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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Flight with the Swallows, by Emma Marshall
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Flight with the Swallows
+       Little Dorothy's Dream
+
+Author: Emma Marshall
+
+Release Date: March 2, 2011 [EBook #35455]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A FLIGHT WITH THE
+SWALLOWS
+
+_Or, Little Dorothy's Dream_
+
+BY
+
+EMMA MARSHALL
+
+_Author of "Poppies and Pansies," "Silver Chimes," etc., etc_
+
+
+  [Illustration: Swallow]
+
+
+LONDON
+S. W. PARTRIDGE AND CO
+8 & 9 PATERNOSTER ROW
+
+
+  [Illustration: "YOU ARE THE YOUNG CANON." _p._ 13.]
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+  Chap.                    Page
+
+     I. DOROTHY'S DREAM       7
+    II. PREPARATION          12
+   III. OFF AND AWAY         20
+    IV. NINO                 27
+     V. ONLY A DOG           35
+    VI. THE VILLA LUCIA      40
+   VII. VILLA FIRENZE        48
+  VIII. DOROTHY'S LESSONS    55
+    IX. LOST                 66
+     X. IN THE SHADOWS       72
+    XI. WHAT FOLLOWED        82
+   XII. THE LOST FOUND       89
+
+
+
+
+A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+DOROTHY'S DREAM.
+
+
+In a deep window seat, hidden by crimson curtains from the room beyond,
+a little girl was curled up, looking out upon a trim garden, where the
+first autumn leaves were falling one September afternoon. The view was
+bounded by a high wall, and above the wall, the east end of Coldchester
+Cathedral stood up a dark mass against the pale-blue sky. Every now and
+then a swallow darted past the window, with its forked tail and whitish
+breast; then there was a twittering and chirping in the nests above, as
+the swallows talked to each other of their coming flight. Little Dorothy
+was an only child; she had no brothers and sisters to play with; thus
+she made playmates of her two fluffy kittens, who were lying at her
+feet; and she made friends of the twittering swallows and the chattering
+jackdaws, as they flew in and out from the cathedral tower, and lived in
+a world of her own.
+
+The position of an only child has its peculiar pleasures and privileges;
+but I am inclined to think that all little girls who have brothers and
+sisters to play with are more to be envied than little Dorothy. To be
+sure, there was no one to want Puff and Muff but herself; no one to
+dispute the ownership of Miss Belinda, her large doll; no one to say
+it was her turn to dust and tidy Barton Hall, the residence of Miss
+Belinda; no one to insist on his right to spin a top or snatch away the
+cup and ball just when the critical moment came, and the ball was at
+last going to alight on the cup.
+
+Dorothy had none of these trials; but then she had none of the pleasures
+which go with them; for the pleasure of giving up your own way is in
+the long run greater than always getting it; and it is better to have
+a little quarrel, and then "make it up" with a kiss and confession of
+fault on both sides, than never to have any one to care about what _you_
+care for, and no one to contradict you!
+
+As little Dorothy watched the swallows, and listened to their conversation
+above her head, she became aware that some one was in the drawing-room,
+and was talking to her mother.
+
+She was quite hidden from view, and she heard her name.
+
+"But how can I take little Dorothy?"
+
+"Easily enough. It will do her no harm to take flight with the swallows."
+
+"You don't think _she_ is delicate?" she heard her mother exclaim, in a
+voice of alarm. "Oh, Doctor Bell, you don't think Dorothy is delicate?"
+
+"No, she is very well as far as I see at present, but I think her life
+is perhaps rather too dreamy and self-absorbed. She wants companions;
+she wants variety."
+
+Dr. Bell knew he was venturing on delicate ground.
+
+"Dorothy is very happy," Mrs. Acheson said, "very happy. Just suppose
+San Remo does not suit her, does not agree with her; then think of the
+journey!"
+
+"My dear madam, the journey is as easy in these days as if you could
+fly over on the backs of the swallows--easier, if anything. You ask my
+serious advice, and it is this, that you lose no time in starting for
+San Remo or Mentone."
+
+"San Remo is best," said Mrs. Acheson, "for I have a friend who has a
+house there, and she will be there for the winter."
+
+"Very well; then let me advise you to be quick in making your
+preparations. I shall call again this day week, and expect to find you
+are standing, like the swallows, ready for flight. Look at them now on
+the coping of the old wall, talking about their departure, and
+settling."
+
+When Dr. Bell was gone, Mrs. Acheson sat quietly by the fire, thinking
+over what he had said. She had tried to persuade herself that her cough
+was better, that if she kept in the house all the winter it would go
+away. She had felt sure that in this comfortable room, out of which her
+bed-room opened, she must be as well as in Italy or the south of France.
+Dr. Bell was so determined to get his own way, and it was cruel to turn
+her out of her home. And then Dorothy, little Dorothy! how hard it would
+be for her to leave Puff and Muff, and her nursery, and everything in
+it. And what was to be done about Nino, the little white poodle, and----
+
+A host of objections started up, and Mrs. Acheson tried to believe that
+she would make a stand against Dr. Bell, and stay in Canon's House all
+the winter.
+
+Meantime little Dorothy, who had been lying curled up as I have
+described, had heard in a confused way much of what Dr. Bell said.
+"A flight with the swallows." The swallows, her uncle, Canon Percival,
+had told her, flew away to sunshine and flowers; that the cold wind in
+England gave them the ague, and that they got all sorts of complaints,
+and would die of hunger, or cramp, or rheumatism if they stayed in
+England!
+
+"As easy a journey as if you were on a swallow's back," the doctor had
+said; and Dorothy was wondering who could be small enough to ride on a
+swallow's back, when she heard a tap at the window, a little gentle tap.
+
+"Let me in, let me in," said a small voice, which was like a chirp or a
+twitter, rather than a voice.
+
+And then Dorothy turned the old-fashioned handle which closed the lower
+square of the lattice window, and in came the swallow. She recognised it
+as one she knew--the mother-bird from the nest in the eaves.
+
+"Come to the sunny South," it said. "Come to the sunny South."
+
+"I can't, without mother," Dorothy said.
+
+"Oh yes, you can. Get on my back."
+
+"I am much too big. I am nearly eight years old."
+
+The swallow twittered, and it sounded like a laugh.
+
+"You are not too big; just get on."
+
+And then the swallow turned its tail towards little Dorothy; and, to her
+surprise, she saw her hands were tiny hands as she put them round the
+swallow's neck, and tucked a pair of tinier feet under its wings.
+
+"Are you ready?" said the swallow.
+
+"I don't know. Stop--I----"
+
+But in another minute she was flying through the air on the swallow's
+back. Over the great cathedral tower, over the blue hills, away, away.
+Presently there was water beneath, dancing and sparkling in the western
+sunshine; then there were boats and ships, looking so tiny. Everything
+did look so small. Then it grew dark, and Dorothy was asleep--she felt
+she was asleep--and presently the swallow put her down on something very
+soft, and there was a great light, and she sat up and found herself, not
+in the sunny South, but on her mother's knee by the bright fire in the
+drawing-room.
+
+"Why, Dorothy, you are quite cold," her mother said. "I did not know you
+were curled up in the window seat, and so fast asleep."
+
+"Why, mother," said Dorothy, rubbing her eyes and giving a great yawn,
+"I thought I was flying off to the sunny South with the swallows. How
+funny!" she exclaimed. "It was, after all, a dream! I heard Dr. Bell
+talking about your taking flight with the swallows, and then I thought
+I got ever so wee and tiny, and then the old mother-swallow carried me
+off. _Are_ you going to fly off with the swallows, mother, to the sunny
+South?"
+
+  [Illustration: Swallows]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+PREPARATION.
+
+
+"Well, Dorothy Dormouse!" exclaimed Canon Percival, when he came into
+the drawing-room after dinner that evening.
+
+"Don't call me Dorothy Dormouse, Uncle Crannie."
+
+"Oh, but we call people what they are; and when little girls roll up
+into a ball, and sleep away their time, they are like nothing so much
+as--dormice."
+
+"Mother has been telling you at dinner all about my dream, Uncle Crannie.
+I know she has, else how do you know?"
+
+"Oh, perhaps one of the swallows told me. I say, Dorothy, I have to talk
+seriously to you for once. I am not joking this time."
+
+Dorothy looked up in her uncle's face, and saw that he really did look
+grave--almost sad.
+
+"Before mother comes into the room, I want to tell you that Dr. Bell
+thinks her cough is a bad cough, and that Coldchester is not the right
+place for her to live in during the winter months. So poor Uncle Crannie
+will be left alone all the long winter, and you must go with mother and
+Ingleby to the sunny South--to Italy; think of that!"
+
+"I don't want to go," said Dorothy. "I mean--I mean I don't want to
+leave Puff and Muff and old Nino, and----"
+
+"Poor old Uncle Crannie; but, my dear little niece, this is not a
+question of what you _like_ or what you _want_. It is a question of what
+is _right_ to do. Perhaps, little Dorothy, neither mother nor I have
+taught you enough the meaning of the word duty. It means, what you owe
+to others of service or love. Now, you owe it to your mother to be as
+merry and happy as a bird; and, after all, many little girls would jump
+for joy to be off to San Remo."
+
+Dorothy was silent. "How long will it take to get there," she asked--"to
+the sunny South?"
+
+"Well, you won't go quite as fast as the swallows, but I daresay we
+shall get there in less than a week; it depends upon the weather, and
+upon how your mother bears the journey. You must ask God to-night to
+bless your dear mother, and to make you a very good, helpful little
+daughter to her. Will you do this?"
+
+"Yes," Dorothy said--"yes, Uncle Crannie. Why won't you stay with us
+there all the time?"
+
+"Well! the cathedral might run away if I was not here to prevent it; and
+what would the old Canons do if I deserted them?"
+
+"You are the young Canon, I know," Dorothy said. "Ingleby says that's
+what you are called."
+
+"Ah!" said the Canon, rubbing his bald head, "there are degrees of
+comparison, and I am afraid it is old, older, olderer, and oldest, in
+the cathedral chapter. But I wanted to tell you that at San Remo you
+will have playfellows--nice little girls and boys, who are living there
+with their grandmother; and that is what we cannot find for you in
+Coldchester."
+
+"I don't want any little girls and boys," Dorothy said. "I shan't play
+with them."
+
+"Oh, nonsense! you will learn to play with them--Hoodman Blind, and Tom
+Tickler's ground; won't that be jolly?"
+
+Dorothy made no response, and her mother coming into the room, with her
+shawl wrapped closely round her, she slipped down from her uncle's knee
+and took up her position at her mother's feet, with one of the kittens
+in her lap, saying--
+
+"Read, mother; please read."
+
+"Your mother can't read to-night, Dorothy," said the Canon, who had
+taken up the _Times_. "She has coughed so much to-day, and is very
+hoarse."
+
+Dorothy pouted, and her mother, clearing her throat, said--
+
+"Oh, I will try to finish the chapter we left unfinished last night.
+That will not hurt me."
+
+It was a pity that Dorothy was so seldom denied anything. It was simply
+that there was no absolute necessity for refusing her what she asked,
+and she had no idea yet that giving up her own will was a sweet gift the
+youngest child may offer to her Father in heaven--the Father of the dear
+Lord Jesus Christ, who offered Himself in life and in death for the
+sinful, sad world He came to save. So Mrs. Acheson finished the chapter
+of the story, and then it was time for Dorothy to go to bed, for Ingleby
+appeared at the door, and said it was past eight o'clock, and much too
+late for a little girl to be in the drawing-room.
+
+I daresay you wish to know what Dorothy was like, and as she goes up the
+wide staircase of Canon's House, she makes a very pretty picture. She
+had long, silky, fair hair, which was not frizzed and crimped, but hung
+down to her waist, and even below it, with soft, curled ends.
+
+As Ingleby had no other child to look after, it was natural that she
+should bestow much pains on Dorothy's appearance. She wore a pretty
+white cashmere frock, with a wide rose-coloured sash, her black silk
+stockings fitted her legs precisely, and her dainty shoes had pretty
+buckles.
+
+Puff and Muff had been sent to bed downstairs, and only old Nino was
+allowed to come into the nursery. He was a favoured dog, and slept at
+the foot of his little mistress's bed.
+
+Dorothy went slowly upstairs, heedless of Ingleby's repeated "Come, my
+dear, come!" And when at last they had reached the nursery, Dorothy
+seated herself in the old rocking-chair, put her head back, and swinging
+gently backwards and forwards, said seriously, almost solemnly--
+
+"Jingle"--it was her pet name for her faithful nurse--"I hate 'playmates,'
+as Uncle Crannie calls them. If I go to the sunny South, I shall not
+play with any one."
+
+"Well, that will be very uncivil, my dear, though, to be sure, you are
+an odd child, for when the little Miss Thompsons and Master Benson came
+to tea on your last birthday, it did not seem to make you happy."
+
+"It made me miserable," said Dorothy. Then, with a sudden impulse, she
+got up, and throwing her arms round her old friend's neck, she said, "I
+want nobody but you and mother, and Puff and Muff, and Nino."
+
+Ingleby was certainly flattered by her darling's preference, and took
+her on her knee and undressed her as if she were seven months, instead
+of nearly eight years old, and brushed and combed the silky hair with
+great pride and pleasure. Dorothy's face was rather too thin and
+colourless for childhood; but her features were regular, and her large,
+blue eyes, shaded by dark lashes, were really beautiful.
+
+"She is too much of a little woman," the Miss Thompsons' mother said;
+"the child wants companions, and to be roused from her dreams;" while
+Master Benson went away from the birthday party declaring it was slow
+and stupid, and that Dorothy was a stiff starched little thing, and he
+longed to shake her!
+
+Dorothy could not remember her father; he had died when she was scarcely
+a year old, and just at that time her uncle, Canon Percival, went to
+live in Canon's House, at Coldchester, and invited his sister to come
+and take up her abode there, with her little girl, and Ingleby, her
+nurse.
+
+Canon Percival was a bachelor, and till Dorothy came he had never had
+much to do with children. His friends pitied him, and said that for the
+most part children were noisy and troublesome, and that he would find
+the peace of his house disturbed. But Dorothy--Dorothy Dormouse, as
+he liked to call her--set these preconceived notions at defiance. She
+was quiet and gentle, and she and her uncle Cranstone--Crannie, as she
+called him--were great friends. She would sit on one of the red leather
+chairs by her uncle, at his great writing table, and draw pictures by
+the hour of birds, and butterflies, and flowers, and portraits, too--of
+Miss Belinda, and Puff and Muff, and even of her uncle himself. Then she
+would walk with him to the service in the cathedral, and sit demure and
+quiet while the prayers were said and the organ rolled its waves of
+music overhead.
+
+The Canon's little niece was a great favourite with the old vergers,
+though they would say, one to the other, that she was too wise and
+knowing for a little one.
+
+"It all comes of being with old people. There ain't enough of young life
+about her. It's a thousand pities she has not some playmate."
+
+So it seemed, you see, a general opinion that Dorothy wanted companions;
+and when she got to the sunny South the companions were ready for her.
+
+But it took some time to prepare for flight. People can get to the south
+of France and Italy very quickly, it is true; but they are not like the
+swallows, who don't want any luggage, and fly with no encumbrance.
+
+Ingleby's preparations were very extensive indeed, and Dorothy had also
+a great deal in hand. She had to put Barton Hall in order, for one
+thing, and to put up a notice on the door that this house was to let
+furnished. Then Belinda had to have a little travelling ulster and
+warm hat, like her mistress's, and Puff and Muff had to be settled
+comfortably in their new quarters; for though they did not sleep in
+the nursery, they were there all day, and were carried about the house
+by their little mistress, while Nino trotted behind. The preparations
+were an amusement to Dorothy, and she began to feel that if anything
+prevented her going to the sunny South, she would feel sorry and
+disappointed after all!
+
+Ingleby grew more and more serious as the time drew near. She murmured
+a good deal about "foreign parts," and once Dorothy felt sure she heard
+her say something about going away to die. Could these words possibly
+refer to her mother? Poor little girl! She had lived so securely with
+her mother, and had never been accustomed to think of her as apart from
+her own comfort and pleasure, that a sharp pain shot through her heart
+as she heard Ingleby's murmured words.
+
+Once, too, when Ingleby thought she was asleep in the inner nursery, she
+heard her talking in low tones to the housemaid.
+
+"The child has no notion that her mamma is so ill. Childlike!" said
+Ingleby.
+
+"Well, I don't call it childlike," was the reply. "Miss Dorothy is not
+childlike; she is just eaten up with herself."
+
+"She is as dear a lamb as you could find anywhere," said Ingleby,
+wrathfully; "a dear, sweet lamb. I suppose you like rampaging, noisy
+children, like your own brothers and sisters in your mother's farmhouse?"
+
+"I like children," said Susan, bravely, "to think of other folks a
+little, as well as themselves. But there! it's not the poor child's
+fault; everyone in the house spoils her, and you are the worst of all,
+Mrs. Ingleby."
+
+"I tell you what, Susan, I'd advise you, as a friend, to mind your own
+business. If you are such a blind bat as not to see what Miss Dorothy
+is--well, I am sorry for you, and I can't help it."
+
+"I did not mean any offence, I am sure," said Susan, as she left the
+nursery. "As I said, it's not the child's fault; but it would be hard
+lines for her if she lost her mamma, and you too, Mrs. Ingleby."
+
+A few minutes later, Ingleby was startled by the appearance of a little
+white figure in the doorway.
+
+"Jingle," she said, in a low, choking voice, "is--my--mamma so very ill?
+I want to know."
+
+"Ill? why, no. She has got a cough which shakes her rather. But, bless
+your little heart--don't, Miss Dorothy, my sweet, don't."
+
+For, in a passion of weeping, Dorothy had thrown herself into her
+nurse's arms.
+
+"Am I such a spoiled child?--am I, Jingle?"
+
+"You are a dear little creature; nothing could spoil you. There, there;
+let me put you back to bed. Don't cry."
+
+But Dorothy did cry, and when Ingleby had left her at last, she buried
+her face in the pillow, saying over to herself--
+
+"Oh, is my mamma so ill? Will she die? Will she die? And I am such a
+spoiled child. Oh dear, oh dear! I never thought of it before--never,
+never."
+
+There are times when many older people than little Dorothy catch
+suddenly, as it were, a glimpse of their true selves, and are saddened
+at the sight, with what results for the future depends upon the means
+they take to cure themselves of their faults.
+
+There is but one way for the children and for those who have left
+childhood far behind--only one way--to watch and pray, lest they enter
+into temptation.
+
+  [Illustration: Cat in a Basket]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+OFF AND AWAY.
+
+
+The excitement of preparation for departure is always infectious, and,
+however much Mrs. Acheson and little Dorothy had at first disliked the
+idea of leaving home for the winter, before the actual day for saying
+good-bye arrived, they were both in a measure reconciled to the coming
+change.
+
+Dorothy had packed a large box, with things she _must_ take, and Ingleby,
+glad she should be so amused, did not prevent her, as she really ought
+to have done; for such a strange medley as that box contained had surely
+scarcely ever been collected for transportation across the Channel:
+paint-boxes; new and old picture-books, coloured by her own hand;
+Belinda's wardrobe--an extensive one; pencils; india-rubber; her desk;
+her workbox (which last, by-the-bye, was seldom used); her "Little
+Arthur's History" and "Mrs. Markham's History;" boxes of dominoes and
+draughts; magnetic ducks and geese and fish; and many more things of the
+like kind, which would take me far too long to enumerate.
+
+When the luggage stood in the hall on the morning of departure, Canon
+Percival shrugged his shoulders, and gave a low whistle. "As I am
+courier," he said, "and must look after the luggage, I am rather alarmed
+to see so many boxes. What is that old box with brass nails, Ingleby?"
+
+"Oh, that is Miss Dorothy's, sir; she packed it herself."
+
+"With toys, I suppose, and rubbish. No, I shall not be answerable for
+that. If we take Nino and Belinda, that must suffice."
+
+Ingleby looked doubtful. "The best way will be, sir, to get it carried
+into the servants' hall before the poor child comes down; she is
+breaking her heart, as it is, over Puff and Muff."
+
+"Nonsense!" said Canon Percival, impatiently. "Dorothy must be more
+reasonable; we have spoilt her long enough."
+
+Ingleby dreaded a scene, and began to drag away the box into a remote
+region behind the red baize door, hoping to get it out of sight, and out
+of mind, before Dorothy and her mother appeared.
+
+She had just succeeded, and was returning breathless, when Dorothy, with
+Belinda in her arms and Nino toddling behind, came downstairs.
+
+The luggage was packed on a fly, and Mrs. Acheson, Dorothy, and Canon
+Percival drove to the station in the carriage. All the servants were
+gathered in the hall, and were saying good-bye, with many wishes that
+Mrs. Acheson would come back soon quite well. A little telegraph boy,
+with his bag strapped across his shoulder, came gaily up to the door.
+Then he took out of his bag the dark orange envelope which often sends
+a thrill of fear through the hearts of those whose nearest and dearest
+ones are separated from them, and handed it to Canon Percival.
+
+"A paid answer, sir," said the messenger.
+
+And Canon Percival, after scanning the few words, took out his pencil
+and wrote--
+
+"Yes, with pleasure."
+
+"What is it, Cranstone? nothing wrong?"
+
+"Oh no, only that our travelling party is to be enlarged in London.
+Little Irene Packingham is to spend the winter at San Remo with her
+grandmother, and the telegram is from Mrs. Baker, the child's
+schoolmistress, saying Lady Burnside had telegraphed to her to
+communicate with me."
+
+"How very odd not to write! It must be a sudden determination."
+
+"Yes; but we shall not get to Paddington, much less to San Remo, if we
+dawdle about here any longer; come, make haste."
+
+They were off at last, and at the station several friends appeared,
+who came to wish them a safe journey. Ingleby and the footman had got
+the luggage labelled and in the van; and Dorothy and her mother were
+comfortably seated in a first-class carriage, while Canon Percival stood
+by the door, exchanging a few last words with a gentleman; and then the
+guard came up with the familiar question--"Any more going?" Canon Percival
+jumped in, and they were gliding quietly out of the station and leaving
+Coldchester far behind.
+
+For the convenience of early crossing the English Channel the next
+morning, the party were to sleep at the Charing Cross Hotel; and here,
+under the charge of one of Mrs. Baker's governesses, little Irene
+Packingham was waiting for them.
+
+Dorothy's curiosity had been roused when her mother told her of a
+little travelling companion, but the two children stood looking at each
+other, shy and speechless, while Canon Percival and Mrs. Acheson were
+engaged talking to the governess.
+
+She was a prim, stiff-looking, elderly woman, who was the useful
+governess in Mrs. Baker's school. She only taught the little girls,
+looked after the servants, and met girls at the station, or, as in this
+instance, accompanied one who was leaving the school.
+
+"Irene has not been very well of late," Miss Pearce was saying; "and
+Colonel Packingham seems to have written to Lady Burnside that he wished
+her to spend the rest of the term till after the Christmas holidays at
+San Remo. Mrs. Baker had a letter from Lady Burnside, requesting us to
+prepare Irene to start with you to-morrow morning. It is very short
+notice, but I hope she has her things all right."
+
+After a few more words of a like kind, Miss Pearce said she must hasten
+back to St. John's Wood, and bade her little charge good-bye.
+
+"Good-bye, Irene; I hope you will be a very good girl, and give no
+trouble; you have your keys in your pocket, and mind you keep the
+comforter well round your neck on the boat."
+
+Then a kiss was exchanged, not a very warm one on either side, and Miss
+Pearce departed.
+
+Rooms had been engaged on the upper floor of the big hotel through which
+so many people pass coming and going from the Continent. The party went
+up in a lift, which was a great novelty to Dorothy, who all this time
+had not spoken a single word to Irene.
+
+A little bedroom next the one which had been arranged by Ingleby for
+her mistress was found for Irene. And in a very independent, methodical
+way she began to lay aside her hat and jacket, take out her keys, and
+unlock her small travelling-bag.
+
+Dorothy, who had seated herself by the window, and was looking down into
+the square below, watching with deep interest the rapid passing and
+repassing of cabs and carriages in and out the station, did not invite
+any conversation.
+
+The contrast between the two children was a very strong one, such as we
+generally notice between those who from their babyhood have been, as it
+were, little citizens of the world, and those who have been brought up,
+as Dorothy had been till nearly her eighth birthday, with every care and
+every luxury, in a happy, quiet home.
+
+Irene was tall for her age--nearly ten; and she had a determined
+expression on her face, as if she knew there were rough places and
+troubles to meet in her daily life, and that she had set herself to
+overcome them. She had heard a murmur of Ingleby's--"Another child to
+look after on the journey." And she was determined to give no trouble;
+she had no long hair to smooth and comb, for her hair was cut short,
+and her plain blue serge dress was quite free from any adornment. After
+Dorothy had done with the square, she turned to watch Irene's movements,
+and regarded her companion with a mingled wonder, and a feeling that was
+certainly not admiration.
+
+Presently Dorothy called to Ingleby in the next room--
+
+"When are you coming to undress me, Jingle? and when are we to have our
+tea?"
+
+"I'll come directly, but I am busy getting your mamma's things put for
+the night; she must go to bed early, and so must you."
+
+"Where's mother?" was the next question asked.
+
+"In the sitting-room opposite."
+
+"I want to go to her."
+
+"Wait a few minutes; she is lying on the sofa, and I want her to rest."
+
+"Where's Belinda to sleep, and Nino?"
+
+"Dear me," said Ingleby, impatiently, "I don't know; here's the cork
+come out of your mamma's eau-de-Cologne flask, and everything in the
+travelling basket is soaked. Dear, dear!"
+
+Dorothy now began to snatch at the buttons of her travelling ulster, and
+threw off the scarf round her neck.
+
+"Let me help you," said Irene. "I am quite ready."
+
+Dorothy was not very gracious, and as Irene tugged at the sleeves of the
+ulster, a lock of the silky hair caught in a button, and Dorothy
+screamed--
+
+"Oh, don't! you hurt me. Oh, Jingle!"
+
+Ingleby came running in at the cry of distress, and began to pity and
+console.
+
+"I am very sorry," Irene said, moving away to the window, where, through
+the gathering haze of tears, she saw the gas-lights beginning to start
+out all round the square below.
+
+A sense of desolation oppressed her; and she wished--oh, how she wished
+she had stayed at Mrs. Baker's! At first it had seemed delightful to go
+to grannie, but now she thought anything was better than being where she
+was not wanted. She was roused by Ingleby's voice--
+
+"You are to have tea in the sitting-room with Mrs. Acheson. The Canon is
+gone out to dine at St. Paul's Deanery; and as soon as you have had your
+tea, you are to go to bed."
+
+Dorothy, shaking back her beautiful hair, ran away to a room at the end
+of the passage, never thinking of Irene, who followed her with the same
+uneasy sense of "not being wanted" which is hard for us all to bear.
+
+  [Illustration: Bay Window]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+NINO.
+
+
+Mrs. Acheson roused herself to talk to the little girls, and was kindly
+anxious that Irene should not feel strange and unhappy. But Irene was
+not a child to respond quickly, and Mrs. Acheson could but contrast her
+with her own little Dorothy, who was so caressing and tender in her
+ways, and had a gentle voice, while Irene had a quick, decided way of
+speaking.
+
+"Have you been unwell long, my dear?" Mrs. Acheson asked.
+
+"I have had a cough, and--and father does not wish me to keep a cough,
+because of mother."
+
+"You don't remember your mother?"
+
+"No. I have a stepmother, you know, and two little brothers."
+
+"You will like being with your grandmamma and your cousins at San Remo.
+Your grandmamma is such a dear old lady. Do you know, the thought of
+being near her reconciled me to spending the winter abroad."
+
+Irene's face brightened at this.
+
+"I am glad you know grannie," she said. "Your cough is very bad, I am
+afraid," Irene continued, as Mrs. Acheson was interrupted by a fit of
+coughing.
+
+"Mother's cough is much better," Dorothy said, hotly. "Jingle says so,
+and _she_ knows better than _you_ do."
+
+Irene made no reply to this, and soon after Ingleby came to put them
+both to bed.
+
+Irene had been too much accustomed to changes to be much affected by
+this change, and as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was asleep.
+But Dorothy tossed and fidgeted, and besought Ingleby not to leave her,
+and persisted in holding her hand in hers, though her nurse sorely
+wanted rest herself, and to get all things forward for the early start
+the next morning.
+
+At last Ingleby disengaged her hand from Dorothy's clinging clasp, and
+went downstairs to cater for some supper. But her disappearance soon
+roused Dorothy; she began to cry and call, "Jingle! Jingle!" This woke
+Irene, who jumped out of her own bed in the next room, and coming to
+her, said, "What do you want?"
+
+"I don't want _you_," was the somewhat ungracious reply. "I want Jingle
+or mother."
+
+"Are you ill? have you a pain anywhere?" asked practical Irene.
+
+"No, but I want Jingle. Oh dear, dear!"
+
+"If nothing is the matter, I think you ought to go to sleep, and not
+cry; it may frighten your mamma."
+
+"It is so horrid here," said poor little Dorothy; "and I wonder how Puff
+and Muff are; and I want Nino. Why did Jingle take him away? Oh dear,
+dear! and there's such a buzzing noise in the street, and rumble,
+rumble; oh dear!"
+
+"Do you ever try saying hymns to get yourself to sleep?" Irene asked.
+"If you like I'll repeat one, and then you can say it over when I get
+back to my own bed."
+
+Dorothy turned her face away on the pillow, and was not very encouraging;
+but Irene repeated this beautiful evening hymn for a child, which I hope
+all the little girls and boys who read my story know with their hearts
+as well as their heads:--
+
+  "On the dark hill's western side,
+   The last purple gleam has died;
+   Twilight to one solemn hue
+   Changes all, both green and blue.
+
+  "In the fold, and in the nest,
+   Birds and lambs have gone to rest;
+   Labour's weary task is o'er,
+   Closely shut the cottage door.
+
+  "Saviour, ere in sweet repose
+   I my weary eyelids close,
+   While my mother through the gloom
+   Singeth from the outer room,
+
+  "While across the curtain white,
+   With a dim uncertain light,
+   On the floor the faint stars shine,
+   Let my latest thought be Thine.
+
+  "'Twas a starry night of old
+   When rejoicing angels told
+   The poor shepherds of Thy birth,
+   God became a Child on earth.
+
+  "Soft and quiet is the bed
+   Where I lay my little head;
+   Thou hadst but a manger bare,
+   Rugged straw for pillow fair.
+
+  "Saviour, 'twas to win me grace
+   Thou didst stoop to this poor place,
+   Loving with a perfect love
+   Child and man and God above.
+
+  "Thou wast meek and undefiled:
+   Make me gentle, too, and mild;
+   Thou didst foil the tempter's power:
+   Help me in temptation's hour.
+
+  "Thou didst love Thy mother here,
+   Make me gentle, kind, and dear;
+   Thou didst mind her slightest word,
+   Teach me to obey, O Lord.
+
+  "Happy now, I turn to sleep;
+   Thou wilt watch around me keep;
+   Him no danger e'er can harm
+   Who lies cradled in Thy arm."
+
+When Ingleby came up, she found Dorothy sound asleep, and her arm round
+Irene's neck. Both children were in profound slumber. Ingleby gently
+lifted Irene and carried her back to her own room, Dorothy murmuring
+as she turned round on her pillow, "Away with the swallows, off to the
+sunny South."
+
+They were off in good earnest the next morning--a bright and beautiful
+morning. The sea was blue, and the sky clear; only a brisk wind chased
+the waves shoreward, and gave just that motion which to good sailors is
+so delightful.
+
+There were, of course, some unhappy people who could not bear even that
+gentle motion, and had to take flight to the cabin. Poor Ingleby was one
+of these, and in spite of all her brave attempts to keep up, she was
+obliged to leave the children to Canon Percival's care, and retreat with
+her mistress to the lower regions.
+
+Dorothy and Irene sat together on the middle seat of the deck, with
+their faces to the dancing waves, over which some white birds were
+darting, who had their nests in the face of the cliffs of Dover. It had
+all the delightful sense of novelty to Dorothy, but Irene was already
+a traveller. In a dim, dreamy way she was thinking of her voyage
+home, four years before; she remembered the pain of parting with the
+dark-skinned ayah, and her father's sad face, as they drew near England.
+
+
+  [Illustration: "OH, WHAT A CROSS LITTLE DOGGIE!"]
+
+
+Those white cliffs brought it all back to her, and she recalled how her
+father said,--
+
+"England was your dear mother's home, and she loved it, but she is in a
+better home now; I must not wish her back again."
+
+After that her life at Mrs. Baker's was dull and monotonous; going on
+and on day after day, week after week, year after year, with but little
+to mark the passing away of time.
+
+Irene was not particularly attractive to strangers, and the passengers
+who turned upon Dorothy admiring glances, and even, in that foolish way
+some people have, exclaimed, "What a lovely child!" scarcely gave a
+thought to her companion.
+
+"A plain girl," one lady said; "they cannot be sisters!"
+
+Then one of the ladies ventured to put her hand on Nino's head, who was
+curled up under the rug which was tucked round both little girls' legs,
+with his head and ears and black nose just appearing. Nino growled, and
+Dorothy made a gesture as if to get a little farther away.
+
+"Oh, what a cross little doggie!" was the remark.
+
+"He is not cross," Dorothy said, pressing Nino closer.
+
+"Don't you think so?" the lady said, in an offended tone. "Perhaps he
+has learned of his mistress to be cross."
+
+She laughed, but Dorothy did not laugh, or even smile.
+
+"He is a spoiled little dog," said the younger of the two ladies,
+reaching forward to give Nino another pat.
+
+Another growl, followed this time by a snap.
+
+"Horrid little beast!" was the next exclamation. "Children ought not to
+be allowed to take pet dogs about with them, to the annoyance of other
+people."
+
+Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who, to Dorothy's
+surprise, spoke out boldly.
+
+"Nino did not growl till you touched him," she said; "no one ought to
+pat strange dogs."
+
+"My dear, your opinion was neither asked for nor wanted," was the reply.
+And Dorothy struggled from the rug, and hastened to call her uncle, who
+was talking to a gentleman.
+
+"Uncle Crannie, do come and move our seat; there are some very rude
+ladies who hate Nino."
+
+But Canon Percival was busy talking, and did not immediately listen to
+Dorothy. Nino had toddled off to inspect the boat, and by some means,
+how no one could quite tell, had slipped over the side of the steamer,
+and was engulfed in the seething waves below. Irene saw what had
+happened, and cried out,--
+
+"Oh! Nino has fallen through that open place. Nino will be drowned."
+
+Then poor little Dorothy, turning, saw Irene rushing to the place, and
+called aloud,--
+
+"Nino, Nino will be drowned! Nino, Nino, my Nino! will nobody save him?
+Oh, Uncle Crannie, Uncle Crannie, save him!"
+
+  [Illustration: Ferry]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+ONLY A DOG.
+
+
+"It is only a dog!" the passengers on the steamer exclaimed, some with a
+sigh of relief, for at first it was rumoured it was a child.
+
+"Only a dog!" and Canon Percival said that to stop the steamer and lower
+a boat was out of the question. They were much behind as it was, and
+there would be barely time to catch the train to Paris.
+
+There was no sign of Nino, and the surging waters had closed over him.
