Private Flinders' mind there lurked that -deep-rooted distrust of a policeman that lives somewhere or other in the -heart of every soldier. It came uppermost in his mind at that moment. - -"You'll do your best?" he said, a little wistfully. "You'll not let time -go by, and--and----?" - -"We shall be in communication with every police-station in the kingdom -in a few hours," returned the inspector, who knew pretty well what was -passing in the soldier's mind. "But, all the same, you mustn't be -over-much disappointed if there proves to be nothing in it. You see, if -such a child was being inquired for, we should have heard of it before -this. However, we'll do our best; you may be very sure of that." - -With that Private Flinders was obliged to rest content. He made -inquiries from day to day, and eventually this advertisement appeared in -the leading daily papers:-- - - -TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.--A little girl, apparently about three years -old, is in charge of the police at Bridbrook. She says her name is -Susy, and appears to be the child of well-to-do parents. Very fair -hair, blue eyes, features small and pretty. Clothes very good, but much -soiled.--Address, POLICE STATION, BRIDBROOK. - - -A few hours after the appearance of the advertisement, a telegram -arrived at the police-station:-- - -"Keep child. Will come as soon as possible.--JACKSON." - - * * * * * - -Less than three hours afterwards, an excited woman rushed into the -station, having precipitated herself out of a cab, and almost flung -herself upon the astonished inspector. - -"I've come for the child--the little girl," she gasped, as if she had -run at racing speed direct from the place indicated by the telegram. - -"Oh, she belongs to you, does she?" remarked the inspector coolly. -"Well, you've no call to be in such a 'urry; you've been very -comfortable about her for the last six weeks." - -"Comfortable!" echoed the excited one; "why, I've been very near out of -my mind. I thought she was drowned, and I was so frightened, I daren't -say a word to any one about it. And my lady away----" - -"Then you're not the mother?" said the inspector sharply. - -"The mother!--my goodness, no! I'm the head nurse. My young lady's -mother is the Countess of Morecambe." - -"Then what does _she_ say to all this, pray?" he asked. - -"My lady went abroad two months ago to one of those foreign cure places, -and she doesn't know but what Lady Susy is safe with me at this minute," -the woman replied. - -The inspector gave a prolonged whistle. - -"Well, you're a pretty sort of nurse to leave in charge of a child," he -remarked. "I shouldn't wonder if you get the sack for this. Do you -know the child's at the workhouse, and that they've cropped her head as -bare as mine?" - -At this the woman simply sat down and sobbed aloud. - -"Aye, you may well cry," said the inspector grimly. "I should if I was -in your shoes." - -She finally told how the child had been missed; how she had refrained -from giving notice to the police through fear of publicity, and -believing she could find her by diligent search in the locality; how "my -lady" was a widow, with only this one little child; how she had been -advised to go for this cure; how she had consented to the nurse taking -Lady Susy to the seaside meantime, well knowing that she would be safe -and happy with her. - -"Yes, you may laugh at that," she wound up; "but my dear lamb has often -called me 'mammy' as anything else, and my lady has often said she was -quite jealous of me." - -"All the same, I shouldn't wonder if you get the sack," repeated the -inspector, who was not troubled with much sentiment. - -I scarcely know how to tell the rest--how Jackson went off to the -workhouse, and enlightened the matron and others as to the child's -station in life; how she seized her little ladyship, and almost -smothered her with kisses; how she bewailed her shorn locks, and -wondered and conjectured as to how she could possibly have got to a -place so far from her home as Bridbrook. - -But, a few weeks later, a lovely woman in mourning came to the cavalry -barracks, and inquired for Private Flinders. She wept during the -interview, this lovely lady; and when she had gone away, Private -Flinders opened the packet she had put into his hands, to find a cheque -for a hundred pounds, and a handsome gold watch and chain. And at the -end of the chain was a plain gold locket, on one side of which was -engraved Private Flinders' initials, whilst on the other was written the -single word, "Halt!" - - - - -The Little Lady with the Voice - -A FAIRY TALE - - -Marjory Drummond was sitting on the bank of the river, and, if the whole -truth must be owned, she was crying. She was not crying loudly or -passionately, but as she rested her cheek on her hand, the sad salt -tears slowly gathered in her eyes, and brimmed over one by one, falling -each with a separate splash upon the blue cotton gown which she wore. - -[Illustration: The sad salt tears slowly gathered in her eyes.] - -The sun was shining high in the blue heavens, the river danced and sang -merrily as it went rippling by, and all the hedgerows were alive with -flowers, and the air was full of the scent of the new-cut hay. Yet -Marjory was very miserable, and for her the skies looked dark and dull, -the river only gave her even sadder thoughts than she already had, and -the new-cut hay seemed quite scentless and dead. And all because a man -had failed her--a man had proved to be clay instead of gold. And so she -sat there in the gay summer sunshine and wished that she had never been -born, or that she were dead, or some such folly, and the butterflies -fluttered about, and the bees hummed, and all nature, excepting herself, -seemed to be radiant and joyous. An old water-vole came out of his -hiding-place by the river and watched her with a wise air, and a -dragon-fly whizzed past and hovered over the surface of the sunlit -water, but Marjory's eyes were blind to each and all of these things, -and still the tears welled up and overflowed their bounds, and she wept -on. - -"What is the matter?" said a voice just at her ear. - -Marjory gave a jump, and dashed her tears away; it was one thing to -indulge herself in her grief, but it was quite another to let any one -else, and that a stranger, see her. "What is wrong with you, Marjory?" -said the voice once more. - -"Nothing!" answered Marjory shortly. - -"I may, perhaps, be able to help you," the gentle little voice -persisted. - -"Nobody can help me," said Marjory, with a great sigh, "nobody can help -me--nobody." - -"Don't be so sure of that," said the voice. "Why do you keep this curl -of hair? Why do you turn so persistently away from me? Why don't you -look at me?" - -Marjory turned her head, but she could see no one near. "Who are you? -Why do you hide?" she asked in turn. - -"You look too high," said the voice. "Look lower; yes--ah, how d'you -do?" - -Marjory