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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -</style> -<title>PRINCESS SARAH AND OTHER STORIES</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Princess Sarah and Other Stories" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="John Strange Winter" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1897" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="41906" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-01-23" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Princess Sarah and Other Stories" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Princess Sarah and Other Stories" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="sarah.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-01-24T02:59:37.848713+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41906" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="John Strange Winter" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2013-01-23" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -<style type="text/css"> -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="princess-sarah-and-other-stories"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">PRINCESS SARAH AND OTHER STORIES</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Princess Sarah and Other Stories -<br /> -<br />Author: John Strange Winter -<br /> -<br />Release Date: January 23, 2013 [EBook #41906] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>PRINCESS SARAH AND OTHER STORIES</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 51%" id="figure-235"> -<span id="cover"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-236"> -<span id="princess-sarah-he-shouted-her-royal-highness-princess-sarah-of-nowhere-page-41"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'Princess Sarah,' he shouted, 'Her Royal Highness Princess Sarah of Nowhere.'" (Page 41.)" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'Princess Sarah,' he shouted, 'Her Royal Highness Princess Sarah of Nowhere.'" (Page </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">41</a><span class="italics">.)</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">PRINCESS SARAH</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">AND OTHER STORIES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">JOHN STRANGE WINTER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF -<br />"BOOTLES' BABY" "MIGNON'S SECRET" "MY POOR DICK" -<br />"HE WENT FOR A SOLDIER" ETC ETC</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON -<br />WARD, LOCK & CO LIMITED -<br />WARWICK HOUSE SALISBURY SQUARE E C -<br />NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE -<br />1897</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">Contents</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="large">Princess Sarah</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#orphaned">ORPHANED</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#her-new-found-aunt">HER NEW-FOUND AUNT</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#sarah-s-future-is-arranged">SARAH'S FUTURE IS ARRANGED</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#her-new-home">HER NEW HOME</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-taste-of-the-future">A TASTE OF THE FUTURE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-amiable-flossie">THE AMIABLE FLOSSIE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#cousinly-amenities">COUSINLY AMENITIES</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#flossie-s-grievances">FLOSSIE'S GRIEVANCES</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#an-astute-tell-pie">AN ASTUTE TELL-PIE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-pleasant-railway-journey">A PLEASANT RAILWAY JOURNEY</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#aunt-george">AUNT GEORGE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#sarah-makes-an-impression">SARAH MAKES AN IMPRESSION</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-turning-point-of-her-life">THE TURNING POINT OF HER LIFE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-brilliant-marriage">A BRILLIANT MARRIAGE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-family-catastrophe">A FAMILY CATASTROPHE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-change-of-circumstances">A CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#sarah-s-opportunity">SARAH'S OPPORTUNITY</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#miss-mignon">MISS MIGNON</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#boy-s-love">BOY'S LOVE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#yum-yum-a-pug">YUM-YUM: A PUG</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#our-ada-elizabeth">OUR ADA ELIZABETH</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#halt">HALT!</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-little-lady-with-the-voice">THE LITTLE LADY WITH THE VOICE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#jewels-to-wear">JEWELS TO WEAR</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="orphaned"><span class="large">Princess Sarah</span></p> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"Take this lesson to thy heart;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>That is best which lieth nearest."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>--Gasper Bacerra</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">ORPHANED</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This must be it," said one, as her eyes fell -upon the closed blinds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," returned the other; "that must be it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So they passed in at the little gate and knocked -softly at the shabby door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor fellow!" said one, with a glance at the -bit of garden before the bow window, "</span><em class="italics">his</em><span> doing, -evidently; there's not another garden in the street -like it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And what pains he must have taken -with it. Poor fellow!" echoed the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We heard early this morning. I see the sad -news is too true," she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two ladies each made a murmur of sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the little girl?" said one of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, mum, she do fret a good bit," replied -the nurse pityingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor little thing! We have brought some fruit -and some other little things," said the lady, handing -a basket to the nurse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, of course. Poor little maid! And -what will become of her, do you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, mum," with a curtsey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very kind," said the little girl, brightening up -somewhat at the unexpected kindness from one -almost a stranger to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grapes, Miss Sarah, and peaches, and Orleans -plums; and see--potted meat! Now how could -she know you're so fond of potted meat?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, nurse; </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> liked potted meat too, -you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear, yes; but he's gone where he has all -he's most fond of, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except me," murmured Sarah, under her breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="her-new-found-aunt"><span class="large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">HER NEW-FOUND AUNT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Sarah is here, mum," said the old nurse, -pointing severely towards the door of the sitting-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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! </span><em class="italics">'Ow</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, who </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> Mr. Stubbs?" Sarah asked plaintively, -feeling instinctively that she had better not -try to argue with this strange relative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Miss Sarah</em><span> doesn't understand," put in the old -nurse pointedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pore ma, my dear, was Stubbs' own sister," -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then Mr. Stubbs is my uncle--my own uncle?" -Sarah asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>, 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I have seven cousins of my own?" she -said, the shadows in her eyes clearing away for a -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Seven</em><span> cousins of your own!" cried Mrs. Stubbs, -in an ecstasy of enjoyment. "</span><em class="italics">Seven</em><span>, Sarah, my -dear! Why, I have seven children!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And have I some more aunts and uncles?" -Sarah asked, feeling not a little bewildered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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, </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> a joke to tell Stubbs!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Sarah knows," struck in the old nurse, -with some indignation; "the doctor's carriage is -what Mrs. Stubbs calls a broom, dearie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sarah turned her crimson face from one to the -other. "But Father always called that kind of -carriage a </span><em class="italics">bro</em><span>-am," she emphasized, "and I didn't -know you meant the same, Aunt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Mrs. Stubbs had another cup of tea, which -she seemed to enjoy particularly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you would like to go upstairs, mum?" said -the nurse, as she set the cup down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the two women went up above together to -visit that something which Sarah had not seen since -the moment of death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 56%" id="figure-237"> -<span id="pore-thing-she-was-saying-pore-thing"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Pore thing!" she was saying. "Pore thing!"" src="images/img-016.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Pore thing!" she was saying. "Pore thing!"</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sarah-s-future-is-arranged"><span class="large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SARAH'S FUTURE IS ARRANGED</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what should become of her?" Mrs. Stubbs -said indignantly. "Her mother was Stubbs' own sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you are going to take the sole charge and -expense of her?" the vicar exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Sarah plays the violin remarkably well for -her age," said the vicar promptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me. You don't say so. What, are young -ladies about 'ere learning it?" Mrs. Stubbs asked, -with interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-238"> -<span id="then-sarah-shall-keep-her-violin-and-play-to-her-eart-s-content"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Then Sarah shall keep her violin and play to her 'eart's content."" src="images/img-021.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Then Sarah shall keep her violin and play to her 'eart's content."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> family, as -a family they're not mean. I will say that for 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Auntie!" she burst out; "a new violin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," gasped Sarah, "my violin is a real Amati! -It belonged to my grandfather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's--it's worth five hundred pounds!" Sarah -cried, her face in a flame.