+Poor Nino! Two or three fishing smacks were in sight, and almost within
+speaking distance, but there was no hope of saving him.
+
+"Only a dog!" but the heart of his little mistress felt as if it would
+break. She rushed down into the cabin, and with a wild cry of distress
+threw herself into her mother's arms.
+
+"Nino! my Nino is drowned. Oh, Nino! Nino!"
+
+Poor Ingleby roused herself from her sickness to comfort her darling.
+
+"Oh! Miss Dorothy, perhaps it is all for the best; he would have been
+unhappy, and in the way, and----"
+
+But Dorothy refused comfort; and by the time they were in the train,
+which there was a great rush to catch at Boulogne, Dorothy was exhausted
+with crying, and was only too glad to be tucked up on a seat near her
+mother, and soothed to sleep and forgetfulness of her trouble.
+
+Irene felt very sorry for Dorothy, but she had never had a home and
+pets, either dogs or cats; and she could not therefore enter into the
+extent of Dorothy's grief. Having offered all the consolation in her
+power, which had been repulsed, Irene resigned herself to a book that
+Ingleby had given her out of her well-stocked basket, and before long
+she, too, was asleep.
+
+"Perhaps we can buy another white dog in Paris," Mrs. Acheson suggested
+to Canon Percival.
+
+"Oh no! that would not answer. I don't think you want any more trouble,
+and if poor old Nino was troublesome sometimes, a young successor
+would be certain to be ten times more troublesome. As a rule, dogs are
+unwelcome visitors in other people's houses, and Lady Burnside may
+dislike the race. I am sorry for Dorothy's trouble, and for the poor
+little creature's end, but, as Ingleby says, there are worse sorrows
+than the loss of a dog."
+
+"I suppose he was drowned at once," Mrs. Acheson said; "I do hope he did
+not struggle long for life."
+
+"He was probably sucked under the steamer, and it would be over directly,
+let us hope." Then Canon Percival pulled his travelling-cap over his
+eyes, and was soon wrapped in profound slumber.
+
+When the party arrived at Paris at Meurice's Hotel, Dorothy's tears
+broke forth afresh, and she had to be conveyed to her room by poor
+Ingleby, followed by Irene, who carried Miss Belinda and a number of
+other miscellaneous articles.
+
+Mrs. Acheson, tired and worn out, was forbidden by Canon Percival to
+go to Dorothy, and again and again did Mrs. Acheson wish that she had
+followed her brother's advice, and left poor Nino at home.
+
+It was not till the two children were left together, after partaking of
+crescent-shaped rolls and coffee, that Irene ventured to say anything to
+Dorothy.
+
+"Don't cry any more, Dorothy; it makes other people so unhappy--and,"
+said Irene, wisely, "it won't bring Nino back!"
+
+"I know that! I know that! What do you tell me _that_ for? Oh, dear! oh,
+dear!"
+
+"Well," Irene said, "I want to tell you anything which will make you try
+to stop crying."
+
+"_That_ won't," said Dorothy, crossly; "you never, _never_ had a dog;
+how should _you_ know what I feel?"
+
+"I am not thinking so much about what _you_ feel," Irene said, with
+refreshing frankness; "I am thinking of your mamma, and how vexed and
+grieved _she_ is about you."
+
+At this moment a door from another room opened, and, rattling a big
+bunch of keys, a pretty, bright _femme de chambre_ came in.
+
+"Ah!" she said, in her broken English, "Ah! what pains little ma'm'selle?
+Is she ill? Does she want a doctor?"
+
+"No," Irene said; "her favourite little dog was drowned as we crossed
+the sea. He fell over the edge of the steamer, and we never saw him
+again."
+
+"Ah! but that is sad; but oh! dear _petite_," the kind woman said, going
+up to Dorothy, "think what grief my poor mother has, for my little
+brother Antoine fell into the river when all the flowers were coming out
+in May, and was dragged out cold and dead. Ah! but that was grief."
+
+"How old was he?" Dorothy said.
+
+"Five years old, ma'm'selle, and as lovely as an angel."
+
+"What did your mother do?" Irene asked; "your poor mother!"
+
+"She comforted my poor father, for it was when cutting the rushes with
+him that Antoine fell into the water. She dried her eyes, and tried to
+be cheerful for his, my father's, sake. The pain at her poor heart was
+terrible, terrible, but she said to me, 'Jeanette, I must hide the pain
+for the sake of the dear father. I only tell it to God.'"
+
+Both the children listened to Jeanette's story with keen interest, and
+Irene asked,--
+
+"How is your poor mother now?"
+
+"She is calm, she is quiet; she does her work for them all, and her
+face has a look of peace. M. le Curé says it is the peace that comes of
+bearing sorrow, as the Lord Jesus bore the cross, and that is the way
+for us all; little and young, or old, it is the same. But I must go;
+there is so much work, night and day, day and night. See, dear little
+ma'm'selle"--and Jeanette foraged in the deep pocket of her white
+apron--"here are some bon-bons, chocolate of the best; see, all shining
+like silver."
+
+She laid some round chocolate balls, covered with silver paper, in
+Dorothy's hand, and said,--
+
+"Try to sleep away your sorrow, ma'm'selle, and wake fresh and happy for
+madame's sake."
+
+"Every one tells me that," said Dorothy, "except mother. She does not
+tell me I don't care for her; she does not tell me to be happy for her
+sake. As if I could--could--forget my Nino!"
+
+"No one thinks you can forget him," Irene said; "but if crying makes you
+ill, and makes your mamma miserable, you should try to stop."
+
+Dorothy began to taste the excellence of Jeanette's chocolate, and
+offered some to Irene, saying,--
+
+"That was a pretty story of Jeanette's about her poor little brother.
+Didn't you think so, Irene?"
+
+"Yes," Irene said, thoughtfully; "I hope God will comfort Antoine's poor
+father."
+
+"It's the _mother_ that cared the most--it was the mother who was so
+miserable."
+
+"Ah! but it was the father who let the little boy slip into the water;
+it was a thousand times worse for him," Irene said.
+
+  [Illustration: Nino]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+THE VILLA LUCIA.
+
+
+"Well, grannie, is she coming?--is Irene coming?"
+
+The question was asked eagerly by a boy of nine years old, who came into
+the pretty sitting-room of the Villa Lucia at San Remo, with his hands
+full of pale lilac crocuses. "Is she coming, grannie dear?"
+
+"Do not rush into the room before your sister, Willy. See, you have
+knocked the basket out of her hand."
+
+"And all my flowers are upset, grannie," said a little plaintive voice.
+"Every one!"
+
+"Pick them up, Willy; do not be so rough. Ah! look!"--for a third and
+very important personage now toddled into the room, having struggled
+down from his nurse's arms; and before any one could stop him, Baby Bob
+had trampled on Ella's flowers, so that scarcely one was fit to present
+to grannie.
+
+Quite unrepentant, and, indeed, unheeding of the cry--"Oh! Baby Bob!
+what are you doing?"--Baby Bob stumped up to grannie, and deposited in
+her lap a very much crushed and flattened crocus, saying--
+
+"Kiss me for it; it's for _you_."
+
+"You darling!" Lady Burnside said. "Thank you. The poor little flower
+is sadly squeezed; but it is a token of baby's love all the same."
+
+"Now, grannie," exclaimed Willy, "I want to hear about the cousin,
+because, you see, I never even thought about her till the other day,
+and I want to be ready--what do you call it?--_prepared_ for her."
+
+"After all, Willy," said a grave-eyed maiden of twelve, who was lying
+on a couch in the window, "it won't make much difference to _you_ what
+Irene is like. A rough and noisy boy like you can't expect a stranger to
+put up with him as _we_ do."
+
+"She's not a stranger," said Willy. "She is a _cousin_, and who knows?
+she may like me better than anybody. She may be a jolly girl, who isn't
+made of sugar and salt, like Ella!"
+
+"I am not made of sugar and salt," pleaded Ella, who had patiently
+gathered up her flowers, and was answering the call of their nurse to go
+with Baby Bob to take off his jacket and hat.
+
+"No, that's true," said Willy; "you are all salt and vinegar, no sugar.
+Now, grannie, as the little ones are cleared off at last, tell me about
+the cousin."
+
+But Lady Burnside said gravely, "Willy, I wish you would try to please
+me by being more considerate and gentle to your sisters."
+
+"Ella is so whiny piny! she is always saying '_Don't_', and 'You
+_shan't_!'"
+
+"Not always, Willy. Do you remember how ready she was to give up
+her turn to you to play draughts with Constance last evening? Do you
+remember how kindly she helped you to find those places in the map for
+Mr. Martyn?"
+
+"Yes, grannie," Willy said. "I will go and tell her I am sorry I
+have been so cross; but she _is_ provoking, and you don't know _how_
+provoking."
+
+"Well, making all allowance for that, I still think that you should
+never forget you are a boy and she is a little girl, and should for that
+very reason be gentle and forbearing, because it is a rule, which all
+noble-hearted people recognise, that the weak should be protected by the
+strong."
+
+Willy gave his grandmother a rather rough kiss, and said,--
+
+"I'll go and stroke Ella the right way, and _when_ I come back you
+_will_ tell me about the cousin."
+
+When Willy was gone, Constance laid down the book she had been reading,
+and said,--
+
+"I do not envy Irene Packingham coming here. Willy is an awful tease,
+and if she is a prim little thing, turned out by a boarding-school, she
+will have a bad time of it."
+
+"I think you are hard upon Willy, dear Constance," was the gentle reply.
+"He is a very high-spirited boy, very much like what your father was;
+and then Willy has the great disadvantage of having no brother near his
+own age."
+
+"I think," said Constance, "he ought to go to school. Mr. Martyn thinks
+so also, I know. It is such a pity mother is so set against schools."
+
+"There is a reason for it, and you must remember your mother's great
+grief."
+
+"Poor Arthur's dying at school, you mean; but he was a very delicate
+boy, and Willy is as strong as a horse. I wish I were strong--half as
+strong! Here I lie, week after week, and my back does not get a bit
+better. I had the old pain this morning when I just moved to take my
+work from the little table;" and Constance's eyes filled with tears.
+
+She was the eldest living child of Lady Burnside's eldest daughter, who
+had married a gentleman high in the Civil Service in India, and who had
+always lived there. As so often happens, the children could not bear
+the climate after a certain age, and they had been committed to their
+grandmother's care, who lived during the winter at San Remo, and of late
+years had not returned to England in the summer, but had spent the hot
+season in Switzerland.
+
+The first detachment of children had been Arthur and Constance, both
+very delicate. Arthur had been sent to school near London, and had died
+there, to the great grief of his father and mother. He had caught a
+chill after a game of cricket, and died before any of his relations
+could reach him. Although no one was really to blame, poor Mrs. Montague
+found it hard to think so, and she lived in perfect dread of sending
+Willy to school, although he was a robust, vigorous boy.
+
+The next detachment which came to be committed to Lady Burnside's care
+were little Ella and Baby Bob. Mrs. Montague had brought them to San
+Remo herself, now more than two years before this time, and with the
+help of Mrs. Crawley, the old and trusted nurse, who had lived with Lady
+Burnside for many years, their grandmother had been able to bear the
+burden of responsibility. Constance had lately complained of a pain in
+her back, and had been condemned to lie down on an invalid couch for
+the greater part of the day; but Willy and the baby were as healthy as
+could be desired, and Ella, although not strong, had seldom anything
+really amiss. She was a gentle, sensitive child, and apt to take a low
+view of herself and everybody else. But Lady Burnside did not encourage
+this, and while she held Willy in check, she was too wise to let Ella
+look upon herself as a martyr to her brother's teasing and boisterous
+mirth.
+
+Presently Constance said,--
+
+"Is Irene like Aunt Eva, I wonder?"
+
+"Not if I may judge by her photograph," Lady Burnside said.
+
+"Why did not Uncle Packingham let Irene live with you, grannie, as we
+do?"
+
+"Perhaps he thought I could hardly undertake another grandchild, and you
+know Irene has a second mother; and her home will be eventually with her
+and her little brothers when her father leaves the service."
+
+"And our home will be with father and mother one day," Constance said.
+"Not that I wish to leave you, dear grannie," Constance added. "Indeed,
+I often think I have the grandmotherly sort of feeling about mamma, and
+the motherly one about you!"
+
+Lady Burnside laughed.
+
+"Your mamma would be amused to hear that. I always think of her as so
+young and bright, and she and Aunt Eva were the light of my eyes."
+
+"I hope Irene will be nice," Constance said; "and then there is another
+girl coming. We forget that."
+
+"I do not forget it. I have been with Crawley this morning to look at
+the Villa Firenze; it is all in nice order for Mrs. Acheson, and there
+are two good Italian servants, besides Stefano and his wife, who,
+being an Englishwoman, understands the ways of the English thoroughly,
+especially of invalids, so I hope the travellers will be pleased when
+they arrive."
+
+"What is the girl's name? do you remember, grannie?"
+
+"Yes, her name is Dorothy. I saw her when she was a very little girl,
+and I remember she had beautiful silky hair; she was a pale, delicate
+child."
+
+"Dear me!" said Constance. "Every one seems to be delicate. Irene
+Packingham is coming because of a cough, and so is Mrs. Acheson, and
+really the only strong ones are the boys. I suppose Irene takes after
+Aunt Eva in being delicate?"
+
+"Yes; her father thought she would do well to escape the fogs of London,
+and have the advantage of the sunshine here; but I hope we shall send
+her back in the spring quite well."
+
+"_Take_ her back, grannie, say take her back, for I should so like to go
+to England."
+
+Lady Burnside shook her head. "I do not think I shall return to England
+next spring with the swallows. What a flight that is!" she said, looking
+out of the window, where a long line of birds could be seen flying
+across the blue sea.
+
+"Happy birds!" said Constance, wearily; "I wish I could fly with them!"
+
+Lady Burnside made no rejoinder to this, and sat knitting quietly by the
+wood fire, which was pleasant at sunset, when the chill is always great
+in southern countries. After half an hour's quiet, there were sounds of
+coming feet, and Baby Bob, in all the glory of a very short frock and
+wide sash, came in with a shout, which would have shaken the nerves of
+any one less accustomed to children than Lady Burnside.
+
+Behind him came Ella, with a little work-basket in her hand, with which
+she went up to Constance's couch, and seating herself there, took out
+her little bit of cross-stitch, and settled herself to work.
+
+Baby Bob took possession of his grandmother, and she had to go over
+one of his picture-books, and tell for the hundredth time the story of
+Mother Hubbard, which, illustrated with large coloured pictures, was
+Baby Bob's great favourite.
+
+He would ponder over the pictures with wondering interest, and wish that
+the dog had not cheated, and made believe to be dead, because no good
+people or dogs could cheat. Crawley said so, and Maria said so, and
+Willy said so, Willy being the great authority to which Baby Bob always
+referred in any difficulty.
+
+Willy was doing his work for Mr. Martyn in the study, and making up for
+lost time. This was his general habit. He would put off his lessons
+to the last moment, and then, as he said, "clear them all off in a
+twinkling."
+
+Willy was clever and quick at everything, but this way of getting over
+work is not really satisfactory. Time and thought are necessary to
+fasten what is learned on the mind, and what is gathered up in haste,
+or, rather, sown in haste, does not take deep root.
+
+That night, when Ella was getting ready for bed, she consulted Crawley
+about the new-comer.
+
+"How is it we know so little of the cousin, Crawley?"
+
+"Well, my dear, her papa married a lady who thinks schools and all that
+sort of thing necessary. At least, that's what your dear grandmamma has
+told me, and I daresay you'll find little Miss Packingham very forward
+with her books. So you must make haste and learn to read better. For you
+are getting on for eight years old."
+
+Ella sighed.
+
+"I _can_ read," she said, "and I can speak French and Italian; I daresay
+Irene can't do that."
+
+"Well, _that's_ nothing," said Crawley, "for I can talk French after my
+fashion, just because I have lived with my dear mistress out of England
+so long. But there's another little lady coming, you know. Her mamma
+knew your mamma. She used to be a pretty creature, and I daresay she's
+like her."
+
+"She mayn't be like her, for grannie says Irene isn't like Aunt Eva. I
+want to see her. I wish to-morrow would come."
+
+And Baby Bob murmured from his little bed in the corner, "Wish 'morrow
+would come."
+
+  [Illustration: Sleeping Baby]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+VILLA FIRENZE.
+
+
+To-morrow came, and brought with it the tired travellers, who arrived at
+San Remo, after a night journey from Marseilles, as Ingleby said, "more
+dead than alive."
+
+This was a figure of speech on Ingleby's part, but there is no doubt
+that the two sleepy, tired, way-worn children who were lifted out of
+the carriage which had been sent to the station to meet them gave very
+little sign of life or interest in what happened.
+
+Canon Percival, who took the management of everything, promptly ordered
+a bath and bed, and the kind English wife of Stefano showed every wish
+to be accommodating, and carried Dorothy herself to the room prepared
+for her and Irene.
+
+Two little beds stood there, with a white net cage let down over them.
+The children were too sleepy to notice them then, but when Dorothy
+opened her eyes, she was greatly amused to see that she was looking
+through fine net, like the net she had seen made for fruit in England
+to protect it from wasps.
+
+The western sun was lying across the garden before the villa when
+Dorothy felt it was time to get up. She called Irene, who answered at
+once,--
+
+"Yes! what do you want? Can I help you?"
+
+"I want to get up," said Dorothy, "but I can't get out of this white
+cage."
+
+"Oh yes, you can," said Irene, who drew a bit of narrow ribbon, which
+hung inside her own bed, and then the net curtain was lifted, and she
+said,--
+
+"Look! you have the same bit of ribbon; pull it!"
+
+Dorothy did as she was told, and, to her delight, the net was raised in
+a pretty festoon.
+
+"Isn't it funny?" she said; "what can the curtains be for? Are they just
+for prettiness?"
+
+"No, for use; they are mosquito curtains; and I remember some very like
+them in India."
+
+"What are mosquitoes?"
+
+"Little gnats, very, very thin and small, but they sting dreadfully,
+and especially at night, and make big bumps on your forehead, and the
+curtains shut them out. I should like to get up now," Irene said; "for
+I ought to go to grannie."
+
+"Oh, I don't want you to go to your grannie; you must stay with me."
+
+"I don't think that would do," Irene said, "for father wished me to live
+with grannie and the cousins."
+
+"I'm so sorry," Dorothy exclaimed, "for I know I shan't like the
+cousins. I think--I really do--you are the only playmate I ever cared
+for; not that we've _played_ together, but that's the word every one
+uses. Dr. Bell said I wanted playmates; and Ingleby says so; and Uncle
+Crannie says so; and so did that dreadful Mrs. Thompson. Ah! when I had
+my Nino, and Muff and Puff, I wanted nobody;" and Dorothy was beginning
+to cry, when Ingleby, hearing the children's voices, now came from
+another room, where she had begun unpacking, bearing in her arms a
+bundle of clean, fresh clothes for Dorothy.
+
+"Well, you have been asleep ever since eleven, and it is nearly four
+o'clock. You must want your dinner, I am sure; and then Miss Packingham
+is to go to her grandmamma's house. Your box was taken there, my dear,
+and so I cannot give you fresh things, but I must brush your frock and
+bend your hat straight."
+
+The children were ready in a few minutes, and presented a strong
+contrast, as usual.
+
+Dorothy was a little _too_ smart in her pale blue cashmere with grebe
+trimming, and it was hard to believe she had been in the train all
+night; for they had left Paris in the morning of the preceding day,
+and had reached San Remo at half-past ten. Irene, on the contrary,
+looked travel-worn, and she was a good deal more tired than Dorothy,
+who had slept off her fatigue and her sorrow for poor Nino's loss,
+and looked--so Ingleby said to herself--"as fresh as any daisy."
+
+When the two little girls reached the sitting-room, which, like Lady
+Burnside's, opened on a verandah, they heard voices outside, and
+presently a boy and a girl stepped into the room.
+
+Ella shrank back, but Willy, who never knew what shyness meant, said,--
+
+"Grannie said we might come and fetch Irene--she is to come home now, if
+she is ready."
+
+As Willy surveyed the two girls, he wondered which was his cousin. The
+thought passed through his mind, "I hope it is the pretty one!" and
+advancing, he said to Dorothy,--
+
+"Grannie has sent us to take you to the Villa Lucia; are you ready?"
+
+Ingleby, who was busy looking after the travelling basket, from which
+she was taking some of Dorothy's favourite biscuits, said,--
+
+"Your cousin, Miss Packingham, had better take her dinner before she
+goes with you; perhaps you will sit down with her and Miss Dorothy. Now,
+my dear," Ingleby continued, addressing Dorothy, "I hope you will be
+able to fancy something," as Stefano brought in a tray with coffee and
+crescent-shaped rolls, and a dainty omelette done to a turn by his wife.
+
+Willie now put his hand out to Irene, and said, in a tone in which there
+was a little ring of disappointment,--
+
+"Then _you_ are my cousin?"
+
+"Yes," Irene said, "and I am very glad to come and see you all--and
+grannie."
+
+"Do you remember her?" Willie asked.
+
+"Just a _very_ little, but she always writes me very kind letters, so I
+feel as if I remembered her."
+
+"Come, Ella, don't be so silly," Willy said, pushing his sister forward;
+"go and speak to Irene."
+
+Irene took Ella's hand, and then, at Ingleby's advice, they all sat down
+to their meal together.
+
+Two thick-edged white cups were brought by Stefano, and Willy and Ella
+enjoyed the good things more than the two tired travellers did.
+
+Irene could scarcely touch the omelette, and Dorothy, in spite of
+Ingleby's entreaties, only nibbled a quantity of her own biscuits, which
+were, as Ingleby said, "not fit to make a meal of." They were those
+little pink and white fluffy light balls, flavoured with vanilla and
+rose, a large tin of which had been bought in Paris, and were Dorothy's
+favourite food just then.
+
+They found favour with Willy, and he took a handful from the box several
+times. Dorothy did not approve of this, and said to Ingleby,--
+
+"Put the lid on the box, Jingle; there won't be any biscuits left."
+
+This was not very polite, and Willy shrugged his shoulders, and said to
+himself, "After all, I am glad she is _not_ my cousin."
+
+Irene was really thankful when Willy said it was time to go, for her
+head ached, and she was far more tired than Dorothy was.
+
+And now poor Dorothy began to cry, and say she did not want Irene to go
+away--that she must stay with her, and not go and live with that big boy
+who was so greedy.
+
+"Hush! hush! my dear," said Ingleby; "you must not forget yourself."
+
+"I don't mind," said Willy, good-temperedly; "she is only a baby, and is
+tired."
+
+"A baby!" sobbed Dorothy. "I am _not_ a baby, and I love Irene, and she
+is _not_ to go away with you."
+
+Ingleby was anxious to cut the parting short, and said to Irene, who was
+trying to comfort Dorothy,--
+
+"Make haste and have it over. She will forget it, and----"
+
+"I shan't forget Irene. You said I should forget Nino--dear, dear Nino.
+I don't forget him, and now--now I have lost him, I want Irene, I do!"
+
+"I shall see you very often," Irene said, kissing her; "don't begin to
+cry again."
+
+"Dear me!" Willy said, as they left the house; "she is worse than you,
+Ella. At first I thought her so pretty, and now I find she is only a
+little spoiled thing. However, we will soon teach her better, won't we,
+Ella?"
+
+Ella, who had possessed herself of Irene's hand, said,--
+
+"You must not be so rude to Dorothy as you are to me, Willy, or you will
+make her cry."
+
+"No, I'll cure her of crying. But here we are. This is Villa Lucia."
+
+Irene followed Willy into the house, and very soon Irene felt she was no
+longer lonely--a stranger in a strange land.
+
+Irene had not seen her grannie for some years, and, with the instinct of
+childhood, she had discovered, without being told, that her father did
+not care much for her grannie. He rarely mentioned her, and, indeed, he
+always called her step-mother's mother "grannie" when he had occasion to
+write of her.
+
+Till Irene had seen Lady Burnside she felt no difference between them.
+Mrs. Roscoe was a very grand, fashionable lady, who had called on her at
+Mrs. Baker's sometimes, and sent her large boxes of chocolate and French
+sweets.
+
+But _that_ did not make Irene feel as if she belonged to her; and now,
+when the gentle lady by the fire rose to greet her and folded her in a
+warm embrace, Irene felt a strange choking sensation in her throat, and
+when she looked up at her grannie she saw tears were on her cheeks.
+
+"I feel as if I had come home," she said, simply, "and it _is_ so nice."
+
+Happily for every one, a loud voice was heard at the door--"Let me in!
+let me in!" And when Ella ran to open it, there was Baby Bob, who came
+trotting across the room to Lady Burnside, and said,--
+
+"I want the cousin; is that the cousin?"
+
+"Yes. Go and give her a kiss, and say you are glad to see her."
+
+But Baby Bob sidled back towards his grannie, and suddenly oppressed
+with the solemnity of the occasion, hid his round, rosy face in her
+gown, and beat a tattoo with his fat legs by way of expressing his
+welcome, in a manner, it must be said, peculiar to himself.
+
+  [Illustration: Mountain Scene]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+DOROTHY'S LESSONS.
+
+
+Every child who reads my story must have felt how quickly strange things
+begin to grow familiar, and before we are reconciled to what is new it
+becomes almost old.
+
+So it was with Dorothy, and in a less degree with Irene.
+
+It was New Year's Day, and Dorothy was seated at the table in the
+schoolroom at Villa Lucia, writing to her uncle Cranstone.
+
+She wrote a very nice round hand, between lines, thanks to the patient
+teaching which Irene bestowed on her. To be sure, the thin foreign paper
+was rather a trial, as the pen was so apt to stick when a thin up-stroke
+followed a firm down-stroke; but still the letter, when finished, was a
+very creditable performance to both mistress and pupil.
+
+Lady Burnside had wisely decreed that Irene should have no lessons while
+she was at San Remo, for she was very forward for her age, having gone
+through the regular routine of school, and writing at ten years old
+almost a formed hand, while Dorothy had only _printed_ words when Irene
+took her up as a pupil.
+
+"It will be a nice occupation for Irene to help Dorothy with her
+lessons," Lady Burnside said; and Dorothy felt the importance of going
+to school when, every morning at ten o'clock, she was escorted by
+Ingleby to the Villa Lucia, and joined the party in the schoolroom.
+
+Dorothy had a great deal to learn besides reading and writing and
+arithmetic, and as she had never had any one to give up to, she found
+that part of her daily lessons rather hard.
+
+Baby Bob, in whom Irene delighted, tried Dorothy's patience sorely, and,
+indeed, he was a young person who required to be repressed.
+
+Dorothy had just finished her letter to her uncle, and with aching
+fingers had written her name at the bottom of the second sheet, when
+Baby Bob appeared, followed by Ella.
+
+"We are to have a holiday, because it is New Year's Day, and go on
+donkeys to La Colla."
+
+"Yes," said Willy; "I have been to order Marietta's donkeys--the big
+brown one for me, the little white one for Dorothy, the little grey one
+for Ella, and the old spotted one for Irene. It's such fun going to La
+Colla, and we'll put Ingleby and Crawley on as we come down, and----"
+
+But Willy was interrupted by a cry from Dorothy--
+
+"He's got my letter! Oh, my letter!" and a smart slap was administered
+to Baby Bob, who, I am sorry to say, clenched his fat fist, and hit
+Dorothy in the mouth.
+
+"Put the letter down at once, you naughty child!" Crawley said. "How
+dare you touch Miss Dorothy?"
+
+The letter was with difficulty rescued from Baby Bob, in a sadly
+crumpled condition, and Irene smoothed the sheet with her hand and put
+it into a fresh envelope.
+
+
+  [Illustration: THE DONKEY EXPEDITION TO LA COLLA.]
+
+
+"I was only going to the post," Baby Bob said. "Grannie lets me drop her
+letters in the post, o' course."
+
+"Well, wait till you are asked another time, Bob; then you won't get
+into trouble; but I don't think you deserved the hard slap," Ella said.
+
+Dorothy, who was still crying and holding her apron up to her mouth, now
+drew herself up and said, "I shall go home to mother, I shall. I shan't
+stay here, to be ill-treated. Mother says Bob is the naughtiest spoiled
+boy _she_ ever knew."
+
+"She has known a girl as much spoiled, anyhow," said Willy.
+
+"Come, Dorothy, forget and forgive," said Irene; "and let us go and get
+ready for our donkey ride."
+
+"I shan't go," persisted Dorothy; "I don't want to go; and just look!"
+
+There was undoubtedly a tiny crimson spot on Dorothy's apron, and she
+began to sob again at the sight, and say she must go home that minute to
+Ingleby.
+
+"Go along, then," said Willy, roughly; "we don't want a cry-baby with
+us. Look at Bob; he has quite forgotten the thump you gave him, and
+wants to kiss you."
+
+I am sorry to say Dorothy turned a very unwilling cheek towards Baby
+Bob, who said--
+
+"I'll never take _your_ letter no more, Dolly."
+
+Dorothy had, as we know, several nicknames from her uncle, but she had a
+particular aversion to that of "Dolly," and just touching Baby Bob with
+her lips, she said, "I hate to be called Dolly."
+
+"Well," Willy said, "here come the donkeys, and Marietta and Francesco,
+and no one is ready. Come, make haste, girls."
+
+"Come, Dorothy," Irene said, "let me put on your skirt." For the
+children had each a neat little blue serge skirt which they wore for
+their donkey expeditions. "Come, Dorothy," Irene pleaded. But Dorothy
+said she should stay with Lady Burnside till Ingleby came for her.
+
+"You can't stay with grannie--she is very _busy_ with _business_; and
+Constance has one of her headaches, and is in bed."
+
+"Then I'll wait here till Jingle comes."
+
+There was a wonderful amount of obstinacy expressed in that pretty, fair
+little face; and then Crawley came in to say the donkeys must not be
+kept waiting. Irene, finding it useless to say more, went to get ready,
+as Ella had already done, and left Dorothy in the sitting-room playing a
+tattoo on the window as she curled herself up in a circular straw chair.
+
+Ella made one more attempt when she was dressed for the ride.
+
+"_Do_ come, Dorothy dear. We have got three baskets full of nice things
+to eat at La Colla, and the sun is so bright, and----"
+
+"Go away," said Dorothy; adding, "Good-bye; I hope you'll enjoy jogging
+down over those hard rough stones on the donkeys."
+
+A little girl, the daughter of a friend of Lady Burnside, came with her
+brother to join the party, and Dorothy watched them all setting off,
+Crawley holding Bob before her on the sturdy old brown donkey; Willy
+and Jack Meredith riding off with Francesco running at their heels, with
+his bare brown feet and bright scarlet cap; then Ella and Irene under
+Marietta's guidance; Ella looking back and kissing her hand to as much
+as she could see of Dorothy's hair, as she sat by the window under the
+verandah.
+
+Then Dorothy was alone; it was no punishment to her, and she fell into
+one of her old meditations.
+
+The chirp and twitter of swallows were heard, for, as we know, Dorothy
+had taken flight from England with them. And as one perched for a moment
+on the big aloe which grew just outside the verandah, Dorothy said, "I
+wonder if that's my old mother swallow; it looks just like her."
+
+Presently another joined her, and the two twittered, and chirped, and
+wagged their restless forked tails, and turned their little heads from
+side to side, and then darted off in the warm sunshine. Glancing at the
+little timepiece which stood on the table, Dorothy saw it was not yet
+eleven, and Ingleby never came till twelve o'clock.
+
+After all it was rather dull, and there was no need for her to wait for
+Ingleby, who often did not come till half-past twelve. A little more
+meditation, and then Dorothy uncurled herself and put down her legs
+slowly, first one, then the other, and then, with something very like a
+yawn, which ended in "Oh, dear!" her eyes fell on the letter which had
+been put into the envelope by Irene. It had a stamp on it, but was not
+addressed.
+
+So Dorothy thought she would address it herself, and taking the pen,
+made a great blot to begin with, which was not ornamental; then she
+made a very wide C, which quite overshadowed the "anon" for "Canon."
+"Percival" would by no means allow itself to be put on the same line,
+and had to go beneath it. As to "Coldchester," it was so cramped up in
+the corner that it was hardly legible, but imitating a letter which
+she had seen Mr. Martyn address one day, she made up for it by a big
+"England" at the top. The envelope was not fastened down, and Dorothy
+remembered Irene said she had seen some dear little "Happy New Year"
+cards at a shop in the street, and that she would ask Ingleby to take
+her with Dorothy to buy one, and put it in the letter before it was
+posted.
+
+"I'll go and get a card," Dorothy thought, "and post my own letter, and
+then come back, or go home to mother. I'll go and get ready directly."
+
+As it happened, Dorothy's hat and pretty velvet jacket, trimmed with
+lovely soft fur, were kept in a little closet, with a window in it,
+behind the schoolroom. They were put there when she came to the Villa
+Lucia every morning by Ingleby, who never failed to send her in to see
+Lady Burnside, drawing secret comparisons between the appearance of her
+darling and that of Miss Packingham or little Miss Ella Montague.
+
+Dorothy had some difficulty in getting herself into her jacket, and her
+hair notched into the elastic of her hat, which, springing back, caught
+her in the eyes, and made them water. Then, when she thought she was
+ready, she remembered she had not taken off the apron which was stained
+with the little crimson spot. A little rim of white showed under the
+jacket between the fur and the edge of her frock, but she pushed it up
+under the band, and then went softly down the hall to the glass door,
+and lifting the _portière_, or thick curtain, which hung over the outer
+door, she found herself in the road. For the Villa Lucia did not open
+into the garden which lay between the Villa and sloping ground and the
+blue sea, but from the back, into a road which led towards the old town
+of San Remo.
+
+Dorothy held the letter firmly in her hand, and walked on with some
+dignity. It was rather nice to go to the post by herself, and she
+measured the distance in her own mind, as she had often been there
+with Ingleby and Crawley.
+
+The shop where the New Year's cards were sold was near the post-office,
+and she had two shillings in her little leather purse at the bottom of
+her pocket.
+
+Several Italian women, carrying heavy burdens on their heads, passed her
+and smiled, and said in a pleasant voice, "Buon gionno!" and one young
+woman, with a patient baby tightly swathed and fastened to her back,
+called out,--
+
+"Ah, la piccola bella!"
+
+Somehow Dorothy was so lost in meditation upon herself and her own
+cleverness in finding the way to the post, that she missed the first
+turning which would have led her down to the English part of the town.
+She took the next, but that brought her out beyond the shops and the
+post-office.
+
+She did not at first notice this, and when she found she was much
+farther from home than she expected, she began to run, but still she did
+not get any nearer the shops and the post-office. Now the street of the
+English part of San Remo runs almost parallel with the sea, and there
+are several narrow lanes between the houses, which lead down to the
+quay, where all the boats sail from the pier, and where a great many
+women are mending the holes in the brown nets.
+
+There are streets also leading up to the old town--that quaint old town,
+which was built on the steep sides of the hill, long, long before any
+English people thought of erecting their new houses and villas below
+it.
+
+The streets of the old town are so steep that they are climbed by steps,
+or rather ridges, of pavement, which are set at rather long intervals.
+These streets are very narrow, and there are arches across them, like
+little bridges, from one house to another.
+
+The houses in old Italian towns were built with these arches or little
+bridges because they formed a support to the tall houses, which were
+sometimes shaken by earthquakes.