almost jumped into the river in her fright, for there, standing -under the shade of a big dandelion, was the smallest being she had ever -seen in her life. Yet, as she sat staring at her, this tiny woman -seemed to increase in size, and to assume a shape which was somehow -familiar to her. "You know me now?" asked the little woman, smiling at -her again. - -"N--o," replied Marjory, stammering a little. - -"Oh, yes, you do. You remember the old woman whose part you took a few -weeks ago--down by the old church, when some boys were teasing her? -Well, that was me--me--and now I'm going to do something for you. I am -going to make you happy." - -"Are you a witch?" asked Marjory, in a very awed voice. - -"Hu--sh--sh! We never use such an uncomplimentary word in _our_ world. -But you poor mortals are often very rude, even without knowing it. I am -not what is called a witch, young lady. I am a familiar." - -Marjory's eyes opened wider than ever; she bent forward and asked an -earnest question: "Are you my familiar?" she said. - -"Perhaps, perhaps," answered the little woman, nodding her head wisely. -"That all depends on yourself. If you are good, yes; if you are bad, -no--most emphatically, no. I am much too important a person to be -familiar to worthless people." - -"I'm sure you are very kind," said Marjory meekly. "But what will you -do to make me happy? You cannot give me back my Jack, because he has -married some one else--the wretch!" she added under her breath, but the -ejaculation was for the woman whom Jack had married, not for Jack -himself. - -"You will learn to live without your Jack, as you call him," said the -little woman with the soft voice, sagely, "and to feel thankful that he -chose elsewhere. You once did me a service, and that is a thing that a -familiar never, never forgets. I have been watching you ever since that -time, and now I will reward you. Marjory Drummond, from this time -henceforth everything shall prosper with you; everything you touch shall -turn to gold, everything you wish shall come to pass; what you strive -after you shall have; your greatest desires shall be realised; and you -shall have power to draw tears from all eyes whenever you choose. This -last I give you in compensation for the tears that you have shed this -day. Farewell!" - -"Stay!" cried Marjory. "Won't you even tell me your name? May I not -thank you?" - -"No. The thanks are mine," said the little lady. "When we meet again I -will tell you my name--not before." - -In a moment she was gone, and so quickly and mysteriously did she go -that Marjory did not see her disappear. She rubbed her eyes and looked -round. "I must have been asleep!" she exclaimed. "I must have dreamt -it." - - * * * * * - -Several years had gone by. With Marjory Drummond everything had -prospered, and she was on the high road to success, and fame, and -fortune. Whenever her name was spoken, people nodded their heads wisely, -and said: "A wonderful girl, nothing she cannot do"; and they mostly -said it as if each one of them had had a hand in making her the clever -girl that she was. - -As an artist she was extremely gifted, being well hung in the Academy of -the year; as an actress, though only playing with that form of art, she -was hard to beat; and she had written stories and tales which were so -infinitely above the average that editors were one and all delighted at -any time to have the chance of a story signed with the initials "M.D.," -initials which the world thought and declared were those of one of the -most fashionable doctors of the day. - -And at last the world of letters woke up and rubbed its eyes very much -as Marjory had rubbed her eyes that day on the river's bank, and the -world said, "We have a great and gifted man among us." "'M.D.' is _the_ -writer of the time." And slowly, little by little, the secret crept -out, and Marjory was feted and flattered, and made the star of the -season. Her name was in every one's mouth, and her work was sought -after eagerly and read by all. And among those who worshipped at her -shrine was the "Jack" who had flouted her in the old days, yet not quite -the same, but a "Jack" very much altered and world-worn, so that Marjory -could no longer regret or wish that the lines of her life had fallen -otherwise than they had done. - -And often and often, as the years rolled by, and she was still the -darling star of the people who love to live in the realms of fiction, -did Marjory ponder over that vivid dream by the riverside, and try to -satisfy herself that it really was no more than a dream, and that the -old lady with the sweet clear voice had had no being except in her -excited brain. "I wish," she said aloud one day, when she was sitting by -the fire after finishing the most important work that had ever yet come -from her pen, "I wish that she would come back and satisfy me about it. -It seemed so real, so vivid, so distinct, and yet it is so -impossible----" - -"Not impossible at all," said a familiar voice at her elbow. - -Marjory looked round with a start. "Oh! is it you?" she cried. "Then -it was all true! I have never been able to make up my mind whether it -was true or only a dream. Now I know that it was quite real, and -everything that you promised me has come about. I am the happiest woman -in all the world to-day, and, dear friend, if ever I did a service to -you, you have amply repaid me." - -"We never stint thanks in our world," said the little old lady, smiling. -"Then there is nothing more that you want?" - -"Yes, kind friend, just one thing," said Marjory. "You promised me that -when we met again you would tell me your name." - -The little woman melted away instantly, but somewhere out of the shadows -came a small sweet sighing voice, which said softly, "My name -is--Genius!" - - - - -Jewels to Wear - - "Torches are made to burn; - jewels to wear."--_Shakespeare_ - - -CHAPTER I - - -"I can't think, Nancy, why you cannot get something useful to occupy -yourself with. It seems to me that I have slaved and sacrificed myself -all my life, in every possible direction, simply that you may waste your -whole time spoiling good paper, scribbling, scribbling, scribbling, from -morning till night, with your fingers inky, and your thoughts in the -clouds, and your attention on nothing that I want you to attend to. I -don't call it a good reward to make to me. You will never do any good -with that ridiculous scribbling--never! When I think of what you -_might_ save me, of how you _might_ spare me in my anxious and busy -life, it makes me positively ill to think I am your mother. Here have I -been thinking of you, Nancy, and working for you, and struggling, and -fighting, and slaving for you for twenty years, and now that the time -has come when you might do something for me, you have only one idea in -your head, and that is writing rubbishy stories that nobody will ever -want to buy!" - -[Illustration: "You have only one idea in