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 55%" id="figure-239"> -<span id="it-s-it-s-worth-five-hundred-pounds"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""It's--it's worth five hundred pounds!"" src="images/img-024.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"It's--it's worth five hundred pounds!"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Auntie, dear," said Sarah, "it's true--all true. -It is, indeed! Ask the doctor, ask the vicar--ask -</span><em class="italics">any</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You really mean it, Sarah?" she asked, putting -out a hand to touch the wonderful instrument.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, Auntie, it's </span><em class="italics">absolutely</em><span> true," returned -Sarah, using the longest adjective she could think -of the better to impress her aunt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="her-new-home"><span class="large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">HER NEW HOME</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is Mrs. Tracy," said Sarah on the last -day. "She brought me all that fruit and jam and -the other things, Auntie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to do that, please," said Sarah in a -very low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was very good. Sarah knew that she meant -to be so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sarah," she said, when they were nearly at the -end of their journey, "you have never 'ad any -playfellows, have you, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never, Auntie--not </span><em class="italics">real</em><span> playfellows," Sarah -answered, and flushing up with joy at the -anticipation of those who were in store for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma, what have you brought me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that Sarah, Ma? My, ain't she a littl'un!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma, Mary was late this morning. Yes, and -our kao-kao was burnt--I told her I should tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pa slapped Johnnie last night, because he -wouldn't be washed to come down to dessert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Flossie has torn her best frock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And May----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," said Mrs. Stubbs, addressing herself -to Flossie, "that your pa 'asn't got 'ome yet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Ma, not yet," returned Flossie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Uncle," said Sarah shyly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew her nearer to him, and turned her face -to the light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like her dear ma," put in Mrs. Stubbs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Mr. Stubbs shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not like her pa at all," Mrs. Stubbs persisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this point Mrs. Stubbs broke in,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-taste-of-the-future"><span class="large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A TASTE OF THE FUTURE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is Miss Clark?" Sarah asked, feeling -rather bewildered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Clark! What! didn't Ma tell you about -her?" ejaculated Miss Flossie, in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; Auntie never told me about her at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lor! There, that shows Ma herself don't think -much of her! I'll tell Miss Clark, any way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, don't!" Sarah cried, in an agony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my dear, never mind; perhaps Mrs. Stubbs -didn't say very much about any of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She didn't," put in Sarah hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose this is Sarah?" Miss Clark went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Flossie, adding, under her -breath to Johnnie, "Stupid little thing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This rather took Sarah's breath away, but she -replied, politely, that she would try her best.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come and sit by me, Sarah," said May, with -a very condescending air of protection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Disgusting boy!" remarked May disdainfully, -without giving Sarah time to reply. "You grow -more atrociously vulgar every day you live!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi, hi!" shouted Tom, seizing a tablespoon and -ramming it down his throat until even boy's nature -revolted and expressed disapproval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put that spoon down," cried Miss Clark -authoritatively. "If I see you do that again, Tom, you -shall not go down to dessert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom's exuberance of spirits settled down promptly -into discreet behaviour, and Miss Clark had time -to look round the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Johnnie, you are forbidden to eat jam for a -week," she burst out. "Minnie, take his plate away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sarah sat looking, as she was, scared; and May -calmly surveyed the scene of uproar with disdainful -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eventually Miss Clark began to cry weakly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's too much for me; how am I to bear four -weeks more of this dreadful boy?" she sobbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do like me, take no notice," suggested May.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> 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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," whispered Sarah, wishing fervently that -Miss Clark had been pleased to leave her out of -the discussion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>"Princess Sarah!" he shouted, pointing at his -cousin. "Her Royal Highness Princess Sarah--of -Nowhere. Princess Sarah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Princess Sarah!" cried Johnnie, taking up the -taunt, and waving his bread-and-butter like a flag. -"Three cheers for Princess Sarah!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-amiable-flossie"><span class="large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE AMIABLE FLOSSIE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Miss Clark did not tell that time. It was -not Flossie, but May, who poured oil on -the troubled waters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Clark," she began, after she had done a -few stitches, "isn't it jolly without Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very," said Miss Clark, with a great sigh of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Miss Clark replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How many times have you been engaged?" -and May leant her elbows upon the table and -regarded the governess with interested eyes.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 57%" id="figure-240"> -<span id="how-many-times-have-you-been-engaged"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""How many times have you been engaged?"" src="images/img-044.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"How many times have you been engaged?"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twice," answered Miss Clark, in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he was nice?" May inquired, with vivid interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sarah's quite happy with Miss Clark and me," -put in May; "ain't you, Sarah?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, quite," Sarah replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, are you? Then I shall tell Ma you said -you didn't want to go down to see her, then," -Flossie retorted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Poor Sarah's eyes filled with tears, and she -turned to May in the hope of getting protection -from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank goodness," remarked May piously. -"Now, Miss Clark, we shall have a little peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mayn't I just wash my hands?" Sarah asked -imploringly of May.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," May answered, good-naturedly. -"I'll go with you and make you straight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Auntie," said Sarah shyly, taking the chair -next to Mrs. Stubbs, for which she was thankful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you 'ave some grapes, my dear?" Mrs. Stubbs -asked kindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sarah 'd like a nectarine," said Mr. Stubbs, who -made a god of his stomach, and loved good things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doubt if she will," his wife said; "they're -bitter to a child's taste; but 'ave which you like -best, Sarah."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grapes, please, Auntie," said Sarah promptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have another piece of ginger, dear," the lady -of the house had said, seeing that her plate was empty.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="cousinly-amenities"><span class="large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">COUSINLY AMENITIES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to wear </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you take cold easy, Sarah?" Mrs. Stubbs -inquired, pausing as they went out of the showroom -before a huge pile of furs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I do rather, Auntie; and I had bronchitis -last year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">hard</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Auntie!" she whispered, with a sob of -delight, "what shall I ever do for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Auntie, I do, I do!" Sarah whispered back; -"but if only Father knew--if only he knew!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will spoil your dinner!" exclaimed Mrs. Stubbs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, Mother," said May, who sometimes called -her mother so. "And Sarah </span><em class="italics">ought</em><span> to have an ice -the very first time she has ever had a drive with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus pressed, Mrs. Stubbs gave in, and stopped -the carriage at a confectioner's in Regent Street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have Vanilla," said May. "Which are you -going to have, Sarah?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whichever you like," said Sarah, who had never -tasted an ice in her life, and was thus gaining another -new experience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Try strawberry, then," said May, "and then we -can help one another to a spoonful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll buy us some sweets, Ma?" said May.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no, indeed, Auntie, I'll never tell you a story," -Sarah protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind," said Sarah, trying to make light of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="flossie-s-grievances"><span class="large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">FLOSSIE'S GRIEVANCES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when Flossie was not in an amiable mood, -she was anything but an agreeable young person.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 56%" id="figure-241"> -<span id="she-was-sitting-in-the-schoolroom-staring-sullenly-out-of-the-window"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="She was sitting in the schoolroom, staring sullenly out of the window." src="images/img-058.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">She was sitting in the schoolroom, staring sullenly out of the window.