+
+Now it happened that as Dorothy was wondering how it could be that she
+had missed the post-office, she caught sight of a little white fluffy
+dog, with brown ears, running up towards the opening of one of these
+narrow streets.
+
+"My Nino! my Nino!" she exclaimed. "It must be Nino." She did not stop
+to consider that Nino would have answered her call, if, indeed, it had
+been he. She did not stop to consider that he was old, and could never
+have run so fast uphill as this little dog could run. She turned out
+of the broad street into one of the narrow ones, and chased the little
+white dog till she was out of breath.
+
+There were not many people about, and no one took much notice of her;
+and she never stopped till she found herself in the market square of the
+old town, where, out of breath and exhausted, she sat down on a flight
+of steps, hopeless of catching the dog, who had now quite disappeared.
+
+An old and dirty-looking church was before her, and several peasant
+women, with their baskets on their heads, were passing in and out. Red
+and yellow handkerchiefs were bound round their dark hair, and some of
+them wore pretty beads round their necks. One or two stopped to look at
+Dorothy, and talked and made signs to her; but she could not understand
+what they said, and they smiled at her and passed on. The streets
+leading up from the market square looked very dim and very steep, and
+Dorothy began to feel lonely and frightened, especially when an old
+woman, who might have been a hundred years old, so wrinkled was her face
+and so bowed her back, stopped before her as she sat on the steps, and
+began to mumble, and make grimaces, and open her mouth, where no teeth
+were to be seen, and point at Dorothy with her lean, bony, brown
+fingers.
+
+Dorothy got up and began to run down towards the town again as quickly
+as she had come up, when, alas! her foot caught against the corner of a
+rough stone step before one of the tall houses, and she fell with some
+violence on the uneven, rugged pavement, hitting her head a sharp blow.
+
+Poor little Dorothy! Getting her own way, and doing exactly as she
+wished, had brought her now a heavy punishment. While Ella and Willy and
+Baby Bob, with their two little friends, were enjoying the contents of
+the luncheon basket at La Colla, Dorothy was lying all alone amongst
+strangers in the old town of San Remo!
+
+  [Illustration: Swallow and Butterfly]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+LOST.
+
+
+Ingleby arrived at the Villa Lucia at the usual time, and went, as was
+her custom, to the schoolroom door, and knocked.
+
+She was generally answered by a rush to the door by Ella and Dorothy,
+and a cry of--
+
+"Grannie says she is to stay to luncheon to-day," or, "Don't take her
+away yet."
+
+But to-day silence reigned, and when Ingleby looked in, the schoolroom
+was empty.
+
+She turned away, and met the maid who waited on Constance with a tray in
+her hand and a cup of cocoa, which she was taking upstairs.
+
+"Where is Miss Dorothy, and where are the children?"
+
+"All gone out on donkeys to Colla," was the answer. "Her ladyship was
+glad to get the house quiet, for Miss Constance has had a very bad
+night."
+
+"Talk of bad nights!" exclaimed Ingleby; "my mistress has done nothing
+but cough since four o'clock this morning. Well, I hope Miss Dorothy was
+well wrapped up, for the wind is cold enough out of the sun, though
+Stefano is angry if I say so. I wish we were back in England. I know,
+what with the nasty wood fires, and the 'squitoes, and the draughts,
+and----"
+
+Ingleby was interrupted here by Lady Burnside, who came out of the
+drawing-room.
+
+"Good-morning, Ingleby; how is Mrs. Acheson?"
+
+"But very poorly, my lady; she has had a bad night."
+
+"Ah! that is why you have not gone to Colla with the party. But I am
+sure Crawley will take care of Miss Dorothy, and Miss Irene is quite to
+be trusted."
+
+"I knew nothing of the party going to Colla, my lady. I hope it is not
+one of those break-neck roads, like going up the side of a house."
+
+"It is very steep in some parts, but the donkeys are well used to
+climbing. Give my love to Mrs. Acheson, and say I will come and see
+her to-morrow."
+
+Ingleby walked back rather sadly. She wished she had known of the
+expedition, for there was safety for her darling when she could walk
+behind the donkey going uphill, and by its head coming down again. What
+did it matter that the fatigue was great, and that she panted for breath
+as she tried to keep up? She held Dorothy's safety before her own, and
+all personal fatigue was as nothing to secure that.
+
+If any little girls who read this story have kind, faithful nurses like
+Ingleby, I hope they will never forget to be grateful to them for their
+patience and kindness in their childish days when childhood has passed
+away, and they no longer need their watchful care. Ingleby's love was
+not, perhaps, wise love, but it was very true and real, and had very
+deep roots in the attachment she felt for her mistress, whom she had
+served so faithfully for many years.
+
+Between Stefano and Ingleby no great friendship subsisted, and when she
+returned alone from the Villa Lucia, he said,--
+
+"Where's the little signora, then?"
+
+"Where? you may well ask! gone up one of those steep mountains to Colla
+on a donkey."
+
+"_Si!_ well, and why not?"
+
+"Why not? Because it is very dangerous, and I think fellows who take
+other people's children from them ought at least to give notice of it."
+
+"_Si!_ well," was Stefano's rejoinder, "that's a fine ride up to Colla,
+and there are more books there than there are days in the year, and
+pictures, and----"
+
+"Come now, Stefano," his wife called, "it is time to stop thy talking,
+and to get the luncheon ready. Gone to Colla, do you say, Mrs. Ingleby?--a
+very pretty excursion; and there, high up in the heart of the hills, is
+a wonderful library of books, and many fine pictures, collected by a
+good priest, who starved himself to buy them and store them there."
+
+But Ingleby was not to be interested in any details of the library at
+Colla, which is visited with so much delight by many who spend a winter
+at San Remo. She was anxious about Dorothy, and Stefano said,--
+
+"It will be wonderful if they are home before sunset."
+
+"Home before sunset!" exclaimed poor Ingleby; "well, I should think Mrs.
+Crawley will have sense enough for _that_, though I don't think much of
+her wisdom, spoiling that baby of three years old as she does."
+
+Stefano chuckled.
+
+"Ah, _si!_ but others are spoiled, as well as _Bambino Bobbo_."
+
+Ingleby had now to go to Mrs. Acheson, and tell her that Dorothy was not
+coming home to luncheon.
+
+As this often happened when she stayed at Lady Burnside's, Mrs. Acheson
+was not anxious. Ingleby kept back the expedition to Colla, and Mrs.
+Acheson asked no questions then.
+
+But as the afternoon wore on, and Dorothy did not return, escorted as
+usual by Willy and Irene Packingham, Mrs. Acheson told Ingleby she had
+better go to Lady Burnside and bring Dorothy home with her.
+
+"I have not seen the child to-day," she said, "except when I was half
+asleep, when she came to wish me a 'Happy New Year!' And this present
+has arrived for her from her uncle at Coldchester. Look, Ingleby; is
+it not sweet? I could not resist peeping into the box. Won't she be
+delighted!"
+
+The box contained two little figures like dormice, with long tails and
+bright eyes, in a cosy nest. The head of each little mouse opened, and
+then inside one was the prettiest little scent-bottle you can imagine,
+and inside the other a pair of scissors, with silver handles, and a tiny
+thimble on a little crimson velvet cushion.
+
+How Ingleby wished Dorothy Dormouse, whose name was written on the
+card tied to the box, was there, I cannot tell you; but how little
+did Ingleby or any one else guess _where_ she was at that moment!
+
+Ingleby put off going to the Villa Lucia till the last moment, and
+arrived at the gate just as the donkeys came merrily along the road.
+
+Francesco could not resist the delight of sending them all at full trot
+for the last quarter of a mile, and Crawley, grasping Baby Bob tightly
+with one arm, and with her other hand holding the pommel of the saddle,
+jogged up and down like any heavy dragoon soldier; while Irene, and
+Willy, and Ella, and the Merediths came on urging their tired steeds,
+and asking Crawley if it was not "jolly to canter," while poor Crawley,
+breathless and angry gasped out that she had a dreadful stitch in her
+side, and that she would never mount a donkey again.
+
+Marietta came on behind, with the ends of her scarlet handkerchief
+on her head flapping in the wind, and though apparently not hurrying
+herself, she took such strides with her large, heavily-shod feet, that
+she was soon at the gate.
+
+There was the usual bustle of dismounting, and some scolding from
+Crawley, and a few sharp raps administered by Marietta to Francesco for
+making the donkeys canter; while poor Ingleby's excited questions were
+not even noticed.
+
+"Miss Dorothy--where is Miss Dorothy?--do you hear me, Miss Packingham?--do
+you hear me, Master Willy?--speak, won't you?--has she fallen off one of
+these brutes?--is she--is she--Master Willy--Miss Ella--Miss Irene!"
+
+Then Ella turned from giving a parting pat to her donkey, and seeing
+Ingleby's distressed face, said,--
+
+"Dorothy did not come with us; she is not hurt?"
+
+"Oh, Miss Ella, Miss Ella!" exclaimed poor Ingleby, holding up her hands
+and sinking back against the wall. "Oh, Miss Ella, Miss Ella! oh, Miss
+Irene!"
+
+"Why, what is the matter, Mrs. Ingleby?" said Crawley, who had set down
+Baby Bob to toddle into the house, and was settling the payment for the
+donkeys with Marietta. "Why, you look like a ghost."
+
+"Miss Dorothy! Miss Dorothy! Where can she be?"
+
+"Well, she is safe enough, isn't she?"
+
+"No," said Ingleby; "she is gone! she is lost! she is lost!--and oh,
+what will become of me?"
+
+"_Lost!_" the children all repeated; "she can't be lost."
+
+And then they all ran into the house, and Lady Burnside, who was sitting
+with Constance in the room upstairs came hurriedly down.
+
+"What do you say?--little Dorothy has not been with you to Colla? She
+must have gone home, then."
+
+"No, no, my lady," Ingleby said. "No, no; I have been waiting for her
+there till ten minutes ago. She is lost--lost--and oh! I wish we had
+never, never come to these foreign places; and the mistress so ill!"
+
+Lady Burnside was indeed greatly distressed, but she took immediate
+action. She sent Willy to fetch Stefano, anxious that Mrs. Acheson
+should not be alarmed and she despatched him at once to the Bureau of
+Police, and told him to describe Dorothy, and to tell every one that she
+was missing.
+
+Ingleby tried to follow them, but her legs trembled, and she sat down on
+a bench in the hall and burst into tears.
+
+And this was the trouble which little Dorothy's self-will had brought
+upon every one; this was the end of her determination to do as _she_
+liked best, without thinking what it was right and best to do, and what
+other people liked best--a sad end to a day that might have been so
+happy; a hard lesson for her to learn!
+
+  [Illustration: Swallows]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+IN THE SHADOWS.
+
+
+At first Dorothy was scarcely conscious of what had happened to her, and
+when she really recovered herself she found she was in a dark, low room,
+where she could hardly see.
+
+There was a great chatter going on around her, of which she could not
+make out a word. As her eyes got accustomed to the dim light, she saw
+the figures of two women, a boy, and an old crone sitting by a wood fire.
+The room seemed very full, and was very hot; a smell of smoke, and dried
+fish, and of tar, made Dorothy gasp for breath. She was lying on what
+seemed to her a wooden shelf, but was in reality a bed, and she felt
+something cold on her head. She put up her hand, and found her forehead
+was bandaged with a wet cloth.
+
+"I want to go home," she said, struggling to get down from the bed; but
+she was seized by a pair of strong arms, and a great many words were
+addressed to her as she was almost forced again to lie down.
+
+But Dorothy now began to cry and scream, and presently the narrow
+doorway was filled with inquiring faces, and the strife of tongues
+became more and more loud and noisy.
+
+Not one word could Dorothy understand, except, perhaps, "signorina,"
+with which she had become familiar, and a few words which she had caught
+up from Stefano.
+
+The brown hands which held her down were firm, if gentle, and, though
+she fought and struggled, she could not regain her feet. Presently she
+felt something warm trickling down her cheek, and then there were fresh
+exclamations, and Dorothy, putting up her finger, saw it was stained
+with crimson blood.
+
+She gave herself up for lost, poor little girl, and began to sob and cry
+most bitterly; then, to her surprise, the pair of strong arms lifted
+her gently from the bed, and carried her to the smoking embers on the
+hearth; and, looking up, she saw a kindly face bending over her, and
+she was rocked gently to and fro, just as Ingleby had often rocked her
+by the nursery fire at Coldchester. More wet bandages were put to her
+forehead, and the boy, drawing near, touched the long, silky hair, and
+said,--
+
+"Bella, è bella."
+
+"Oh! do let me go home--take me home--please--please----"
+
+But no one knew what she said, and the woman only began to sing as
+she rocked, in the soft Italian language, while the rest talked and
+chattered, and raised their hands in wonder, and gazed down at the child
+with their large dark eyes; and if Dorothy could have understood them,
+she would have known they only intended to be kind.
+
+To be sure, they told Giulia that the little signorina must belong to
+rich English, and she would get a reward; and that she ought to go down
+to the town and inquire at the hotels and the villas.
+
+A good deal passed through Dorothy's mind as she lay in the arms of the
+rough though kindly Italian woman. How long ago it seemed since the
+morning, since she had been angry with Baby Bob, and had refused to go
+to Colla. Oh, how she wished she had gone now. How she longed to say she
+was sorry, to kiss Baby Bob, to throw her arms round Irene, and to tell
+mother she would never, never be naughty again! Convulsive sobs shook
+her, and she clung to the kind woman's neck, praying and entreating to
+be taken home.
+
+But where _was_ home? No one knew, and no one could understand her; and
+at last, worn out with crying, Dorothy fell fast asleep.
+
+Neighbours came in and out, and looked curiously at the little
+golden-haired signorina, whose head seemed to make a spot of light in
+the dark dwelling.
+
+"They will miss her, and search for her," the neighbours said, "and then
+you will get a reward, Giulia. She is like an angel with the light round
+her head in the window in the church."
+
+"She is like a sorrowful little lost kid bleating for its mother," said
+Giulia.
+
+So the hours went on, and the sunset gleamed from behind the old church,
+and brightened the grey walls of the houses in the square, and made the
+windows glitter and shine like stars.
+
+
+  [Illustration: "DOROTHY FELL FAST ASLEEP."]
+
+
+But Dorothy did not wake, and still Giulia sat patiently with her in her
+strong brown arms, and crooned over her the words of a hush-a-bye with
+which the dark-eyed boy, who stood notching a stick by the open
+fireplace, had been lulled to sleep in his turn--
+
+  "Ninni, ninni, nanna,
+   Allegrezza di la mamma!
+   Addormentati, addormentati,
+               Oh, mia bella!"
+
+This answered to the "Hush-a-bye, baby," which we all know, and really
+meant--
+
+  "Joy of thy mother, sleep, sleep!
+   My pretty one, sleep."
+
+The sunset faded from the sky, and the smouldering wood ashes and embers
+on the hearth now shone with only a dim red eye in the middle; and still
+Dorothy slept, and still Giulia swayed her body to and fro, and sang on
+in a low, soft voice.
+
+It was really very kind of Giulia, for a heap of brown net and a ball of
+stout twine, into which a huge bone netting-needle was thrust, lay by
+the rough wooden bench near the small window. And Giulia did very much
+want to finish that net, and send her boy down to the quay with it to
+the master fisherman who had given her the order to make it.
+
+But Giulia could not find it in her kind, motherly heart to risk waking
+the child by laying her down on the bed again, and she dreaded to hear
+the cries in the English tongue, which she could not understand, and so
+could not heed.
+
+It was nearly dark when at last Dorothy opened her eyes and sat up,
+with a prolonged yawn. The sleep had refreshed her, and she had been so
+quieted by it, that she did not resist or cry when Giulia put her down
+on a low wooden stool; and throwing another bit of wood on the fire,
+a flame leaped up, which was pleasant and cheerful, and made the red
+petticoat which the old crone by the fire wore look bright and warm.
+
+Then Giulia lighted a small lamp, which was hung to a hook on the
+ceiling, and putting a big iron pipkin on the fire, began to prepare
+some broth for the little signorina.
+
+Dorothy watched her as if she were still dreaming, and saw how the big
+gold earrings bobbed up and down, and wondered why Giulia had such a
+very wide waist, and why any one who had such a shabby petticoat should
+wear earrings, and have shining gold pins in the handkerchief which was
+bound round her head.
+
+Dorothy did not like the smell of the soup at all, and when Giulia
+crumbled into it some dark bread, and finally offered it to her, with a
+large wooden spoon, she turned away in disgust.
+
+But Giulia persisted, and Dorothy, having tasted nothing since
+breakfast, was really hungry, and swallowed a few spoonfuls.
+
+An orange which a neighbour brought in hanging on the bough, with its
+dark green leaves, was much more tempting, and when she took it from
+the woman who offered it to her, she said, "Grazia"--she knew that meant
+"Thank you"--for Francesco always said "Grazia" when he took the little
+copper pieces of money, which seemed so many, and were worth so little,
+from her hand or Irene's when they had dismounted from the donkeys.
+
+Presently a familiar voice at the door made Dorothy stop eating the
+orange, and she turned her eye anxiously towards the new-comer.
+
+It was Francesco himself, who began to tell what grief there was in
+Villa Firenze, and how a little signorina was lost, and he held up a
+crumpled wisp of paper, and said he had picked it up in the market
+square.
+
+"Oh! it is mine, it is mine, Francesco. Don't you know me, Francesco?
+It is my letter to Uncle Crannie. Francesco! Francesco!"
+
+The boy began a series of jumps of joy and springs of delight, and
+clapped his hands.
+
+"Trovata! trovata!--è la piccola signorina" ("Found! found! the little
+lady is found"), he said.
+
+"Let me go with him! he knows where I live. Oh, tell them--tell them to
+let me go with you!"
+
+A voluble stream of Italian was poured forth by every one, which Dorothy
+could not understand; but Giulia got Dorothy's hat, and the white scarf,
+and the pretty velvet jacket, and then she was dressed--not without many
+expressions of profound admiration for the soft white feather and the
+velvet--and made ready to start with Francesco. Not alone. No; Giulia
+was not going to trust her to the donkey-boy without her, and Francesco
+made a funny face and showed his white teeth between his bright red
+lips, and whispered in Dorothy's ear the one English word he perfectly
+understood--
+
+"Money! money! she get money for the signorina--ah! ah! ah!"
+
+I will not say that there was no thought in Giulia's mind that the
+mother whom Francesco had described as crying bitterly for her lost
+treasure might not add some silver coins to her stock kept in the old
+stone pipkin in the cupboard--a store which Giulia liked to see grow,
+because, when her Anton was big and strong, she would pay it to the good
+master fisherman who employed her to make and mend his nets, and had
+often said her dark-eyed Anton was born to be a sailor.
+
+Dorothy felt strangely dizzy and bewildered when she began to walk,
+and though she held fast to Giulia's strong hand on one side, and to
+Francesco's on the other, she tottered and tumbled about from side to
+side, and was not sorry when Giulia took her up in her arms and carried
+her with swift, firm steps down into the wide street of San Remo.
+
+It would have been quite dark now if it had not been for the light of a
+crescent moon, which hung like a silver bow over the sea. Just as they
+reached the upper road the doctor who attended Mrs. Acheson passed them
+quickly. He turned as he passed the group, and recognised Francesco, who
+was a little in advance of Giulia and her burden.
+
+"Hi! Francesco," he said; "has anything been heard of the little lady?"
+
+"Oh, Dr. Forman! Oh, Dr. Forman!" exclaimed Dorothy.
+
+"Why, here is the lost lamb," said the doctor. He had a little girl
+of his own, and he was as delighted as possible that Dorothy was safe.
+"Why, Dorothy," he said, "your poor mamma has been made quite ill with
+fright; and your nurse, and Willy Montague, and that nice little friend
+of yours, have been hunting for you high and low. Where have you been?"
+
+But Dorothy was sobbing too much to speak, and Giulia told Dr. Forman,
+who understood Italian as well as his own language, the story of
+Dorothy's fall, the cut on her forehead, and how she had taken her into
+her house and done all she could for her.
+
+"Well, bring her home," the doctor said; "and, Francesco, run off and
+try to find the searching party; they must be worn out."
+
+"Please, Dr. Forman," Dorothy gasped, "this woman has been very, very
+kind to me." Then she lifted her little hand, and stroking Giulia's
+face, said,--
+
+"Grazia, grazia."
+
+"The little angel!" Giulia said. "She is just an angel, and I am glad I
+found her; that I am."
+
+In another five minutes the doctor and Giulia, carrying her burden,
+arrived at the gate of the Villa Firenze. A group was collected there,
+for, as we all know, when we are waiting for anyone about whose coming
+we are anxious, we always go out to watch, and hope that every minute
+they will arrive. They don't come any the quicker for this, but it is a
+comfort in some unexplained way.
+
+"Let me take her to her mother," Giulia said to Dr. Forman; and he could
+not refuse. So he led the way to the drawing-room, opening the door
+gently, and standing for a moment behind the screen which protected the
+room from the draught of the door.
+
+Lady Burnside, who had been with Mrs. Acheson all the afternoon, rose to
+see who was coming.
+
+Oh! what a relief it was to hear Dr. Forman saying,--
+
+"The child is safe; here she is;" and then Giulia strode in, and
+kneeling down by the sofa where poor Mrs. Acheson lay, she put Dorothy
+into her arms.
+
+You may be very sure that Giulia's store of coins in the pipkin was
+increased, and that the delicate English lady put her arm round the
+Italian one's neck and kissed her, saying the pretty word by which
+Dorothy had won her heart--
+
+"Grazia, grazia."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+WHAT FOLLOWED.
+
+
+The consequences of self-will do not always pass away as quickly as we
+hope and expect. Sometimes we have to suffer by seeing the suffering of
+others, and feel bitterly that we have caused it. I do not think any
+pain is more keen than that sorrow which is caused by seeing the pain we
+have given those we love.
+
+Lady Burnside had been afraid on the first evening of Dorothy's return
+that, in the rapturous joy of poor Ingleby and the general delight of
+every one, Dorothy might be brought to think lightly of the fault which
+had caused so much trouble.
+
+Seated in a low chair, her hand in her mother's, and the other children
+gathered round her, while Ingleby stood feasting her eyes upon her
+darling, Dorothy became something of a heroine; and no one, in the first
+joy of receiving her safe and sound, could find it in their hearts to
+reprove her for what had passed.
+
+Lady Burnside felt that it was not for her to speak seriously to Dorothy;
+and yet, when she saw her carried away to bed by Ingleby, with her
+uncle's present clasped in her arms, and heard her say, "I feel _quite_
+like Dorothy Dormouse now," she did long to say more than Mrs. Acheson
+did--"Dorothy will never run away by herself again and frighten poor
+mother."
+
+As it proved, the fright and long watching had a very serious effect on
+Mrs. Acheson. The next day Dr. Forman ordered her to keep in bed; and
+her cough increased so much that for some days there was great anxiety
+about her. Dorothy was so accustomed to see her mother ill that it
+did not strike her as anything unusual; but one morning, when she was
+starting gaily for the Villa Lucia, Ingleby called to Stefano from the
+top of the stairs that he must take Miss Dorothy, for she could not
+leave her mistress.
+
+"I can go alone," Dorothy said; for neither Stefano nor his wife were
+very great favourites of hers.
+
+"No, no," Stefano said; "the little signorina is not to be trusted;" and
+taking her hand in his, he prepared to lead her along the sunny road to
+the Villa Lucia.
+
+But Dorothy snatched away her hand, and said, "You should not speak like
+_that_ to me."
+
+"Ah," Stefano said, "someone must speak, someone must speak at times to
+little signorinas who give pain and trouble."
+
+Dorothy felt her dignity much injured, and repeated, with emphasis,--
+
+"You should not speak like that to _me_."
+
+Stefano only shrugged his shoulders; and as they had reached the door of
+the Villa Lucia, he left her, saying,--
+
+"The little signorina will have to hear hard things, like the rest of
+us, one day."
+
+Irene met Dorothy with the question--"How is your mother? Grannie is so
+anxious to know."
+
+"Mother is not up yet," Dorothy replied. "Jingle is sitting with her."
+
+The other children now came clustering round Dorothy with the same
+question; and Irene, after helping Dorothy to take off her jacket and
+hat, said,--
+
+"Come and see grannie."
+
+"Before my lesson?"
+
+"Yes; she wants to speak to you."
+
+Dorothy felt a strange misgiving at her heart, and said, sharply,--
+
+"What for? What is she going to say?"
+
+"I think," said Irene, gently, "she wishes to comfort you; your mamma is
+very, very ill."
+
+"No, she isn't!" said Dorothy, desperately. "No, she isn't; not a bit
+more ill than she often is. I saw her last night, and she looked _quite_
+better--her cheeks pink, and her eyes bright."
+
+"Well," Irene said, "I know Dr. Forman thinks her very ill, and he has
+sent for Canon Percival."
+
+"For Uncle Crannie? for Uncle Crannie?"
+
+"Yes," Irene said, "two days ago."
+
+Dorothy stood irresolute for a moment, and then, with a great effort to
+control herself, said,--
+
+"Let me go to your grandmamma; let me go."
+
+But Irene put her arms round Dorothy, and whispered,--
+
+"I have been asking God to make your mamma better, and I think He will.
+Have _you_ asked Him and told Him all about it?"
+
+"About what?" Dorothy said.
+
+"Everything--how sorry you are that you gave your mamma such anxiety;
+and have _you_ asked to be forgiven?"
+
+But Dorothy said,--
+
+"I never _tell_ God anything. I say my prayers, but I did not, could
+not, tell Him about such things as my slapping Baby Bob, and getting
+angry, and staying at home while you went to Colla. He is so far off,
+and besides----"
+
+"Oh, Dorothy!" said Irene, seriously, "God is very near, Jesus is very
+near, and He cares about every little thing."
+
+"Are you _sure_?" said poor little Dorothy. "Then He knows and cares
+about mother--mother----"
+
+A sob choked her, and yet she tried not to give way; to cry very much
+would show that she believed her mother was very, _very_ ill, and she
+could not, _dare_ not believe it! But she said simply--
+
+"I _know_ I am not good; but I love--oh! how I _do_ love mother!"
+
+Lady Burnside received Dorothy with her calm, sweet smile, and
+Constance, lying on her couch, put out her hand, and said, "Come and
+kiss me, Dorothy."
+
+Constance had not generally taken much notice of Dorothy. She had looked
+upon her as a spoiled little thing, and had felt, like many invalids who
+have been accustomed to be the centre of attraction and attention, a
+little vexed that every one admired the child, and were, as she thought,
+blind to her faults. Even Willy, though he was blunt and rough to Dorothy
+sometimes, was really devoted to her. So was Jack Meredith, and as to
+Irene and her own little sister Ella, they were ridiculously fond of
+her. Irene particularly would always give up to Dorothy, though she was
+so much younger than herself. Baby Bob had, in his own way, the same
+feeling about Dorothy that Constance had. He strongly objected to anyone
+who could possibly dethrone him from the position of "King of the
+Nursery," which was Crawley's favourite title for her youngest child.
+Baby Bob had ruled with despotic power, and was naturally unwilling to
+see a rival near the throne. But Constance was now touched by the sight
+of the little figure in the blue dress, over which the cloud of light
+silky hair hung, when she saw the wistful questioning glance in those
+blue eyes, which were turned entreatingly to Lady Burnside, as she
+said,--
+
+"Tell me _really_ about--about mother."
+
+Then Lady Burnside drew Dorothy close to her, and said,--
+
+"Your dear mother is very ill, Dorothy, but we must pray to God to make
+her better."
+
+Dorothy stood with Lady Burnside's arm round her, still gazing up at the
+dear, kind face bending over her; and then, after a pause, she said, in
+a low tone,--
+
+"Is it _my_ fault? Is it all my fault?"
+
+Lady Burnside made Dorothy sit down on a low chair by her side, and
+talked so kindly and wisely to her. She told her that her mother had
+passed a very bad night of coughing the night before New Year's Day;
+that when the news came of her loss, which Stefano had abruptly told
+her, Mrs. Acheson had, forgetting how easily she was chilled, run out
+into the garden with only a shawl thrown over her; that it was with
+great difficulty she had been persuaded not to go herself to look for
+Dorothy; that she had paced up and down the room in her distress; and
+that that night, after the excitement and joy of her return were over,
+she had been very faint and ill, and now she had inflammation of her
+lungs, which she was very weak to bear up against.
+
+Lady Burnside had gone through many troubles herself, and she had the
+sympathetic spirit which children, as well as grown-up people, feel to
+be so sweet in sorrow. There were no reproaches, and no hard words, but
+I think little Dorothy never forgot the lesson which she learned from
+Lady Burnside that morning, and often when she was beginning to be
+self-willed and irritable, if that self-will was crossed, she would
+think of Lady Burnside's words,--
+
+"Take care when the first temptation comes to pray to resist it."
+
+She did not return to the Villa Firenze that night, nor did Irene take
+her into the schoolroom that day. She read to her, and amused her by
+dressing a doll and teaching her how to crochet a little frock for it.
+
+Early the next morning Canon Percival arrived, and Dorothy was taken by
+him to see her mother.
+
+As they were walking up the road together, Dorothy said,--
+
+"Uncle Crannie, do you know _all_, all that happened on New Year's Day?"
+
+"Yes, Dorothy; I have heard all."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Crannie, to think of Baby Bob's taking my letter to you
+beginning all the trouble!"
+
+"Nay, my little Dorothy, it was not Baby Bob who began the trouble; it
+was _you_. We must never shift the blame from our own shoulders, and
+say, if _he_ had not said that, or she had not provoked me, _I_ should
+not have done what I did."
+
+"But it _was_ tiresome to squeeze up your letter, which I had taken such
+pains to write."
+
+"Yes, very tiresome; but _that_ does not alter your fault."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Crannie, Uncle Crannie! I _wish_ I had not run off; but then
+I thought I saw Nino."
+
+"Poor Nino!" exclaimed Canon Percival; "in all the trouble and sorrow I
+have found here I forgot about Nino. I have something to tell you about
+him, but----"
+
+Canon Percival was interrupted by meeting Dr. Forman.
+
+A few words were exchanged between them, and then little Dorothy, with a
+sad, serious face, was taken by her uncle into her mother's room.
+
+  [Illustration: Lake Scene]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE LOST FOUND.
+
+
+Many days of deep anxiety followed, and poor little Dorothy's heart
+was sad and troubled. Irene proved a true and loving friend, and, with
+wisdom far beyond her years, encouraged Dorothy to go on with her little
+lessons, and learn to knit and crochet. "To make a shawl for mother by
+the time she gets well" became an object of ambition; and Irene helped
+her out of difficulties, and turned the troublesome corners at the four
+parts of the square, and would read to her and Ella while she pulled the
+soft Pyrenean wool in and out the long treble stitches.
+
+They were very busy one morning a week after Canon Percival's arrival,
+when they saw his tall figure coming up the garden. He looked happier
+than he had done for some time, and when Dorothy ran to meet him, he
+said,--
+
+"Good news to-day; mother is really better; and Dr. Forman thinks she
+may soon be as well as she was before this last attack of illness."
+
+Good news indeed! If any little girl who reads Dorothy's story has ever
+had to feel the weight upon her heart which a dear father's or mother's
+illness has caused, she will know how, when the burden is lifted, and
+the welcome words are spoken, like Canon Percival's, all the world
+seems bright and joyful, and hope springs up like a fountain within.
+
+"Yes," Canon Percival said, as Dorothy threw her arms round his neck,
+"we may be very thankful and glad; and now, while I go and see Lady
+Burnside, will you get ready to take me to visit the old town, and----"
+
+"Giulia, and the old woman, and Anton!" exclaimed Dorothy.
+
+Oh yes! the children were soon ready, and they all set off towards
+the old town, all except Willy, who had to wait for Mr. Martyn, and who
+looked with longing eyes at the party as they walked away.
+
+"_Bother_ this horrid sum!" he said; "it _won't_ come right. What's the
+use of asking such ridiculous questions? Who cares about the answer?"
+
+But Willy got the answer right in spite of his grumbling, and had the
+pleasure of hearing Mr. Martyn tell his grandmother that he had improved
+very much of late, and that he would take a good place at a school when
+he was sent to one.
+
+It was a lovely spring morning, that beautiful spring of the sunny
+South, which comes early in the year with a sudden burst of flowers
+of all colours. All the acacias and mimosas in the gardens before the
+villas were waving their golden tassels in the breeze, and the scarlet
+anemones and the yellow narcissi were making a carpet under foot.
+
+Dorothy danced along in the gladness of her heart, and Canon Percival,
+when he thought of what _might_ have been, felt thankful and glad also.
+As they climbed the steep street leading to the square before the big
+church, a little white dog with brown ears toddled out.
+
+"Oh, that is the dog I thought was Nino! How could I think so?" Dorothy
+exclaimed; "his legs are so ugly, and he has such a mean little tail.
+Ah! my poor Nino was beautiful when compared with _you_," she said,
+stooping down to pat the little dog. "And, Uncle Crannie," she said, "do
+you remember that sad, dreadful day, when you took me to see mother, you
+said you had something to tell me about Nino, and then you left off."
+
+"Ah!" Canon Percival said, "I believe I did say so, but, Dorothy, can
+you wait to hear what it is?"
+
+"I don't know," Dorothy said, doubtfully, "I don't know; it can't be
+anything very happy."
+
+"Well, I advise you to wait," Canon Percival said.
+
+Dorothy looked up at her uncle, and said,--
+
+"Is it that his dear dead little body has been found?"
+
+But Canon Percival only repeated, "I advise you to _wait_."
+
+"How long?"
+
+"Till we all go back to England."
+
+They were at Giulia's house now. She was sitting on the doorstep,
+netting so fast, and such a big brown net lay in a heap behind her.
+Anton was the first to see the visitors, and exclaimed,--
+
+"Madre! madre mia! la signorina!"
+
+Giulia flung down her netting, and starting up, to Dorothy's surprise,
+caught her in her strong arms once more, and kissed her.
+
+And now, what seemed to the children very wonderful, Canon Percival
+began to talk to Giulia as fast in Italian as he did in English. And
+such a history was poured forth by Giulia, and then followed such
+gestures, and such exclamations! and Anton was caught by the arm, and
+shaken by his mother, and then she pointed to Canon Percival, and when
+Dorothy caught the word "Grazia," she knew that her uncle was promising
+to do some kind thing. Ella, who from long habit could understand a
+great deal of what passed, told Irene and Dorothy that Canon Percival
+was promising to pay the money for Anton's apprenticeship to the master
+boatman, and that he was writing the name in his pocket-book, and that
+he said he would go down to the quay and harbour to find him, and if
+he gave a good character of mother and son, he would have an agreement
+made, and the boy should be made an apprentice, without touching that
+store of silver pieces in the old pipkin in the cupboard.
+
+Then they all went into the house, and Dorothy showed the bed where she
+had been placed, and Ella and Irene quite agreed with her that it was
+very stuffy in the little low room, and the smell of tar and smoke
+anything but nice.
+
+Then there was the old crone by the chimney-corner, who muttered and
+murmured, and beckoned Dorothy to her side.
+
+Poor little Dorothy bore the kiss which was given her with great
+composure, but she could not help giving a little shudder, and told Ella
+afterwards the smell of garlic and tobacco was "dreadful."