your head, and that is writing -rubbishy stories that nobody will ever want to buy!"] - -The girl thus addressed turned and looked at her mother. - -"Mother, dear," she said depreciatingly, "I am sorry that I am not more -useful. I can't help it. I do think of you, I try to do everything I -can to relieve you, and help you; but these stories will come into my -head. They won't be put out of it. What am I to do?" - -"What are you to do?" echoed the mother. "Why, look at that basket of -stockings to darn!" - -"I am quite willing to darn them," said Nancy meekly. - -"Yes, you are quite willing, I daresay. You are quite willing _when_ I -tell you. But you don't seem to see what a burden it is to me to have -to tell you everything as if you were a baby. There are the stockings, -and there are you; at your age, you don't surely need me to tell you -that the stockings need mending!" - -"I will do them at once," said Nancy. "I will do them this minute." - -"Yes, with your thoughts in the clouds, and your mind fixed on -scribbling. What, may I ask you, Nancy, do you think you will ever do -with it?" - -"I don't know," said Nancy desperately. "Perhaps I may make some money -some day." - -"Never, never! Waste it, you mean. Waste it over pens, ink, paper and -tablecloths. There is the tablecloth in your bedroom spotted with ink -from end to end. It is heart-breaking." - -"Well, Mother, what do you wish me to do?" the girl asked in -desperation. - -"Your plain and simple duty. I would like you to give up all idea of -wasting your time in that way from now on," said the mother -deliberately. - -"Won't you even let me write a little to amuse myself in my spare time?" -asked the girl piteously. - -"Your spare time!" echoed the mother impatiently. "What spare time have -poor people such as we are? What spare time have I? Here are we with -this great boarding-house on our hands, twenty-three boarders to be made -comfortable, kept in good temper, fed, housed, boarded--everything to be -done for them, and I have to do it. Why, in the time that you waste -over those stories, you might make yourself a brilliant pianist, and -play in the evening to them. Then you would be of some use." - -"I don't think," said Nancy, "that anything will ever make me a -brilliant pianist, Mother. There's no music in me--not of that kind, -and I don't think that the boarders would like me half as well if I went -and strummed on the drawing-room piano every evening for an hour or two, -I really don't, Mother." - -"No, you know better than I do, of course. That is the way with the -young people of the present day. You are all alike. Ah, it was -different when I was a girl. I would no more have dreamed of defying my -mother as you defy me----" - -"Mother, I don't defy you," Nancy broke in indignantly. "I never defied -you in my life. I never thought of such a thing." - -"Don't you write stories in defiance of my wishes?" Mrs. Macdonald -asked, dropping the tragedy air, and putting the question in a plain, -every-day, businesslike tone. - -At this, Nancy Macdonald flushed a deep full red, a blush of shame it -was, or what felt like shame, and as it slowly faded away until her face -was a dull greyish white, all hope for that gift which was as the very -mainspring of her life, seemed to shrink and die within her. - -"Mother," she said at last, in a firm tone, "I will do what you wish. I -will give up writing, I promise you, from this time forward, and I will -not write at all while I have any duty left in the day. You will not -mind my doing a little when I have seen the after dinner coffee served, -will you?" - -"That means, I suppose," said Mrs. Macdonald rather tartly, "that you -will sit up half the night ruining your health, spoiling your eyesight, -wasting my gas, and making it perfectly impossible that you should get -up in good time in the morning." - -"Mother," said the girl, in a most piteous tone, "when I am once late in -the morning, I will promise you to give it up altogether, and for ever; -more than that I cannot say. As you said just now, it is a hard life -here, and we have not very much leisure time; but, I implore you, do not -take my one delight and pleasure from me altogether!" - -"If you put it in that way," said Mrs. Macdonald rather grudgingly, "of -course, we can but try the experiment; but what good, I ask you, Nancy, -do you think will ever come of it!" - -"I don't know," said Nancy; "I can't say. Other people have made -fortunes; other people have done well by writing; why should not I?" - -"As if _you_ would ever make a fortune!" said Mrs. Macdonald, with the -contemptuousness of a woman to whom the struggle of life had been hard -and to whom pounds, shillings and pence in the very hand were the only -proofs of reason for what she called "wasting time" over story-writing. - -"Well, if not a fortune, at least a comfortable income," said Nancy -eagerly; "and if I did, Mother, I should give it all to you!" - -"Thank you for nothing, my dear," was the ungracious reply. - -To this Nancy made no answer. She carried the big basket of stockings -to the window, and sat down in the cold winter light to do such repairs -as were necessary. Poor child! It was a hard fate for her. She was the -eldest of a family of five, all dependent on the exertions of her -widowed mother in keeping afloat the big boarding-house by which they -lived. For a boarding-house, be it ever so liberally managed, be the -receipts ever so generous, is but a sordid abode, especially to those -who have the trouble and care of managing it; and to an eldest daughter, -and one who stands between the anxious mother and the younger children, -who mostly resemble young rooks with mouths chronically open, such a -life appears perhaps more sordid than it does to any one else. - -To Nancy Macdonald, with her mind full of visionary beauty, and living -daily in a world of her own--not a world of boarding-houses--the life -they lived seemed even more sordid, more trivial, more petty, than it -was in reality. Her wants were not many; she was never inclined to rail -at fate because she had not been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, -not at all. But if only she could have a quiet home, with an assured -income, just sufficient to cover their modest wants, to provide good -wholesome food, to buy boots and shoes for the little ones, to pay the -wages of a good servant, to take those lines of anxious care from her -mother's forehead, so that she could employ her leisure in cultivating -her Art--she always called it her Art, poor child!