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Clark's whole soul rose up in absolute -loathing within her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You vulgar, vulgar child!" she thought. Aloud -she said, "Flossie, my dear, a </span><em class="italics">lady</em><span> would not say -such a thing as that. Your mother would be very, -</span><em class="italics">very</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Tom going?" Flossie inquired, not daring to -refuse, though she would dearly have liked to do so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Tom and Johnnie are going out with Charles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I have to just go out with you and three -stupid girls?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With your three sisters, certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a beastly shame," Flossie burst out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not another word," said the governess sharply. -"Go and get ready at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when they got home, Flossie not feeling -quite so bad as when they set off, Mrs. Stubbs and -May and "</span><em class="italics">that</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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, </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> -you be quiet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the door opened quietly, and May came -in, looking radiant. Flossie felt more ill-used even -than before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you are here, Flossie. I've been looking for -you </span><em class="italics">every</em><span>where," she remarked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you brought?" half mollified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Caramels in chocolate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nougât?" said May, putting the caramels on one side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> I can't eat nougât; it </span><em class="italics">always</em><span> makes -my teeth ache!" Flossie cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fondants?" May knew that her sister was -passionately fond of that form of sweetmeats. But -Flossie would have none of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="an-astute-tell-pie"><span class="large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AN ASTUTE TELL-PIE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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, nougât, 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And presently she was graciously pleased to accept -the caramels and nougât 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I suppose Miss Tell-pie has been making -up to Ma this morning!" suggested Flossie, with a -frightful sneer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do hate that Miss Clark!" Flossie remarked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Clark!" exclaimed May. "Why, whatever for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nasty, mean, spiteful tell-pie!" Flossie explained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It </span><em class="italics">wasn't</em><span> Miss Clark. I tell you Ma got to -hear about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who was it then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're lovely things, and belong to the child -herself, and it's right she should have them kept for -'er, you know, Stubbs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Stubbs saw the look and understood it</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sarah's reply was as astounding as it was prompt. -"Oh, no, dear Auntie, not at all," she said earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not?" Mrs. Stubbs inquired, while her -husband stared as if he thought the world might be -coming to an end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">would</em><span> please me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's unselfishness for you!" Mrs. Stubbs cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kiss me, my woman," cried Mrs. Stubbs with rapture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And come and kiss </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>," 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, Sarah was so happy! After all, what could, -what </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> it matter if Flossie and Tom did call her -Princess Sarah of Nowhere? Why, just nothing at -all--nothing at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Uncle," she said, after a moment or two, "may I -play you something on my violin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like enough. Some of 'em are," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Sarah played a German </span><em class="italics">lied</em><span> and a -Hungarian dance; then "Home, Sweet Home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Mrs. Stubbs, looking at him, when -she ceased, "what do you think of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think she's--a genius," answered Mr. Stubbs.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-pleasant-railway-journey"><span class="large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A PLEASANT RAILWAY JOURNEY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 55%" id="figure-242"> -<span id="tom-leaning-half-his-body-out-of-the-window-with-the-wind-whistling-in-his-ears"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Tom leaning half his body out of the window with the wind whistling in his ears." src="images/img-071.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Tom leaning half his body out of the window with the wind whistling in his ears.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she shouted, "come in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's stop it," suggested Tom, in high glee at the -prospect of a walk through a dark and dangerous -tunnel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must be admitted that Charles's heart fairly -stood still at the thought of what his explanation -had suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seven years--seven years what?" Tom asked, -thinking the whole thing a grand joke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we needn't say it was us that rang," pleaded -Tom, whose fingers were just itching to ring that bell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which--your blood or your hair, Charles?" Tom -inquired, with keen interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Both!" returned Charles, in a tone which carried -conviction with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="aunt-george"><span class="large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AUNT GEORGE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, black man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Clark had no more to do with it than -you had," May replied. "Ma chose to take him, -and that's enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have gone over to Dieppe," said May, -"and Tom with them. This is our cousin, Sarah, -Aunt George."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">differently</em><span> -impressed to what she was, and Mrs. George Stubbs -was pleased to be a little flattered thereby.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very much indeed, thank you, Aunt George," -responded May.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very much indeed," echoed Sarah.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sarah plays the violin," said May, who hated -playing in company herself. "She plays it -beautifully. She's going to have lessons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then bring your violin and let me hear you," -said Mrs. George to Sarah; "it is a most stylish -instrument."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will," said Sarah.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, is Flossie to come, Aunt George?" asked -May, as they shook hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flossie? No. I can-</span><em class="italics">not</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sarah-makes-an-impression"><span class="large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SARAH MAKES AN IMPRESSION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you think of her?" May asked of Sarah.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she very ill?" Sarah asked, thinking of the -bath-chair and her aunt's languid wrists and tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's not half so nice as Auntie," Sarah flashed out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a fine imitation of Mrs. George's </span><em class="italics">stylish</em><span> -airs, and Sarah was lost in admiration of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Aunt's much too stylish to eat much," May -explained. "She nibbles at this and picks at that. -You'll see to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 56%" id="figure-243"> -<span id="with-great-care-chawles"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""With great care, Chawles."" src="images/img-086.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"With great care, Chawles."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you shall play to me," Mrs. George said -to Sarah, when they had got back to the drawing-room again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sarah rose obediently</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall I play?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> you play?" Mrs. George asked, in reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a great many things," Sarah said modestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," Mrs. George said graciously. So -Sarah began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, child, you are a genius!" she exclaimed, -as Sarah came to a close and turned her speaking -eyes upon her for comment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's just what Papa said," put in May, adjusting -her language to her company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you go on--if you work," Mrs. George continued, -"your violin will be your fortune. You will -be a great woman some day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sarah's great eyes blazed at the thought of it; -her heart began to beat hard and fast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you really think so, Aunt George?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I really do. I am sure of it. But, child, your -violin seems to me a very good one. Where did -you get it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father gave it to me; it was his grandfather's," -said Sarah, holding it out for inspection. "It is an -Amati."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is worth five hundred pounds," said May, who -was eminently practical, and measured most things -by a pounds, shillings, and pence standard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course--if it is an Amati," murmured Mrs. George, -becoming languid again. "But go on, my -child. I should like a little more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will go on; I will work," she said to herself. -"If I can be a great woman, I will."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-turning-point-of-her-life"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE TURNING POINT OF HER LIFE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sarah, my dear, Lady Golladay wishes you to -play again. Something pathetic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Sarah tuned up again, and Mrs. Stubbs was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 55%" id="figure-244"> -<span id="sarah-was-his-favourite-pupil"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Sarah was his favourite pupil." src="images/img-097.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Sarah was his favourite pupil.