+
+Canon Percival said a few words which were not intelligible to Dorothy,
+but Irene whispered to her--
+
+"He is speaking to them all about the Lord Jesus; that's why Giulia is
+crossing herself. That is her way of showing reverence."
+
+Poor Giulia's eyes were full of tears as Canon Percival went on. He was
+telling the story of the Cross, simply and earnestly, to these poor
+people, as they seldom, if ever, heard it, in their own tongue, the
+soft Italian tongue, which is so musical.
+
+When they left the house they were all very quiet, and could Dorothy
+have understood what Giulia was saying as she stood on the large stone
+step, watching them down the narrow street, she would have known she was
+praying in her own fashion that blessings might follow them.
+
+Canon Percival next went down to the harbour, and there, from the pier,
+is a most beautiful view of the old town, rising up, higher and higher,
+to the crest of the hill till it reaches the large church which belongs
+to the lepers' hospital. Canon Percival inquired for Angelo Battista,
+the master fisherman; and a fine sailor, with a face as brown as a
+chestnut, and big dark eyes, smiled when Canon Percival disclosed his
+errand.
+
+"Yes, Anton was a good boy; his mother had a long tongue, but she was
+very industrious--industrious with tongue and fingers alike," he said,
+and then he laughed heartily, and two or three men standing near joined
+in.
+
+At last all was settled, and Angelo Battista was to bring up a written
+document that evening to the Villa Firenze, and bring little Anton with
+him, to make the needful declaration required in such cases by the
+notary, that he agreed to the terms proposed.
+
+Canon Percival left San Remo the next day, saying that Coldchester
+Cathedral could not get on without him. He was so cheery and so kind,
+the children all lamented his loss.
+
+But now golden days came for them all, as Mrs. Acheson got, as Ingleby
+expressed it, "nearer well" than she had been for years. She took long
+drives in the neighbourhood, and they visited several old Italian towns,
+such as Taggia and Poggio.
+
+The road to them led along the busy shore of the blue Mediterranean, and
+then through silvery olive groves, where flowers of every brilliant
+colour were springing.
+
+And when May came, and the swallows twittered on the roofs of the
+villas, and were seen consulting for their flight northward, the whole
+party set off with them, _homewards_.
+
+Canon Percival met them at Paris, and they stayed there a week, and saw
+many of its wonders--the beautiful pictures in the Louvre, and the noble
+galleries at Versailles, where the fountains play, and the long, smooth
+avenues which lead to La Petite Trianon, which are full of memories of
+poor Marie Antoinette.
+
+Nothing made more impression on the children than the sight of her
+boudoir in the palace at Versailles, where whoever looks up at the glass
+panels sees, by their peculiar arrangement in one corner, the whole
+figure without the head. It is said the young girl Dauphiness glanced up
+at this, and starting back with horror, said--"Ah! J'ai perdu ma tête!"
+A strange coincidence, certainly, when one remembers how her head was
+taken off by the cruel guillotine in later years--the bright hair grey,
+the head bowed with sorrow, and the heart torn with grief for her
+husband, who had preceded her, and still more for the children she left
+behind.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At last the time came to cross the Channel once more, and the passage
+was calm, and the children enjoyed the short voyage.
+
+At Folkestone a very great surprise awaited Dorothy. She hardly knew
+whether she was dreaming or awake when in the waiting-room at the
+station she saw a man in a fisherman's blouse with a white dog in his
+arms.
+
+"Nino! Nino! Oh, it must be my Nino!"
+
+There could be no doubt of it this time, for the little dog grew frantic
+and excited, and leaped whining out of the fisherman's arms, and was in
+ecstasies at again meeting his mistress.
+
+This, then, was Canon Percival's secret. And he told the story of Nino's
+discovery in a few words.
+
+The day when he was at Folkestone, on his way to San Remo--summoned
+there by Mrs. Acheson's illness--he saw a fisherman on the pier with
+a little white dog by his side. It seemed hardly possible, but the
+fisherman explained that, near one of the Channel steamers, in his
+smack, he had seen a little white dog fall over the side, that he had
+looked out for him as they crossed the precise place, and found his
+little black nose just above the water, making a gallant fight for life.
+They lowered a little boat and picked him up, and read the name on his
+collar, "Nino."
+
+That collar he still wore, and it was evident that the sovereign Canon
+Percival gave him did not quite reconcile the man to the parting. "His
+children had grown so fond of the little beast," he said.
+
+But Nino, though he gave the fisherman a parting lick of gratitude,
+showed his _old_ love was the stronger; and I do think it would be hard
+to say which was the happier at the renewal of affection--Dorothy or her
+dog Nino.
+
+Certain it is, we always value anything more highly when we _recover_
+possession of it, and Nino went back to Coldchester full of honours;
+and the story of his adventures made a hero of him in the eyes of the
+vergers of the Cathedral, who in past times had been wont to declare
+this little white dog was a deal of trouble, rushing about on the
+flower-beds of the Cathedral gardens.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+With the homeward flight of the swallows we must say good-bye to
+Dorothy. A very happy summer was passed in the Canon's house, brightened
+by the companionship of Irene, and sometimes of Ella and Willy and Baby
+Bob. For Lady Burnside took a house for a few months in the neighbourhood
+of Coldchester, and the children continually met. But it was by Mrs.
+Acheson's express desire that Irene did not return to Mrs. Baker's
+school. She pleaded with Colonel Packingham that she might have her as
+a companion for her only child; and they shared a governess and lessons
+together.
+
+Irene had the influence over Dorothy which could not fail to be noticed
+in its effects--the influence which a child who has a simple desire
+to follow in the right way _must_ have over those with whom she is
+associated.
+
+Dorothy's flight with the swallows had taught her many things, and with
+Irene for a friend, she had long ceased to say she did not care for
+playmates. She was even known to devote herself for an hour at a time to
+share some rioting game with _Baby Bob_, while Nino raced and barked at
+their heels.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained. One change was made
+to the text. The word "to" was added before the word "Dorothy's" in the
+sentence:
+
+Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who, to Dorothy's
+surprise, spoke out boldly.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Flight with the Swallows, by Emma Marshall
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Flight with the Swallows, by Emma Marshall
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Flight with the Swallows
+       Little Dorothy's Dream
+
+Author: Emma Marshall
+
+Release Date: March 2, 2011 [EBook #35455]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS ***
+
+
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+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
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+</pre>
+
+
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h1><span class="wide">A FLIGHT WITH THE<br />
+SWALLOWS</span></h1>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><i>Or, Little Dorothy's Dream</i></h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h5>BY</h5>
+
+<h2><span class="wide">EMMA MARSHALL</span></h2>
+<h6><i>Author of "Poppies and Pansies," "Silver Chimes," etc., etc</i></h6>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/tp.jpg">
+      <img src="images/tp.jpg" height="100"
+      alt="SWALLOW" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+<p class="noindent"><span class="small">LONDON</span><br />
+<span class="wide"><small>S. W. PARTRIDGE AND CO</small></span><br />
+<span class="small">8 &amp; 9 PATERNOSTER ROW</span>
+</p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/cont.jpg">
+      <img src="images/cont.jpg" height="500"
+      alt="CONTENTS" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<h3>Contents</h3>
+<div class="center">
+<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="4" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_1">I.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">DOROTHY'S DREAM</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_2">II.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">PREPARATION</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_3">III.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">OFF AND AWAY</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_4">IV.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">NINO</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_5">V.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">ONLY A DOG</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_6">VI.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">THE VILLA LUCIA</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_7">VII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">VILLA FIRENZE</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_8">VIII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">DOROTHY'S LESSONS</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_9">IX.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">LOST</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_10">X.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">IN THE SHADOWS</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_11">XI.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">WHAT FOLLOWED</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="#ch_12">XII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align="left">THE LOST FOUND</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/ch01h.jpg">
+      <img src="images/ch01h.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="Decoration" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+
+<h2>A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS.</h2>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_1" id="ch_1"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3>
+
+<h5>DOROTHY'S DREAM.</h5>
+
+<p>In a deep window seat, hidden by crimson curtains
+from the room beyond, a little girl was curled up,
+looking out upon a trim garden, where the first autumn
+leaves were falling one September afternoon. The view
+was bounded by a high wall, and above the wall, the
+east end of Coldchester Cathedral stood up a dark mass
+against the pale-blue sky. Every now and then a
+swallow darted past the window, with its forked tail and
+whitish breast; then there was a twittering and chirping
+in the nests above, as the swallows talked to each other
+of their coming flight. Little Dorothy was an only child;
+she had no brothers and sisters to play with; thus she
+made playmates of her two fluffy kittens, who were lying
+at her feet; and she made friends of the twittering
+swallows and the chattering jackdaws, as they flew in
+and out from the cathedral tower, and lived in a world
+of her own.</p>
+
+<p>The position of an only child has its peculiar pleasures
+and privileges; but I am inclined to think that all little
+girls who have brothers and sisters to play with are
+more to be envied than little Dorothy. To be sure, there
+was no one to want Puff and Muff but herself; no one to
+dispute the ownership of Miss Belinda, her large doll;
+no one to say it was her turn to dust and tidy Barton
+Hall, the residence of Miss Belinda; no one to insist on
+his right to spin a top or snatch away the cup and ball
+just when the critical moment came, and the ball was at
+last going to alight on the cup.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy had none of these trials; but then she had
+none of the pleasures which go with them; for the
+pleasure of giving up your own way is in the long run
+greater than always getting it; and it is better to have
+a little quarrel, and then "make it up" with a kiss and
+confession of fault on both sides, than never to have any
+one to care about what <i>you</i> care for, and no one to
+contradict you!</p>
+
+<p>As little Dorothy watched the swallows, and listened
+to their conversation above her head, she became aware
+that some one was in the drawing-room, and was talking
+to her mother.</p>
+
+<p>She was quite hidden from view, and she heard her
+name.</p>
+
+<p>"But how can I take little Dorothy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Easily enough. It will do her no harm to take flight
+with the swallows."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't think <i>she</i> is delicate?" she heard her
+mother exclaim, in a voice of alarm. "Oh, Doctor Bell,
+you don't think Dorothy is delicate?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, she is very well as far as I see at present, but
+I think her life is perhaps rather too dreamy and self-absorbed.
+She wants companions; she wants variety."</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Bell knew he was venturing on delicate ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Dorothy is very happy," Mrs. Acheson said, "very
+happy. Just suppose San Remo does not suit her, does
+not agree with her; then think of the journey!"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear madam, the journey is as easy in these days
+as if you could fly over on the backs of the swallows&mdash;easier,
+if anything. You ask my serious advice, and it
+is this, that you lose no time in starting for San Remo
+or Mentone."</p>
+
+<p>"San Remo is best," said Mrs. Acheson, "for I have
+a friend who has a house there, and she will be there for
+the winter."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well; then let me advise you to be quick in
+making your preparations. I shall call again this day week,
+and expect to find you are standing, like the swallows,
+ready for flight. Look at them now on the coping of the
+old wall, talking about their departure, and settling."</p>
+
+<p>When Dr. Bell was gone, Mrs. Acheson sat quietly by
+the fire, thinking over what he had said. She had tried to
+persuade herself that her cough was better, that if she
+kept in the house all the winter it would go away. She
+had felt sure that in this comfortable room, out of which
+her bed-room opened, she must be as well as in Italy
+or the south of France. Dr. Bell was so determined to
+get his own way, and it was cruel to turn her out of her
+home. And then Dorothy, little Dorothy! how hard it
+would be for her to leave Puff and Muff, and her nursery,
+and everything in it. And what was to be done about
+Nino, the little white poodle, and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span></p>
+
+<p>A host of objections started up, and Mrs. Acheson tried
+to believe that she would make a stand against Dr. Bell,
+and stay in Canon's House all the winter.</p>
+
+<p>Meantime little Dorothy, who had been lying curled up
+as I have described, had heard in a confused way much
+of what Dr. Bell said. "A flight with the swallows."
+The swallows, her uncle, Canon Percival, had told her,
+flew away to sunshine and flowers; that the cold wind in
+England gave them the ague, and that they got all sorts
+of complaints, and would die of hunger, or cramp, or
+rheumatism if they stayed in England!</p>
+
+<p>"As easy a journey as if you were on a swallow's
+back," the doctor had said; and Dorothy was wondering
+who could be small enough to ride on a swallow's back,
+when she heard a tap at the window, a little gentle tap.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me in, let me in," said a small voice, which was
+like a chirp or a twitter, rather than a voice.</p>
+
+<p>And then Dorothy turned the old-fashioned handle
+which closed the lower square of the lattice window, and
+in came the swallow. She recognised it as one she knew&mdash;the
+mother-bird from the nest in the eaves.</p>
+
+<p>"Come to the sunny South," it said. "Come to the
+sunny South."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't, without mother," Dorothy said.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes, you can. Get on my back."</p>
+
+<p>"I am much too big. I am nearly eight years old."</p>
+
+<p>The swallow twittered, and it sounded like a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not too big; just get on."</p>
+
+<p>And then the swallow turned its tail towards little
+Dorothy; and, to her surprise, she saw her hands were
+tiny hands as she put them round the swallow's neck, and
+tucked a pair of tinier feet under its wings.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ready?" said the swallow.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Stop&mdash;I<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>But in another minute she was flying through the air
+on the swallow's back. Over the great cathedral tower,
+over the blue hills, away, away. Presently there was
+water beneath, dancing and sparkling in the western
+sunshine; then there were boats and ships, looking so
+tiny. Everything did look so small. Then it grew dark,
+and Dorothy was asleep&mdash;she felt she was asleep&mdash;and
+presently the swallow put her down on something very
+soft, and there was a great light, and she sat up and
+found herself, not in the sunny South, but on her mother's
+knee by the bright fire in the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Dorothy, you are quite cold," her mother said.
+"I did not know you were curled up in the window seat,
+and so fast asleep."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, mother," said Dorothy, rubbing her eyes and
+giving a great yawn, "I thought I was flying off to the
+sunny South with the swallows. How funny!" she
+exclaimed. "It was, after all, a dream! I heard Dr. Bell
+talking about your taking flight with the swallows, and
+then I thought I got ever so wee and tiny, and then
+the old mother-swallow carried me off. <i>Are</i> you going to
+fly off with the swallows, mother, to the sunny South?"</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img011.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img011.jpg" height="80"
+      alt="SWALLOWS" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img012.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img012.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="Decoration" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_2" id="ch_2"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3>
+
+<h5>PREPARATION.</h5>
+
+<p>"Well, Dorothy Dormouse!" exclaimed Canon Percival,
+when he came into the drawing-room after
+dinner that evening.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't call me Dorothy Dormouse, Uncle Crannie."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but we call people what they are; and when
+little girls roll up into a ball, and sleep away their time,
+they are like nothing so much as&mdash;dormice."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother has been telling you at dinner all about my
+dream, Uncle Crannie. I know she has, else how do you
+know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, perhaps one of the swallows told me. I say,
+Dorothy, I have to talk seriously to you for once. I am
+not joking this time."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy looked up in her uncle's face, and saw that
+he really did look grave&mdash;almost sad.</p>
+
+<p>"Before mother comes into the room, I want to tell you
+that Dr. Bell thinks her cough is a bad cough, and that
+Coldchester is not the right place for her to live in during
+the winter months. So poor Uncle Crannie will be left
+alone all the long winter, and you must go with mother
+and Ingleby to the sunny South&mdash;to Italy; think of
+that!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to go," said Dorothy. "I mean&mdash;I mean
+I don't want to leave Puff and Muff and old Nino,
+and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor old Uncle Crannie; but, my dear little niece, this
+is not a question of what you <i>like</i> or what you <i>want</i>. It is
+a question of what is <i>right</i> to do. Perhaps, little Dorothy,
+neither mother nor I have taught you enough the meaning
+of the word duty. It means, what you owe to others
+of service or love. Now, you owe it to your mother to be
+as merry and happy as a bird; and, after all, many little
+girls would jump for joy to be off to San Remo."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy was silent. "How long will it take to get
+there," she asked&mdash;"to the sunny South?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you won't go quite as fast as the swallows,
+but I daresay we shall get there in less than a week;
+it depends upon the weather, and upon how your mother
+bears the journey. You must ask God to-night to bless
+your dear mother, and to make you a very good, helpful
+little daughter to her. Will you do this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Dorothy said&mdash;"yes, Uncle Crannie. Why
+won't you stay with us there all the time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well! the cathedral might run away if I was not
+here to prevent it; and what would the old Canons do if
+I deserted them?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are the young Canon, I know," Dorothy said.
+"Ingleby says that's what you are called."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said the Canon, rubbing his bald head, "there
+are degrees of comparison, and I am afraid it is old, older,
+olderer, and oldest, in the cathedral chapter. But I
+wanted to tell you that at San Remo you will have playfellows&mdash;nice
+little girls and boys, who are living there
+with their grandmother; and that is what we cannot find
+for you in Coldchester."</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/frontis.jpg">
+      <img src="images/frontis.jpg" height="400"
+      alt="THE YOUNG CANON" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center"><b><small>"YOU ARE THE YOUNG CANON"</small></b><br />
+      <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/frontis.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>"I don't want any little girls and boys," Dorothy said.
+"I shan't play with them."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, nonsense! you will learn to play with them&mdash;Hoodman
+Blind, and Tom Tickler's ground; won't that
+be jolly?"</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy made no response, and her mother coming
+into the room, with her shawl wrapped closely round her,
+she slipped down from her uncle's knee and took up her
+position at her mother's feet, with one of the kittens in
+her lap, saying&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Read, mother; please read."</p>
+
+<p>"Your mother can't read to-night, Dorothy," said the
+Canon, who had taken up the <i>Times</i>. "She has coughed
+so much to-day, and is very hoarse."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy pouted, and her mother, clearing her throat,
+said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I will try to finish the chapter we left unfinished
+last night. That will not hurt me."</p>
+
+<p>It was a pity that Dorothy was so seldom denied anything.
+It was simply that there was no absolute necessity
+for refusing her what she asked, and she had no idea yet
+that giving up her own will was a sweet gift the youngest
+child may offer to her Father in heaven&mdash;the Father of the
+dear Lord Jesus Christ, who offered Himself in life and
+in death for the sinful, sad world He came to save. So
+Mrs. Acheson finished the chapter of the story, and then
+it was time for Dorothy to go to bed, for Ingleby appeared
+at the door, and said it was past eight o'clock, and much
+too late for a little girl to be in the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>I daresay you wish to know what Dorothy was like,
+and as she goes up the wide staircase of Canon's House,
+she makes a very pretty picture. She had long, silky,
+fair hair, which was not frizzed and crimped, but hung
+down to her waist, and even below it, with soft, curled ends.</p>
+
+<p>As Ingleby had no other child to look after, it was
+natural that she should bestow much pains on Dorothy's
+appearance. She wore a pretty white cashmere frock,
+with a wide rose-coloured sash, her black silk stockings
+fitted her legs precisely, and her dainty shoes had pretty
+buckles.</p>
+
+<p>Puff and Muff had been sent to bed downstairs, and
+only old Nino was allowed to come into the nursery. He
+was a favoured dog, and slept at the foot of his little
+mistress's bed.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy went slowly upstairs, heedless of Ingleby's
+repeated "Come, my dear, come!" And when at last
+they had reached the nursery, Dorothy seated herself in
+the old rocking-chair, put her head back, and swinging
+gently backwards and forwards, said seriously, almost
+solemnly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Jingle"&mdash;it was her pet name for her faithful nurse&mdash;"I
+hate 'playmates,' as Uncle Crannie calls them. If I
+go to the sunny South, I shall not play with any one."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that will be very uncivil, my dear, though, to
+be sure, you are an odd child, for when the little Miss
+Thompsons and Master Benson came to tea on your last
+birthday, it did not seem to make you happy."</p>
+
+<p>"It made me miserable," said Dorothy. Then, with a
+sudden impulse, she got up, and throwing her arms round
+her old friend's neck, she said, "I want nobody but you
+and mother, and Puff and Muff, and Nino."</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby was certainly flattered by her darling's preference,
+and took her on her knee and undressed her as
+if she were seven months, instead of nearly eight years
+old, and brushed and combed the silky hair with great
+pride and pleasure. Dorothy's face was rather too thin
+and colourless for childhood; but her features were
+regular, and her large, blue eyes, shaded by dark lashes,
+were really beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>"She is too much of a little woman," the Miss Thompsons'
+mother said; "the child wants companions, and to
+be roused from her dreams;" while Master Benson went
+away from the birthday party declaring it was slow and
+stupid, and that Dorothy was a stiff starched little thing,
+and he longed to shake her!</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy could not remember her father; he had died
+when she was scarcely a year old, and just at that time
+her uncle, Canon Percival, went to live in Canon's House,
+at Coldchester, and invited his sister to come and take up
+her abode there, with her little girl, and Ingleby, her nurse.</p>
+
+<p>Canon Percival was a bachelor, and till Dorothy came
+he had never had much to do with children. His friends
+pitied him, and said that for the most part children were
+noisy and troublesome, and that he would find the peace
+of his house disturbed. But Dorothy&mdash;Dorothy Dormouse,
+as he liked to call her&mdash;set these preconceived
+notions at defiance. She was quiet and gentle, and she
+and her uncle Cranstone&mdash;Crannie, as she called him&mdash;were
+great friends. She would sit on one of the red
+leather chairs by her uncle, at his great writing table, and
+draw pictures by the hour of birds, and butterflies, and
+flowers, and portraits, too&mdash;of Miss Belinda, and Puff
+and Muff, and even of her uncle himself. Then she
+would walk with him to the service in the cathedral, and
+sit demure and quiet while the prayers were said and the
+organ rolled its waves of music overhead.</p>
+
+<p>The Canon's little niece was a great favourite with the
+old vergers, though they would say, one to the other, that
+she was too wise and knowing for a little one.</p>
+
+<p>"It all comes of being with old people. There ain't
+enough of young life about her. It's a thousand pities
+she has not some playmate."</p>
+
+<p>So it seemed, you see, a general opinion that Dorothy
+wanted companions; and when she got to the sunny
+South the companions were ready for her.</p>
+
+<p>But it took some time to prepare for flight. People
+can get to the south of France and Italy very quickly,
+it is true; but they are not like the swallows, who don't
+want any luggage, and fly with no encumbrance.</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby's preparations were very extensive indeed, and
+Dorothy had also a great deal in hand. She had to put
+Barton Hall in order, for one thing, and to put up a
+notice on the door that this house was to let furnished.
+Then Belinda had to have a little travelling ulster and
+warm hat, like her mistress's, and Puff and Muff had to
+be settled comfortably in their new quarters; for though
+they did not sleep in the nursery, they were there all day,
+and were carried about the house by their little mistress,
+while Nino trotted behind. The preparations were an
+amusement to Dorothy, and she began to feel that if
+anything prevented her going to the sunny South, she
+would feel sorry and disappointed after all!</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby grew more and more serious as the time drew
+near. She murmured a good deal about "foreign parts,"
+and once Dorothy felt sure she heard her say something
+about going away to die. Could these words possibly
+refer to her mother? Poor little girl! She had lived so
+securely with her mother, and had never been accustomed
+to think of her as apart from her own comfort and
+pleasure, that a sharp pain shot through her heart as she
+heard Ingleby's murmured words.</p>
+
+<p>Once, too, when Ingleby thought she was asleep in the
+inner nursery, she heard her talking in low tones to the
+housemaid.</p>
+
+<p>"The child has no notion that her mamma is so ill.
+Childlike!" said Ingleby.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't call it childlike," was the reply. "Miss
+Dorothy is not childlike; she is just eaten up with
+herself."</p>
+
+<p>"She is as dear a lamb as you could find anywhere,"
+said Ingleby, wrathfully; "a dear, sweet lamb. I
+suppose you like rampaging, noisy children, like your
+own brothers and sisters in your mother's farmhouse?"</p>
+
+<p>"I like children," said Susan, bravely, "to think of
+other folks a little, as well as themselves. But there! it's
+not the poor child's fault; everyone in the house spoils
+her, and you are the worst of all, Mrs. Ingleby."</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you what, Susan, I'd advise you, as a friend, to
+mind your own business. If you are such a blind bat as
+not to see what Miss Dorothy is&mdash;well, I am sorry for
+you, and I can't help it."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not mean any offence, I am sure," said Susan,
+as she left the nursery. "As I said, it's not the child's
+fault; but it would be hard lines for her if she lost her
+mamma, and you too, Mrs. Ingleby."</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later, Ingleby was startled by the appearance
+of a little white figure in the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>"Jingle," she said, in a low, choking voice, "is&mdash;my&mdash;mamma
+so very ill? I want to know."</p>
+
+<p>"Ill? why, no. She has got a cough which shakes
+her rather. But, bless your little heart&mdash;don't, Miss
+Dorothy, my sweet, don't."</p>
+
+<p>For, in a passion of weeping, Dorothy had thrown herself
+into her nurse's arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I such a spoiled child?&mdash;am I, Jingle?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are a dear little creature; nothing could spoil
+you. There, there; let me put you back to bed. Don't
+cry."</p>
+
+<p>But Dorothy did cry, and when Ingleby had left her at
+last, she buried her face in the pillow, saying over to
+herself&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, is my mamma so ill? Will she die? Will she
+die? And I am such a spoiled child. Oh dear, oh dear!
+I never thought of it before&mdash;never, never."</p>
+
+<p>There are times when many older people than little
+Dorothy catch suddenly, as it were, a glimpse of their
+true selves, and are saddened at the sight, with what
+results for the future depends upon the means they take
+to cure themselves of their faults.</p>
+
+<p>There is but one way for the children and for those who
+have left childhood far behind&mdash;only one way&mdash;to watch
+and pray, lest they enter into temptation.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img019.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img019.jpg" height="90"
+      alt="CAT IN A BASKET" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img020.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img020.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_3" id="ch_3"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3>
+
+<h5>OFF AND AWAY.</h5>
+
+<p>The excitement of preparation for departure is always
+infectious, and, however much Mrs. Acheson and
+little Dorothy had at first disliked the idea of leaving home
+for the winter, before the actual day for saying good-bye
+arrived, they were both in a measure reconciled to the
+coming change.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy had packed a large box, with things she <i>must</i>
+take, and Ingleby, glad she should be so amused, did not
+prevent her, as she really ought to have done; for such a
+strange medley as that box contained had surely scarcely
+ever been collected for transportation across the Channel:
+paint-boxes; new and old picture-books, coloured by her
+own hand; Belinda's wardrobe&mdash;an extensive one;
+pencils; india-rubber; her desk; her workbox (which
+last, by-the-bye, was seldom used); her "Little Arthur's
+History" and "Mrs. Markham's History;" boxes of
+dominoes and draughts; magnetic ducks and geese and
+fish; and many more things of the like kind, which would
+take me far too long to enumerate.</p>
+
+<p>When the luggage stood in the hall on the morning of
+departure, Canon Percival shrugged his shoulders, and
+gave a low whistle. "As I am courier," he said, "and
+must look after the luggage, I am rather alarmed to see so
+many boxes. What is that old box with brass nails,
+Ingleby?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that is Miss Dorothy's, sir; she packed it herself."</p>
+
+<p>"With toys, I suppose, and rubbish. No, I shall not
+be answerable for that. If we take Nino and Belinda,
+that must suffice."</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby looked doubtful. "The best way will be, sir,
+to get it carried into the servants' hall before the poor
+child comes down; she is breaking her heart, as it is,
+over Puff and Muff."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" said Canon Percival, impatiently.
+"Dorothy must be more reasonable; we have spoilt her
+long enough."</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby dreaded a scene, and began to drag away the
+box into a remote region behind the red baize door, hoping
+to get it out of sight, and out of mind, before Dorothy and
+her mother appeared.</p>
+
+<p>She had just succeeded, and was returning breathless,
+when Dorothy, with Belinda in her arms and Nino toddling
+behind, came downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>The luggage was packed on a fly, and Mrs. Acheson,
+Dorothy, and Canon Percival drove to the station in the
+carriage. All the servants were gathered in the hall, and
+were saying good-bye, with many wishes that Mrs.
+Acheson would come back soon quite well. A little
+telegraph boy, with his bag strapped across his shoulder,
+came gaily up to the door. Then he took out of his bag
+the dark orange envelope which often sends a thrill of
+fear through the hearts of those whose nearest and dearest
+ones are separated from them, and handed it to Canon
+Percival.</p>
+
+<p>"A paid answer, sir," said the messenger.</p>
+
+<p>And Canon Percival, after scanning the few words, took
+out his pencil and wrote&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, with pleasure."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Cranstone? nothing wrong?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no, only that our travelling party is to be enlarged
+in London. Little Irene Packingham is to spend the
+winter at San Remo with her grandmother, and the
+telegram is from Mrs. Baker, the child's schoolmistress,
+saying Lady Burnside had telegraphed to her to communicate
+with me."</p>
+
+<p>"How very odd not to write! It must be a sudden
+determination."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but we shall not get to Paddington, much less
+to San Remo, if we dawdle about here any longer; come,
+make haste."</p>
+
+<p>They were off at last, and at the station several friends
+appeared, who came to wish them a safe journey. Ingleby
+and the footman had got the luggage labelled and in the
+van; and Dorothy and her mother were comfortably seated
+in a first-class carriage, while Canon Percival stood by the
+door, exchanging a few last words with a gentleman; and
+then the guard came up with the familiar question&mdash;"Any
+more going?" Canon Percival jumped in, and they were
+gliding quietly out of the station and leaving Coldchester
+far behind.</p>
+
+<p>For the convenience of early crossing the English
+Channel the next morning, the party were to sleep at the
+Charing Cross Hotel; and here, under the charge of one
+of Mrs. Baker's governesses, little Irene Packingham was
+waiting for them.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy's curiosity had been roused when her mother
+told her of a little travelling companion, but the two
+children stood looking at each other, shy and speechless,
+while Canon Percival and Mrs. Acheson were engaged
+talking to the governess.</p>
+
+<p>She was a prim, stiff-looking, elderly woman, who was
+the useful governess in Mrs. Baker's school. She only
+taught the little girls, looked after the servants, and met
+girls at the station, or, as in this instance, accompanied
+one who was leaving the school.</p>
+
+<p>"Irene has not been very well of late," Miss Pearce was
+saying; "and Colonel Packingham seems to have written
+to Lady Burnside that he wished her to spend the rest of
+the term till after the Christmas holidays at San Remo.
+Mrs. Baker had a letter from Lady Burnside, requesting
+us to prepare Irene to start with you to-morrow morning.
+It is very short notice, but I hope she has her things all
+right."</p>
+
+<p>After a few more words of a like kind, Miss Pearce said
+she must hasten back to St. John's Wood, and bade her
+little charge good-bye.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Irene; I hope you will be a very good girl,
+and give no trouble; you have your keys in your pocket,
+and mind you keep the comforter well round your neck on
+the boat."</p>
+
+<p>Then a kiss was exchanged, not a very warm one on
+either side, and Miss Pearce departed.</p>
+
+<p>Rooms had been engaged on the upper floor of the big
+hotel through which so many people pass coming and
+going from the Continent. The party went up in a lift,
+which was a great novelty to Dorothy, who all this time
+had not spoken a single word to Irene.</p>
+
+<p>A little bedroom next the one which had been arranged
+by Ingleby for her mistress was found for Irene. And
+in a very independent, methodical way she began to lay
+aside her hat and jacket, take out her keys, and unlock
+her small travelling-bag.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy, who had seated herself by the window, and was
+looking down into the square below, watching with deep interest
+the rapid passing and repassing of cabs and carriages
+in and out the station, did not invite any conversation.</p>
+
+<p>The contrast between the two children was a very
+strong one, such as we generally notice between those
+who from their babyhood have been, as it were, little
+citizens of the world, and those who have been brought
+up, as Dorothy had been till nearly her eighth birthday,
+with every care and every luxury, in a happy, quiet home.</p>
+
+<p>Irene was tall for her age&mdash;nearly ten; and she had a
+determined expression on her face, as if she knew there
+were rough places and troubles to meet in her daily life,
+and that she had set herself to overcome them. She had
+heard a murmur of Ingleby's&mdash;"Another child to look after
+on the journey." And she was determined to give no
+trouble; she had no long hair to smooth and comb, for
+her hair was cut short, and her plain blue serge dress
+was quite free from any adornment. After Dorothy had
+done with the square, she turned to watch Irene's movements,
+and regarded her companion with a mingled
+wonder, and a feeling that was certainly not admiration.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Dorothy called to Ingleby in the next room&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"When are you coming to undress me, Jingle? and
+when are we to have our tea?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll come directly, but I am busy getting your mamma's
+things put for the night; she must go to bed early, and
+so must you."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's mother?" was the next question asked.</p>
+
+<p>"In the sitting-room opposite."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to go to her."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a few minutes; she is lying on the sofa, and I
+want her to rest."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Belinda to sleep, and Nino?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me," said Ingleby, impatiently, "I don't know;
+here's the cork come out of your mamma's eau-de-Cologne
+flask, and everything in the travelling basket is soaked.
+Dear, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy now began to snatch at the buttons of her
+travelling ulster, and threw off the scarf round her
+neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me help you," said Irene. "I am quite ready."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy was not very gracious, and as Irene tugged at
+the sleeves of the ulster, a lock of the silky hair caught
+in a button, and Dorothy screamed&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't! you hurt me. Oh, Jingle!"</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby came running in at the cry of distress, and
+began to pity and console.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry," Irene said, moving away to the
+window, where, through the gathering haze of tears, she
+saw the gas-lights beginning to start out all round the
+square below.</p>
+
+<p>A sense of desolation oppressed her; and she wished&mdash;oh,
+how she wished she had stayed at Mrs. Baker's!
+At first it had seemed delightful to go to grannie, but
+now she thought anything was better than being where
+she was not wanted. She was roused by Ingleby's
+voice&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You are to have tea in the sitting-room with Mrs.
+Acheson. The Canon is gone out to dine at St. Paul's
+Deanery; and as soon as you have had your tea, you are
+to go to bed."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy, shaking back her beautiful hair, ran away to
+a room at the end of the passage, never thinking of Irene,
+who followed her with the same uneasy sense of "not
+being wanted" which is hard for us all to bear.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img026.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img026.jpg" height="400"
+      alt="BAY WINDOW" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img027.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img027.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_4" id="ch_4"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3>
+
+<h5>NINO.</h5>
+
+<p>Mrs. Acheson roused herself to talk to the little
+girls, and was kindly anxious that Irene should
+not feel strange and unhappy. But Irene was not a child
+to respond quickly, and Mrs. Acheson could but contrast
+her with her own little Dorothy, who was so caressing
+and tender in her ways, and had a gentle voice, while
+Irene had a quick, decided way of speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you been unwell long, my dear?" Mrs. Acheson
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I have had a cough, and&mdash;and father does not wish
+me to keep a cough, because of mother."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't remember your mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I have a stepmother, you know, and two little
+brothers."</p>
+
+<p>"You will like being with your grandmamma and your
+cousins at San Remo. Your grandmamma is such a dear
+old lady. Do you know, the thought of being near her
+reconciled me to spending the winter abroad."</p>
+
+<p>Irene's face brightened at this.</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad you know grannie," she said. "Your cough
+is very bad, I am afraid," Irene continued, as Mrs.
+Acheson was interrupted by a fit of coughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother's cough is much better," Dorothy said, hotly.