--she would have been -perfectly happy, or she _thought_ she would have been perfectly happy, -which, in the main, amounted to the same thing. As she sat in the cold -light of that winter's afternoon, darning, as if for dear life, the -great pile of stockings which were her portion, she soon drifted away -from the tall Bloomsbury dwelling into a bright, brilliant land of -romance, where there were no troubles, no cares, where nothing was -sordid, and everything was bright and rosy, and even troubles and -worries might have been adequately described as "double water gilt." - -Young writers do indulge in these blessed dreams of fancy, and Nancy, -remember, was only twenty. Her heroines were always lovely, always -extravagantly rich or picturesquely poor; her heroes were all lithe and -long, and most of them had tawny moustaches, and violet eyes like a -girl's. They were all guardsmen or noblemen. They knew not the want of -money; if they were _called_ poor, they went everywhere in hansoms, and -had valets and gambling debts. It was an ideal world, and Nancy -Macdonald was very happy in it. - -From that time forward a new life began for the girl. The household -certainly went more smoothly, because of that promise to her mother; and -Mrs. Macdonald's sharp tongue whetted itself on other grievances more -frequently than on that old one about Nancy's scribbling propensities. -It was irritating to Nancy, of course, to hear her mother continually -nagging about something or other; but then, as she reminded herself very -often during the day, her mother had great anxieties and grievous -worries. She was a sort of double-distilled Martha, "careful and -troubled," not about many things, but about everything--everything that -did happen, or might happen, even what could happen under given -circumstances which might and probably never would occur. Still, it was -not so trying to bear when the shafts of sarcasm and complaining were -aimed at others instead of herself, and to do Nancy strict justice, she -did try honestly to do the work which lay to her hand. - -In the midst of the multitudinous cares of the large household it must -be owned that the girl's writing suffered. It is all very well for a -girl in fiction to do scullery work all day long, and write the -brilliant novel of a season in odd moments, in a cold and cheerless -bedroom, but in real life it is very different. Nancy Macdonald gave -her attention to stockings and table-linen, and shopping and ordering -and dusting; to keeping boarders in good temper, and making herself -generally useful; to superintending the education and manners of the -little ones, to smoothing down the rough edges of her mother's chronic -asperity--in short, to being a real help; but her much loved work -practically went to the wall. She dreamed a good deal while she was -doing other things, but mere dreaming is not of much help towards making -name or fortune; work is the only road which leads to either. Still, -you cannot do your duty without improving your character, and Nancy -Macdonald's character was strengthening and softening every day. She -worked a little at night, but often she was far too tired and weary to -attempt it. Very often when she did so, she found that the words would -not run, the incidents would not connect themselves, and frequently that -her eyes would not keep open; and then I am obliged to say that it was -not an uncommon thing for Nancy Macdonald to get into bed and cry -herself to sleep. - -Still, her character was strengthening. With every day that went by she -learnt more of the power of endurance; she became more patient, more -fixed in her ideas; the goal of her desires was set more immediately in -front of her. It was less visionary, but it was infinitely more -substantial. In a desultory kind of a way she still worked, still wrote -of lords and ladies whom she did not know in the flesh, still drew -pictures of guardsmen with longer legs and tawnier moustaches even than -before. She spent the whole of her pocket-money (which, by the bye, -consisted of certain perquisites in the house, the medicine bottles and -the dripping forming her chief sources of income) on manuscript paper, -and was sometimes hard pushed to pay the postage on the mysterious -packages which she smuggled into the post-office, and to provide the -stamps for paying the return fare of these children of her fancy. Poor -things, they always required it. No enterprising editors wanted the -long-legged guardsmen, their blue eyes and tawny moustaches -notwithstanding. Nobody had a welcome for the lovely ladies, who were -all dressed by Worth, though they never seemed to have heard of such a -person as Felix. The disappointments of their continued return were -very bitter to her; yet, at heart, Nancy Macdonald was a true artist, -and had all the true artist's pluck and perseverance, so that she never -thought of giving up her work. It was only that she had not yet found -her _metier_. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -For about six months after Nancy's promise to her mother that she would -not even try to write during the working hours, life went fairly -prosperously with the widowed boarding-house keeper. Then a spell of bad -luck set in. Several boarders left and were not replaced. Their best -paying permanent boarder--a rich old gentleman, the head of a large -business in the city--died suddenly, died without a will, although he -had several times spoken of his intention of leaving Mrs. Macdonald a -handsome legacy; and his next-of-kin did not seem to think it necessary -to do more than pay the actual expenses which their relative had -incurred. Twice they had visitors who left without paying their bills; -and, as a last crowning act of ill-luck, the youngest child fell sick, -and the doctor pronounced the illness to be scarlet fever. - - "When troubles come, they come not single spies, - But in battalions"; - -and that is as true to-day as when Shakespeare penned the lines more -than three hundred years ago. - -Mrs. Macdonald was almost beside herself. She ceased to gird at any -member of the family or household; she girded at Fate instead, morning, -noon, and night. She discussed the situation in a frenzied manner, with -tears in her eyes and a large amount of gesticulation, which would have -formed an excellent object-lesson to a student for the stage; but, at -the same time, it must be owned that raving appeals to the Almighty, -passionate assertions that she was the most unlucky woman that the light -of day had ever shone upon, bitter forebodings of what her daily life -would be like when she was safely landed in the nearest workhouse, did -not avail anything. No, the Macdonald family was in for a spell of bad -luck, and all the asseverations in the world would not alter it or -gainsay it. - -At this time Nancy was like a rock in the midst of a stormy sea. She, -after much self-communing, threw over her promise to her mother -concerning the time of her writing. She felt, as every true artist -feels, that it was in her to do great things; and that even a little -money earned in such a crisis would be of double value. So every moment -that she could steal from the now greatly decreased house duties she -spent in her own room, working with feverish haste and anxiety at a new -story, a story