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-brilliant-marriage"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A BRILLIANT MARRIAGE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Very, very often, in those days, did she have the -old taunt of Princess Sarah thrown at her. "Oh! -</span><em class="italics">Princess</em><span> Sarah is quite too high and mighty to -quarrel over it. </span><em class="italics">Princess</em><span> Sarah is going to do the -mute martyr style of thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flossie was terribly indignant at being kept at -home that May might have more room in the -luxurious and roomy carriage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave Sarah out of it!" laughed May; "she -doesn't want to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd soon stop it if she did!" growled Flossie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But then, you see, I am," remarked Flossie, -with ineffable conceit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand what I mean," said Sarah, -with a patient sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">That's</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I haven't got a voice," cried Sarah, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> doesn't matter. Lady Lomys hasn't a -voice either, but she sings everywhere--everywhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you hear her?" Sarah asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, I haven't heard her myself," Flossie -admitted; "but then, that's what </span><em class="italics">everybody</em><span> says -about Lady Lomys."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I see," murmured Sarah, not at all impressed -by the mention of her ladyship's accomplishments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she stood there, with Sarah, in a simple white -muslin gown, watching her, a maid entered with a -large white cardboard box.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Miss Flossie," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that night it crept out among the young -ones in the Stubbs' schoolroom that Flossie was -going to be married.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-family-catastrophe"><span class="large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A FAMILY CATASTROPHE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 55%" id="figure-245"> -<span id="and-asked-for-the-master"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="And asked for the master." src="images/img-111.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">And asked for the master.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lor, Pa!" exclaimed Mrs. Stubbs, as they -rolled away from the door, "I thought something -was the matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm! If Pa'd been half sharp," Flossie -remarked, "he'd have taken care there was something left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, as to that, Sarah," said Flossie, "of -course it isn't likely </span><em class="italics">you'll</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Stubbs and May both cried out upon -Flossie for her words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-change-of-circumstances"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Sarah first, of course!" snapped Flossie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you'll have five bedrooms," Flossie cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And where are the servants to go?" Mrs. Stubbs -demanded. "Oh, I suppose I'm to do without a -servant at all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I shouldn't think you'll want more than -one," returned Flossie, who had six.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Stubbs rocked herself to and fro in the depth -of her misery and despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what's to become of me when Lily comes -of age?" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'aven't as much," Mrs. Stubbs cried, "to bring -up five children on as you and May each 'ave to -dress on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment Sarah looked at her with such -utter disdain in her grey eyes that the redoubtable -Flossie fairly quailed beneath her gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you think so, do you?" sneered Flossie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I do," said Sarah promptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall speak as I like to my own mother," Flossie -cried furiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sarah opened her eyes wide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That Sarah has insulted me," Flossie gasped--but -May was remarkably unsympathetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I did remember it," cried May; "I've -brought her a birthday present, poor child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sarah-s-opportunity"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SARAH'S OPPORTUNITY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> never used -to think of my carriages before my relations, never!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flossie will have more sense by-and-by," said -Sarah, who had but small patience with Mrs. Jones's -airs and graces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my little Sara!" he cried; "I was hoping -to see you again soon. And tell me, you have -lost the good uncle, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 57%" id="figure-246"> -<span id="they-have-done-everything-for-me-now-i-want-to-do-something-for-them-can-you-help-me"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""They have done everything for me; now I want to do something for them. Can you help me?"" src="images/img-129.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"They have done everything for me; now I want to do something for them. Can you help me?"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">artistes</em><span>, and he wants a lady violinist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me!" cried Sarah excitedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said the maestro, raising his hand, "he -does not give much money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it would be a beginning," she broke in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He gives six pounds a week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go!" Sarah cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we will go and see him at once; I have -an hour to spare," said the Italian kindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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, </span><em class="italics">I'm</em><span> no -burden upon her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That must be a great comfort to you, I'm sure, -Flossie," said Sarah gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; I often tell Mr. Jones so. And what -salary are you going to have, Sarah?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough to help my aunt a little," replied Sarah -coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you like to ask me as a professional, and pay -my fee," began Sarah mischievously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pay your fee! Well, I never! To your own -cousin, and when you owe us so much!" Flossie -exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think I owe </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> anything, Flossie, not -even civility or kindness," said Sarah coldly; but -Mrs. Jones had flounced away in a huff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Such impudence!" as she said to her husband -afterwards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So time went on, and Sarah worked late and -early, hoping, longing, praying to be one day a -great woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said I hoped so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<!-- vspace: 4 --> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst" id="miss-mignon"><span class="large">Miss Mignon</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, a story," cried three or four fresh young -voices in a breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I've told you </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> my stories," -Mrs. Ferrers said apologetically. "And I have told -them all so many times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell us about Mignon," cried Maud, for Mignon, -their half-sister, was still their favourite heroine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Ferrers pondered for a moment. "I don't -believe," she remarked, "that I have ever told you -about Mignon being lost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mignon--lost!" cried Maud. "Oh! never."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lost!" echoed Pearl. "And where was she lost, Mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell us," cried Bertie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; do tell us," echoed Cecil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell us," cried Madge and Baby in the same breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Mrs. Ferrers gathered her thoughts together -and began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's where the memorial is," said Pearl. "I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; we know," echoed Maud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Is anything the matter, Browne?' I asked. -Indeed, I saw by his white face that something -dreadful had happened.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-247"> -<span id="is-anything-the-matter-brown-page-141"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'Is anything the matter, Brown?'" (Page 141)" src="images/img-141.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'Is anything the matter, Brown?'" (Page 141)</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Oh, yes, ma'am, something dreadful!' he -answered. 'I scarcely know how to tell you. Miss -Mignon is lost.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Miss Mignon lost, Browne! What do you -mean?' I said. 'How can she be lost?'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 58%" id="figure-248"> -<span id="hortense-crept-down-and-went-on-her-knees-to-me-praying-and-imploring-me-to-forgive-her"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Hortense crept down and went on her knees to me, praying and imploring me to forgive her."" src="images/img-147.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Hortense crept down and went on her knees to me, praying and imploring me to forgive her."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" asked Madge suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hanging herself," answered Pearl. "Judas -hanged himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Judas went out and hanged himself," corrected -Maud, who had a passion for accuracy of small -details.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, Mother," cried a chorus of voices. "What -happened next?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Yes, but, Humphie, has any one taught her -304, Queen's Gate, S.W.?' I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'No,' said Humphie. 'I can't say that we have.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'"And what is your name?" I asked her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'"Oh! I'm Miss Mignon," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'"And where do you live?" I inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'"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 </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"CAPTAIN FERRERS, </span><em class="italics">Ferrers Court,</em></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><em class="italics">Farlington, Blankshire.