+"Jingle says so, and <i>she</i> knows better than <i>you</i> do."</p>
+
+<p>Irene made no reply to this, and soon after Ingleby
+came to put them both to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Irene had been too much accustomed to changes to be
+much affected by this change, and as soon as her head
+touched the pillow, she was asleep. But Dorothy tossed
+and fidgeted, and besought Ingleby not to leave her, and
+persisted in holding her hand in hers, though her nurse
+sorely wanted rest herself, and to get all things forward
+for the early start the next morning.</p>
+
+<p>At last Ingleby disengaged her hand from Dorothy's
+clinging clasp, and went downstairs to cater for some
+supper. But her disappearance soon roused Dorothy;
+she began to cry and call, "Jingle! Jingle!" This woke
+Irene, who jumped out of her own bed in the next room,
+and coming to her, said, "What do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want <i>you</i>," was the somewhat ungracious
+reply. "I want Jingle or mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ill? have you a pain anywhere?" asked
+practical Irene.</p>
+
+<p>"No, but I want Jingle. Oh dear, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"If nothing is the matter, I think you ought to go to
+sleep, and not cry; it may frighten your mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"It is so horrid here," said poor little Dorothy; "and I
+wonder how Puff and Muff are; and I want Nino. Why
+did Jingle take him away? Oh dear, dear! and there's
+such a buzzing noise in the street, and rumble, rumble;
+oh dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you ever try saying hymns to get yourself to
+sleep?" Irene asked. "If you like I'll repeat one, and
+then you can say it over when I get back to my own bed."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy turned her face away on the pillow, and was
+not very encouraging; but Irene repeated this beautiful
+evening hymn for a child, which I hope all the little girls
+and boys who read my story know with their hearts as
+well as their heads:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+ <table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"On the dark hill's western side,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;The last purple gleam has died;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Twilight to one solemn hue</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Changes all, both green and blue.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"In the fold, and in the nest,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Birds and lambs have gone to rest;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Labour's weary task is o'er,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Closely shut the cottage door.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"Saviour, ere in sweet repose</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;I my weary eyelids close,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;While my mother through the gloom</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Singeth from the outer room,</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"While across the curtain white,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;With a dim uncertain light,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;On the floor the faint stars shine,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Let my latest thought be Thine.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"'Twas a starry night of old</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;When rejoicing angels told</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;The poor shepherds of Thy birth,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;God became a Child on earth.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"Soft and quiet is the bed</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Where I lay my little head;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Thou hadst but a manger bare,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Rugged straw for pillow fair.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"Saviour, 'twas to win me grace</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Thou didst stoop to this poor place,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Loving with a perfect love</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Child and man and God above.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"Thou wast meek and undefiled:</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Make me gentle, too, and mild;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Thou didst foil the tempter's power:</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Help me in temptation's hour.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"Thou didst love Thy mother here,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Make me gentle, kind, and dear;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Thou didst mind her slightest word,</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Teach me to obey, O Lord.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">"Happy now, I turn to sleep;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Thou wilt watch around me keep;</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Him no danger e'er can harm</td></tr>
+ <tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Who lies cradled in Thy arm."</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>When Ingleby came up, she found Dorothy sound
+asleep, and her arm round Irene's neck. Both children
+were in profound slumber. Ingleby gently lifted Irene
+and carried her back to her own room, Dorothy murmuring
+as she turned round on her pillow, "Away with the
+swallows, off to the sunny South."</p>
+
+<p>They were off in good earnest the next morning&mdash;a
+bright and beautiful morning. The sea was blue, and the
+sky clear; only a brisk wind chased the waves shoreward,
+and gave just that motion which to good sailors is so
+delightful.</p>
+
+<p>There were, of course, some unhappy people who
+could not bear even that gentle motion, and had to take
+flight to the cabin. Poor Ingleby was one of these, and
+in spite of all her brave attempts to keep up, she was
+obliged to leave the children to Canon Percival's care,
+and retreat with her mistress to the lower regions.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy and Irene sat together on the middle seat of
+the deck, with their faces to the dancing waves, over
+which some white birds were darting, who had their nests
+in the face of the cliffs of Dover. It had all the delightful
+sense of novelty to Dorothy, but Irene was already a
+traveller. In a dim, dreamy way she was thinking of her
+voyage home, four years before; she remembered the
+pain of parting with the dark-skinned ayah, and her
+father's sad face, as they drew near England.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img031.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img031.jpg" height="400"
+      alt="WHAT A CROSS DOG" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center"><b><small>"OH, WHAT A CROSS LITTLE DOGGIE!"</small></b><br />
+      <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img031.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>Those white cliffs brought it all back to her, and she
+recalled how her father said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"England was your dear mother's home, and she loved
+it, but she is in a better home now; I must not wish her
+back again."</p>
+
+<p>After that her life at Mrs. Baker's was dull and
+monotonous; going on and on day after day, week after
+week, year after year, with but little to mark the passing
+away of time.</p>
+
+<p>Irene was not particularly attractive to strangers, and
+the passengers who turned upon Dorothy admiring
+glances, and even, in that foolish way some people have,
+exclaimed, "What a lovely child!" scarcely gave a
+thought to her companion.</p>
+
+<p>"A plain girl," one lady said; "they cannot be
+sisters!"</p>
+
+<p>Then one of the ladies ventured to put her hand on
+Nino's head, who was curled up under the rug which was
+tucked round both little girls' legs, with his head and ears
+and black nose just appearing. Nino growled, and
+Dorothy made a gesture as if to get a little farther away.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what a cross little doggie!" was the remark.</p>
+
+<p>"He is not cross," Dorothy said, pressing Nino closer.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think so?" the lady said, in an offended
+tone. "Perhaps he has learned of his mistress to be
+cross."</p>
+
+<p>She laughed, but Dorothy did not laugh, or even
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>"He is a spoiled little dog," said the younger of the
+two ladies, reaching forward to give Nino another pat.</p>
+
+<p>Another growl, followed this time by a snap.</p>
+
+<p>"Horrid little beast!" was the next exclamation.
+"Children ought not to be allowed to take pet dogs about
+with them, to the annoyance of other people."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who,
+to Dorothy's surprise, spoke out boldly.</p>
+
+<p>"Nino did not growl till you touched him," she said;
+"no one ought to pat strange dogs."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, your opinion was neither asked for nor
+wanted," was the reply. And Dorothy struggled from the
+rug, and hastened to call her uncle, who was talking to a
+gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Crannie, do come and move our seat; there are
+some very rude ladies who hate Nino."</p>
+
+<p>But Canon Percival was busy talking, and did not
+immediately listen to Dorothy. Nino had toddled off to
+inspect the boat, and by some means, how no one could
+quite tell, had slipped over the side of the steamer, and
+was engulfed in the seething waves below. Irene saw
+what had happened, and cried out,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Nino has fallen through that open place. Nino
+will be drowned."</p>
+
+<p>Then poor little Dorothy, turning, saw Irene rushing to
+the place, and called aloud,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Nino, Nino will be drowned! Nino, Nino, my Nino!
+will nobody save him? Oh, Uncle Crannie, Uncle
+Crannie, save him!"</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img034.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img034.jpg" height="90"
+      alt="FERRY" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img035.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img035.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_5" id="ch_5"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3>
+
+<h5>ONLY A DOG.</h5>
+
+<p>"It is only a dog!" the passengers on the steamer
+exclaimed, some with a sigh of relief, for at first it
+was rumoured it was a child.</p>
+
+<p>"Only a dog!" and Canon Percival said that to stop
+the steamer and lower a boat was out of the question.
+They were much behind as it was, and there would be
+barely time to catch the train to Paris.</p>
+
+<p>There was no sign of Nino, and the surging waters had
+closed over him. Poor Nino! Two or three fishing
+smacks were in sight, and almost within speaking
+distance, but there was no hope of saving him.</p>
+
+<p>"Only a dog!" but the heart of his little mistress felt
+as if it would break. She rushed down into the cabin,
+and with a wild cry of distress threw herself into her
+mother's arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Nino! my Nino is drowned. Oh, Nino! Nino!"</p>
+
+<p>Poor Ingleby roused herself from her sickness to comfort
+her darling.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Miss Dorothy, perhaps it is all for the best; he
+would have been unhappy, and in the way, and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>But Dorothy refused comfort; and by the time they
+were in the train, which there was a great rush to catch
+at Boulogne, Dorothy was exhausted with crying, and
+was only too glad to be tucked up on a seat near her
+mother, and soothed to sleep and forgetfulness of her
+trouble.</p>
+
+<p>Irene felt very sorry for Dorothy, but she had never
+had a home and pets, either dogs or cats; and she could
+not therefore enter into the extent of Dorothy's grief.
+Having offered all the consolation in her power, which
+had been repulsed, Irene resigned herself to a book that
+Ingleby had given her out of her well-stocked basket, and
+before long she, too, was asleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps we can buy another white dog in Paris,"
+Mrs. Acheson suggested to Canon Percival.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no! that would not answer. I don't think you
+want any more trouble, and if poor old Nino was troublesome
+sometimes, a young successor would be certain to
+be ten times more troublesome. As a rule, dogs are
+unwelcome visitors in other people's houses, and Lady
+Burnside may dislike the race. I am sorry for Dorothy's
+trouble, and for the poor little creature's end, but, as
+Ingleby says, there are worse sorrows than the loss of
+a dog."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose he was drowned at once," Mrs. Acheson
+said; "I do hope he did not struggle long for life."</p>
+
+<p>"He was probably sucked under the steamer, and
+it would be over directly, let us hope." Then Canon
+Percival pulled his travelling-cap over his eyes, and was
+soon wrapped in profound slumber.</p>
+
+<p>When the party arrived at Paris at Meurice's Hotel,
+Dorothy's tears broke forth afresh, and she had to be
+conveyed to her room by poor Ingleby, followed by
+Irene, who carried Miss Belinda and a number of
+other miscellaneous articles.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Acheson, tired and worn out, was forbidden by
+Canon Percival to go to Dorothy, and again and again did
+Mrs. Acheson wish that she had followed her brother's
+advice, and left poor Nino at home.</p>
+
+<p>It was not till the two children were left together, after
+partaking of crescent-shaped rolls and coffee, that Irene
+ventured to say anything to Dorothy.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't cry any more, Dorothy; it makes other people
+so unhappy&mdash;and," said Irene, wisely, "it won't bring
+Nino back!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know that! I know that! What do you tell me
+<i>that</i> for? Oh, dear! oh, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," Irene said, "I want to tell you anything which
+will make you try to stop crying."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>That</i> won't," said Dorothy, crossly; "you never,
+<i>never</i> had a dog; how should <i>you</i> know what I feel?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not thinking so much about what <i>you</i> feel," Irene
+said, with refreshing frankness; "I am thinking of your
+mamma, and how vexed and grieved <i>she</i> is about you."</p>
+
+<p>At this moment a door from another room opened,
+and, rattling a big bunch of keys, a pretty, bright <i>femme
+de chambre</i> came in.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" she said, in her broken English, "Ah! what
+pains little ma'm'selle? Is she ill? Does she want a
+doctor?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," Irene said; "her favourite little dog was drowned
+as we crossed the sea. He fell over the edge of the
+steamer, and we never saw him again."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! but that is sad; but oh! dear <i>petite</i>," the kind
+woman said, going up to Dorothy, "think what grief my
+poor mother has, for my little brother Antoine fell into the
+river when all the flowers were coming out in May, and
+was dragged out cold and dead. Ah! but that was
+grief."</p>
+
+<p>"How old was he?" Dorothy said.</p>
+
+<p>"Five years old, ma'm'selle, and as lovely as an angel."</p>
+
+<p>"What did your mother do?" Irene asked; "your
+poor mother!"</p>
+
+<p>"She comforted my poor father, for it was when cutting
+the rushes with him that Antoine fell into the water.
+She dried her eyes, and tried to be cheerful for his, my
+father's, sake. The pain at her poor heart was terrible,
+terrible, but she said to me, 'Jeanette, I must hide the pain
+for the sake of the dear father. I only tell it to God.'"</p>
+
+<p>Both the children listened to Jeanette's story with keen
+interest, and Irene asked,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"How is your poor mother now?"</p>
+
+<p>"She is calm, she is quiet; she does her work for them
+all, and her face has a look of peace. M. le Cur&eacute; says it
+is the peace that comes of bearing sorrow, as the Lord
+Jesus bore the cross, and that is the way for us all; little
+and young, or old, it is the same. But I must go; there
+is so much work, night and day, day and night. See,
+dear little ma'm'selle"&mdash;and Jeanette foraged in the deep
+pocket of her white apron&mdash;"here are some bon-bons,
+chocolate of the best; see, all shining like silver."</p>
+
+<p>She laid some round chocolate balls, covered with
+silver paper, in Dorothy's hand, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Try to sleep away your sorrow, ma'm'selle, and wake
+fresh and happy for madame's sake."</p>
+
+<p>"Every one tells me that," said Dorothy, "except
+mother. She does not tell me I don't care for her; she
+does not tell me to be happy for her sake. As if I could&mdash;could&mdash;forget
+my Nino!"</p>
+
+<p>"No one thinks you can forget him," Irene said; "but
+if crying makes you ill, and makes your mamma
+miserable, you should try to stop."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy began to taste the excellence of Jeanette's
+chocolate, and offered some to Irene, saying,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"That was a pretty story of Jeanette's about her poor
+little brother. Didn't you think so, Irene?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Irene said, thoughtfully; "I hope God will
+comfort Antoine's poor father."</p>
+
+<p>"It's the <i>mother</i> that cared the most&mdash;it was the
+mother who was so miserable."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! but it was the father who let the little boy slip
+into the water; it was a thousand times worse for him,"
+Irene said.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img039.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img039.jpg" height="110"
+      alt="NINO" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img040.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img040.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_6" id="ch_6"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3>
+
+<h5>THE VILLA LUCIA.</h5>
+
+<p>"Well, grannie, is she coming?&mdash;is Irene coming?"</p>
+
+<p>The question was asked eagerly by a boy of nine
+years old, who came into the pretty sitting-room of the
+Villa Lucia at San Remo, with his hands full of pale
+lilac crocuses. "Is she coming, grannie dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do not rush into the room before your sister, Willy.
+See, you have knocked the basket out of her hand."</p>
+
+<p>"And all my flowers are upset, grannie," said a little
+plaintive voice. "Every one!"</p>
+
+<p>"Pick them up, Willy; do not be so rough. Ah!
+look!"&mdash;for a third and very important personage now
+toddled into the room, having struggled down from his
+nurse's arms; and before any one could stop him, Baby
+Bob had trampled on Ella's flowers, so that scarcely one
+was fit to present to grannie.</p>
+
+<p>Quite unrepentant, and, indeed, unheeding of the cry&mdash;"Oh!
+Baby Bob! what are you doing?"&mdash;Baby Bob
+stumped up to grannie, and deposited in her lap a very
+much crushed and flattened crocus, saying&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Kiss me for it; it's for <i>you</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"You darling!" Lady Burnside said. "Thank you.
+The poor little flower is sadly squeezed; but it is a token
+of baby's love all the same."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, grannie," exclaimed Willy, "I want to hear
+about the cousin, because, you see, I never even thought
+about her till the other day, and I want to be ready&mdash;what
+do you call it?&mdash;<i>prepared</i> for her."</p>
+
+<p>"After all, Willy," said a grave-eyed maiden of twelve,
+who was lying on a couch in the window, "it won't make
+much difference to <i>you</i> what Irene is like. A rough and
+noisy boy like you can't expect a stranger to put up with
+him as <i>we</i> do."</p>
+
+<p>"She's not a stranger," said Willy. "She is a <i>cousin</i>,
+and who knows? she may like me better than anybody.
+She may be a jolly girl, who isn't made of sugar and salt,
+like Ella!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not made of sugar and salt," pleaded Ella, who
+had patiently gathered up her flowers, and was answering
+the call of their nurse to go with Baby Bob to take off his
+jacket and hat.</p>
+
+<p>"No, that's true," said Willy; "you are all salt and
+vinegar, no sugar. Now, grannie, as the little ones are
+cleared off at last, tell me about the cousin."</p>
+
+<p>But Lady Burnside said gravely, "Willy, I wish you
+would try to please me by being more considerate and
+gentle to your sisters."</p>
+
+<p>"Ella is so whiny piny! she is always saying '<i>Don't</i>',
+and 'You <i>shan't</i>!'"</p>
+
+<p>"Not always, Willy. Do you remember how ready
+she was to give up her turn to you to play draughts with
+Constance last evening? Do you remember how kindly
+she helped you to find those places in the map for Mr.
+Martyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, grannie," Willy said. "I will go and tell her I
+am sorry I have been so cross; but she <i>is</i> provoking, and
+you don't know <i>how</i> provoking."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, making all allowance for that, I still think that
+you should never forget you are a boy and she is a little
+girl, and should for that very reason be gentle and forbearing,
+because it is a rule, which all noble-hearted
+people recognise, that the weak should be protected by
+the strong."</p>
+
+<p>Willy gave his grandmother a rather rough kiss, and
+said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go and stroke Ella the right way, and <i>when</i> I
+come back you <i>will</i> tell me about the cousin."</p>
+
+<p>When Willy was gone, Constance laid down the book
+she had been reading, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I do not envy Irene Packingham coming here. Willy
+is an awful tease, and if she is a prim little thing,
+turned out by a boarding-school, she will have a bad
+time of it."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are hard upon Willy, dear Constance,"
+was the gentle reply. "He is a very high-spirited boy,
+very much like what your father was; and then Willy
+has the great disadvantage of having no brother near his
+own age."</p>
+
+<p>"I think," said Constance, "he ought to go to school.
+Mr. Martyn thinks so also, I know. It is such a pity
+mother is so set against schools."</p>
+
+<p>"There is a reason for it, and you must remember
+your mother's great grief."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Arthur's dying at school, you mean; but he was
+a very delicate boy, and Willy is as strong as a horse.
+I wish I were strong&mdash;half as strong! Here I lie, week
+after week, and my back does not get a bit better. I had
+the old pain this morning when I just moved to take my
+work from the little table;" and Constance's eyes filled
+with tears.</p>
+
+<p>She was the eldest living child of Lady Burnside's
+eldest daughter, who had married a gentleman high in
+the Civil Service in India, and who had always lived
+there. As so often happens, the children could not bear
+the climate after a certain age, and they had been committed
+to their grandmother's care, who lived during the
+winter at San Remo, and of late years had not returned
+to England in the summer, but had spent the hot season
+in Switzerland.</p>
+
+<p>The first detachment of children had been Arthur and
+Constance, both very delicate. Arthur had been sent
+to school near London, and had died there, to the great
+grief of his father and mother. He had caught a chill
+after a game of cricket, and died before any of his relations
+could reach him. Although no one was really to
+blame, poor Mrs. Montague found it hard to think so, and
+she lived in perfect dread of sending Willy to school,
+although he was a robust, vigorous boy.</p>
+
+<p>The next detachment which came to be committed to
+Lady Burnside's care were little Ella and Baby Bob.
+Mrs. Montague had brought them to San Remo herself,
+now more than two years before this time, and with the
+help of Mrs. Crawley, the old and trusted nurse, who had
+lived with Lady Burnside for many years, their grandmother
+had been able to bear the burden of responsibility.
+Constance had lately complained of a pain in her back,
+and had been condemned to lie down on an invalid couch
+for the greater part of the day; but Willy and the baby
+were as healthy as could be desired, and Ella, although
+not strong, had seldom anything really amiss. She was
+a gentle, sensitive child, and apt to take a low view of
+herself and everybody else. But Lady Burnside did not
+encourage this, and while she held Willy in check, she
+was too wise to let Ella look upon herself as a martyr
+to her brother's teasing and boisterous mirth.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Constance said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is Irene like Aunt Eva, I wonder?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not if I may judge by her photograph," Lady Burnside
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did not Uncle Packingham let Irene live with
+you, grannie, as we do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he thought I could hardly undertake another
+grandchild, and you know Irene has a second mother;
+and her home will be eventually with her and her little
+brothers when her father leaves the service."</p>
+
+<p>"And our home will be with father and mother one
+day," Constance said. "Not that I wish to leave you,
+dear grannie," Constance added. "Indeed, I often think
+I have the grandmotherly sort of feeling about mamma,
+and the motherly one about you!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Your mamma would be amused to hear that. I
+always think of her as so young and bright, and she and
+Aunt Eva were the light of my eyes."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope Irene will be nice," Constance said; "and
+then there is another girl coming. We forget that."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not forget it. I have been with Crawley this
+morning to look at the Villa Firenze; it is all in nice
+order for Mrs. Acheson, and there are two good Italian
+servants, besides Stefano and his wife, who, being an
+Englishwoman, understands the ways of the English
+thoroughly, especially of invalids, so I hope the travellers
+will be pleased when they arrive."</p>
+
+<p>"What is the girl's name? do you remember,
+grannie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, her name is Dorothy. I saw her when she was
+a very little girl, and I remember she had beautiful silky
+hair; she was a pale, delicate child."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" said Constance. "Every one seems to
+be delicate. Irene Packingham is coming because of a
+cough, and so is Mrs. Acheson, and really the only strong
+ones are the boys. I suppose Irene takes after Aunt Eva
+in being delicate?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; her father thought she would do well to escape
+the fogs of London, and have the advantage of the
+sunshine here; but I hope we shall send her back in
+the spring quite well."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Take</i> her back, grannie, say take her back, for I
+should so like to go to England."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside shook her head. "I do not think I
+shall return to England next spring with the swallows.
+What a flight that is!" she said, looking out of the
+window, where a long line of birds could be seen flying
+across the blue sea.</p>
+
+<p>"Happy birds!" said Constance, wearily; "I wish I
+could fly with them!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside made no rejoinder to this, and sat
+knitting quietly by the wood fire, which was pleasant
+at sunset, when the chill is always great in southern
+countries. After half an hour's quiet, there were sounds
+of coming feet, and Baby Bob, in all the glory of a very
+short frock and wide sash, came in with a shout, which
+would have shaken the nerves of any one less accustomed
+to children than Lady Burnside.</p>
+
+<p>Behind him came Ella, with a little work-basket in her
+hand, with which she went up to Constance's couch, and
+seating herself there, took out her little bit of cross-stitch,
+and settled herself to work.</p>
+
+<p>Baby Bob took possession of his grandmother, and she
+had to go over one of his picture-books, and tell for the
+hundredth time the story of Mother Hubbard, which,
+illustrated with large coloured pictures, was Baby Bob's
+great favourite.</p>
+
+<p>He would ponder over the pictures with wondering
+interest, and wish that the dog had not cheated, and made
+believe to be dead, because no good people or dogs could
+cheat. Crawley said so, and Maria said so, and Willy
+said so, Willy being the great authority to which Baby
+Bob always referred in any difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>Willy was doing his work for Mr. Martyn in the study,
+and making up for lost time. This was his general habit.
+He would put off his lessons to the last moment, and then,
+as he said, "clear them all off in a twinkling."</p>
+
+<p>Willy was clever and quick at everything, but this way
+of getting over work is not really satisfactory. Time and
+thought are necessary to fasten what is learned on the
+mind, and what is gathered up in haste, or, rather, sown
+in haste, does not take deep root.</p>
+
+<p>That night, when Ella was getting ready for bed, she
+consulted Crawley about the new-comer.</p>
+
+<p>"How is it we know so little of the cousin, Crawley?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dear, her papa married a lady who thinks
+schools and all that sort of thing necessary. At least,
+that's what your dear grandmamma has told me, and I
+daresay you'll find little Miss Packingham very forward
+with her books. So you must make haste and learn to
+read better. For you are getting on for eight years old."</p>
+
+<p>Ella sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>can</i> read," she said, "and I can speak French and
+Italian; I daresay Irene can't do that."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, <i>that's</i> nothing," said Crawley, "for I can talk
+French after my fashion, just because I have lived with
+my dear mistress out of England so long. But there's
+another little lady coming, you know. Her mamma knew
+your mamma. She used to be a pretty creature, and I
+daresay she's like her."</p>
+
+<p>"She mayn't be like her, for grannie says Irene isn't
+like Aunt Eva. I want to see her. I wish to-morrow
+would come."</p>
+
+<p>And Baby Bob murmured from his little bed in the
+corner, "Wish 'morrow would come."</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img047.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img047.jpg" height="90"
+      alt="SLEEPING BABY" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img048.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img048.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_7" id="ch_7"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3>
+
+<h5>VILLA FIRENZE.</h5>
+
+<p>To-morrow came, and brought with it the tired
+travellers, who arrived at San Remo, after a night
+journey from Marseilles, as Ingleby said, "more dead
+than alive."</p>
+
+<p>This was a figure of speech on Ingleby's part, but there
+is no doubt that the two sleepy, tired, way-worn children
+who were lifted out of the carriage which had been sent
+to the station to meet them gave very little sign of life
+or interest in what happened.</p>
+
+<p>Canon Percival, who took the management of everything,
+promptly ordered a bath and bed, and the kind
+English wife of Stefano showed every wish to be
+accommodating, and carried Dorothy herself to the room
+prepared for her and Irene.</p>
+
+<p>Two little beds stood there, with a white net cage let
+down over them. The children were too sleepy to notice
+them then, but when Dorothy opened her eyes, she was
+greatly amused to see that she was looking through fine
+net, like the net she had seen made for fruit in England
+to protect it from wasps.</p>
+
+<p>The western sun was lying across the garden before
+the villa when Dorothy felt it was time to get up. She
+called Irene, who answered at once,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes! what do you want? Can I help you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want to get up," said Dorothy, "but I can't get out
+of this white cage."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes, you can," said Irene, who drew a bit of
+narrow ribbon, which hung inside her own bed, and then
+the net curtain was lifted, and she said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Look! you have the same bit of ribbon; pull it!"</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy did as she was told, and, to her delight, the net
+was raised in a pretty festoon.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it funny?" she said; "what can the curtains be
+for? Are they just for prettiness?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, for use; they are mosquito curtains; and I
+remember some very like them in India."</p>
+
+<p>"What are mosquitoes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Little gnats, very, very thin and small, but they sting
+dreadfully, and especially at night, and make big bumps
+on your forehead, and the curtains shut them out. I
+should like to get up now," Irene said; "for I ought to
+go to grannie."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't want you to go to your grannie; you
+must stay with me."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think that would do," Irene said, "for father
+wished me to live with grannie and the cousins."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so sorry," Dorothy exclaimed, "for I know I
+shan't like the cousins. I think&mdash;I really do&mdash;you are
+the only playmate I ever cared for; not that we've <i>played</i>
+together, but that's the word every one uses. Dr. Bell
+said I wanted playmates; and Ingleby says so; and Uncle
+Crannie says so; and so did that dreadful Mrs. Thompson.
+Ah! when I had my Nino, and Muff and Puff, I wanted
+nobody;" and Dorothy was beginning to cry, when
+Ingleby, hearing the children's voices, now came from
+another room, where she had begun unpacking, bearing
+in her arms a bundle of clean, fresh clothes for
+Dorothy.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you have been asleep ever since eleven, and it
+is nearly four o'clock. You must want your dinner, I am
+sure; and then Miss Packingham is to go to her grandmamma's
+house. Your box was taken there, my dear,
+and so I cannot give you fresh things, but I must brush
+your frock and bend your hat straight."</p>
+
+<p>The children were ready in a few minutes, and presented
+a strong contrast, as usual.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy was a little <i>too</i> smart in her pale blue cashmere
+with grebe trimming, and it was hard to believe she had
+been in the train all night; for they had left Paris in the
+morning of the preceding day, and had reached San Remo
+at half-past ten. Irene, on the contrary, looked travel-worn,
+and she was a good deal more tired than Dorothy,
+who had slept off her fatigue and her sorrow for poor
+Nino's loss, and looked&mdash;so Ingleby said to herself&mdash;"as
+fresh as any daisy."</p>
+
+<p>When the two little girls reached the sitting-room,
+which, like Lady Burnside's, opened on a verandah, they
+heard voices outside, and presently a boy and a girl
+stepped into the room.</p>
+
+<p>Ella shrank back, but Willy, who never knew what
+shyness meant, said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Grannie said we might come and fetch Irene&mdash;she
+is to come home now, if she is ready."</p>
+
+<p>As Willy surveyed the two girls, he wondered which
+was his cousin. The thought passed through his mind,
+"I hope it is the pretty one!" and advancing, he said
+to Dorothy,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Grannie has sent us to take you to the Villa Lucia;
+are you ready?"</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby, who was busy looking after the travelling
+basket, from which she was taking some of Dorothy's
+favourite biscuits, said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Your cousin, Miss Packingham, had better take her
+dinner before she goes with you; perhaps you will sit
+down with her and Miss Dorothy. Now, my dear,"
+Ingleby continued, addressing Dorothy, "I hope you
+will be able to fancy something," as Stefano brought
+in a tray with coffee and crescent-shaped rolls, and a
+dainty omelette done to a turn by his wife.</p>
+
+<p>Willie now put his hand out to Irene, and said, in a
+tone in which there was a little ring of disappointment,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Then <i>you</i> are my cousin?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Irene said, "and I am very glad to come and
+see you all&mdash;and grannie."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember her?" Willie asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Just a <i>very</i> little, but she always writes me very kind
+letters, so I feel as if I remembered her."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Ella, don't be so silly," Willy said, pushing
+his sister forward; "go and speak to Irene."</p>
+
+<p>Irene took Ella's hand, and then, at Ingleby's advice,
+they all sat down to their meal together.</p>
+
+<p>Two thick-edged white cups were brought by Stefano,
+and Willy and Ella enjoyed the good things more than
+the two tired travellers did.</p>
+
+<p>Irene could scarcely touch the omelette, and Dorothy,
+in spite of Ingleby's entreaties, only nibbled a quantity
+of her own biscuits, which were, as Ingleby said, "not
+fit to make a meal of." They were those little pink and
+white fluffy light balls, flavoured with vanilla and rose,
+a large tin of which had been bought in Paris, and were
+Dorothy's favourite food just then.</p>
+
+<p>They found favour with Willy, and he took a handful
+from the box several times. Dorothy did not approve of
+this, and said to Ingleby,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Put the lid on the box, Jingle; there won't be any
+biscuits left."</p>
+
+<p>This was not very polite, and Willy shrugged his
+shoulders, and said to himself, "After all, I am glad she
+is <i>not</i> my cousin."</p>
+
+<p>Irene was really thankful when Willy said it was time
+to go, for her head ached, and she was far more tired
+than Dorothy was.</p>
+
+<p>And now poor Dorothy began to cry, and say she did
+not want Irene to go away&mdash;that she must stay with
+her, and not go and live with that big boy who was so
+greedy.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush! hush! my dear," said Ingleby; "you must
+not forget yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mind," said Willy, good-temperedly; "she is
+only a baby, and is tired."</p>
+
+<p>"A baby!" sobbed Dorothy. "I am <i>not</i> a baby, and
+I love Irene, and she is <i>not</i> to go away with you."</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby was anxious to cut the parting short, and said
+to Irene, who was trying to comfort Dorothy,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Make haste and have it over. She will forget it,
+and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>"I shan't forget Irene. You said I should forget
+Nino&mdash;dear, dear Nino. I don't forget him, and now&mdash;now
+I have lost him, I want Irene, I do!"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall see you very often," Irene said, kissing her;
+"don't begin to cry again."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" Willy said, as they left the house; "she
+is worse than you, Ella. At first I thought her so pretty,
+and now I find she is only a little spoiled thing. However,
+we will soon teach her better, won't we, Ella?"</p>
+
+<p>Ella, who had possessed herself of Irene's hand, said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You must not be so rude to Dorothy as you are to
+me, Willy, or you will make her cry."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'll cure her of crying. But here we are. This
+is Villa Lucia."</p>
+
+<p>Irene followed Willy into the house, and very soon
+Irene felt she was no longer lonely&mdash;a stranger in a
+strange land.</p>
+
+<p>Irene had not seen her grannie for some years, and,
+with the instinct of childhood, she had discovered, without
+being told, that her father did not care much for her
+grannie. He rarely mentioned her, and, indeed, he
+always called her step-mother's mother "grannie" when
+he had occasion to write of her.</p>
+
+<p>Till Irene had seen Lady Burnside she felt no difference
+between them. Mrs. Roscoe was a very grand, fashionable
+lady, who had called on her at Mrs. Baker's sometimes,
+and sent her large boxes of chocolate and French sweets.</p>
+
+<p>But <i>that</i> did not make Irene feel as if she belonged to
+her; and now, when the gentle lady by the fire rose to
+greet her and folded her in a warm embrace, Irene felt
+a strange choking sensation in her throat, and when she
+looked up at her grannie she saw tears were on her
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel as if I had come home," she said, simply, "and
+it <i>is</i> so nice."</p>
+
+<p>Happily for every one, a loud voice was heard at the
+door&mdash;"Let me in! let me in!" And when Ella ran
+to open it, there was Baby Bob, who came trotting across
+the room to Lady Burnside, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I want the cousin; is that the cousin?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Go and give her a kiss, and say you are glad
+to see her."</p>
+
+<p>But Baby Bob sidled back towards his grannie, and
+suddenly oppressed with the solemnity of the occasion,
+hid his round, rosy face in her gown, and beat a tattoo
+with his fat legs by way of expressing his welcome, in
+a manner, it must be said, peculiar to himself.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img054.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img054.jpg" height="180"
+      alt="MOUNTAIN SCENE" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img055.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img055.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_8" id="ch_8"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>
+
+<h5>DOROTHY'S LESSONS.</h5>
+
+<p>Every child who reads my story must have felt how
+quickly strange things begin to grow familiar, and
+before we are reconciled to what is new it becomes almost
+old.</p>
+
+<p>So it was with Dorothy, and in a less degree with
+Irene.</p>
+
+<p>It was New Year's Day, and Dorothy was seated at
+the table in the schoolroom at Villa Lucia, writing to her
+uncle Cranstone.</p>
+
+<p>She wrote a very nice round hand, between lines,
+thanks to the patient teaching which Irene bestowed on
+her. To be sure, the thin foreign paper was rather a
+trial, as the pen was so apt to stick when a thin up-stroke
+followed a firm down-stroke; but still the letter, when
+finished, was a very creditable performance to both
+mistress and pupil.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside had wisely decreed that Irene should
+have no lessons while she was at San Remo, for she was
+very forward for her age, having gone through the regular
+routine of school, and writing at ten years old almost a
+formed hand, while Dorothy had only <i>printed</i> words when
+Irene took her up as a pupil.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be a nice occupation for Irene to help Dorothy
+with her lessons," Lady Burnside said; and Dorothy felt
+the importance of going to school when, every morning
+at ten o'clock, she was escorted by Ingleby to the Villa
+Lucia, and joined the party in the schoolroom.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy had a great deal to learn besides reading and
+writing and arithmetic, and as she had never had any one
+to give up to, she found that part of her daily lessons
+rather hard.</p>
+
+<p>Baby Bob, in whom Irene delighted, tried Dorothy's
+patience sorely, and, indeed, he was a young person who
+required to be repressed.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy had just finished her letter to her uncle, and
+with aching fingers had written her name at the bottom
+of the second sheet, when Baby Bob appeared, followed
+by Ella.</p>
+
+<p>"We are to have a holiday, because it is New Year's
+Day, and go on donkeys to La Colla."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Willy; "I have been to order Marietta's
+donkeys&mdash;the big brown one for me, the little white one
+for Dorothy, the little grey one for Ella, and the old
+spotted one for Irene. It's such fun going to La Colla,
+and we'll put Ingleby and Crawley on as we come down,
+and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>But Willy was interrupted by a cry from Dorothy&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"He's got my letter! Oh, my letter!" and a smart
+slap was administered to Baby Bob, who, I am sorry to
+say, clenched his fat fist, and hit Dorothy in the mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"Put the letter down at once, you naughty child!"