which was not about lords and ladies, or majestic -guardsmen, or lovely heroines in costly Parisian dresses; no, she felt, -all in a moment, the utter futility of trying to draw a phase of life -with which she herself was not familiar. It seemed to come to her like -a flash of light that her children of pen and ink were not real; that -she was fighting the air; that she was like an artist drawing without a -model. Like a living human voice a warning came into her mind, "Write -what you know; write what you see; before all things be an -impressionist." So her new child was slowly coming to life, a child -born in poverty and reared in a boarding-house. The form of the child -was crude, and was the work of an unpractised hand; but it was strong. -It was full of life; it was a thing alive; and as line after line came -from under her hand, as the story assumed shape and colour from under -her nervous fingers, Nancy Macdonald felt that she was on the right tack -at last, that this time she would not fail. - -As soon as her story was done, she sent it with breathless hope to a -well-known weekly magazine which is almost a household word, and then -she sat down to wait. Oh! but it is weary waiting under such -circumstances. After three days of sickening suspense, Nancy decided in -her own mind that if she had to wait as many weeks she would be raving -mad at the end of them. So she locked herself in her room and began -another story, the story of a love affair which came about in just such -a house as their own. - -Meantime, it can scarcely be said that the Macdonald fortunes improved. -It is true that the fever-stricken child recovered, and was sent away to -a superior convalescent home at the seaside. It is true that one or two -fresh boarders came, and that there were hopes that the family would be -able to weather the storm, supposing, that is, that they were able to -tide over the next few months. Still, in London, it is not easy to tide -over a few months when your resources have been drained, and your income -has been sorely diminished. There were bills for this and that, claims -for that and the other, and these came in with great rapidity and with -pressing demands for payment. - -Mrs. Macdonald pitied herself more than ever; her tones, as she recalled -the virtues of her past life, were more tragic; her debit and credit -account with the Almighty she showed to be clearly falsified. Never was -so good a woman so abominably used of Providence and humanity alike. -She wept copiously over her deservings, and railed furiously against her -fate. Poor Mrs. Macdonald! For many a weary year she had toiled to the -best of her ability, and she had done her duty by her children according -to her lights, which were pitiably dim, "The Lord must indeed love me," -she remarked, with bitterest irony, one day, when a mysterious visitor -had put a gruesome paper into her unwilling hands. - -"It is but the beginning of the end, Nancy," she said resignedly, "the -beginning of the end. I haven't a sovereign in the house, and how I am -to pay nine pounds seventeen and fourpence is beyond me altogether. It -won't last long; we shall have the roof of the workhouse over our heads -soon. We can't go on like this. Where's the money to come from?" - -And that, of course, Nancy knew no more than her mother. - -"Could not we sell something?" she said, looking round their shabby -little sitting-room, where all that was worst in the house was gathered -together because it was only used by themselves. "Couldn't we sell -something?" - -"I might sell my cameo brooch," said Mrs. Macdonald, with a huge sigh. -"It was the last present your poor father ever gave me." - -"And I don't suppose it would fetch anything like nine pounds seventeen -and fourpence," said Nancy doubtfully. - -"Your father paid a great deal for it," returned Mrs. Macdonald, "but -when one has to sell, it's different to buying. One gives one's things -away." - -As a matter of fact, the late Mr. Macdonald had given fifty shillings -for the cameo brooch in question, having bought it in a pawnshop in the -Strand; but neither Mrs. Macdonald nor Nancy were aware of that fact. - -"Dear Mother," said Nancy, "I would not worry. You have still a -fortnight before you need settle it one way or the other. A great many -things may turn up in a fortnight." - -"Not a ten pound note," said Mrs. Macdonald, with an air of conviction. - -"You don't know, Mother. Look how many things have turned up when we -least expected them, and money has come that seemed to have dropped from -the clouds. At all events, I would not break down over it until the -very last day comes; I would not indeed, Mother." - -"Ah, perhaps you would not," said the mother, "I should not have done so -when I was your age. When you are mine, you will understand me better." - -"Yes, dear, perhaps I shall; but you know, even if the worst -happens--oh, but we shall manage somehow, depend upon it, we shall -manage somehow." - -But Nancy's youthful philosophy did not tend to check the flow of Mrs. -Macdonald's troubled spirit. A whole week went by, which she passed -chiefly in tears, and in drawing gloomy pictures of the details of the -life which would soon, soon be hers. "I shall have to wear a poke -bonnet and a shawl," she remarked, in a doleful tone one day, "and I -never could bear a shawl, even when they were in fashion--horrid cold -things." At meals, of course, poor lady, she had to keep a cheerful -countenance, so that her guests should not suspect how badly things were -going with them; but Nancy noticed that she ate very little, and like -most young people, her chief idea for a panacea for all woes took the -form of food. In Mrs. Macdonald's case, it took the form of fresh tea -and hot buttered toast; and, really, I would be sorry to say how much -tea was used in that household during those few days, by way of -bolstering its mistress's strength and spirits against what might happen -in the immediate future. - -The fortnight of grace soon passed away, and with every day Mrs. -Macdonald's spirits sank lower and lower. She looked old and aged and -worn; and Nancy's heart ached when she realised that there was no -prospect of anything turning up, and apparently no chance of the danger -which threatened them being averted. What money had come in had mostly -been imperatively required to meet daily expenses. It seemed -preposterous that people with a large house as they had should be in -such straits for so small a sum; and yet, if they began selling their -belongings, which, with the exception of the cameo brooch and Mrs. -Macdonald's keeper ring, almost entirely consisted of furniture, she -knew that it would be impossible to replace them, or even to dispose of -them without the knowledge of their guests. She hardly liked to suggest -it to her mother, and yet she felt that when the last day came, she -would have no other course open to her. - -It was the evening