</em><span>"</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"'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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Hortense--what did you do with her?" -Pearl asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> am to pour out the tea. Mother -says so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Willingly, so long as you don't scald yourself," -said Miss Maitland, smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And here is Father," cried Maud. "Bootles, -Mother has been telling us the dreadful story of -how Mignon was lost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has she, sweetheart? Well, we don't want to -go through that particular experience any more, -do we, darling?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No! once was once too often," said Mrs. Ferrers, -slipping her hand into his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two lumps of sugar," said Pearl, bringing her -father his cup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And muffins!" added Maud.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst" id="boy-s-love"><span class="large">Boy's Love</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="medium">PART I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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:--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"I am your affectionate son,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>EDWARD PETRES."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ted turned back with him and took hold of his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Taken your last physic out, Tom?" said he, -with a gallant attempt at manly indifference to the -dreaded parting of the morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye," returned Tom in a choking voice and -with eyes carefully averted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen Jack?" he asked, giving his head -a bit of a shake and crushing his trouble down right -bravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack Green?" asked Ted shortly. He was not -a little jealous of Jack Green, who was his chum's -other chum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye! Where is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't seen him--not all the afternoon," -returned Ted curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go and find him," said Tom, disengaging his -arm from Ted's close grasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 55%" id="figure-249"> -<span id="hid-his-face-upon-his-arm-against-a-friendly-sheltering-wall"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Hid his face upon his arm against a friendly sheltering wall" src="images/img-161.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Hid his face upon his arm against a friendly sheltering wall</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," said he, going over to his chum's bed, -which was next to his, "Tom, I've come to talk to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the last night, Tom," said Ted in a strangled -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Tom, in a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or me to yours," answered Tom eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shan't have no chum now," Ted went on, -taking no notice of Tom's words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll have Jack Green," said Tom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> liked him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you, Ted?" eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I will," answered Ted steadily. "And, -Tom, it's our last time together to-night--we mayn't -ever get together again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," sighed Tom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="large">PART II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, sir," returned Ted gratefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of the hospital orderlies turned from a case -at hand, and Ted uttered a cry of surprise at the -sight of him. "Why, </span><em class="italics">Tom</em><span>!" he cried, starting up -to take his hand, "I didn't even know you were with us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 57%" id="figure-250"> -<span id="oh-jack-jack-speak-to-me-he-cried-imploringly"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Oh, Jack, Jack, speak to me," he cried imploringly." src="images/img-167.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Oh, Jack, Jack, speak to me," he cried imploringly.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's too late, Tom," said Ted, bending down. "I -did my best, but it was too late, old man. I did my -best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom Boynton looked up in his old chum's face. -"You let him die?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We were three to one," returned the other humbly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did your best, and you let him die," repeated -Tom blankly. "And he was my chum," he added -miserably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," cried Ted passionately, "I was your chum too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You!</em><span>" with infinite scorn; then bending down -he kissed the dead face tenderly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that was how they met again--that was the -end of Tom Petres' boy's love.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst" id="yum-yum-a-pug"><span class="large">Yum-Yum: A Pug</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="medium">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Yum-Yum belonged to a little lady called -Nannie Mackenzie.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 57%" id="figure-251"> -<span id="id2"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Yum-Yum: A Pug." src="images/img-175.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Yum-Yum: A Pug.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 -</span><em class="italics">chiar-oscuro</em><span>, 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, </span><em class="italics">née</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">motif</em><span>, 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">ad libitum</em><span>, until the -circle melts into professional life on the one hand -and fashionable life on the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did Miss Dumerique </span><em class="italics">offer</em><span> to do one--to let me -do any work of that kind for her?" Rosalind broke -in impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, she did not," Mrs. Mackenzie admitted, "but----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">suggested</em><span> ideas to that gifted lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rosalind, my dear," cried Mrs. Mackenzie, "don't -say that--it sounds so like envy, and envy is a -hateful quality."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know it is, but I do want twenty pounds -so badly," answered Rosalind in a hopeless tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"There are youthful dreamers,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Building castles fair, with stately stairways;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Asking blindly</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Of the Future what it cannot give them."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think they're real beauties, don't you, -Father?" said Nannie anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, they are great beauties," said Mr. Mackenzie, -holding one little snub-nosed pug up and -examining it closely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what should you think that they are -worth, Father?" Nannie asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">any</em><span> thing like that for them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Nannie," he said tenderly, "my generous, -kind-hearted little woman! Rosalind ought to -love you dearly for----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">some</em><span> of the lessons that -she wants so badly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in due course, after a good deal of -correspondence through the columns of the </span><em class="italics">Queen</em><span> -and the </span><em class="italics">Exchange and Mart</em><span>, 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what is this, Nannie?" Rosalind cried, -half frightened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must," Nannie answered promptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But your watch--you've longed so for a watch, -you know," said the elder girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> take it, darling," Rosalind urged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">ever</em><span> so much better than any -other one in all the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalind clasped Nannie close to her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have one pupil who </span><em class="italics">works</em><span>," 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! Mother, can't you do </span><em class="italics">any</em><span>thing to help -Rosie?" Nannie cried in piteously beseeching accents -the night before Rosalind was to go to the studio -for the last time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nannie," answered Mrs. Mackenzie reproachfully, -"don't you think I would if I could?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Daddy, can you do nothing?" Nannie implored.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My little one, I am so poor just now," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, Rosalind was brave, and put a good -face upon the matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is Nannie?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! she's out in the garden," Mrs. Mackenzie -answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I haven't time to go down; but don't let -her worry about me, will you, Mother?" said -Rosalind anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no; I will look after her," Mrs. Mackenzie -answered vaguely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Rosalind went off fairly satisfied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have come for my last lesson, Mr. Raymond," -she said, with rather an uncertain smile, as she bade -the maestro good-morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! well, well; we must have a talk about -that," he answered good-naturedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalind shook her head a little sadly, and took -her place without delay--to her every moment was -precious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear child," cried the maestro, running to -her side, "how now! What is the matter? Pray -tell me, my dear, tell me."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-252"> -<span id="my-dear-child-what-is-the-matter"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'My dear child, what is the matter?'"" src="images/img-194.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'My dear child, what is the matter?'"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mr. Raymond took off his glasses and wiped them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon my word," he muttered in an uncertain -voice; "upon my word!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The darling!" cried one pupil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she fond of the dog?" asked another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! yes!" they all cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My mother?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Mackenzie is dressing to go out, Miss -Rosalind," the maid answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Miss Nannie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe Miss Nannie is in the garden," was the -reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rosalind flung herself down upon her knees -before the chair, and took child and dog into her -arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 57%" id="figure-253"> -<span id="my-own-precious-little-sister-my-unselfish-darling-she-cried"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""My own precious little sister, my unselfish darling," she cried." src="images/img-197.