+Crawley said. "How dare you touch Miss Dorothy?"</p>
+
+<p>The letter was with difficulty rescued from Baby Bob,
+in a sadly crumpled condition, and Irene smoothed the
+sheet with her hand and put it into a fresh envelope.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img057.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img057.jpg" height="400"
+      alt="THE DONKEY EXPEDITION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center"><b><small>THE DONKEY EXPEDITION TO LA COLLA.</small></b><br />
+      <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img057.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>"I was only going to the post," Baby Bob said.
+"Grannie lets me drop her letters in the post, o' course."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, wait till you are asked another time, Bob; then
+you won't get into trouble; but I don't think you deserved
+the hard slap," Ella said.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy, who was still crying and holding her apron
+up to her mouth, now drew herself up and said, "I shall
+go home to mother, I shall. I shan't stay here, to be
+ill-treated. Mother says Bob is the naughtiest spoiled
+boy <i>she</i> ever knew."</p>
+
+<p>"She has known a girl as much spoiled, anyhow," said
+Willy.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Dorothy, forget and forgive," said Irene; "and
+let us go and get ready for our donkey ride."</p>
+
+<p>"I shan't go," persisted Dorothy; "I don't want to go;
+and just look!"</p>
+
+<p>There was undoubtedly a tiny crimson spot on Dorothy's
+apron, and she began to sob again at the sight, and say
+she must go home that minute to Ingleby.</p>
+
+<p>"Go along, then," said Willy, roughly; "we don't want
+a cry-baby with us. Look at Bob; he has quite forgotten
+the thump you gave him, and wants to kiss you."</p>
+
+<p>I am sorry to say Dorothy turned a very unwilling
+cheek towards Baby Bob, who said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I'll never take <i>your</i> letter no more, Dolly."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy had, as we know, several nicknames from her
+uncle, but she had a particular aversion to that of "Dolly,"
+and just touching Baby Bob with her lips, she said,
+"I hate to be called Dolly."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," Willy said, "here come the donkeys, and
+Marietta and Francesco, and no one is ready. Come,
+make haste, girls."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Dorothy," Irene said, "let me put on your
+skirt." For the children had each a neat little blue
+serge skirt which they wore for their donkey expeditions.
+"Come, Dorothy," Irene pleaded. But Dorothy said she
+should stay with Lady Burnside till Ingleby came for her.</p>
+
+<p>"You can't stay with grannie&mdash;she is very <i>busy</i> with
+<i>business</i>; and Constance has one of her headaches, and
+is in bed."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll wait here till Jingle comes."</p>
+
+<p>There was a wonderful amount of obstinacy expressed
+in that pretty, fair little face; and then Crawley came in
+to say the donkeys must not be kept waiting. Irene,
+finding it useless to say more, went to get ready, as Ella
+had already done, and left Dorothy in the sitting-room
+playing a tattoo on the window as she curled herself up
+in a circular straw chair.</p>
+
+<p>Ella made one more attempt when she was dressed
+for the ride.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Do</i> come, Dorothy dear. We have got three baskets
+full of nice things to eat at La Colla, and the sun is so
+bright, and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>"Go away," said Dorothy; adding, "Good-bye; I hope
+you'll enjoy jogging down over those hard rough stones
+on the donkeys."</p>
+
+<p>A little girl, the daughter of a friend of Lady Burnside,
+came with her brother to join the party, and Dorothy
+watched them all setting off, Crawley holding Bob before
+her on the sturdy old brown donkey; Willy and Jack
+Meredith riding off with Francesco running at their heels,
+with his bare brown feet and bright scarlet cap; then
+Ella and Irene under Marietta's guidance; Ella looking
+back and kissing her hand to as much as she could see
+of Dorothy's hair, as she sat by the window under the
+verandah.</p>
+
+<p>Then Dorothy was alone; it was no punishment to
+her, and she fell into one of her old meditations.</p>
+
+<p>The chirp and twitter of swallows were heard, for, as
+we know, Dorothy had taken flight from England with
+them. And as one perched for a moment on the big aloe
+which grew just outside the verandah, Dorothy said, "I
+wonder if that's my old mother swallow; it looks just
+like her."</p>
+
+<p>Presently another joined her, and the two twittered, and
+chirped, and wagged their restless forked tails, and turned
+their little heads from side to side, and then darted off
+in the warm sunshine. Glancing at the little timepiece
+which stood on the table, Dorothy saw it was not yet
+eleven, and Ingleby never came till twelve o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>After all it was rather dull, and there was no need for
+her to wait for Ingleby, who often did not come till half-past
+twelve. A little more meditation, and then Dorothy
+uncurled herself and put down her legs slowly, first one,
+then the other, and then, with something very like a
+yawn, which ended in "Oh, dear!" her eyes fell on the
+letter which had been put into the envelope by Irene.
+It had a stamp on it, but was not addressed.</p>
+
+<p>So Dorothy thought she would address it herself, and
+taking the pen, made a great blot to begin with, which
+was not ornamental; then she made a very wide C,
+which quite overshadowed the "anon" for "Canon."
+"Percival" would by no means allow itself to be put on
+the same line, and had to go beneath it. As to "Coldchester,"
+it was so cramped up in the corner that it was
+hardly legible, but imitating a letter which she had seen
+Mr. Martyn address one day, she made up for it by a
+big "England" at the top. The envelope was not fastened
+down, and Dorothy remembered Irene said she had seen
+some dear little "Happy New Year" cards at a shop in
+the street, and that she would ask Ingleby to take her
+with Dorothy to buy one, and put it in the letter before
+it was posted.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go and get a card," Dorothy thought, "and post
+my own letter, and then come back, or go home to mother.
+I'll go and get ready directly."</p>
+
+<p>As it happened, Dorothy's hat and pretty velvet jacket,
+trimmed with lovely soft fur, were kept in a little closet,
+with a window in it, behind the schoolroom. They were
+put there when she came to the Villa Lucia every morning
+by Ingleby, who never failed to send her in to see Lady
+Burnside, drawing secret comparisons between the appearance
+of her darling and that of Miss Packingham or little
+Miss Ella Montague.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy had some difficulty in getting herself into her
+jacket, and her hair notched into the elastic of her hat,
+which, springing back, caught her in the eyes, and made
+them water. Then, when she thought she was ready, she
+remembered she had not taken off the apron which was
+stained with the little crimson spot. A little rim of white
+showed under the jacket between the fur and the edge of
+her frock, but she pushed it up under the band, and then
+went softly down the hall to the glass door, and lifting
+the <i>porti&egrave;re</i>, or thick curtain, which hung over the outer
+door, she found herself in the road. For the Villa Lucia
+did not open into the garden which lay between the Villa
+and sloping ground and the blue sea, but from the back,
+into a road which led towards the old town of San Remo.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy held the letter firmly in her hand, and walked
+on with some dignity. It was rather nice to go to the
+post by herself, and she measured the distance in her
+own mind, as she had often been there with Ingleby
+and Crawley.</p>
+
+<p>The shop where the New Year's cards were sold was
+near the post-office, and she had two shillings in her
+little leather purse at the bottom of her pocket.</p>
+
+<p>Several Italian women, carrying heavy burdens on their
+heads, passed her and smiled, and said in a pleasant
+voice, "Buon gionno!" and one young woman, with a
+patient baby tightly swathed and fastened to her back,
+called out,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, la piccola bella!"</p>
+
+<p>Somehow Dorothy was so lost in meditation upon herself
+and her own cleverness in finding the way to the post, that
+she missed the first turning which would have led her down
+to the English part of the town. She took the next, but
+that brought her out beyond the shops and the post-office.</p>
+
+<p>She did not at first notice this, and when she found she
+was much farther from home than she expected, she
+began to run, but still she did not get any nearer the
+shops and the post-office. Now the street of the English
+part of San Remo runs almost parallel with the sea, and
+there are several narrow lanes between the houses, which
+lead down to the quay, where all the boats sail from the
+pier, and where a great many women are mending the
+holes in the brown nets.</p>
+
+<p>There are streets also leading up to the old town&mdash;that
+quaint old town, which was built on the steep sides of
+the hill, long, long before any English people thought
+of erecting their new houses and villas below it.</p>
+
+<p>The streets of the old town are so steep that they
+are climbed by steps, or rather ridges, of pavement, which
+are set at rather long intervals. These streets are very
+narrow, and there are arches across them, like little
+bridges, from one house to another.</p>
+
+<p>The houses in old Italian towns were built with these
+arches or little bridges because they formed a support
+to the tall houses, which were sometimes shaken by earthquakes.</p>
+
+<p>Now it happened that as Dorothy was wondering how
+it could be that she had missed the post-office, she caught
+sight of a little white fluffy dog, with brown ears, running
+up towards the opening of one of these narrow streets.</p>
+
+<p>"My Nino! my Nino!" she exclaimed. "It must be
+Nino." She did not stop to consider that Nino would
+have answered her call, if, indeed, it had been he. She
+did not stop to consider that he was old, and could never
+have run so fast uphill as this little dog could run. She
+turned out of the broad street into one of the narrow
+ones, and chased the little white dog till she was out of
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>There were not many people about, and no one took
+much notice of her; and she never stopped till she found
+herself in the market square of the old town, where, out
+of breath and exhausted, she sat down on a flight of steps,
+hopeless of catching the dog, who had now quite disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>An old and dirty-looking church was before her, and
+several peasant women, with their baskets on their heads,
+were passing in and out. Red and yellow handkerchiefs
+were bound round their dark hair, and some of them wore
+pretty beads round their necks. One or two stopped to
+look at Dorothy, and talked and made signs to her; but
+she could not understand what they said, and they smiled
+at her and passed on. The streets leading up from the
+market square looked very dim and very steep, and
+Dorothy began to feel lonely and frightened, especially
+when an old woman, who might have been a hundred
+years old, so wrinkled was her face and so bowed her
+back, stopped before her as she sat on the steps, and
+began to mumble, and make grimaces, and open her mouth,
+where no teeth were to be seen, and point at Dorothy
+with her lean, bony, brown fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy got up and began to run down towards the
+town again as quickly as she had come up, when, alas!
+her foot caught against the corner of a rough stone step
+before one of the tall houses, and she fell with some
+violence on the uneven, rugged pavement, hitting her
+head a sharp blow.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little Dorothy! Getting her own way, and doing
+exactly as she wished, had brought her now a heavy
+punishment. While Ella and Willy and Baby Bob, with
+their two little friends, were enjoying the contents of the
+luncheon basket at La Colla, Dorothy was lying all alone
+amongst strangers in the old town of San Remo!</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img065.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img065.jpg" height="100"
+      alt="SWALLOW AND BUTTERFLY" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img066.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img066.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_9" id="ch_9"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h3>
+
+<h5>LOST.</h5>
+
+<p>Ingleby arrived at the Villa Lucia at the usual time,
+and went, as was her custom, to the schoolroom door,
+and knocked.</p>
+
+<p>She was generally answered by a rush to the door by
+Ella and Dorothy, and a cry of&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Grannie says she is to stay to luncheon to-day," or,
+"Don't take her away yet."</p>
+
+<p>But to-day silence reigned, and when Ingleby looked
+in, the schoolroom was empty.</p>
+
+<p>She turned away, and met the maid who waited on
+Constance with a tray in her hand and a cup of cocoa,
+which she was taking upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Miss Dorothy, and where are the
+children?"</p>
+
+<p>"All gone out on donkeys to Colla," was the answer.
+"Her ladyship was glad to get the house quiet, for Miss
+Constance has had a very bad night."</p>
+
+<p>"Talk of bad nights!" exclaimed Ingleby; "my mistress
+has done nothing but cough since four o'clock this
+morning. Well, I hope Miss Dorothy was well wrapped
+up, for the wind is cold enough out of the sun, though
+Stefano is angry if I say so. I wish we were back in
+England. I know, what with the nasty wood fires, and
+the 'squitoes, and the draughts, and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby was interrupted here by Lady Burnside, who
+came out of the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-morning, Ingleby; how is Mrs. Acheson?"</p>
+
+<p>"But very poorly, my lady; she has had a bad
+night."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! that is why you have not gone to Colla with the
+party. But I am sure Crawley will take care of Miss
+Dorothy, and Miss Irene is quite to be trusted."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew nothing of the party going to Colla, my lady.
+I hope it is not one of those break-neck roads, like going
+up the side of a house."</p>
+
+<p>"It is very steep in some parts, but the donkeys are
+well used to climbing. Give my love to Mrs. Acheson,
+and say I will come and see her to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby walked back rather sadly. She wished she
+had known of the expedition, for there was safety for her
+darling when she could walk behind the donkey going
+uphill, and by its head coming down again. What did it
+matter that the fatigue was great, and that she panted for
+breath as she tried to keep up? She held Dorothy's
+safety before her own, and all personal fatigue was as
+nothing to secure that.</p>
+
+<p>If any little girls who read this story have kind,
+faithful nurses like Ingleby, I hope they will never
+forget to be grateful to them for their patience and
+kindness in their childish days when childhood has
+passed away, and they no longer need their watchful care.
+Ingleby's love was not, perhaps, wise love, but it was
+very true and real, and had very deep roots in the attachment
+she felt for her mistress, whom she had served so
+faithfully for many years.</p>
+
+<p>Between Stefano and Ingleby no great friendship
+subsisted, and when she returned alone from the Villa
+Lucia, he said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Where's the little signora, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where? you may well ask! gone up one of those
+steep mountains to Colla on a donkey."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Si!</i> well, and why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? Because it is very dangerous, and I think
+fellows who take other people's children from them
+ought at least to give notice of it."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Si!</i> well," was Stefano's rejoinder, "that's a fine ride
+up to Colla, and there are more books there than there
+are days in the year, and pictures, and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>"Come now, Stefano," his wife called, "it is time to
+stop thy talking, and to get the luncheon ready. Gone
+to Colla, do you say, Mrs. Ingleby?&mdash;a very pretty
+excursion; and there, high up in the heart of the hills,
+is a wonderful library of books, and many fine pictures,
+collected by a good priest, who starved himself to buy
+them and store them there."</p>
+
+<p>But Ingleby was not to be interested in any details of
+the library at Colla, which is visited with so much delight
+by many who spend a winter at San Remo. She was
+anxious about Dorothy, and Stefano said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It will be wonderful if they are home before sunset."</p>
+
+<p>"Home before sunset!" exclaimed poor Ingleby;
+"well, I should think Mrs. Crawley will have sense
+enough for <i>that</i>, though I don't think much of her
+wisdom, spoiling that baby of three years old as she
+does."</p>
+
+<p>Stefano chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, <i>si!</i> but others are spoiled, as well as <i>Bambino
+Bobbo</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby had now to go to Mrs. Acheson, and tell her
+that Dorothy was not coming home to luncheon.</p>
+
+<p>As this often happened when she stayed at Lady
+Burnside's, Mrs. Acheson was not anxious. Ingleby
+kept back the expedition to Colla, and Mrs. Acheson
+asked no questions then.</p>
+
+<p>But as the afternoon wore on, and Dorothy did not
+return, escorted as usual by Willy and Irene Packingham,
+Mrs. Acheson told Ingleby she had better go to Lady
+Burnside and bring Dorothy home with her.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not seen the child to-day," she said, "except
+when I was half asleep, when she came to wish me a
+'Happy New Year!' And this present has arrived for
+her from her uncle at Coldchester. Look, Ingleby; is it
+not sweet? I could not resist peeping into the box.
+Won't she be delighted!"</p>
+
+<p>The box contained two little figures like dormice, with
+long tails and bright eyes, in a cosy nest. The head of
+each little mouse opened, and then inside one was the
+prettiest little scent-bottle you can imagine, and inside
+the other a pair of scissors, with silver handles, and a
+tiny thimble on a little crimson velvet cushion.</p>
+
+<p>How Ingleby wished Dorothy Dormouse, whose name
+was written on the card tied to the box, was there, I
+cannot tell you; but how little did Ingleby or any one
+else guess <i>where</i> she was at that moment!</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby put off going to the Villa Lucia till the last
+moment, and arrived at the gate just as the donkeys came
+merrily along the road.</p>
+
+<p>Francesco could not resist the delight of sending them
+all at full trot for the last quarter of a mile, and Crawley,
+grasping Baby Bob tightly with one arm, and with her
+other hand holding the pommel of the saddle, jogged up
+and down like any heavy dragoon soldier; while Irene,
+and Willy, and Ella, and the Merediths came on urging
+their tired steeds, and asking Crawley if it was not "jolly
+to canter," while poor Crawley, breathless and angry
+gasped out that she had a dreadful stitch in her side,
+and that she would never mount a donkey again.</p>
+
+<p>Marietta came on behind, with the ends of her scarlet
+handkerchief on her head flapping in the wind, and
+though apparently not hurrying herself, she took such
+strides with her large, heavily-shod feet, that she was
+soon at the gate.</p>
+
+<p>There was the usual bustle of dismounting, and some
+scolding from Crawley, and a few sharp raps administered
+by Marietta to Francesco for making the donkeys canter;
+while poor Ingleby's excited questions were not even
+noticed.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Dorothy&mdash;where is Miss Dorothy?&mdash;do you
+hear me, Miss Packingham?&mdash;do you hear me, Master
+Willy?&mdash;speak, won't you?&mdash;has she fallen off one of
+these brutes?&mdash;is she&mdash;is she&mdash;Master Willy&mdash;Miss Ella&mdash;Miss
+Irene!"</p>
+
+<p>Then Ella turned from giving a parting pat to her
+donkey, and seeing Ingleby's distressed face, said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Dorothy did not come with us; she is not hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Miss Ella, Miss Ella!" exclaimed poor Ingleby,
+holding up her hands and sinking back against the wall.
+"Oh, Miss Ella, Miss Ella! oh, Miss Irene!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what is the matter, Mrs. Ingleby?" said
+Crawley, who had set down Baby Bob to toddle into the
+house, and was settling the payment for the donkeys with
+Marietta. "Why, you look like a ghost."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Dorothy! Miss Dorothy! Where can she be?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she is safe enough, isn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Ingleby; "she is gone! she is lost! she is
+lost!&mdash;and oh, what will become of me?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Lost!</i>" the children all repeated; "she can't be lost."</p>
+
+<p>And then they all ran into the house, and Lady Burnside,
+who was sitting with Constance in the room upstairs
+came hurriedly down.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you say?&mdash;little Dorothy has not been with
+you to Colla? She must have gone home, then."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, my lady," Ingleby said. "No, no; I have
+been waiting for her there till ten minutes ago. She is
+lost&mdash;lost&mdash;and oh! I wish we had never, never come to
+these foreign places; and the mistress so ill!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside was indeed greatly distressed, but she
+took immediate action. She sent Willy to fetch Stefano,
+anxious that Mrs. Acheson should not be alarmed and
+she despatched him at once to the Bureau of Police, and
+told him to describe Dorothy, and to tell every one that
+she was missing.</p>
+
+<p>Ingleby tried to follow them, but her legs trembled, and
+she sat down on a bench in the hall and burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>And this was the trouble which little Dorothy's self-will
+had brought upon every one; this was the end of her
+determination to do as <i>she</i> liked best, without thinking
+what it was right and best to do, and what other people
+liked best&mdash;a sad end to a day that might have been so
+happy; a hard lesson for her to learn!</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img071.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img071.jpg" height="80"
+      alt="SWALLOWS" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img072.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img072.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_10" id="ch_10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h3>
+
+<h5>IN THE SHADOWS.</h5>
+
+<p>At first Dorothy was scarcely conscious of what had
+happened to her, and when she really recovered
+herself she found she was in a dark, low room, where
+she could hardly see.</p>
+
+<p>There was a great chatter going on around her, of
+which she could not make out a word. As her eyes got
+accustomed to the dim light, she saw the figures of two
+women, a boy, and an old crone sitting by a wood fire.
+The room seemed very full, and was very hot; a smell of
+smoke, and dried fish, and of tar, made Dorothy gasp for
+breath. She was lying on what seemed to her a wooden
+shelf, but was in reality a bed, and she felt something cold
+on her head. She put up her hand, and found her forehead
+was bandaged with a wet cloth.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to go home," she said, struggling to get down
+from the bed; but she was seized by a pair of strong
+arms, and a great many words were addressed to her as
+she was almost forced again to lie down.</p>
+
+<p>But Dorothy now began to cry and scream, and presently
+the narrow doorway was filled with inquiring faces,
+and the strife of tongues became more and more loud and
+noisy.</p>
+
+<p>Not one word could Dorothy understand, except,
+perhaps, "signorina," with which she had become familiar,
+and a few words which she had caught up from Stefano.</p>
+
+<p>The brown hands which held her down were firm, if
+gentle, and, though she fought and struggled, she could
+not regain her feet. Presently she felt something warm
+trickling down her cheek, and then there were fresh exclamations,
+and Dorothy, putting up her finger, saw it
+was stained with crimson blood.</p>
+
+<p>She gave herself up for lost, poor little girl, and began
+to sob and cry most bitterly; then, to her surprise, the
+pair of strong arms lifted her gently from the bed, and
+carried her to the smoking embers on the hearth; and,
+looking up, she saw a kindly face bending over her, and
+she was rocked gently to and fro, just as Ingleby had often
+rocked her by the nursery fire at Coldchester. More
+wet bandages were put to her forehead, and the boy,
+drawing near, touched the long, silky hair, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Bella, &egrave; bella."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! do let me go home&mdash;take me home&mdash;please&mdash;please<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>But no one knew what she said, and the woman only
+began to sing as she rocked, in the soft Italian language,
+while the rest talked and chattered, and raised their hands
+in wonder, and gazed down at the child with their large
+dark eyes; and if Dorothy could have understood them,
+she would have known they only intended to be kind.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure, they told Giulia that the little signorina
+must belong to rich English, and she would get a reward;
+and that she ought to go down to the town and inquire at
+the hotels and the villas.</p>
+
+<p>A good deal passed through Dorothy's mind as she lay
+in the arms of the rough though kindly Italian woman.
+How long ago it seemed since the morning, since she had
+been angry with Baby Bob, and had refused to go to
+Colla. Oh, how she wished she had gone now. How
+she longed to say she was sorry, to kiss Baby Bob, to throw
+her arms round Irene, and to tell mother she would never,
+never be naughty again! Convulsive sobs shook her,
+and she clung to the kind woman's neck, praying and
+entreating to be taken home.</p>
+
+<p>But where <i>was</i> home? No one knew, and no one
+could understand her; and at last, worn out with crying,
+Dorothy fell fast asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Neighbours came in and out, and looked curiously at
+the little golden-haired signorina, whose head seemed to
+make a spot of light in the dark dwelling.</p>
+
+<p>"They will miss her, and search for her," the neighbours
+said, "and then you will get a reward, Giulia. She is
+like an angel with the light round her head in the window
+in the church."</p>
+
+<p>"She is like a sorrowful little lost kid bleating for its
+mother," said Giulia.</p>
+
+<p>So the hours went on, and the sunset gleamed from
+behind the old church, and brightened the grey walls of
+the houses in the square, and made the windows glitter
+and shine like stars.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img075.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img075.jpg" height="400"
+      alt="DOROTHY FELL FAST ASLEEP." /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center"><small><b>"DOROTHY FELL FAST ASLEEP."</b></small><br />
+      <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img075.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>But Dorothy did not wake, and still Giulia sat patiently
+with her in her strong brown arms, and crooned over her
+the words of a hush-a-bye with which the dark-eyed boy,
+who stood notching a stick by the open fireplace, had
+been lulled to sleep in his turn&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+ <table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top">"Ninni, ninni, nanna,</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Allegrezza di la mamma!</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;Addormentati, addormentati,</td></tr>
+              <tr><td align="right">Oh, mia bella!"</td></tr>
+		</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>This answered to the "Hush-a-bye, baby," which we
+all know, and really meant&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+ <table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top">"Joy of thy mother, sleep, sleep!</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" valign="top">&nbsp;My pretty one, sleep."</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>The sunset faded from the sky, and the smouldering
+wood ashes and embers on the hearth now shone with
+only a dim red eye in the middle; and still Dorothy slept,
+and still Giulia swayed her body to and fro, and sang on
+in a low, soft voice.</p>
+
+<p>It was really very kind of Giulia, for a heap of brown
+net and a ball of stout twine, into which a huge bone
+netting-needle was thrust, lay by the rough wooden
+bench near the small window. And Giulia did very
+much want to finish that net, and send her boy down to
+the quay with it to the master fisherman who had given
+her the order to make it.</p>
+
+<p>But Giulia could not find it in her kind, motherly heart
+to risk waking the child by laying her down on the bed
+again, and she dreaded to hear the cries in the English
+tongue, which she could not understand, and so could not
+heed.</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly dark when at last Dorothy opened her
+eyes and sat up, with a prolonged yawn. The sleep had
+refreshed her, and she had been so quieted by it, that
+she did not resist or cry when Giulia put her down on a
+low wooden stool; and throwing another bit of wood on
+the fire, a flame leaped up, which was pleasant and cheerful,
+and made the red petticoat which the old crone by the
+fire wore look bright and warm.</p>
+
+<p>Then Giulia lighted a small lamp, which was hung
+to a hook on the ceiling, and putting a big iron pipkin
+on the fire, began to prepare some broth for the little
+signorina.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy watched her as if she were still dreaming, and
+saw how the big gold earrings bobbed up and down, and
+wondered why Giulia had such a very wide waist, and
+why any one who had such a shabby petticoat should
+wear earrings, and have shining gold pins in the handkerchief
+which was bound round her head.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy did not like the smell of the soup at all, and
+when Giulia crumbled into it some dark bread, and finally
+offered it to her, with a large wooden spoon, she turned
+away in disgust.</p>
+
+<p>But Giulia persisted, and Dorothy, having tasted nothing
+since breakfast, was really hungry, and swallowed a few
+spoonfuls.</p>
+
+<p>An orange which a neighbour brought in hanging on
+the bough, with its dark green leaves, was much more
+tempting, and when she took it from the woman who
+offered it to her, she said, "Grazia"&mdash;she knew that
+meant "Thank you"&mdash;for Francesco always said
+"Grazia" when he took the little copper pieces of money,
+which seemed so many, and were worth so little, from her
+hand or Irene's when they had dismounted from the
+donkeys.</p>
+
+<p>Presently a familiar voice at the door made Dorothy
+stop eating the orange, and she turned her eye anxiously
+towards the new-comer.</p>
+
+<p>It was Francesco himself, who began to tell what grief
+there was in Villa Firenze, and how a little signorina was
+lost, and he held up a crumpled wisp of paper, and said
+he had picked it up in the market square.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! it is mine, it is mine, Francesco. Don't you
+know me, Francesco? It is my letter to Uncle Crannie.
+Francesco! Francesco!"</p>
+
+<p>The boy began a series of jumps of joy and springs of
+delight, and clapped his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Trovata! trovata!&mdash;&egrave; la piccola signorina" ("Found!
+found! the little lady is found"), he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me go with him! he knows where I live. Oh,
+tell them&mdash;tell them to let me go with you!"</p>
+
+<p>A voluble stream of Italian was poured forth by every
+one, which Dorothy could not understand; but Giulia
+got Dorothy's hat, and the white scarf, and the pretty
+velvet jacket, and then she was dressed&mdash;not without
+many expressions of profound admiration for the soft
+white feather and the velvet&mdash;and made ready to start
+with Francesco. Not alone. No; Giulia was not going
+to trust her to the donkey-boy without her, and Francesco
+made a funny face and showed his white teeth between
+his bright red lips, and whispered in Dorothy's ear the
+one English word he perfectly understood&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Money! money! she get money for the signorina&mdash;ah!
+ah! ah!"</p>
+
+<p>I will not say that there was no thought in Giulia's
+mind that the mother whom Francesco had described as
+crying bitterly for her lost treasure might not add some
+silver coins to her stock kept in the old stone pipkin in
+the cupboard&mdash;a store which Giulia liked to see grow,
+because, when her Anton was big and strong, she would
+pay it to the good master fisherman who employed her to
+make and mend his nets, and had often said her dark-eyed
+Anton was born to be a sailor.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy felt strangely dizzy and bewildered when she
+began to walk, and though she held fast to Giulia's
+strong hand on one side, and to Francesco's on the other,
+she tottered and tumbled about from side to side, and was
+not sorry when Giulia took her up in her arms and carried
+her with swift, firm steps down into the wide street of
+San Remo.</p>
+
+<p>It would have been quite dark now if it had not been
+for the light of a crescent moon, which hung like a silver
+bow over the sea. Just as they reached the upper road
+the doctor who attended Mrs. Acheson passed them
+quickly. He turned as he passed the group, and recognised
+Francesco, who was a little in advance of Giulia
+and her burden.</p>
+
+<p>"Hi! Francesco," he said; "has anything been heard
+of the little lady?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Dr. Forman! Oh, Dr. Forman!" exclaimed
+Dorothy.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, here is the lost lamb," said the doctor. He had
+a little girl of his own, and he was as delighted as possible
+that Dorothy was safe. "Why, Dorothy," he said,
+"your poor mamma has been made quite ill with fright;
+and your nurse, and Willy Montague, and that nice little
+friend of yours, have been hunting for you high and low.
+Where have you been?"</p>
+
+<p>But Dorothy was sobbing too much to speak, and
+Giulia told Dr. Forman, who understood Italian as well
+as his own language, the story of Dorothy's fall, the
+cut on her forehead, and how she had taken her into
+her house and done all she could for her.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, bring her home," the doctor said; "and, Francesco,
+run off and try to find the searching party; they
+must be worn out."</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Dr. Forman," Dorothy gasped, "this woman
+has been very, very kind to me." Then she lifted her
+little hand, and stroking Giulia's face, said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Grazia, grazia."</p>
+
+<p>"The little angel!" Giulia said. "She is just an angel,
+and I am glad I found her; that I am."</p>
+
+<p>In another five minutes the doctor and Giulia, carrying
+her burden, arrived at the gate of the Villa Firenze. A
+group was collected there, for, as we all know, when we
+are waiting for anyone about whose coming we are
+anxious, we always go out to watch, and hope that every
+minute they will arrive. They don't come any the
+quicker for this, but it is a comfort in some unexplained
+way.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me take her to her mother," Giulia said to Dr.
+Forman; and he could not refuse. So he led the way
+to the drawing-room, opening the door gently, and standing
+for a moment behind the screen which protected the
+room from the draught of the door.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside, who had been with Mrs. Acheson all
+the afternoon, rose to see who was coming.</p>
+
+<p>Oh! what a relief it was to hear Dr. Forman saying,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The child is safe; here she is;" and then Giulia
+strode in, and kneeling down by the sofa where poor
+Mrs. Acheson lay, she put Dorothy into her arms.</p>
+
+<p>You may be very sure that Giulia's store of coins in the
+pipkin was increased, and that the delicate English lady
+put her arm round the Italian one's neck and kissed her,
+saying the pretty word by which Dorothy had won her
+heart&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Grazia, grazia."</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img081.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img081.jpg" height="22"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img082.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img082.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_11" id="ch_11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h3>
+
+<h5>WHAT FOLLOWED.</h5>
+
+<p>The consequences of self-will do not always pass
+away as quickly as we hope and expect. Sometimes
+we have to suffer by seeing the suffering of others, and
+feel bitterly that we have caused it. I do not think any
+pain is more keen than that sorrow which is caused by
+seeing the pain we have given those we love.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside had been afraid on the first evening
+of Dorothy's return that, in the rapturous joy of poor
+Ingleby and the general delight of every one, Dorothy
+might be brought to think lightly of the fault which had
+caused so much trouble.</p>
+
+<p>Seated in a low chair, her hand in her mother's, and the
+other children gathered round her, while Ingleby stood
+feasting her eyes upon her darling, Dorothy became something
+of a heroine; and no one, in the first joy of receiving
+her safe and sound, could find it in their hearts
+to reprove her for what had passed.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside felt that it was not for her to speak
+seriously to Dorothy; and yet, when she saw her carried
+away to bed by Ingleby, with her uncle's present clasped
+in her arms, and heard her say, "I feel <i>quite</i> like Dorothy
+Dormouse now," she did long to say more than Mrs.
+Acheson did&mdash;"Dorothy will never run away by herself
+again and frighten poor mother."</p>
+
+<p>As it proved, the fright and long watching had a very
+serious effect on Mrs. Acheson. The next day Dr.
+Forman ordered her to keep in bed; and her cough increased
+so much that for some days there was great
+anxiety about her. Dorothy was so accustomed to see
+her mother ill that it did not strike her as anything
+unusual; but one morning, when she was starting gaily
+for the Villa Lucia, Ingleby called to Stefano from the
+top of the stairs that he must take Miss Dorothy, for she
+could not leave her mistress.</p>
+
+<p>"I can go alone," Dorothy said; for neither Stefano
+nor his wife were very great favourites of hers.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," Stefano said; "the little signorina is not to
+be trusted;" and taking her hand in his, he prepared to
+lead her along the sunny road to the Villa Lucia.</p>
+
+<p>But Dorothy snatched away her hand, and said, "You
+should not speak like <i>that</i> to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," Stefano said, "someone must speak, someone
+must speak at times to little signorinas who give pain
+and trouble."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy felt her dignity much injured, and repeated,
+with emphasis,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You should not speak like that to <i>me</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Stefano only shrugged his shoulders; and as they
+had reached the door of the Villa Lucia, he left her,
+saying,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The little signorina will have to hear hard things, like
+the rest of us, one day."</p>
+
+<p>Irene met Dorothy with the question&mdash;"How is your
+mother? Grannie is so anxious to know."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother is not up yet," Dorothy replied. "Jingle is
+sitting with her."</p>
+
+<p>The other children now came clustering round Dorothy
+with the same question; and Irene, after helping Dorothy
+to take off her jacket and hat, said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Come and see grannie."</p>
+
+<p>"Before my lesson?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; she wants to speak to you."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy felt a strange misgiving at her heart, and said,
+sharply,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"What for? What is she going to say?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think," said Irene, gently, "she wishes to comfort
+you; your mamma is very, very ill."</p>
+
+<p>"No, she isn't!" said Dorothy, desperately. "No, she
+isn't; not a bit more ill than she often is. I saw her last
+night, and she looked <i>quite</i> better&mdash;her cheeks pink, and
+her eyes bright."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," Irene said, "I know Dr. Forman thinks her
+very ill, and he has sent for Canon Percival."</p>
+
+<p>"For Uncle Crannie? for Uncle Crannie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Irene said, "two days ago."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy stood irresolute for a moment, and then, with
+a great effort to control herself, said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Let me go to your grandmamma; let me go."</p>
+
+<p>But Irene put her arms round Dorothy, and whispered,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I have been asking God to make your mamma better,
+and I think He will. Have <i>you</i> asked Him and told Him
+all about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"About what?" Dorothy said.</p>
+
+<p>"Everything&mdash;how sorry you are that you gave your
+mamma such anxiety; and have <i>you</i> asked to be forgiven?"</p>
+
+<p>But Dorothy said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I never <i>tell</i> God anything. I say my prayers, but I
+did not, could not, tell Him about such things as my
+slapping Baby Bob, and getting angry, and staying at
+home while you went to Colla. He is so far off, and
+besides<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Dorothy!" said Irene, seriously, "God is very
+near, Jesus is very near, and He cares about every little
+thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you <i>sure</i>?" said poor little Dorothy. "Then He
+knows and cares about mother&mdash;mother<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>A sob choked her, and yet she tried not to give way;
+to cry very much would show that she believed her mother
+was very, <i>very</i> ill, and she could not, <i>dare</i> not believe it!