before the last day of grace, and still the needful -sum had not been set aside. Twice during the day Mrs. Macdonald had -subsided in tears and wretchedness into the old armchair by their little -sitting-room fire, while Nancy had brought her fresh fragrant tea and a -little covered plate of hot buttered toast, and had delicately urged her -to decide between selling the precious brooch and appealing to one or -other of the boarders for an advance payment. - -"I will just wait till the morning," she said to herself, as she came -down from the drawing-room after dispensing the after-dinner coffees. - -"Nancy! Nancy!" cried her younger sister Edith, at that moment. "Where -are you?" - -"I am here, dear," Nancy replied. "What is the matter?" - -The child, for Edith was only some thirteen or fourteen years old, came -running up the stairs two steps at a time. - -"Here's a letter for you, Nancy," she said eagerly. - -"A letter?" cried Nancy, her mind flying at once to her story. - -"Yes, it's got a Queen's head on it or something. Here it is." - -The two girls reached the large and dimly-lighted entrance-hall -together, one from upstairs and one from down. - -"Give it to me," said Nancy, breathlessly. - -She felt that it was a letter about her story. The very fact that it had -come without an accompanying roll of manuscript gave her hope. She tore -open the envelope with trembling fingers, and by the light of the single -flickering gas-lamp, read its contents. - - -"The Editor of the _Family Beacon_ presents his compliments to Miss -Macdonald, and will be pleased to accept her story, 'Out of Gloom into -the Sun,' for the sum of fifteen guineas, for which a cheque will be -sent immediately on receipt of her reply." - - -For a few moments the poor painted hall, with its gaunt umbrella stand -and cold black and white marble floor, seemed to be rocking up and down, -and spinning round and round. The revulsion of feeling was so intense -that the girl staggered up against the wall, fighting hard with her -palpitating heart. - -"Oh, Nancy, what is it?" cried Edith, staring in a fright at her -sister's chalk-white face. "Is it bad news?" - -"Oh, no, GOOD news; the best news. Where's Mother? I----" she could -not speak, she simply could not finish the sentence. Her trembling lips -refused to perform their office. In her shaking hands she still -clutched the precious letter, and gathering her wits together, she -turned and literally tore down the stairs to the basement. - -"Mother! Mother! Where are you?" she cried. - -"What is it?" cried Mrs. Macdonald, who, poor soul, was ready for all -and every evil that could fall upon her. - -For a moment Nancy tried to control herself sufficiently to speak, but -the revulsion of feeling was too great. Twice she opened her mouth, but -no words would come. Then she dropped all of a heap at her mother's -feet, and hiding her head upon her knee, she burst into a passion of -tears. - -[Illustration: Then she dropped all of a heap at her mother's feet, and -hiding her head upon her knee, she burst into a passion of tears.] - -In spite of her acidity, and her disputes with Providence and things in -general, Mrs. Macdonald still retained some of her mother's instinct. -She drew the girl's head to her breast, and held her there tightly, with -a tragic at-least-we-will-all-die-together air that was utterly -pathetic. She had no words of consolation for what she believed was -some new and terrible trouble come upon them. Then, as Nancy still -sobbed on, she drew the letter from her unresisting fingers, mastered -its contents, and sat like a woman turned to stone. - -"I am afraid," she said, after a long silence, "that I have been very -cruel to you, Nancy. I have called your scribbling, rubbish; I have -scolded you; I have been very hard on you; and instead of my being -punished for my blindness, it is _your_ work which has come to save me -from the end which I so dreaded. But I shall never forgive myself." - -But Nancy, the storm over, brushed the tears away from her eyes, and sat -back, resting her elbow upon her mother's knee. - -"Oh, it is very silly of me to go on like this," half laughing, and half -inclined to weep yet more. "I have been so worried you know, Mother. -It's really stupid of me; but you mustn't blame yourself now that good -luck has come to us, must you? You did what you thought was right, and -you had a right to speak; and, after all, I _did_ leave everything to -you--everything, and I might have wasted all my time. You were quite -right, Mother." - -"What was that line Willie was writing in his copybook last week?" said -Mrs. Macdonald, holding the girl's hand fast, and looking, oh, so unlike -her usual self--"Torches were made to burn; jewels to wear." - - - - - Butler & Turner. The Selwood Printing Works. Frome, and London. - - - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - - - New Reward Series. - - _Demy 8vo, Handsomely Bound, Cloth Gilt, 3/6_ - - -A Set of Favourite Books of large size, well printed an& beautifully -illustrated. - -1 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES. - -With life of the Author, and 100 Engravings in the Text. 560 pages. - -2 THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON. - -With full-page Plates and 200 Engravings in the Text. 564 pages. - -3 DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA. - -By CERVANTES. With full-page Plates and 700 Engravings in the Text, by -TONY JOHANNOT. 800 pages. - -4 THE OLD FAVOURITE FAIRY TALES. - -With full-page Plates and 300 other Illustrations in the text. 430 -pages. - -6 ROBINSON CRUSOE. - -With Memoir by H. W. DULCKEN, Ph.D., full-page Plates and many Woodcuts. -416 pages. - -7 GULLIVER'S TRAVELS. - -With about 300 Woodcut Illustrations. 400 pages. - -9 GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES. - -The only Complete Edition. Carefully translated from the original by -BEATRICE MARSHALL. Illustrated by GUSTAVE DORE and HENRY AUSTIN. 