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"My own precious little sister, my unselfish darling," she cried.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nannie looked past her sister towards the tall -old painter standing behind her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your lessons," she faltered, with quivering lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will go on teaching Rosalind," Nannie cried -in a bewildered way, "for nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the old man went away, leaving the -sisters, in the fulness of their joy, together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst" id="our-ada-elizabeth"><span class="large">Our Ada Elizabeth</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="smaller">"The sublime mystery of -Providence goes on in silence, and -gives no explanation of itself, no -answer to our impatient questionings."--</span><em class="italics smaller">Hyperion</em><span class="smaller">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I must tell you that, although they were always -</span><em class="italics">called</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 56%" id="figure-254"> -<span id="a-child-with-a-heavy-dull-face"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="A child with a heavy, dull face." src="images/img-208.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">A child with a heavy, dull face.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I want another feather in mine to make -it perfect, Mother," murmured Gerty, with insinuating -suggestiveness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't care," returned Ada Elizabeth, whose -heart was bursting, not with jealousy, but with a -crushing sense of her own shortcomings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm!" he remarked, in a dry tone, and then -closed his lips tight and helped himself to another -slice of bread and butter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So was the hare of winning the race; but the -tortoise won, after all," remarked Mr. Dicki'son -sententiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> 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 </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> 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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Is</em><span> 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 -</span><em class="italics">my</em><span> motto; and if I want aught doing for me, it's -our Ada Elizabeth I asks to do it, that's all </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 daïs 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 daïs, -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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 daïs, -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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ada Elizabeth, what ails you?" he asked anxiously.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 53%" id="figure-255"> -<span id="ada-elizabeth-what-ails-you-he-asked-anxiously"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Ada Elizabeth, what ails you?" he asked anxiously." src="images/img-225.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Ada Elizabeth, what ails you?" he asked anxiously.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, Gerty," he said, "nurse Mirry a bit. I -want to go upstairs for a minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dicki'son had already reached the sick-room, -where the nurses were still standing over his -half-unconscious wife's bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The hospital!" repeated Mr. Dicki'son blankly. -He had all the horror of a hospital that so many of -his class have.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doctor," said Mr. Dicki'son hoarsely, "I don't -like my little lass going to the hospital. I don't like it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that Mirry crying?" she asked, on the -morning when the child was at its worst.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mirry do want our Ada 'Liz'bet'," wailed the sick -child in the next room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Dicki'son turned her head weakly from side -to side and trembled in every limb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> Ada Elizabeth go to her?" she burst -out at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The nurse coughed awkwardly. "Well, my dear," -she began, "poor Ada Elizabeth isn't 'ere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't 'ere!" repeated Mrs. Dicki'son wildly, and -just then her husband walked into the room and up -to the bedside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clutched hold of him with frantic eagerness. -"Father," she cried hysterically, "is it true our -Mirry's took with the fever?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she's crying for our Ada Elizabeth," -Mrs. Dicki'son persisted. "Hark! There she is again. -Why </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> Ada Elizabeth be quick and go to her? -Where is she? What does Mrs. Barker mean by -saying she isn't 'ere?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do </span><em class="italics">want</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> 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. -</span><em class="italics">She</em><span> had loved the unattractive face, and missed it -bitterly; </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 55%" id="figure-256"> -<span id="you-tum-back-ada-liz-bet-she-murmured"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""You tum back, Ada 'Liz'bet'?" she murmured." src="images/img-235.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"You tum back, Ada 'Liz'bet'?" she murmured.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst" id="halt"><span class="large">Halt!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Halt! Who goes there?" cried a man's -voice through the thick gloom of the dark night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lost my mammy," the small creature burst out, -finding that she was expected to say something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's your mammy's name?" Flinders asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mammy, of course," was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what's your name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Susy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Susy. Aye, but Susy what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Susy," repeated the little person, beginning to -whimper again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where do you live?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At home," said Susy, in an insulted tone, as if -all these questions were quite superfluous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! blest if </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Susy so cold," whimpered the mite pitifully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what's the meaning of this?" demanded -the corporal of the guard, when he perceived the -unusual encumbrance to the private's movements.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?" asked the corporal, with a twinkle -in his eye, which the dark night effectually hid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gord knows," was the private's quick reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 55%" id="figure-257"> -<span id="she-s-a-tender-little-thing-missis-he-remarked"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""She's a tender little thing, missis," he remarked." src="images/img-247.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"She's a tender little thing, missis," he remarked.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is but a baby," ventured the soldier -apologetically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Susy looked at him doubtfully, but nodded her -cropped head with an air of wise acquiescence. -Flinders went on talking quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember before you came here--you had -a home and a mammy, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Susy promptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What sort of a house was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where my mammy was?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Big," replied Susy briefly, selecting another -sweetie with care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what was it called?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The house," said the child, in a matter-of-fact tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flinders gave a sigh. "Yes, I dare say it was. -Don't you remember, though, what your mammy -was called?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why mammy, of course," said Susy, as if the -question was too utterly foolish for serious -consideration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me," snapped the matron; "is she going -to turn out a princess in disguise, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll perhaps turn out a pity you was in such -a hurry to crop her hair," said Private Flinders, -with dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The inspector whom he found in charge of the -police-station listened to his tale with a strictly -professional demeanour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll do your best?" he said, a little wistfully. -"You'll not let time go by, and--and----?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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:--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A few hours after the appearance of the advertisement, -a telegram arrived at the police-station:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep child. Will come as soon as possible.--JACKSON."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you're not the mother?" said the inspector -sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The mother!--my goodness, no! I'm the head -nurse. My young lady's mother is the Countess of -Morecambe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what does </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> say to all this, pray?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The inspector gave a prolonged whistle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this the woman simply sat down and sobbed aloud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, you may well cry," said the inspector -grimly. "I should if I was in your shoes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All the same, I shouldn't wonder if you get the -sack," repeated the inspector, who was not troubled -with much sentiment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst" id="the-little-lady-with-the-voice"><span class="large">The Little Lady with the Voice</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="medium">A FAIRY TALE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 57%" id="figure-258"> -<span id="the-sad-salt-tears-slowly-gathered-in-her-eyes"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="The sad salt tears slowly gathered in her eyes." src="images/img-261.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">The sad salt tears slowly gathered in her eyes.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter?" said a voice just at her ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing!" answered Marjory shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I may, perhaps, be able to help you," the gentle -little voice persisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nobody can help me," said Marjory, with a great -sigh, "nobody can help me--nobody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marjory turned her head, but she could see no -one near. "Who are you? Why do you hide?" -she asked in turn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You look too high," said the voice. "Look -lower; yes--ah, how d'you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"N--o," replied Marjory, stammering a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you a witch?" asked Marjory, in a very -awed voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hu--sh--sh! We never use such an uncomplimentary -word in </span><em class="italics">our</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marjory's eyes opened wider than ever; she bent -forward and asked an earnest question: "Are you -my familiar?