+But she said simply&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>know</i> I am not good; but I love&mdash;oh! how I <i>do</i>
+love mother!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside received Dorothy with her calm, sweet
+smile, and Constance, lying on her couch, put out her
+hand, and said, "Come and kiss me, Dorothy."</p>
+
+<p>Constance had not generally taken much notice of
+Dorothy. She had looked upon her as a spoiled little
+thing, and had felt, like many invalids who have been
+accustomed to be the centre of attraction and attention,
+a little vexed that every one admired the child, and were,
+as she thought, blind to her faults. Even Willy, though
+he was blunt and rough to Dorothy sometimes, was really
+devoted to her. So was Jack Meredith, and as to Irene
+and her own little sister Ella, they were ridiculously fond
+of her. Irene particularly would always give up to
+Dorothy, though she was so much younger than herself.
+Baby Bob had, in his own way, the same feeling about
+Dorothy that Constance had. He strongly objected to
+anyone who could possibly dethrone him from the position
+of "King of the Nursery," which was Crawley's favourite
+title for her youngest child. Baby Bob had ruled with
+despotic power, and was naturally unwilling to see a rival
+near the throne. But Constance was now touched by the
+sight of the little figure in the blue dress, over which the
+cloud of light silky hair hung, when she saw the wistful
+questioning glance in those blue eyes, which were turned
+entreatingly to Lady Burnside, as she said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me <i>really</i> about&mdash;about mother."</p>
+
+<p>Then Lady Burnside drew Dorothy close to her, and
+said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Your dear mother is very ill, Dorothy, but we must
+pray to God to make her better."</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy stood with Lady Burnside's arm round her,
+still gazing up at the dear, kind face bending over her;
+and then, after a pause, she said, in a low tone,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is it <i>my</i> fault? Is it all my fault?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside made Dorothy sit down on a low chair
+by her side, and talked so kindly and wisely to her. She
+told her that her mother had passed a very bad night of
+coughing the night before New Year's Day; that when
+the news came of her loss, which Stefano had abruptly
+told her, Mrs. Acheson had, forgetting how easily she was
+chilled, run out into the garden with only a shawl thrown
+over her; that it was with great difficulty she had been
+persuaded not to go herself to look for Dorothy; that she
+had paced up and down the room in her distress; and
+that that night, after the excitement and joy of her return
+were over, she had been very faint and ill, and now she
+had inflammation of her lungs, which she was very weak
+to bear up against.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Burnside had gone through many troubles herself,
+and she had the sympathetic spirit which children, as well
+as grown-up people, feel to be so sweet in sorrow. There
+were no reproaches, and no hard words, but I think little
+Dorothy never forgot the lesson which she learned from
+Lady Burnside that morning, and often when she was
+beginning to be self-willed and irritable, if that self-will
+was crossed, she would think of Lady Burnside's words,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Take care when the first temptation comes to pray to
+resist it."</p>
+
+<p>She did not return to the Villa Firenze that night, nor
+did Irene take her into the schoolroom that day. She
+read to her, and amused her by dressing a doll and
+teaching her how to crochet a little frock for it.</p>
+
+<p>Early the next morning Canon Percival arrived, and
+Dorothy was taken by him to see her mother.</p>
+
+<p>As they were walking up the road together, Dorothy
+said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Crannie, do you know <i>all</i>, all that happened
+on New Year's Day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Dorothy; I have heard all."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Uncle Crannie, to think of Baby Bob's taking my
+letter to you beginning all the trouble!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, my little Dorothy, it was not Baby Bob who
+began the trouble; it was <i>you</i>. We must never shift the
+blame from our own shoulders, and say, if <i>he</i> had not said
+that, or she had not provoked me, <i>I</i> should not have done
+what I did."</p>
+
+<p>"But it <i>was</i> tiresome to squeeze up your letter, which I
+had taken such pains to write."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, very tiresome; but <i>that</i> does not alter your
+fault."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Uncle Crannie, Uncle Crannie! I <i>wish</i> I had not
+run off; but then I thought I saw Nino."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Nino!" exclaimed Canon Percival; "in all the
+trouble and sorrow I have found here I forgot about Nino.
+I have something to tell you about him, but<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>Canon Percival was interrupted by meeting Dr. Forman.</p>
+
+<p>A few words were exchanged between them, and then
+little Dorothy, with a sad, serious face, was taken by her
+uncle into her mother's room.</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img088.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img088.jpg" height="160"
+      alt="LAKE SCENE" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Decoration">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="center">
+      <a href="images/img089.jpg">
+      <img src="images/img089.jpg" height="60"
+      alt="DECORATION" /></a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+  </table>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3><a name="ch_12" id="ch_12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h3>
+
+<h5>THE LOST FOUND.</h5>
+
+<p>Many days of deep anxiety followed, and poor little
+Dorothy's heart was sad and troubled. Irene
+proved a true and loving friend, and, with wisdom far
+beyond her years, encouraged Dorothy to go on with her
+little lessons, and learn to knit and crochet. "To make
+a shawl for mother by the time she gets well" became an
+object of ambition; and Irene helped her out of difficulties,
+and turned the troublesome corners at the four parts of
+the square, and would read to her and Ella while she
+pulled the soft Pyrenean wool in and out the long treble
+stitches.</p>
+
+<p>They were very busy one morning a week after Canon
+Percival's arrival, when they saw his tall figure coming
+up the garden. He looked happier than he had done for
+some time, and when Dorothy ran to meet him, he said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Good news to-day; mother is really better; and Dr.
+Forman thinks she may soon be as well as she was before
+this last attack of illness."</p>
+
+<p>Good news indeed! If any little girl who reads
+Dorothy's story has ever had to feel the weight upon her
+heart which a dear father's or mother's illness has caused,
+she will know how, when the burden is lifted, and the
+welcome words are spoken, like Canon Percival's, all the
+world seems bright and joyful, and hope springs up like
+a fountain within.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Canon Percival said, as Dorothy threw her arms
+round his neck, "we may be very thankful and glad; and
+now, while I go and see Lady Burnside, will you get
+ready to take me to visit the old town, and<span class="nowrap">&mdash;&mdash;</span>"</p>
+
+<p>"Giulia, and the old woman, and Anton!" exclaimed
+Dorothy.</p>
+
+<p>Oh yes! the children were soon ready, and they all set
+off towards the old town, all except Willy, who had to
+wait for Mr. Martyn, and who looked with longing eyes at
+the party as they walked away.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bother</i> this horrid sum!" he said; "it <i>won't</i> come right.
+What's the use of asking such ridiculous questions?
+Who cares about the answer?"</p>
+
+<p>But Willy got the answer right in spite of his grumbling,
+and had the pleasure of hearing Mr. Martyn tell his grandmother
+that he had improved very much of late, and that
+he would take a good place at a school when he was sent
+to one.</p>
+
+<p>It was a lovely spring morning, that beautiful spring of
+the sunny South, which comes early in the year with a
+sudden burst of flowers of all colours. All the acacias
+and mimosas in the gardens before the villas were waving
+their golden tassels in the breeze, and the scarlet anemones
+and the yellow narcissi were making a carpet under foot.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy danced along in the gladness of her heart, and
+Canon Percival, when he thought of what <i>might</i> have
+been, felt thankful and glad also. As they climbed the
+steep street leading to the square before the big church, a
+little white dog with brown ears toddled out.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that is the dog I thought was Nino! How could
+I think so?" Dorothy exclaimed; "his legs are so ugly,
+and he has such a mean little tail. Ah! my poor Nino
+was beautiful when compared with <i>you</i>," she said, stooping
+down to pat the little dog. "And, Uncle Crannie," she
+said, "do you remember that sad, dreadful day, when
+you took me to see mother, you said you had something
+to tell me about Nino, and then you left off."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" Canon Percival said, "I believe I did say so,
+but, Dorothy, can you wait to hear what it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," Dorothy said, doubtfully, "I don't
+know; it can't be anything very happy."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I advise you to wait," Canon Percival said.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy looked up at her uncle, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is it that his dear dead little body has been found?"</p>
+
+<p>But Canon Percival only repeated, "I advise you to
+<i>wait</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"How long?"</p>
+
+<p>"Till we all go back to England."</p>
+
+<p>They were at Giulia's house now. She was sitting on
+the doorstep, netting so fast, and such a big brown net
+lay in a heap behind her. Anton was the first to see the
+visitors, and exclaimed,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Madre! madre mia! la signorina!"</p>
+
+<p>Giulia flung down her netting, and starting up, to
+Dorothy's surprise, caught her in her strong arms once
+more, and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>And now, what seemed to the children very wonderful,
+Canon Percival began to talk to Giulia as fast in Italian
+as he did in English. And such a history was poured
+forth by Giulia, and then followed such gestures, and such
+exclamations! and Anton was caught by the arm, and
+shaken by his mother, and then she pointed to Canon
+Percival, and when Dorothy caught the word "Grazia,"
+she knew that her uncle was promising to do some kind
+thing. Ella, who from long habit could understand a
+great deal of what passed, told Irene and Dorothy that
+Canon Percival was promising to pay the money for
+Anton's apprenticeship to the master boatman, and that
+he was writing the name in his pocket-book, and that he
+said he would go down to the quay and harbour to find
+him, and if he gave a good character of mother and son,
+he would have an agreement made, and the boy should be
+made an apprentice, without touching that store of silver
+pieces in the old pipkin in the cupboard.</p>
+
+<p>Then they all went into the house, and Dorothy showed
+the bed where she had been placed, and Ella and Irene
+quite agreed with her that it was very stuffy in the little
+low room, and the smell of tar and smoke anything but
+nice.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was the old crone by the chimney-corner,
+who muttered and murmured, and beckoned Dorothy to
+her side.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little Dorothy bore the kiss which was given her
+with great composure, but she could not help giving a
+little shudder, and told Ella afterwards the smell of garlic
+and tobacco was "dreadful."</p>
+
+<p>Canon Percival said a few words which were not
+intelligible to Dorothy, but Irene whispered to her&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"He is speaking to them all about the Lord Jesus;
+that's why Giulia is crossing herself. That is her way
+of showing reverence."</p>
+
+<p>Poor Giulia's eyes were full of tears as Canon Percival
+went on. He was telling the story of the Cross, simply
+and earnestly, to these poor people, as they seldom, if
+ever, heard it, in their own tongue, the soft Italian tongue,
+which is so musical.</p>
+
+<p>When they left the house they were all very quiet, and
+could Dorothy have understood what Giulia was saying as
+she stood on the large stone step, watching them down
+the narrow street, she would have known she was praying
+in her own fashion that blessings might follow them.</p>
+
+<p>Canon Percival next went down to the harbour, and
+there, from the pier, is a most beautiful view of the old
+town, rising up, higher and higher, to the crest of the hill
+till it reaches the large church which belongs to the lepers'
+hospital. Canon Percival inquired for Angelo Battista,
+the master fisherman; and a fine sailor, with a face as
+brown as a chestnut, and big dark eyes, smiled when
+Canon Percival disclosed his errand.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Anton was a good boy; his mother had a long
+tongue, but she was very industrious&mdash;industrious with
+tongue and fingers alike," he said, and then he laughed
+heartily, and two or three men standing near joined in.</p>
+
+<p>At last all was settled, and Angelo Battista was to
+bring up a written document that evening to the Villa
+Firenze, and bring little Anton with him, to make the
+needful declaration required in such cases by the notary,
+that he agreed to the terms proposed.</p>
+
+<p>Canon Percival left San Remo the next day, saying that
+Coldchester Cathedral could not get on without him. He
+was so cheery and so kind, the children all lamented his loss.</p>
+
+<p>But now golden days came for them all, as Mrs.
+Acheson got, as Ingleby expressed it, "nearer well" than
+she had been for years. She took long drives in the
+neighbourhood, and they visited several old Italian towns,
+such as Taggia and Poggio.</p>
+
+<p>The road to them led along the busy shore of the
+blue Mediterranean, and then through silvery olive
+groves, where flowers of every brilliant colour were
+springing.</p>
+
+<p>And when May came, and the swallows twittered on
+the roofs of the villas, and were seen consulting for their
+flight northward, the whole party set off with them,
+<i>homewards</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Canon Percival met them at Paris, and they stayed
+there a week, and saw many of its wonders&mdash;the beautiful
+pictures in the Louvre, and the noble galleries at
+Versailles, where the fountains play, and the long, smooth
+avenues which lead to La Petite Trianon, which are full of
+memories of poor Marie Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing made more impression on the children than the
+sight of her boudoir in the palace at Versailles, where
+whoever looks up at the glass panels sees, by their peculiar
+arrangement in one corner, the whole figure without the
+head. It is said the young girl Dauphiness glanced up
+at this, and starting back with horror, said&mdash;"Ah! J'ai
+perdu ma t&ecirc;te!" A strange coincidence, certainly, when
+one remembers how her head was taken off by the cruel
+guillotine in later years&mdash;the bright hair grey, the head
+bowed with sorrow, and the heart torn with grief for
+her husband, who had preceded her, and still more for the
+children she left behind.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>At last the time came to cross the Channel once more,
+and the passage was calm, and the children enjoyed the
+short voyage.</p>
+
+<p>At Folkestone a very great surprise awaited Dorothy.
+She hardly knew whether she was dreaming or awake
+when in the waiting-room at the station she saw a man
+in a fisherman's blouse with a white dog in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Nino! Nino! Oh, it must be my Nino!"</p>
+
+<p>There could be no doubt of it this time, for the little
+dog grew frantic and excited, and leaped whining out of
+the fisherman's arms, and was in ecstasies at again meeting
+his mistress.</p>
+
+<p>This, then, was Canon Percival's secret. And he told
+the story of Nino's discovery in a few words.</p>
+
+<p>The day when he was at Folkestone, on his way to San
+Remo&mdash;summoned there by Mrs. Acheson's illness&mdash;he
+saw a fisherman on the pier with a little white dog by
+his side. It seemed hardly possible, but the fisherman
+explained that, near one of the Channel steamers, in his
+smack, he had seen a little white dog fall over the side,
+that he had looked out for him as they crossed the precise
+place, and found his little black nose just above the
+water, making a gallant fight for life. They lowered a
+little boat and picked him up, and read the name on his
+collar, "Nino."</p>
+
+<p>That collar he still wore, and it was evident that the
+sovereign Canon Percival gave him did not quite reconcile
+the man to the parting. "His children had grown so
+fond of the little beast," he said.</p>
+
+<p>But Nino, though he gave the fisherman a parting lick
+of gratitude, showed his <i>old</i> love was the stronger; and I
+do think it would be hard to say which was the happier
+at the renewal of affection&mdash;Dorothy or her dog Nino.</p>
+
+<p>Certain it is, we always value anything more highly
+when we <i>recover</i> possession of it, and Nino went back
+to Coldchester full of honours; and the story of his
+adventures made a hero of him in the eyes of the vergers
+of the Cathedral, who in past times had been wont to
+declare this little white dog was a deal of trouble, rushing
+about on the flower-beds of the Cathedral gardens.</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>With the homeward flight of the swallows we must
+say good-bye to Dorothy. A very happy summer was
+passed in the Canon's house, brightened by the companionship
+of Irene, and sometimes of Ella and Willy
+and Baby Bob. For Lady Burnside took a house for a
+few months in the neighbourhood of Coldchester, and the
+children continually met. But it was by Mrs. Acheson's
+express desire that Irene did not return to Mrs. Baker's
+school. She pleaded with Colonel Packingham that she
+might have her as a companion for her only child; and
+they shared a governess and lessons together.</p>
+
+<p>Irene had the influence over Dorothy which could not
+fail to be noticed in its effects&mdash;the influence which a
+child who has a simple desire to follow in the right way
+<i>must</i> have over those with whom she is associated.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy's flight with the swallows had taught her
+many things, and with Irene for a friend, she had long
+ceased to say she did not care for playmates. She was
+even known to devote herself for an hour at a time to
+share some rioting game with <i>Baby Bob</i>, while Nino
+raced and barked at their heels.</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h4>THE END.</h4>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="minimal" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<table border="0" style="background-color: #E6F6FA; margin: 0 auto" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="4" summary="NOTES">
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2">
+		<div class="center">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</div>
+
+<p class="noindent" style="background-color: #E6F6FA">
+Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained. The picture of the YOUNG CANON,
+which faces the contents page in the printed book, has been moved to the appropriate
+place in the text. The following additional change was made:</p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ <td class="w50" align="left" valign="top">Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who, Dorothy's
+surprise, spoke out boldly.</td>
+<td align="left" valign="top">Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who, <b>to</b> Dorothy's
+surprise, spoke out boldly.</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Flight with the Swallows, by Emma Marshall
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Flight with the Swallows, by Emma Marshall
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Flight with the Swallows
+       Little Dorothy's Dream
+
+Author: Emma Marshall
+
+Release Date: March 2, 2011 [EBook #35455]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A FLIGHT WITH THE
+SWALLOWS
+
+_Or, Little Dorothy's Dream_
+
+BY
+
+EMMA MARSHALL
+
+_Author of "Poppies and Pansies," "Silver Chimes," etc., etc_
+
+
+  [Illustration: Swallow]
+
+
+LONDON
+S. W. PARTRIDGE AND CO
+8 & 9 PATERNOSTER ROW
+
+
+  [Illustration: "YOU ARE THE YOUNG CANON." _p._ 13.]
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+  Chap.                    Page
+
+     I. DOROTHY'S DREAM       7
+    II. PREPARATION          12
+   III. OFF AND AWAY         20
+    IV. NINO                 27
+     V. ONLY A DOG           35
+    VI. THE VILLA LUCIA      40
+   VII. VILLA FIRENZE        48
+  VIII. DOROTHY'S LESSONS    55
+    IX. LOST                 66
+     X. IN THE SHADOWS       72
+    XI. WHAT FOLLOWED        82
+   XII. THE LOST FOUND       89
+
+
+
+
+A FLIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+DOROTHY'S DREAM.
+
+
+In a deep window seat, hidden by crimson curtains from the room beyond,
+a little girl was curled up, looking out upon a trim garden, where the
+first autumn leaves were falling one September afternoon. The view was
+bounded by a high wall, and above the wall, the east end of Coldchester
+Cathedral stood up a dark mass against the pale-blue sky. Every now and
+then a swallow darted past the window, with its forked tail and whitish
+breast; then there was a twittering and chirping in the nests above, as
+the swallows talked to each other of their coming flight. Little Dorothy
+was an only child; she had no brothers and sisters to play with; thus
+she made playmates of her two fluffy kittens, who were lying at her
+feet; and she made friends of the twittering swallows and the chattering
+jackdaws, as they flew in and out from the cathedral tower, and lived in
+a world of her own.
+
+The position of an only child has its peculiar pleasures and privileges;
+but I am inclined to think that all little girls who have brothers and
+sisters to play with are more to be envied than little Dorothy. To be
+sure, there was no one to want Puff and Muff but herself; no one to
+dispute the ownership of Miss Belinda, her large doll; no one to say
+it was her turn to dust and tidy Barton Hall, the residence of Miss
+Belinda; no one to insist on his right to spin a top or snatch away the
+cup and ball just when the critical moment came, and the ball was at
+last going to alight on the cup.
+
+Dorothy had none of these trials; but then she had none of the pleasures
+which go with them; for the pleasure of giving up your own way is in
+the long run greater than always getting it; and it is better to have
+a little quarrel, and then "make it up" with a kiss and confession of
+fault on both sides, than never to have any one to care about what _you_
+care for, and no one to contradict you!
+
+As little Dorothy watched the swallows, and listened to their conversation
+above her head, she became aware that some one was in the drawing-room,
+and was talking to her mother.
+
+She was quite hidden from view, and she heard her name.
+
+"But how can I take little Dorothy?"
+
+"Easily enough. It will do her no harm to take flight with the swallows."
+
+"You don't think _she_ is delicate?" she heard her mother exclaim, in a
+voice of alarm. "Oh, Doctor Bell, you don't think Dorothy is delicate?"
+
+"No, she is very well as far as I see at present, but I think her life
+is perhaps rather too dreamy and self-absorbed. She wants companions;
+she wants variety."
+
+Dr. Bell knew he was venturing on delicate ground.
+
+"Dorothy is very happy," Mrs. Acheson said, "very happy. Just suppose
+San Remo does not suit her, does not agree with her; then think of the
+journey!"
+
+"My dear madam, the journey is as easy in these days as if you could
+fly over on the backs of the swallows--easier, if anything. You ask my
+serious advice, and it is this, that you lose no time in starting for
+San Remo or Mentone."
+
+"San Remo is best," said Mrs. Acheson, "for I have a friend who has a
+house there, and she will be there for the winter."
+
+"Very well; then let me advise you to be quick in making your
+preparations. I shall call again this day week, and expect to find you
+are standing, like the swallows, ready for flight. Look at them now on
+the coping of the old wall, talking about their departure, and
+settling."
+
+When Dr. Bell was gone, Mrs. Acheson sat quietly by the fire, thinking
+over what he had said. She had tried to persuade herself that her cough
+was better, that if she kept in the house all the winter it would go
+away. She had felt sure that in this comfortable room, out of which her
+bed-room opened, she must be as well as in Italy or the south of France.
+Dr. Bell was so determined to get his own way, and it was cruel to turn
+her out of her home. And then Dorothy, little Dorothy! how hard it would
+be for her to leave Puff and Muff, and her nursery, and everything in
+it. And what was to be done about Nino, the little white poodle, and----
+
+A host of objections started up, and Mrs. Acheson tried to believe that
+she would make a stand against Dr. Bell, and stay in Canon's House all
+the winter.
+
+Meantime little Dorothy, who had been lying curled up as I have
+described, had heard in a confused way much of what Dr. Bell said.
+"A flight with the swallows." The swallows, her uncle, Canon Percival,
+had told her, flew away to sunshine and flowers; that the cold wind in
+England gave them the ague, and that they got all sorts of complaints,
+and would die of hunger, or cramp, or rheumatism if they stayed in
+England!
+
+"As easy a journey as if you were on a swallow's back," the doctor had
+said; and Dorothy was wondering who could be small enough to ride on a
+swallow's back, when she heard a tap at the window, a little gentle tap.
+
+"Let me in, let me in," said a small voice, which was like a chirp or a
+twitter, rather than a voice.
+
+And then Dorothy turned the old-fashioned handle which closed the lower
+square of the lattice window, and in came the swallow. She recognised it
+as one she knew--the mother-bird from the nest in the eaves.
+
+"Come to the sunny South," it said. "Come to the sunny South."
+
+"I can't, without mother," Dorothy said.
+
+"Oh yes, you can. Get on my back."
+
+"I am much too big. I am nearly eight years old."
+
+The swallow twittered, and it sounded like a laugh.
+
+"You are not too big; just get on."
+
+And then the swallow turned its tail towards little Dorothy; and, to her
+surprise, she saw her hands were tiny hands as she put them round the
+swallow's neck, and tucked a pair of tinier feet under its wings.
+
+"Are you ready?" said the swallow.
+
+"I don't know. Stop--I----"
+
+But in another minute she was flying through the air on the swallow's
+back. Over the great cathedral tower, over the blue hills, away, away.
+Presently there was water beneath, dancing and sparkling in the western
+sunshine; then there were boats and ships, looking so tiny. Everything
+did look so small. Then it grew dark, and Dorothy was asleep--she felt
+she was asleep--and presently the swallow put her down on something very
+soft, and there was a great light, and she sat up and found herself, not
+in the sunny South, but on her mother's knee by the bright fire in the
+drawing-room.
+
+"Why, Dorothy, you are quite cold," her mother said. "I did not know you
+were curled up in the window seat, and so fast asleep."
+
+"Why, mother," said Dorothy, rubbing her eyes and giving a great yawn,
+"I thought I was flying off to the sunny South with the swallows. How
+funny!" she exclaimed. "It was, after all, a dream! I heard Dr. Bell
+talking about your taking flight with the swallows, and then I thought
+I got ever so wee and tiny, and then the old mother-swallow carried me
+off. _Are_ you going to fly off with the swallows, mother, to the sunny
+South?"
+
+  [Illustration: Swallows]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+PREPARATION.
+
+
+"Well, Dorothy Dormouse!" exclaimed Canon Percival, when he came into
+the drawing-room after dinner that evening.
+
+"Don't call me Dorothy Dormouse, Uncle Crannie."
+
+"Oh, but we call people what they are; and when little girls roll up
+into a ball, and sleep away their time, they are like nothing so much
+as--dormice."
+
+"Mother has been telling you at dinner all about my dream, Uncle Crannie.
+I know she has, else how do you know?"
+
+"Oh, perhaps one of the swallows told me. I say, Dorothy, I have to talk
+seriously to you for once. I am not joking this time."
+
+Dorothy looked up in her uncle's face, and saw that he really did look
+grave--almost sad.
+
+"Before mother comes into the room, I want to tell you that Dr. Bell
+thinks her cough is a bad cough, and that Coldchester is not the right
+place for her to live in during the winter months. So poor Uncle Crannie
+will be left alone all the long winter, and you must go with mother and
+Ingleby to the sunny South--to Italy; think of that!"
+
+"I don't want to go," said Dorothy. "I mean--I mean I don't want to
+leave Puff and Muff and old Nino, and----"
+
+"Poor old Uncle Crannie; but, my dear little niece, this is not a
+question of what you _like_ or what you _want_. It is a question of what
+is _right_ to do. Perhaps, little Dorothy, neither mother nor I have
+taught you enough the meaning of the word duty. It means, what you owe
+to others of service or love. Now, you owe it to your mother to be as
+merry and happy as a bird; and, after all, many little girls would jump
+for joy to be off to San Remo."
+
+Dorothy was silent. "How long will it take to get there," she asked--"to
+the sunny South?"
+
+"Well, you won't go quite as fast as the swallows, but I daresay we
+shall get there in less than a week; it depends upon the weather, and
+upon how your mother bears the journey. You must ask God to-night to
+bless your dear mother, and to make you a very good, helpful little
+daughter to her. Will you do this?"
+
+"Yes," Dorothy said--"yes, Uncle Crannie. Why won't you stay with us
+there all the time?"
+
+"Well! the cathedral might run away if I was not here to prevent it; and
+what would the old Canons do if I deserted them?"
+
+"You are the young Canon, I know," Dorothy said. "Ingleby says that's
+what you are called."
+
+"Ah!" said the Canon, rubbing his bald head, "there are degrees of
+comparison, and I am afraid it is old, older, olderer, and oldest, in
+the cathedral chapter. But I wanted to tell you that at San Remo you
+will have playfellows--nice little girls and boys, who are living there
+with their grandmother; and that is what we cannot find for you in
+Coldchester."
+
+"I don't want any little girls and boys," Dorothy said. "I shan't play
+with them."
+
+"Oh, nonsense! you will learn to play with them--Hoodman Blind, and Tom
+Tickler's ground; won't that be jolly?"
+
+Dorothy made no response, and her mother coming into the room, with her
+shawl wrapped closely round her, she slipped down from her uncle's knee
+and took up her position at her mother's feet, with one of the kittens
+in her lap, saying--
+
+"Read, mother; please read."
+
+"Your mother can't read to-night, Dorothy," said the Canon, who had
+taken up the _Times_. "She has coughed so much to-day, and is very
+hoarse."
+
+Dorothy pouted, and her mother, clearing her throat, said--
+
+"Oh, I will try to finish the chapter we left unfinished last night.
+That will not hurt me."
+
+It was a pity that Dorothy was so seldom denied anything. It was simply
+that there was no absolute necessity for refusing her what she asked,
+and she had no idea yet that giving up her own will was a sweet gift the
+youngest child may offer to her Father in heaven--the Father of the dear
+Lord Jesus Christ, who offered Himself in life and in death for the
+sinful, sad world He came to save. So Mrs. Acheson finished the chapter
+of the story, and then it was time for Dorothy to go to bed, for Ingleby
+appeared at the door, and said it was past eight o'clock, and much too
+late for a little girl to be in the drawing-room.
+
+I daresay you wish to know what Dorothy was like, and as she goes up the
+wide staircase of Canon's House, she makes a very pretty picture. She
+had long, silky, fair hair, which was not frizzed and crimped, but hung
+down to her waist, and even below it, with soft, curled ends.
+
+As Ingleby had no other child to look after, it was natural that she
+should bestow much pains on Dorothy's appearance. She wore a pretty
+white cashmere frock, with a wide rose-coloured sash, her black silk
+stockings fitted her legs precisely, and her dainty shoes had pretty
+buckles.
+
+Puff and Muff had been sent to bed downstairs, and only old Nino was
+allowed to come into the nursery. He was a favoured dog, and slept at
+the foot of his little mistress's bed.
+
+Dorothy went slowly upstairs, heedless of Ingleby's repeated "Come, my
+dear, come!" And when at last they had reached the nursery, Dorothy
+seated herself in the old rocking-chair, put her head back, and swinging
+gently backwards and forwards, said seriously, almost solemnly--
+
+"Jingle"--it was her pet name for her faithful nurse--"I hate 'playmates,'
+as Uncle Crannie calls them. If I go to the sunny South, I shall not
+play with any one."
+
+"Well, that will be very uncivil, my dear, though, to be sure, you are
+an odd child, for when the little Miss Thompsons and Master Benson came
+to tea on your last birthday, it did not seem to make you happy."
+
+"It made me miserable," said Dorothy. Then, with a sudden impulse, she
+got up, and throwing her arms round her old friend's neck, she said, "I
+want nobody but you and mother, and Puff and Muff, and Nino."
+
+Ingleby was certainly flattered by her darling's preference, and took
+her on her knee and undressed her as if she were seven months, instead
+of nearly eight years old, and brushed and combed the silky hair with
+great pride and pleasure. Dorothy's face was rather too thin and
+colourless for childhood; but her features were regular, and her large,
+blue eyes, shaded by dark lashes, were really beautiful.
+
+"She is too much of a little woman," the Miss Thompsons' mother said;
+"the child wants companions, and to be roused from her dreams;" while
+Master Benson went away from the birthday party declaring it was slow
+and stupid, and that Dorothy was a stiff starched little thing, and he
+longed to shake her!
+
+Dorothy could not remember her father; he had died when she was scarcely
+a year old, and just at that time her uncle, Canon Percival, went to
+live in Canon's House, at Coldchester, and invited his sister to come
+and take up her abode there, with her little girl, and Ingleby, her
+nurse.
+
+Canon Percival was a bachelor, and till Dorothy came he had never had
+much to do with children. His friends pitied him, and said that for the
+most part children were noisy and troublesome, and that he would find
+the peace of his house disturbed. But Dorothy--Dorothy Dormouse, as
+he liked to call her--set these preconceived notions at defiance. She
+was quiet and gentle, and she and her uncle Cranstone--Crannie, as she
+called him--were great friends. She would sit on one of the red leather
+chairs by her uncle, at his great writing table, and draw pictures by
+the hour of birds, and butterflies, and flowers, and portraits, too--of
+Miss Belinda, and Puff and Muff, and even of her uncle himself. Then she
+would walk with him to the service in the cathedral, and sit demure and
+quiet while the prayers were said and the organ rolled its waves of
+music overhead.
+
+The Canon's little niece was a great favourite with the old vergers,
+though they would say, one to the other, that she was too wise and
+knowing for a little one.
+
+"It all comes of being with old people. There ain't enough of young life
+about her. It's a thousand pities she has not some playmate."
+
+So it seemed, you see, a general opinion that Dorothy wanted companions;
+and when she got to the sunny South the companions were ready for her.
+
+But it took some time to prepare for flight. People can get to the south
+of France and Italy very quickly, it is true; but they are not like the
+swallows, who don't want any luggage, and fly with no encumbrance.
+
+Ingleby's preparations were very extensive indeed, and Dorothy had also
+a great deal in hand. She had to put Barton Hall in order, for one
+thing, and to put up a notice on the door that this house was to let
+furnished. Then Belinda had to have a little travelling ulster and
+warm hat, like her mistress's, and Puff and Muff had to be settled
+comfortably in their new quarters; for though they did not sleep in
+the nursery, they were there all day, and were carried about the house
+by their little mistress, while Nino trotted behind. The preparations
+were an amusement to Dorothy, and she began to feel that if anything
+prevented her going to the sunny South, she would feel sorry and
+disappointed after all!
+
+Ingleby grew more and more serious as the time drew near. She murmured
+a good deal about "foreign parts," and once Dorothy felt sure she heard
+her say something about going away to die. Could these words possibly
+refer to her mother? Poor little girl! She had lived so securely with
+her mother, and had never been accustomed to think of her as apart from
+her own comfort and pleasure, that a sharp pain shot through her heart
+as she heard Ingleby's murmured words.
+
+Once, too, when Ingleby thought she was asleep in the inner nursery, she
+heard her talking in low tones to the housemaid.
+
+"The child has no notion that her mamma is so ill. Childlike!" said
+Ingleby.
+
+"Well, I don't call it childlike," was the reply. "Miss Dorothy is not
+childlike; she is just eaten up with herself."
+
+"She is as dear a lamb as you could find anywhere," said Ingleby,
+wrathfully; "a dear, sweet lamb. I suppose you like rampaging, noisy
+children, like your own brothers and sisters in your mother's farmhouse?"
+
+"I like children," said Susan, bravely, "to think of other folks a
+little, as well as themselves. But there! it's not the poor child's
+fault; everyone in the house spoils her, and you are the worst of all,
+Mrs. Ingleby."
+
+"I tell you what, Susan, I'd advise you, as a friend, to mind your own
+business. If you are such a blind bat as not to see what Miss Dorothy
+is--well, I am sorry for you, and I can't help it."
+
+"I did not mean any offence, I am sure," said Susan, as she left the
+nursery. "As I said, it's not the child's fault; but it would be hard
+lines for her if she lost her mamma, and you too, Mrs. Ingleby."
+
+A few minutes later, Ingleby was startled by the appearance of a little
+white figure in the doorway.
+
+"Jingle," she said, in a low, choking voice, "is--my--mamma so very ill?
+I want to know."
+
+"Ill? why, no. She has got a cough which shakes her rather. But, bless
+your little heart--don't, Miss Dorothy, my sweet, don't."
+
+For, in a passion of weeping, Dorothy had thrown herself into her
+nurse's arms.
+
+"Am I such a spoiled child?--am I, Jingle?"
+
+"You are a dear little creature; nothing could spoil you. There, there;
+let me put you back to bed. Don't cry."
+
+But Dorothy did cry, and when Ingleby had left her at last, she buried
+her face in the pillow, saying over to herself--
+
+"Oh, is my mamma so ill? Will she die? Will she die? And I am such a
+spoiled child. Oh dear, oh dear! I never thought of it before--never,
+never."
+
+There are times when many older people than little Dorothy catch
+suddenly, as it were, a glimpse of their true selves, and are saddened
+at the sight, with what results for the future depends upon the means
+they take to cure themselves of their faults.