640 -pages. - - - - - The Round Table Library. - - _DEMY 8vo., CLOTH GILT, 3/6._ - -A series of popular books by well-known writers, well printed and -profusely Illustrated. - -1 RUNNYMEDE AND LINCOLN FAIR. A Story of the Great Charter. By J. G. -EDGAR. Illustrated by ADOLF THIEDE and others. - -2 CRESSY AND POICTIERS. The Story of the Black Prince's Page. By J. G. -EDGAR. Illustrated by POWELL CHASE and others. - -3 HOW I WON MY SPURS; or, Adventures in the Barons' Wars. By J. G. -EDGAR. Illustrated by J. AMBROSE WALTON and others. - -4 HUBERT ELLIS. A Story of the Days of King Richard II. By F. -DAVENANT. Illustrated by ADOLF THIEDE and others. - -5 STORIES OF THE WARS, 1574-1658. From the Rise of the Dutch Republic -to the Death of Oliver Cromwell. By JOHN TILLOTSON. Fully Illustrated. - -6 THE ADVENTURES OF REUBEN DAVIDGER; Seventeen Years and Four Months -Captive among the Dyaks of Borneo. By JAMES GREENWOOD. Illustrated by -R. HULLULA and others. - - - - - The "Tip-Cat" Series. - - _Large Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, Illustrated, 2/6_ - -Chambers' Journal says:--"The diffidence of the authoress of 'Laddie' -has hitherto prevented her real name and portrait from going forth to -the public. But her work is finer, and has more grit, sanity, and -beauty than is the case with writers who are better known. It is -possible that her 'Laddie' may become a classic." - -1 TIP-CAT. By the Author of "LADDIE." -With Four Illustrations. - -2 DEAR. By the Author of "LADDIE." -With Four Illustrations. - -3 PEN. By the Author of "LADDIE." -With Four Illustrations. - -4 MY HONEY. By the Author of "LADDIE." -Illustrated by SYDNEY COWELL. - -5 ROB. By the Author of "LADDIE." -Illustrated by JOHN WILLIAMSON. - -6 LIL. By the Author of "LADDIE." -With Four Illustrations. - -7 OUR LITTLE ANN. By the Author of "LADDIE." -With Four Illustrations. - -8 LADDIE, &c. By the Author of "TIP-CAT." - -9 THE CAPTAIN OF FIVE. By MARY H. DEBENHAM. -Illustrated by G. D. HAMMOND. - -10 HOLLYBERRY JANET. By MAGGIE SYMINGTON. -With Frontispiece. ("Aunt Maggie.") - -11 THE PATTYPATS. By H. ESCOTT INMAN. -Illustrated by A. J. JOHNSON. - -12 THE NIDDING NOD By H. ESCOTT INMAN. -Illustrated by E. A. MASON. - -13 FAITHFUL. By the Author of "LADDIE." - - - - - The Captain Library. - - _Large Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s.; also_ - _Bevelled boards, gilt edges, 2s. 6d._ - _Each with Four Illustrations._ - -The names of the authors give sufficient guarantee to the literary -merits and interest of these books, whilst for selling value the line -will be found unequalled. Paper, printing, binding, and illustrations -are alike excellent. - -1 Westward Ho! By CHARLES KINGSLEY -2 From Log Cabin to White House. By W. M. THAYER -3 Robinson Crusoe. By DANIEL DEFOE -4 The Pilgrim's Progress. By JOHN BUNYAN -5 Grimm's Fairy Stories -6 Grimm's Fairy Tales -7 Swiss Family Robinson -8 Andersen's Popular Tales -9 Andersen's Stories -10 Boys' Own Sea Stories -11 Two Years before the Mast. By R. H. DANA -12 Scottish Chiefs. By JANE PORTER -13 Ivanhoe. By SIR WALTER SCOTT -15 Two Years Ago. By CHARLES KINGSLEY -16 The Last of the Barons. By BULWER LYTTON -17 Harold. By BULWER LYTTON -18 Arabian Nights Entertainments -20 The Beachcombers. By GILBERT BISHOP -21 The Heir of Langridge Towers By R. M. FREEMAN -23 The Rajah of Monkey Island. By A. LEE KNIGHT -26 Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. JULES VERNE -27 The Wonderful Travels. By JULES VERNE -28 Among the Cannibals. By JULES VERNE -29 The Moon Voyage. By JULES VERNE -30 The Adventures of Captain Hatteras. By JULES VERNE -31 Willis, the Pilot. A Sequel to the "Swiss Family Robinson." -32 The Coral Island. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -33 Martin Rattler. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -34 Ungava. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -35 The Young Fur-Traders. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -36 Peter, the Whaler. By W. H. G. KINGSTON -37 The Cruise of the "Golden Wave". By W. N. OSCAR -38 The World of Ice. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -39 Old Jack. By W. H. G. KINGSTON - - - - - THE LILY SERIES. - - _Large Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, illustrated, 1/6_ - - WELL PRINTED ON GOOD PAPER. - EACH VOLUME ILLUSTRATED BY WELL-KNOWN ARTISTS, - AND ATTRACTIVELY BOUND IN CLOTH GILT, WITH SPECIAL DESIGN - ENTIRELY NEW EDITIONS. - -The Lily Series has for several years received an unrivalled share of -public favour, many million copies having been sold. Although the -popular appreciation of its purity of tone, and high standard of -literary merit, has shown no signs of decrease, yet, in view of recent -competition, the publishers are issuing a new series that surpasses -anything at present on the market. This new issue contains all the best -of the old series, together with new volumes worthy to rank with he old -favourites. - -1 Little Women. L. M. ALCOTT -2 Good Wives. L. M. ALCOTT -3 The Lamplighter. MISS CUMMING -4 Uncle Tom's Cabin. MRS. H. B. STOWE -5 The Wide, Wide World. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -6 Queechy. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -7 Prince of the House of David. REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -8 The Throne of David. REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -9 Melbourne House. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -10 From Jest to Earnest. REV. E. P. ROE -11 Standish of Standish. JANE G. AUSTIN -12 A Knight of the Nineteenth Century. REV. E. P. ROE -13 What Katy Did at Home and at School. SUSAN COOLIDGE -14 The Old Helmet. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -15 Daisy. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -16 Without a Home. REV. E. P. ROE -17 Barriers Burned Away. REV. E. P. ROE -18 Ben-Hur. LEW WALLACE -19 Beulah. A. J. EVANS WILSON -20 Infelice. A. J. EVANS WILSON -21 St. Elmo. A. J. EVANS WILSON -22 At the Mercy of Tiberius. A. J. EVANS WILSON -23 A Young Girl's Wooing. REV. E. P. ROE -24 A Humble Enterprise. ADA CAMBRIDGE -25 Titus. FLORENCE M. KINGSLEY -26 John Halifax, Gentleman. MRS. CRAIK -27 In His Steps. CHAS. M. SHELDON -28 The Pillar of Fire. REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -29 Mabel Vaughan. MISS CUMMING -30 Miss Lou. REV. E. P. ROE -31 Holiday House. CATHERINE SINCLAIR -33 Opening a Chestnut Burr. REV. E. P. ROE -34 Macaria. A. J. EVANS WILSON -35 A Man's Foes. E. H. STRAIN -36 A Day of Fate. REV. E. P. ROE -37 Prisoners of the Sea. F. M. KINGSLEY -38 What Katy Did Next. SUSAN COOLIDGE -39 Crucifixion of Phillip Strong. CHAS. M. SHELDON -40 His Brother's Keeper. CHAS. M. SHELDON -41 Richard Bruce. CHAS. M. SHELDON -42 The Twentieth Door. CHAS. M. SHELDON -43 Malcom Kirk. CHAS. M. SHELDON -44 Robert Hardy's Seven Days. CHAS. M. SHELDON -45 He Fell in Love with His Wife. REV. E. P. ROE -46 Two Years Ago. CHAS. KINGSLEY -47 Danesbury House. MRS. HENRY WOOD -48 Ministering Children. MISS CHARLESWORTH -49 Monica. E. EVERETT GREEN -50 A Face Illumined. REV. E. P. ROE -51 Vashti. A. J. EVANS WILSON -52 The Earth Trembled. REV. E. P. ROE -53 Princess Sarah. JOHN STRANGE WINTER -54 His Sombre Rivals. REV. E. P. ROE -55 The Cross Triumphant. FLORENCE M. KINGSLEY -56 Paul. FLORENCE M. KINGSLEY -57 An Original Belle. REV. E. P. ROE -58 Daisy in the Field. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -59 Naomi. MRS. J. B. WEBB -60 Near to Nature's Heart. REV. E. P. ROE -61 Edward Blake. CHAS. M. SHELDON -62 That Lass o' Lowrie's. MRS. F. H. BURNETT -63 A Mother's Holiday. JOHN STRANGE WINTER -64 Stepping Heavenward. ELIZABETH PRENTISS - - - - - The Youths' Library - - _Large Crown 8vo, Cloth, with Four Illustrations, 1/6_ - -Entirely new editions, well printed on good paper. Each volume -containing four full-page illustrations by well-known artists, and -attractively bound. - -1 FROM LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSE. By W. M. THAYER -2 ROBINSON CRUSOE. By DANIEL DEFOE -3 BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS -4 GRIMM'S FAIRY STORIES -5 GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES -6 THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON -7 ANDERSEN'S POPULAR TALES -8 ANDERSEN'S STORIES -9 BOY'S OWN SEA STORIES -10 TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST. By R. H. DANA -11 SCOTTISH CHIEFS. By JANE PORTER -13 IVANHOE. By SIR WALTER SCOTT -14 PRISONERS OF THE SEA. By F. M. KINGSLEY -15 WESTWARD HO! By CHARLES KINGSLEY -16 ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS -18 FRANK ALLREDDY'S FORTUNE. By CAPT. FRANKLIN FOX -20 TWO YEARS AGO. By CHARLES KINGSLEY -21 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. By BULWER LYTTON -22 HAROLD. By BULWER LYTTON -23 THE HOLY WAR. By JOHN BUNYAN -24 THE HEROES. By CHARLES KINGSLEY -25 THE BEACHCOMBERS. By GILBERT BISHOP -26 WILLIS, THE PILOT. A Sequel to the "Swiss Family Robinson." -27 THE CORAL ISLAND. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -28 MARTIN RATTLER. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -29 UNGAVA. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -30 THE YOUNG FUR-TRADERS. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -31 PETER, THE WHALER. By W. H. G. KINGSTON -32 THE HEIR OF LANGRIDGE TOWERS. By R. M. FREEMAN -33 THE RAJAH OF MONKEY ISLAND. By ARTHUR LEE KNIGHT -34 THE CRUISE OF THE "GOLDEN WAVE". By W. N. OSCAR -35 THE WORLD OF ICE. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -36 OLD JACK. By W. H. G. KINGSTON - - - - - The Rainbow Series. - - _Crown 8vo, in cloth, Design in Colours, 1/- each._ - -The cheapest Series of Standard Gift Books issued. As Birthday Presents, -Day or Sunday School Prizes, the Series is unrivalled at the price. - -1 ROBINSON CRUSOE. With many Illustrations -2 SANDFORD & MERTON. With numerous Illustrations -3 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. With numerous Illustrations -4 TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST. By R. H. DANA -5 GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES -6 GRIMM'S FAIRY STORIES -7 BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. Illustrated -7A BUNYAN'S HOLY WAR -8 A BOY'S LIFE ABOARD SHIP. Illustrated -9 LIFE IN A WHALER. Illustrated -10 HANS ANDERSEN'S POPULAR TALES. Illustrated -11 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY STORIES. Illustrated -12 HANS ANDERSEN'S POPULAR STORIES. Illustrated -13 ANDERSEN'S FAVOURITE TALES. Illustrated -14 FROM LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSE. Illustrated -17 LAMB'S TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE -18 SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON -19 WILLIS, THE PILOT -20 ARABIAN NIGHTS -21 THE CORAL ISLAND -22 MARTIN RATTLER -23 UNGAVA -24 THE YOUNG FUR-TRADERS -25 THE WORLD OF ICE -26 WESTWARD HO! -27 EVENINGS AT HOME -30 IN SEARCH OF FRANKLIN -31 THE WAY TO VICTORY -33 NEVER SAY DIE -37 PRINCE GOLDENBLADE -38 FEATS ON THE FIORD - - - - - Uniform with the "Rainbow Series." - - The Works of E. P. Roe. - -41 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR -42 A FACE ILLUMINED -43 BARRIERS BURNED AWAY -44 WHAT CAN SHE DO? -45 A DAY OF FATE -46 AN UNEXPECTED RESULT -47 TAKEN ALIVE -48 WITHOUT A HOME -49 A KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY -50 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART -51 FROM JEST TO EARNEST -52 HIS SOMBRE RIVALS -53 AN ORIGINAL BELLE -54 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE -55 THE EARTH TREMBLED -56 MISS LOU -57 FOUND, YET LOST -58 A YOUNG GIRL'S WOOING -59 DRIVEN BACK TO EDEN - - - - - The 1/- "Pansy" Series. - - (CLOTH BOUND.) - - _Crown 8vo, Cloth, Design in Colours, 1/- each._ - -Comprising Books of every Kind:--Books for Youths, Religious Works, -Standard Works, Popular Useful Books, Novels, &c., &c. - - By "PANSY." - -1 Four Girls at Chautauqua -2 The Chautauqua Girls at Home -3 Christie's Christmas -4 An Endless Chain -5 Ruth Erskine's Crosses -6 Links in Rebecca's Life -7 Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking on -8 From Different Standpoints -9 Three People -10 Ester Ried -11 Ester Ried yet Speaking -12 Julia Ried -13 Wise and Otherwise -14 The King's Daughter -15 The Hall in the Grove -16 A New Graft on the Family Tree -17 Interrupted -18 The Man of the House -19 The Pocket Measure -20 Household Puzzles -21 Tip Lewis and His Lamp -22 Sidney Martin's Christmas -23 Little Fishers and their Nets -25 The Randolphs -26 One Commonplace Day -27 Chrissy's Endeavour -28 A Sevenfold Trouble - - - _BY OTHER AUTHORS._ - -38 John Halifax, Gentleman. By MRS. CRAIK -39 Danesbury House. By MRS. HENRY WOOD -40 Ministering Children. By M. L. CHARLESWORTH -41 Ben-Hur. By LEW WALLACE -42 The Fair God. By LEW WALLACE -43 Naomi. By MRS. WEBB -44 Beulah. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -45 Infelice. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -46 John Ward, Preacher. By MARGARET DELAND -47 St. Elmo. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -48 At the Mercy of Tiberius. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -49 Vashti. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -50 Macaria. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -51 Inez. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -53 Melbourne House. By ELIZABETH WETHERELL -54 Daisy. By ELIZABETH WETHERELL -54A Daisy in the Field. By ELIZABETH WETHERELL -55 Little Women. LOUISA M. ALCOTT -56 Good Wives. LOUISA M. ALCOTT -57 Aunt Jane's Hero. MRS. E. PRENTISS -58 Flower of the Family. MRS. E. PRENTISS -60 The Old Helmet. E. WETHERELL -61 What Katy Did. By SUSAN COOLIDGE -62 What Katy Did at School. By SUSAN COOLIDGE -62A What Katy Did Next. By SUSAN COOLIDGE -63 The Lamplighter. By MISS CUMMING -64 The Wide, Wide World. By E. WETHERELL -65 Queechy. By E. WETHERELL -67 Stepping Heavenward. By E. PRENTISS -68 The Prince of the House of David. By REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -69 Anna Lee. By T. S. ARTHUR -70 The Throne of David. By REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -71 The Pillar of Fire. By REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -72 Mabel Vaughan. By MISS CUMMING -73 The Basket of Flowers. By G. T. BEDELL -74 That Lass o' Lowrie's. By MRS. F. H. BURNETT - - - - - By CHAS. M. SHELDON. - -91 In His Steps: What Would Jesus Do? -92 The Crucifixion of Phillip Strong -93 His Brother's Keeper. -94 Richard Bruce; or, The Life that Now Is. -95 The Twentieth Door. -96 Malcom Kirk: Overcoming the World -97 Robert Hardy's Seven Days. - - - - WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRINCESS SARAH AND OTHER STORIES -*** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41906 - -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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