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay!" cried Marjory. "Won't you even tell -me your name? May I not thank you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. The thanks are mine," said the little lady. -"When we meet again I will tell you my name--not -before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> writer of the time." And slowly, -little by little, the secret crept out, and Marjory -was fêted 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not impossible at all," said a familiar voice at -her elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We never stint thanks in our world," said the -little old lady, smiling. "Then there is nothing -more that you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, kind friend, just one thing," said Marjory. -"You promised me that when we met again you -would tell me your name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst" id="jewels-to-wear"><span class="large">Jewels to Wear</span></p> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"Torches are made to burn;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>jewels to wear."--</span><em class="italics">Shakespeare</em></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">might</em><span> save me, of how you </span><em class="italics">might</em><span> 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!"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 57%" id="figure-259"> -<span id="you-have-only-one-idea-in-your-head-and-that-is-writing-rubbishy-stories-that-nobody-will-ever-want-to-buy"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""You have only one idea in your head, and that is writing rubbishy stories that nobody will ever want to buy!"" src="images/img-272.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"You have only one idea in your head, and that is writing rubbishy stories that nobody will ever want to buy!"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl thus addressed turned and looked at her mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you to do?" echoed the mother. -"Why, look at that basket of stockings to darn!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am quite willing to darn them," said Nancy meekly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you are quite willing, I daresay. You are -quite willing </span><em class="italics">when</em><span> 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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will do them at once," said Nancy. "I will -do them this minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," said Nancy desperately. "Perhaps -I may make some money some day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Mother, what do you wish me to do?" the -girl asked in desperation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you even let me write a little to amuse -myself in my spare time?" asked the girl piteously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother, I don't defy you," Nancy broke in indignantly. -"I never defied you in my life. I never -thought of such a thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As if </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you for nothing, my dear," was the -ungracious reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">thought</em><span> -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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">called</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 -</span><em class="italics">métier</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="medium">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"When troubles come, they come not single spies,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>But in battalions";</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and that is as true to-day as when Shakespeare -penned the lines more than three hundred years ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that, of course, Nancy knew no more than -her mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I might sell my cameo brooch," said Mrs. Macdonald, -with a huge sigh. "It was the last present -your poor father ever gave me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I don't suppose it would fetch anything -like nine pounds seventeen and fourpence," said -Nancy doubtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a ten pound note," said Mrs. Macdonald, -with an air of conviction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nancy! Nancy!" cried her younger sister Edith, -at that moment. "Where are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here, dear," Nancy replied. "What is the -matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child, for Edith was only some thirteen or -fourteen years old, came running up the stairs two -steps at a time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here's a letter for you, Nancy," she said eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A letter?" cried Nancy, her mind flying at once -to her story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it's got a Queen's head on it or something. -Here it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two girls reached the large and dimly-lighted -entrance-hall together, one from upstairs and one -from down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give it to me," said Nancy, breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small">"The Editor of the </span><em class="italics small">Family Beacon</em><span class="small"> 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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Nancy, what is it?" cried Edith, staring in -a fright at her sister's chalk-white face. "Is it bad -news?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother! Mother! Where are you?" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" cried Mrs. Macdonald, who, poor -soul, was ready for all and every evil that could -fall upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 58%" id="figure-260"> -<span id="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"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="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." src="images/img-293.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">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.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> work -which has come to save me from the end which I -so dreaded. But I shall never forgive myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nancy, the storm over, brushed the tears -away from her eyes, and sat back, resting her elbow -upon her mother's knee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> leave -everything to you--everything, and I might have wasted -all my time. You were quite right, Mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Butler & Turner. The Selwood Printing Works. Frome, and London.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">New Reward Series.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Demy 8vo, Handsomely Bound, Cloth Gilt, 3/6</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A Set of Favourite Books of large size, well printed -an& beautifully illustrated.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>1 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With life of the Author, and 100 Engravings in the -Text. 560 pages.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>2 THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With full-page Plates and 200 Engravings in the -Text. 564 pages.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>3 DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By CERVANTES. With full-page Plates and 700 -Engravings in the Text, by TONY JOHANNOT. 800 pages.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>4 THE OLD FAVOURITE FAIRY TALES.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With full-page Plates and 300 other Illustrations in -the text. 430 pages.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>6 ROBINSON CRUSOE.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With Memoir by H. W. DULCKEN, Ph.D., full-page -Plates and many Woodcuts. 416 pages.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>7 GULLIVER'S TRAVELS.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With about 300 Woodcut Illustrations. 400 pages.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>9 GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The only Complete Edition. Carefully translated from -the original by BEATRICE MARSHALL. Illustrated by -GUSTAVE DORÉ and HENRY AUSTIN. 640 pages.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">The Round Table Library.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">DEMY 8vo., CLOTH GILT, 3/6.</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A series of popular books by well-known writers, well printed -and profusely Illustrated.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>1 RUNNYMEDE AND LINCOLN FAIR. A Story of -the Great Charter. By J. G. EDGAR. Illustrated by ADOLF -THIEDE and others.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>2 CRESSY AND POICTIERS. The Story of the Black -Prince's Page. By J. G. EDGAR. Illustrated by POWELL -CHASE and others.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>3 HOW I WON MY SPURS; or, Adventures in the -Barons' Wars. By J. G. EDGAR. Illustrated by J. AMBROSE -WALTON and others.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>4 HUBERT ELLIS. A Story of the Days of King -Richard II. By F. DAVENANT. Illustrated by ADOLF THIEDE -and others.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">The "Tip-Cat" Series.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Large Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, Illustrated, 2/6</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>1 TIP-CAT. By the Author of "LADDIE." -<br />With Four Illustrations.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>2 DEAR. By the Author of "LADDIE." -<br />With Four Illustrations.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>3 PEN. By the Author of "LADDIE." -<br />With Four Illustrations.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>4 MY HONEY. By the Author of "LADDIE." -<br />Illustrated by SYDNEY COWELL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>5 ROB. By the Author of "LADDIE." -<br />Illustrated by JOHN WILLIAMSON.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>6 LIL. By the Author of "LADDIE." -<br />With Four Illustrations.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>7 OUR LITTLE ANN. By the Author of "LADDIE." -<br />With Four Illustrations.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>8 LADDIE, &c. By the Author of "TIP-CAT."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>9 THE CAPTAIN OF FIVE. By MARY H. DEBENHAM. -<br />Illustrated by G. D. HAMMOND.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>10 HOLLYBERRY JANET. By MAGGIE SYMINGTON. -<br />With Frontispiece. ("Aunt Maggie.")</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>11 THE PATTYPATS. By H. ESCOTT INMAN. -<br />Illustrated by A. J. JOHNSON.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>12 THE NIDDING NOD By H. ESCOTT INMAN. -<br />Illustrated by E. A. MASON.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>13 FAITHFUL. By the Author of "LADDIE."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">The Captain Library.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Large Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s.; also</em><span> -<br /></span><em class="italics">Bevelled boards, gilt edges, 2s. 6d.</em><span> -<br /></span><em class="italics">Each with Four Illustrations.</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="left pnext"><span>1 Westward Ho! By CHARLES KINGSLEY -<br />2 From Log Cabin to White House. By W. M. THAYER -<br />3 Robinson Crusoe. By DANIEL DEFOE -<br />4 The Pilgrim's Progress. By JOHN BUNYAN -<br />5 Grimm's Fairy Stories -<br />6 Grimm's Fairy Tales -<br />7 Swiss Family Robinson -<br />8 Andersen's Popular Tales -<br />9 Andersen's Stories -<br />10 Boys' Own Sea Stories -<br />11 Two Years before the Mast. By R. H. DANA -<br />12 Scottish Chiefs. By JANE PORTER -<br />13 Ivanhoe. By SIR WALTER SCOTT -<br />15 Two Years Ago. By CHARLES KINGSLEY -<br />16 The Last of the Barons. By BULWER LYTTON -<br />17 Harold. By BULWER LYTTON -<br />18 Arabian Nights Entertainments -<br />20 The Beachcombers. By GILBERT BISHOP -<br />21 The Heir of Langridge Towers By R. M. FREEMAN -<br />23 The Rajah of Monkey Island. By A. LEE KNIGHT -<br />26 Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. JULES VERNE -<br />27 The Wonderful Travels. By JULES VERNE -<br />28 Among the Cannibals. By JULES VERNE -<br />29 The Moon Voyage. By JULES VERNE -<br />30 The Adventures of Captain Hatteras. By JULES VERNE -<br />31 Willis, the Pilot. A Sequel to the "Swiss Family Robinson." -<br />32 The Coral Island. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />33 Martin Rattler. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />34 Ungava. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />35 The Young Fur-Traders. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />36 Peter, the Whaler. By W. H. G. KINGSTON -<br />37 The Cruise of the "Golden Wave". By W. N. OSCAR -<br />38 The World of Ice. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />39 Old Jack. By W. H. G. KINGSTON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">THE LILY SERIES.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Large Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, illustrated, 1/6</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">WELL PRINTED ON GOOD PAPER. -<br />EACH VOLUME ILLUSTRATED BY WELL-KNOWN ARTISTS, -<br />AND ATTRACTIVELY BOUND IN CLOTH GILT, WITH SPECIAL DESIGN -<br />ENTIRELY NEW EDITIONS.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="left pnext"><span>1 Little Women. L. M. ALCOTT -<br />2 Good Wives. L. M. ALCOTT -<br />3 The Lamplighter. MISS CUMMING -<br />4 Uncle Tom's Cabin. MRS. H. B. STOWE -<br />5 The Wide, Wide World. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />6 Queechy. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />7 Prince of the House of David. REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -<br />8 The Throne of David. REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -<br />9 Melbourne House. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />10 From Jest to Earnest. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />11 Standish of Standish. JANE G. AUSTIN -<br />12 A Knight of the Nineteenth Century. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />13 What Katy Did at Home and at School. SUSAN COOLIDGE -<br />14 The Old Helmet. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />15 Daisy. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />16 Without a Home. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />17 Barriers Burned Away. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />18 Ben-Hur. LEW WALLACE -<br />19 Beulah. A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />20 Infelice. A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />21 St. Elmo. A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />22 At the Mercy of Tiberius. A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />23 A Young Girl's Wooing. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />24 A Humble Enterprise. ADA CAMBRIDGE -<br />25 Titus. FLORENCE M. KINGSLEY -<br />26 John Halifax, Gentleman. MRS. CRAIK -<br />27 In His Steps. CHAS. M. SHELDON -<br />28 The Pillar of Fire. REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -<br />29 Mabel Vaughan. MISS CUMMING -<br />30 Miss Lou. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />31 Holiday House. CATHERINE SINCLAIR -<br />33 Opening a Chestnut Burr. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />34 Macaria. A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />35 A Man's Foes. E. H. STRAIN -<br />36 A Day of Fate. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />37 Prisoners of the Sea. F. M. KINGSLEY -<br />38 What Katy Did Next. SUSAN COOLIDGE -<br />39 Crucifixion of Phillip Strong. CHAS. M. SHELDON -<br />40 His Brother's Keeper. CHAS. M. SHELDON -<br />41 Richard Bruce. CHAS. M. SHELDON -<br />42 The Twentieth Door. CHAS. M. SHELDON -<br />43 Malcom Kirk. CHAS. M. SHELDON -<br />44 Robert Hardy's Seven Days. CHAS. M. SHELDON -<br />45 He Fell in Love with His Wife. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />46 Two Years Ago. CHAS. KINGSLEY -<br />47 Danesbury House. MRS. HENRY WOOD -<br />48 Ministering Children. MISS CHARLESWORTH -<br />49 Monica. E. EVERETT GREEN -<br />50 A Face Illumined. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />51 Vashti. A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />52 The Earth Trembled. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />53 Princess Sarah. JOHN STRANGE WINTER -<br />54 His Sombre Rivals. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />55 The Cross Triumphant. FLORENCE M. KINGSLEY -<br />56 Paul. FLORENCE M. KINGSLEY -<br />57 An Original Belle. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />58 Daisy in the Field. ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />59 Naomi. MRS. J. B. WEBB -<br />60 Near to Nature's Heart. REV. E. P. ROE -<br />61 Edward Blake. CHAS. M. SHELDON -<br />62 That Lass o' Lowrie's. MRS. F. H. BURNETT -<br />63 A Mother's Holiday. JOHN STRANGE WINTER -<br />64 Stepping Heavenward. ELIZABETH PRENTISS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">The Youths' Library</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Large Crown 8vo, Cloth, with Four Illustrations, 1/6</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Entirely new editions, well printed on good -paper. Each volume containing four full-page -illustrations by well-known artists, and attractively -bound.</span></p> -<p class="left pnext"><span>1 FROM LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSE. By W. M. THAYER -<br />2 ROBINSON CRUSOE. By DANIEL DEFOE -<br />3 BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS -<br />4 GRIMM'S FAIRY STORIES -<br />5 GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES -<br />6 THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON -<br />7 ANDERSEN'S POPULAR TALES -<br />8 ANDERSEN'S STORIES -<br />9 BOY'S OWN SEA STORIES -<br />10 TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST. By R. H. DANA -<br />11 SCOTTISH CHIEFS. By JANE PORTER -<br />13 IVANHOE. By SIR WALTER SCOTT -<br />14 PRISONERS OF THE SEA. By F. M. KINGSLEY -<br />15 WESTWARD HO! By CHARLES KINGSLEY -<br />16 ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS -<br />18 FRANK ALLREDDY'S FORTUNE. By CAPT. FRANKLIN FOX -<br />20 TWO YEARS AGO. By CHARLES KINGSLEY -<br />21 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. By BULWER LYTTON -<br />22 HAROLD. By BULWER LYTTON -<br />23 THE HOLY WAR. By JOHN BUNYAN -<br />24 THE HEROES. By CHARLES KINGSLEY -<br />25 THE BEACHCOMBERS. By GILBERT BISHOP -<br />26 WILLIS, THE PILOT. A Sequel to the "Swiss Family Robinson." -<br />27 THE CORAL ISLAND. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />28 MARTIN RATTLER. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />29 UNGAVA. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />30 THE YOUNG FUR-TRADERS. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />31 PETER, THE WHALER. By W. H. G. KINGSTON -<br />32 THE HEIR OF LANGRIDGE TOWERS. By R. M. FREEMAN -<br />33 THE RAJAH OF MONKEY ISLAND. By ARTHUR LEE KNIGHT -<br />34 THE CRUISE OF THE "GOLDEN WAVE". By W. N. OSCAR -<br />35 THE WORLD OF ICE. By R. M. BALLANTYNE -<br />36 OLD JACK. By W. H. G. KINGSTON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">The Rainbow Series.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Crown 8vo, in cloth, Design in Colours, 1/- each.</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cheapest Series of Standard Gift Books issued. -As Birthday Presents, Day or Sunday School -Prizes, the Series is unrivalled at the price.</span></p> -<p class="left pnext"><span>1 ROBINSON CRUSOE. With many Illustrations -<br />2 SANDFORD & MERTON. With numerous Illustrations -<br />3 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. With numerous Illustrations -<br />4 TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST. By R. H. DANA -<br />5 GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES -<br />6 GRIMM'S FAIRY STORIES -<br />7 BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. Illustrated -<br />7A BUNYAN'S HOLY WAR -<br />8 A BOY'S LIFE ABOARD SHIP. Illustrated -<br />9 LIFE IN A WHALER. Illustrated -<br />10 HANS ANDERSEN'S POPULAR TALES. Illustrated -<br />11 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY STORIES. Illustrated -<br />12 HANS ANDERSEN'S POPULAR STORIES. Illustrated -<br />13 ANDERSEN'S FAVOURITE TALES. Illustrated -<br />14 FROM LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSE. Illustrated -<br />17 LAMB'S TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE -<br />18 SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON -<br />19 WILLIS, THE PILOT -<br />20 ARABIAN NIGHTS -<br />21 THE CORAL ISLAND -<br />22 MARTIN RATTLER -<br />23 UNGAVA -<br />24 THE YOUNG FUR-TRADERS -<br />25 THE WORLD OF ICE -<br />26 WESTWARD HO! -<br />27 EVENINGS AT HOME -<br />30 IN SEARCH OF FRANKLIN -<br />31 THE WAY TO VICTORY -<br />33 NEVER SAY DIE -<br />37 PRINCE GOLDENBLADE -<br />38 FEATS ON THE FIORD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">Uniform with the "Rainbow Series."</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">The Works of E. P. 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By MRS. CRAIK -<br />39 Danesbury House. By MRS. HENRY WOOD -<br />40 Ministering Children. By M. L. CHARLESWORTH -<br />41 Ben-Hur. By LEW WALLACE -<br />42 The Fair God. By LEW WALLACE -<br />43 Naomi. By MRS. WEBB -<br />44 Beulah. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />45 Infelice. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />46 John Ward, Preacher. By MARGARET DELAND -<br />47 St. Elmo. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />48 At the Mercy of Tiberius. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />49 Vashti. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />50 Macaria. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />51 Inez. By A. J. EVANS WILSON -<br />53 Melbourne House. By ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />54 Daisy. By ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />54A Daisy in the Field. By ELIZABETH WETHERELL -<br />55 Little Women. LOUISA M. ALCOTT -<br />56 Good Wives. LOUISA M. ALCOTT -<br />57 Aunt Jane's Hero. MRS. E. PRENTISS -<br />58 Flower of the Family. MRS. E. PRENTISS -<br />60 The Old Helmet. E. WETHERELL -<br />61 What Katy Did. By SUSAN COOLIDGE -<br />62 What Katy Did at School. By SUSAN COOLIDGE -<br />62A What Katy Did Next. By SUSAN COOLIDGE -<br />63 The Lamplighter. By MISS CUMMING -<br />64 The Wide, Wide World. By E. WETHERELL -<br />65 Queechy. By E. WETHERELL -<br />67 Stepping Heavenward. By E. PRENTISS -<br />68 The Prince of the House of David. By REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -<br />69 Anna Lee. By T. S. ARTHUR -<br />70 The Throne of David. By REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -<br />71 The Pillar of Fire. By REV. J. H. INGRAHAM -<br />72 Mabel Vaughan. By MISS CUMMING -<br />73 The Basket of Flowers. By G. T. BEDELL -<br />74 That Lass o' Lowrie's. By MRS. F. H. BURNETT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">By CHAS. M. 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