+
+There is but one way for the children and for those who have left
+childhood far behind--only one way--to watch and pray, lest they enter
+into temptation.
+
+  [Illustration: Cat in a Basket]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+OFF AND AWAY.
+
+
+The excitement of preparation for departure is always infectious, and,
+however much Mrs. Acheson and little Dorothy had at first disliked the
+idea of leaving home for the winter, before the actual day for saying
+good-bye arrived, they were both in a measure reconciled to the coming
+change.
+
+Dorothy had packed a large box, with things she _must_ take, and Ingleby,
+glad she should be so amused, did not prevent her, as she really ought
+to have done; for such a strange medley as that box contained had surely
+scarcely ever been collected for transportation across the Channel:
+paint-boxes; new and old picture-books, coloured by her own hand;
+Belinda's wardrobe--an extensive one; pencils; india-rubber; her desk;
+her workbox (which last, by-the-bye, was seldom used); her "Little
+Arthur's History" and "Mrs. Markham's History;" boxes of dominoes and
+draughts; magnetic ducks and geese and fish; and many more things of the
+like kind, which would take me far too long to enumerate.
+
+When the luggage stood in the hall on the morning of departure, Canon
+Percival shrugged his shoulders, and gave a low whistle. "As I am
+courier," he said, "and must look after the luggage, I am rather alarmed
+to see so many boxes. What is that old box with brass nails, Ingleby?"
+
+"Oh, that is Miss Dorothy's, sir; she packed it herself."
+
+"With toys, I suppose, and rubbish. No, I shall not be answerable for
+that. If we take Nino and Belinda, that must suffice."
+
+Ingleby looked doubtful. "The best way will be, sir, to get it carried
+into the servants' hall before the poor child comes down; she is
+breaking her heart, as it is, over Puff and Muff."
+
+"Nonsense!" said Canon Percival, impatiently. "Dorothy must be more
+reasonable; we have spoilt her long enough."
+
+Ingleby dreaded a scene, and began to drag away the box into a remote
+region behind the red baize door, hoping to get it out of sight, and out
+of mind, before Dorothy and her mother appeared.
+
+She had just succeeded, and was returning breathless, when Dorothy, with
+Belinda in her arms and Nino toddling behind, came downstairs.
+
+The luggage was packed on a fly, and Mrs. Acheson, Dorothy, and Canon
+Percival drove to the station in the carriage. All the servants were
+gathered in the hall, and were saying good-bye, with many wishes that
+Mrs. Acheson would come back soon quite well. A little telegraph boy,
+with his bag strapped across his shoulder, came gaily up to the door.
+Then he took out of his bag the dark orange envelope which often sends
+a thrill of fear through the hearts of those whose nearest and dearest
+ones are separated from them, and handed it to Canon Percival.
+
+"A paid answer, sir," said the messenger.
+
+And Canon Percival, after scanning the few words, took out his pencil
+and wrote--
+
+"Yes, with pleasure."
+
+"What is it, Cranstone? nothing wrong?"
+
+"Oh no, only that our travelling party is to be enlarged in London.
+Little Irene Packingham is to spend the winter at San Remo with her
+grandmother, and the telegram is from Mrs. Baker, the child's
+schoolmistress, saying Lady Burnside had telegraphed to her to
+communicate with me."
+
+"How very odd not to write! It must be a sudden determination."
+
+"Yes; but we shall not get to Paddington, much less to San Remo, if we
+dawdle about here any longer; come, make haste."
+
+They were off at last, and at the station several friends appeared,
+who came to wish them a safe journey. Ingleby and the footman had got
+the luggage labelled and in the van; and Dorothy and her mother were
+comfortably seated in a first-class carriage, while Canon Percival stood
+by the door, exchanging a few last words with a gentleman; and then the
+guard came up with the familiar question--"Any more going?" Canon Percival
+jumped in, and they were gliding quietly out of the station and leaving
+Coldchester far behind.
+
+For the convenience of early crossing the English Channel the next
+morning, the party were to sleep at the Charing Cross Hotel; and here,
+under the charge of one of Mrs. Baker's governesses, little Irene
+Packingham was waiting for them.
+
+Dorothy's curiosity had been roused when her mother told her of a
+little travelling companion, but the two children stood looking at each
+other, shy and speechless, while Canon Percival and Mrs. Acheson were
+engaged talking to the governess.
+
+She was a prim, stiff-looking, elderly woman, who was the useful
+governess in Mrs. Baker's school. She only taught the little girls,
+looked after the servants, and met girls at the station, or, as in this
+instance, accompanied one who was leaving the school.
+
+"Irene has not been very well of late," Miss Pearce was saying; "and
+Colonel Packingham seems to have written to Lady Burnside that he wished
+her to spend the rest of the term till after the Christmas holidays at
+San Remo. Mrs. Baker had a letter from Lady Burnside, requesting us to
+prepare Irene to start with you to-morrow morning. It is very short
+notice, but I hope she has her things all right."
+
+After a few more words of a like kind, Miss Pearce said she must hasten
+back to St. John's Wood, and bade her little charge good-bye.
+
+"Good-bye, Irene; I hope you will be a very good girl, and give no
+trouble; you have your keys in your pocket, and mind you keep the
+comforter well round your neck on the boat."
+
+Then a kiss was exchanged, not a very warm one on either side, and Miss
+Pearce departed.
+
+Rooms had been engaged on the upper floor of the big hotel through which
+so many people pass coming and going from the Continent. The party went
+up in a lift, which was a great novelty to Dorothy, who all this time
+had not spoken a single word to Irene.
+
+A little bedroom next the one which had been arranged by Ingleby for
+her mistress was found for Irene. And in a very independent, methodical
+way she began to lay aside her hat and jacket, take out her keys, and
+unlock her small travelling-bag.
+
+Dorothy, who had seated herself by the window, and was looking down into
+the square below, watching with deep interest the rapid passing and
+repassing of cabs and carriages in and out the station, did not invite
+any conversation.
+
+The contrast between the two children was a very strong one, such as we
+generally notice between those who from their babyhood have been, as it
+were, little citizens of the world, and those who have been brought up,
+as Dorothy had been till nearly her eighth birthday, with every care and
+every luxury, in a happy, quiet home.
+
+Irene was tall for her age--nearly ten; and she had a determined
+expression on her face, as if she knew there were rough places and
+troubles to meet in her daily life, and that she had set herself to
+overcome them. She had heard a murmur of Ingleby's--"Another child to
+look after on the journey." And she was determined to give no trouble;
+she had no long hair to smooth and comb, for her hair was cut short,
+and her plain blue serge dress was quite free from any adornment. After
+Dorothy had done with the square, she turned to watch Irene's movements,
+and regarded her companion with a mingled wonder, and a feeling that was
+certainly not admiration.
+
+Presently Dorothy called to Ingleby in the next room--
+
+"When are you coming to undress me, Jingle? and when are we to have our
+tea?"
+
+"I'll come directly, but I am busy getting your mamma's things put for
+the night; she must go to bed early, and so must you."
+
+"Where's mother?" was the next question asked.
+
+"In the sitting-room opposite."
+
+"I want to go to her."
+
+"Wait a few minutes; she is lying on the sofa, and I want her to rest."
+
+"Where's Belinda to sleep, and Nino?"
+
+"Dear me," said Ingleby, impatiently, "I don't know; here's the cork
+come out of your mamma's eau-de-Cologne flask, and everything in the
+travelling basket is soaked. Dear, dear!"
+
+Dorothy now began to snatch at the buttons of her travelling ulster, and
+threw off the scarf round her neck.
+
+"Let me help you," said Irene. "I am quite ready."
+
+Dorothy was not very gracious, and as Irene tugged at the sleeves of the
+ulster, a lock of the silky hair caught in a button, and Dorothy
+screamed--
+
+"Oh, don't! you hurt me. Oh, Jingle!"
+
+Ingleby came running in at the cry of distress, and began to pity and
+console.
+
+"I am very sorry," Irene said, moving away to the window, where, through
+the gathering haze of tears, she saw the gas-lights beginning to start
+out all round the square below.
+
+A sense of desolation oppressed her; and she wished--oh, how she wished
+she had stayed at Mrs. Baker's! At first it had seemed delightful to go
+to grannie, but now she thought anything was better than being where she
+was not wanted. She was roused by Ingleby's voice--
+
+"You are to have tea in the sitting-room with Mrs. Acheson. The Canon is
+gone out to dine at St. Paul's Deanery; and as soon as you have had your
+tea, you are to go to bed."
+
+Dorothy, shaking back her beautiful hair, ran away to a room at the end
+of the passage, never thinking of Irene, who followed her with the same
+uneasy sense of "not being wanted" which is hard for us all to bear.
+
+  [Illustration: Bay Window]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+NINO.
+
+
+Mrs. Acheson roused herself to talk to the little girls, and was kindly
+anxious that Irene should not feel strange and unhappy. But Irene was
+not a child to respond quickly, and Mrs. Acheson could but contrast her
+with her own little Dorothy, who was so caressing and tender in her
+ways, and had a gentle voice, while Irene had a quick, decided way of
+speaking.
+
+"Have you been unwell long, my dear?" Mrs. Acheson asked.
+
+"I have had a cough, and--and father does not wish me to keep a cough,
+because of mother."
+
+"You don't remember your mother?"
+
+"No. I have a stepmother, you know, and two little brothers."
+
+"You will like being with your grandmamma and your cousins at San Remo.
+Your grandmamma is such a dear old lady. Do you know, the thought of
+being near her reconciled me to spending the winter abroad."
+
+Irene's face brightened at this.
+
+"I am glad you know grannie," she said. "Your cough is very bad, I am
+afraid," Irene continued, as Mrs. Acheson was interrupted by a fit of
+coughing.
+
+"Mother's cough is much better," Dorothy said, hotly. "Jingle says so,
+and _she_ knows better than _you_ do."
+
+Irene made no reply to this, and soon after Ingleby came to put them
+both to bed.
+
+Irene had been too much accustomed to changes to be much affected by
+this change, and as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was asleep.
+But Dorothy tossed and fidgeted, and besought Ingleby not to leave her,
+and persisted in holding her hand in hers, though her nurse sorely
+wanted rest herself, and to get all things forward for the early start
+the next morning.
+
+At last Ingleby disengaged her hand from Dorothy's clinging clasp, and
+went downstairs to cater for some supper. But her disappearance soon
+roused Dorothy; she began to cry and call, "Jingle! Jingle!" This woke
+Irene, who jumped out of her own bed in the next room, and coming to
+her, said, "What do you want?"
+
+"I don't want _you_," was the somewhat ungracious reply. "I want Jingle
+or mother."
+
+"Are you ill? have you a pain anywhere?" asked practical Irene.
+
+"No, but I want Jingle. Oh dear, dear!"
+
+"If nothing is the matter, I think you ought to go to sleep, and not
+cry; it may frighten your mamma."
+
+"It is so horrid here," said poor little Dorothy; "and I wonder how Puff
+and Muff are; and I want Nino. Why did Jingle take him away? Oh dear,
+dear! and there's such a buzzing noise in the street, and rumble,
+rumble; oh dear!"
+
+"Do you ever try saying hymns to get yourself to sleep?" Irene asked.
+"If you like I'll repeat one, and then you can say it over when I get
+back to my own bed."
+
+Dorothy turned her face away on the pillow, and was not very encouraging;
+but Irene repeated this beautiful evening hymn for a child, which I hope
+all the little girls and boys who read my story know with their hearts
+as well as their heads:--
+
+  "On the dark hill's western side,
+   The last purple gleam has died;
+   Twilight to one solemn hue
+   Changes all, both green and blue.
+
+  "In the fold, and in the nest,
+   Birds and lambs have gone to rest;
+   Labour's weary task is o'er,
+   Closely shut the cottage door.
+
+  "Saviour, ere in sweet repose
+   I my weary eyelids close,
+   While my mother through the gloom
+   Singeth from the outer room,
+
+  "While across the curtain white,
+   With a dim uncertain light,
+   On the floor the faint stars shine,
+   Let my latest thought be Thine.
+
+  "'Twas a starry night of old
+   When rejoicing angels told
+   The poor shepherds of Thy birth,
+   God became a Child on earth.
+
+  "Soft and quiet is the bed
+   Where I lay my little head;
+   Thou hadst but a manger bare,
+   Rugged straw for pillow fair.
+
+  "Saviour, 'twas to win me grace
+   Thou didst stoop to this poor place,
+   Loving with a perfect love
+   Child and man and God above.
+
+  "Thou wast meek and undefiled:
+   Make me gentle, too, and mild;
+   Thou didst foil the tempter's power:
+   Help me in temptation's hour.
+
+  "Thou didst love Thy mother here,
+   Make me gentle, kind, and dear;
+   Thou didst mind her slightest word,
+   Teach me to obey, O Lord.
+
+  "Happy now, I turn to sleep;
+   Thou wilt watch around me keep;
+   Him no danger e'er can harm
+   Who lies cradled in Thy arm."
+
+When Ingleby came up, she found Dorothy sound asleep, and her arm round
+Irene's neck. Both children were in profound slumber. Ingleby gently
+lifted Irene and carried her back to her own room, Dorothy murmuring
+as she turned round on her pillow, "Away with the swallows, off to the
+sunny South."
+
+They were off in good earnest the next morning--a bright and beautiful
+morning. The sea was blue, and the sky clear; only a brisk wind chased
+the waves shoreward, and gave just that motion which to good sailors is
+so delightful.
+
+There were, of course, some unhappy people who could not bear even that
+gentle motion, and had to take flight to the cabin. Poor Ingleby was one
+of these, and in spite of all her brave attempts to keep up, she was
+obliged to leave the children to Canon Percival's care, and retreat with
+her mistress to the lower regions.
+
+Dorothy and Irene sat together on the middle seat of the deck, with
+their faces to the dancing waves, over which some white birds were
+darting, who had their nests in the face of the cliffs of Dover. It had
+all the delightful sense of novelty to Dorothy, but Irene was already
+a traveller. In a dim, dreamy way she was thinking of her voyage
+home, four years before; she remembered the pain of parting with the
+dark-skinned ayah, and her father's sad face, as they drew near England.
+
+
+  [Illustration: "OH, WHAT A CROSS LITTLE DOGGIE!"]
+
+
+Those white cliffs brought it all back to her, and she recalled how her
+father said,--
+
+"England was your dear mother's home, and she loved it, but she is in a
+better home now; I must not wish her back again."
+
+After that her life at Mrs. Baker's was dull and monotonous; going on
+and on day after day, week after week, year after year, with but little
+to mark the passing away of time.
+
+Irene was not particularly attractive to strangers, and the passengers
+who turned upon Dorothy admiring glances, and even, in that foolish way
+some people have, exclaimed, "What a lovely child!" scarcely gave a
+thought to her companion.
+
+"A plain girl," one lady said; "they cannot be sisters!"
+
+Then one of the ladies ventured to put her hand on Nino's head, who was
+curled up under the rug which was tucked round both little girls' legs,
+with his head and ears and black nose just appearing. Nino growled, and
+Dorothy made a gesture as if to get a little farther away.
+
+"Oh, what a cross little doggie!" was the remark.
+
+"He is not cross," Dorothy said, pressing Nino closer.
+
+"Don't you think so?" the lady said, in an offended tone. "Perhaps he
+has learned of his mistress to be cross."
+
+She laughed, but Dorothy did not laugh, or even smile.
+
+"He is a spoiled little dog," said the younger of the two ladies,
+reaching forward to give Nino another pat.
+
+Another growl, followed this time by a snap.
+
+"Horrid little beast!" was the next exclamation. "Children ought not to
+be allowed to take pet dogs about with them, to the annoyance of other
+people."
+
+Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who, to Dorothy's
+surprise, spoke out boldly.
+
+"Nino did not growl till you touched him," she said; "no one ought to
+pat strange dogs."
+
+"My dear, your opinion was neither asked for nor wanted," was the reply.
+And Dorothy struggled from the rug, and hastened to call her uncle, who
+was talking to a gentleman.
+
+"Uncle Crannie, do come and move our seat; there are some very rude
+ladies who hate Nino."
+
+But Canon Percival was busy talking, and did not immediately listen to
+Dorothy. Nino had toddled off to inspect the boat, and by some means,
+how no one could quite tell, had slipped over the side of the steamer,
+and was engulfed in the seething waves below. Irene saw what had
+happened, and cried out,--
+
+"Oh! Nino has fallen through that open place. Nino will be drowned."
+
+Then poor little Dorothy, turning, saw Irene rushing to the place, and
+called aloud,--
+
+"Nino, Nino will be drowned! Nino, Nino, my Nino! will nobody save him?
+Oh, Uncle Crannie, Uncle Crannie, save him!"
+
+  [Illustration: Ferry]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+ONLY A DOG.
+
+
+"It is only a dog!" the passengers on the steamer exclaimed, some with a
+sigh of relief, for at first it was rumoured it was a child.
+
+"Only a dog!" and Canon Percival said that to stop the steamer and lower
+a boat was out of the question. They were much behind as it was, and
+there would be barely time to catch the train to Paris.
+
+There was no sign of Nino, and the surging waters had closed over him.
+Poor Nino! Two or three fishing smacks were in sight, and almost within
+speaking distance, but there was no hope of saving him.
+
+"Only a dog!" but the heart of his little mistress felt as if it would
+break. She rushed down into the cabin, and with a wild cry of distress
+threw herself into her mother's arms.
+
+"Nino! my Nino is drowned. Oh, Nino! Nino!"
+
+Poor Ingleby roused herself from her sickness to comfort her darling.
+
+"Oh! Miss Dorothy, perhaps it is all for the best; he would have been
+unhappy, and in the way, and----"
+
+But Dorothy refused comfort; and by the time they were in the train,
+which there was a great rush to catch at Boulogne, Dorothy was exhausted
+with crying, and was only too glad to be tucked up on a seat near her
+mother, and soothed to sleep and forgetfulness of her trouble.
+
+Irene felt very sorry for Dorothy, but she had never had a home and
+pets, either dogs or cats; and she could not therefore enter into the
+extent of Dorothy's grief. Having offered all the consolation in her
+power, which had been repulsed, Irene resigned herself to a book that
+Ingleby had given her out of her well-stocked basket, and before long
+she, too, was asleep.
+
+"Perhaps we can buy another white dog in Paris," Mrs. Acheson suggested
+to Canon Percival.
+
+"Oh no! that would not answer. I don't think you want any more trouble,
+and if poor old Nino was troublesome sometimes, a young successor
+would be certain to be ten times more troublesome. As a rule, dogs are
+unwelcome visitors in other people's houses, and Lady Burnside may
+dislike the race. I am sorry for Dorothy's trouble, and for the poor
+little creature's end, but, as Ingleby says, there are worse sorrows
+than the loss of a dog."
+
+"I suppose he was drowned at once," Mrs. Acheson said; "I do hope he did
+not struggle long for life."
+
+"He was probably sucked under the steamer, and it would be over directly,
+let us hope." Then Canon Percival pulled his travelling-cap over his
+eyes, and was soon wrapped in profound slumber.
+
+When the party arrived at Paris at Meurice's Hotel, Dorothy's tears
+broke forth afresh, and she had to be conveyed to her room by poor
+Ingleby, followed by Irene, who carried Miss Belinda and a number of
+other miscellaneous articles.
+
+Mrs. Acheson, tired and worn out, was forbidden by Canon Percival to
+go to Dorothy, and again and again did Mrs. Acheson wish that she had
+followed her brother's advice, and left poor Nino at home.
+
+It was not till the two children were left together, after partaking of
+crescent-shaped rolls and coffee, that Irene ventured to say anything to
+Dorothy.
+
+"Don't cry any more, Dorothy; it makes other people so unhappy--and,"
+said Irene, wisely, "it won't bring Nino back!"
+
+"I know that! I know that! What do you tell me _that_ for? Oh, dear! oh,
+dear!"
+
+"Well," Irene said, "I want to tell you anything which will make you try
+to stop crying."
+
+"_That_ won't," said Dorothy, crossly; "you never, _never_ had a dog;
+how should _you_ know what I feel?"
+
+"I am not thinking so much about what _you_ feel," Irene said, with
+refreshing frankness; "I am thinking of your mamma, and how vexed and
+grieved _she_ is about you."
+
+At this moment a door from another room opened, and, rattling a big
+bunch of keys, a pretty, bright _femme de chambre_ came in.
+
+"Ah!" she said, in her broken English, "Ah! what pains little ma'm'selle?
+Is she ill? Does she want a doctor?"
+
+"No," Irene said; "her favourite little dog was drowned as we crossed
+the sea. He fell over the edge of the steamer, and we never saw him
+again."
+
+"Ah! but that is sad; but oh! dear _petite_," the kind woman said, going
+up to Dorothy, "think what grief my poor mother has, for my little
+brother Antoine fell into the river when all the flowers were coming out
+in May, and was dragged out cold and dead. Ah! but that was grief."
+
+"How old was he?" Dorothy said.
+
+"Five years old, ma'm'selle, and as lovely as an angel."
+
+"What did your mother do?" Irene asked; "your poor mother!"
+
+"She comforted my poor father, for it was when cutting the rushes with
+him that Antoine fell into the water. She dried her eyes, and tried to
+be cheerful for his, my father's, sake. The pain at her poor heart was
+terrible, terrible, but she said to me, 'Jeanette, I must hide the pain
+for the sake of the dear father. I only tell it to God.'"
+
+Both the children listened to Jeanette's story with keen interest, and
+Irene asked,--
+
+"How is your poor mother now?"
+
+"She is calm, she is quiet; she does her work for them all, and her
+face has a look of peace. M. le Cure says it is the peace that comes of
+bearing sorrow, as the Lord Jesus bore the cross, and that is the way
+for us all; little and young, or old, it is the same. But I must go;
+there is so much work, night and day, day and night. See, dear little
+ma'm'selle"--and Jeanette foraged in the deep pocket of her white
+apron--"here are some bon-bons, chocolate of the best; see, all shining
+like silver."
+
+She laid some round chocolate balls, covered with silver paper, in
+Dorothy's hand, and said,--
+
+"Try to sleep away your sorrow, ma'm'selle, and wake fresh and happy for
+madame's sake."
+
+"Every one tells me that," said Dorothy, "except mother. She does not
+tell me I don't care for her; she does not tell me to be happy for her
+sake. As if I could--could--forget my Nino!"
+
+"No one thinks you can forget him," Irene said; "but if crying makes you
+ill, and makes your mamma miserable, you should try to stop."
+
+Dorothy began to taste the excellence of Jeanette's chocolate, and
+offered some to Irene, saying,--
+
+"That was a pretty story of Jeanette's about her poor little brother.
+Didn't you think so, Irene?"
+
+"Yes," Irene said, thoughtfully; "I hope God will comfort Antoine's poor
+father."
+
+"It's the _mother_ that cared the most--it was the mother who was so
+miserable."
+
+"Ah! but it was the father who let the little boy slip into the water;
+it was a thousand times worse for him," Irene said.
+
+  [Illustration: Nino]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+THE VILLA LUCIA.
+
+
+"Well, grannie, is she coming?--is Irene coming?"
+
+The question was asked eagerly by a boy of nine years old, who came into
+the pretty sitting-room of the Villa Lucia at San Remo, with his hands
+full of pale lilac crocuses. "Is she coming, grannie dear?"
+
+"Do not rush into the room before your sister, Willy. See, you have
+knocked the basket out of her hand."
+
+"And all my flowers are upset, grannie," said a little plaintive voice.
+"Every one!"
+
+"Pick them up, Willy; do not be so rough. Ah! look!"--for a third and
+very important personage now toddled into the room, having struggled
+down from his nurse's arms; and before any one could stop him, Baby Bob
+had trampled on Ella's flowers, so that scarcely one was fit to present
+to grannie.
+
+Quite unrepentant, and, indeed, unheeding of the cry--"Oh! Baby Bob!
+what are you doing?"--Baby Bob stumped up to grannie, and deposited in
+her lap a very much crushed and flattened crocus, saying--
+
+"Kiss me for it; it's for _you_."
+
+"You darling!" Lady Burnside said. "Thank you. The poor little flower
+is sadly squeezed; but it is a token of baby's love all the same."
+
+"Now, grannie," exclaimed Willy, "I want to hear about the cousin,
+because, you see, I never even thought about her till the other day,
+and I want to be ready--what do you call it?--_prepared_ for her."
+
+"After all, Willy," said a grave-eyed maiden of twelve, who was lying
+on a couch in the window, "it won't make much difference to _you_ what
+Irene is like. A rough and noisy boy like you can't expect a stranger to
+put up with him as _we_ do."
+
+"She's not a stranger," said Willy. "She is a _cousin_, and who knows?
+she may like me better than anybody. She may be a jolly girl, who isn't
+made of sugar and salt, like Ella!"
+
+"I am not made of sugar and salt," pleaded Ella, who had patiently
+gathered up her flowers, and was answering the call of their nurse to go
+with Baby Bob to take off his jacket and hat.
+
+"No, that's true," said Willy; "you are all salt and vinegar, no sugar.
+Now, grannie, as the little ones are cleared off at last, tell me about
+the cousin."
+
+But Lady Burnside said gravely, "Willy, I wish you would try to please
+me by being more considerate and gentle to your sisters."
+
+"Ella is so whiny piny! she is always saying '_Don't_', and 'You
+_shan't_!'"
+
+"Not always, Willy. Do you remember how ready she was to give up
+her turn to you to play draughts with Constance last evening? Do you
+remember how kindly she helped you to find those places in the map for
+Mr. Martyn?"
+
+"Yes, grannie," Willy said. "I will go and tell her I am sorry I
+have been so cross; but she _is_ provoking, and you don't know _how_
+provoking."
+
+"Well, making all allowance for that, I still think that you should
+never forget you are a boy and she is a little girl, and should for that
+very reason be gentle and forbearing, because it is a rule, which all
+noble-hearted people recognise, that the weak should be protected by the
+strong."
+
+Willy gave his grandmother a rather rough kiss, and said,--
+
+"I'll go and stroke Ella the right way, and _when_ I come back you
+_will_ tell me about the cousin."
+
+When Willy was gone, Constance laid down the book she had been reading,
+and said,--
+
+"I do not envy Irene Packingham coming here. Willy is an awful tease,
+and if she is a prim little thing, turned out by a boarding-school, she
+will have a bad time of it."
+
+"I think you are hard upon Willy, dear Constance," was the gentle reply.
+"He is a very high-spirited boy, very much like what your father was;
+and then Willy has the great disadvantage of having no brother near his
+own age."
+
+"I think," said Constance, "he ought to go to school. Mr. Martyn thinks
+so also, I know. It is such a pity mother is so set against schools."
+
+"There is a reason for it, and you must remember your mother's great
+grief."
+
+"Poor Arthur's dying at school, you mean; but he was a very delicate
+boy, and Willy is as strong as a horse. I wish I were strong--half as
+strong! Here I lie, week after week, and my back does not get a bit
+better. I had the old pain this morning when I just moved to take my
+work from the little table;" and Constance's eyes filled with tears.
+
+She was the eldest living child of Lady Burnside's eldest daughter, who
+had married a gentleman high in the Civil Service in India, and who had
+always lived there. As so often happens, the children could not bear
+the climate after a certain age, and they had been committed to their
+grandmother's care, who lived during the winter at San Remo, and of late
+years had not returned to England in the summer, but had spent the hot
+season in Switzerland.
+
+The first detachment of children had been Arthur and Constance, both
+very delicate. Arthur had been sent to school near London, and had died
+there, to the great grief of his father and mother. He had caught a
+chill after a game of cricket, and died before any of his relations
+could reach him. Although no one was really to blame, poor Mrs. Montague
+found it hard to think so, and she lived in perfect dread of sending
+Willy to school, although he was a robust, vigorous boy.
+
+The next detachment which came to be committed to Lady Burnside's care
+were little Ella and Baby Bob. Mrs. Montague had brought them to San
+Remo herself, now more than two years before this time, and with the
+help of Mrs. Crawley, the old and trusted nurse, who had lived with Lady
+Burnside for many years, their grandmother had been able to bear the
+burden of responsibility. Constance had lately complained of a pain in
+her back, and had been condemned to lie down on an invalid couch for
+the greater part of the day; but Willy and the baby were as healthy as
+could be desired, and Ella, although not strong, had seldom anything
+really amiss. She was a gentle, sensitive child, and apt to take a low
+view of herself and everybody else. But Lady Burnside did not encourage
+this, and while she held Willy in check, she was too wise to let Ella
+look upon herself as a martyr to her brother's teasing and boisterous
+mirth.
+
+Presently Constance said,--
+
+"Is Irene like Aunt Eva, I wonder?"
+
+"Not if I may judge by her photograph," Lady Burnside said.
+
+"Why did not Uncle Packingham let Irene live with you, grannie, as we
+do?"
+
+"Perhaps he thought I could hardly undertake another grandchild, and you
+know Irene has a second mother; and her home will be eventually with her
+and her little brothers when her father leaves the service."
+
+"And our home will be with father and mother one day," Constance said.
+"Not that I wish to leave you, dear grannie," Constance added. "Indeed,
+I often think I have the grandmotherly sort of feeling about mamma, and
+the motherly one about you!"
+
+Lady Burnside laughed.
+
+"Your mamma would be amused to hear that. I always think of her as so
+young and bright, and she and Aunt Eva were the light of my eyes."
+
+"I hope Irene will be nice," Constance said; "and then there is another
+girl coming. We forget that."
+
+"I do not forget it. I have been with Crawley this morning to look at
+the Villa Firenze; it is all in nice order for Mrs. Acheson, and there
+are two good Italian servants, besides Stefano and his wife, who,
+being an Englishwoman, understands the ways of the English thoroughly,
+especially of invalids, so I hope the travellers will be pleased when
+they arrive."
+
+"What is the girl's name? do you remember, grannie?"
+
+"Yes, her name is Dorothy. I saw her when she was a very little girl,
+and I remember she had beautiful silky hair; she was a pale, delicate
+child."
+
+"Dear me!" said Constance. "Every one seems to be delicate. Irene
+Packingham is coming because of a cough, and so is Mrs. Acheson, and
+really the only strong ones are the boys. I suppose Irene takes after
+Aunt Eva in being delicate?"
+
+"Yes; her father thought she would do well to escape the fogs of London,
+and have the advantage of the sunshine here; but I hope we shall send
+her back in the spring quite well."
+
+"_Take_ her back, grannie, say take her back, for I should so like to go
+to England."
+
+Lady Burnside shook her head. "I do not think I shall return to England
+next spring with the swallows. What a flight that is!" she said, looking
+out of the window, where a long line of birds could be seen flying
+across the blue sea.
+
+"Happy birds!" said Constance, wearily; "I wish I could fly with them!"
+
+Lady Burnside made no rejoinder to this, and sat knitting quietly by the
+wood fire, which was pleasant at sunset, when the chill is always great
+in southern countries. After half an hour's quiet, there were sounds of
+coming feet, and Baby Bob, in all the glory of a very short frock and
+wide sash, came in with a shout, which would have shaken the nerves of
+any one less accustomed to children than Lady Burnside.
+
+Behind him came Ella, with a little work-basket in her hand, with which
+she went up to Constance's couch, and seating herself there, took out
+her little bit of cross-stitch, and settled herself to work.
+
+Baby Bob took possession of his grandmother, and she had to go over
+one of his picture-books, and tell for the hundredth time the story of
+Mother Hubbard, which, illustrated with large coloured pictures, was
+Baby Bob's great favourite.
+
+He would ponder over the pictures with wondering interest, and wish that
+the dog had not cheated, and made believe to be dead, because no good
+people or dogs could cheat. Crawley said so, and Maria said so, and
+Willy said so, Willy being the great authority to which Baby Bob always
+referred in any difficulty.
+
+Willy was doing his work for Mr. Martyn in the study, and making up for
+lost time. This was his general habit. He would put off his lessons
+to the last moment, and then, as he said, "clear them all off in a
+twinkling."
+
+Willy was clever and quick at everything, but this way of getting over
+work is not really satisfactory. Time and thought are necessary to
+fasten what is learned on the mind, and what is gathered up in haste,
+or, rather, sown in haste, does not take deep root.
+
+That night, when Ella was getting ready for bed, she consulted Crawley
+about the new-comer.
+
+"How is it we know so little of the cousin, Crawley?"
+
+"Well, my dear, her papa married a lady who thinks schools and all that
+sort of thing necessary. At least, that's what your dear grandmamma has
+told me, and I daresay you'll find little Miss Packingham very forward
+with her books. So you must make haste and learn to read better. For you
+are getting on for eight years old."
+
+Ella sighed.
+
+"I _can_ read," she said, "and I can speak French and Italian; I daresay
+Irene can't do that."
+
+"Well, _that's_ nothing," said Crawley, "for I can talk French after my
+fashion, just because I have lived with my dear mistress out of England
+so long. But there's another little lady coming, you know. Her mamma
+knew your mamma. She used to be a pretty creature, and I daresay she's
+like her."
+
+"She mayn't be like her, for grannie says Irene isn't like Aunt Eva. I
+want to see her. I wish to-morrow would come."
+
+And Baby Bob murmured from his little bed in the corner, "Wish 'morrow
+would come."
+
+  [Illustration: Sleeping Baby]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+VILLA FIRENZE.
+
+
+To-morrow came, and brought with it the tired travellers, who arrived at
+San Remo, after a night journey from Marseilles, as Ingleby said, "more
+dead than alive."
+
+This was a figure of speech on Ingleby's part, but there is no doubt
+that the two sleepy, tired, way-worn children who were lifted out of
+the carriage which had been sent to the station to meet them gave very
+little sign of life or interest in what happened.
+
+Canon Percival, who took the management of everything, promptly ordered
+a bath and bed, and the kind English wife of Stefano showed every wish
+to be accommodating, and carried Dorothy herself to the room prepared
+for her and Irene.
+
+Two little beds stood there, with a white net cage let down over them.
+The children were too sleepy to notice them then, but when Dorothy
+opened her eyes, she was greatly amused to see that she was looking
+through fine net, like the net she had seen made for fruit in England
+to protect it from wasps.
+
+The western sun was lying across the garden before the villa when
+Dorothy felt it was time to get up. She called Irene, who answered at
+once,--
+
+"Yes! what do you want? Can I help you?"
+
+"I want to get up," said Dorothy, "but I can't get out of this white
+cage."
+
+"Oh yes, you can," said Irene, who drew a bit of narrow ribbon, which
+hung inside her own bed, and then the net curtain was lifted, and she
+said,--
+
+"Look! you have the same bit of ribbon; pull it!"
+
+Dorothy did as she was told, and, to her delight, the net was raised in
+a pretty festoon.
+
+"Isn't it funny?" she said; "what can the curtains be for? Are they just
+for prettiness?"
+
+"No, for use; they are mosquito curtains; and I remember some very like
+them in India."
+
+"What are mosquitoes?"
+
+"Little gnats, very, very thin and small, but they sting dreadfully,
+and especially at night, and make big bumps on your forehead, and the
+curtains shut them out. I should like to get up now," Irene said; "for
+I ought to go to grannie."
+
+"Oh, I don't want you to go to your grannie; you must stay with me."
+
+"I don't think that would do," Irene said, "for father wished me to live
+with grannie and the cousins."
+
+"I'm so sorry," Dorothy exclaimed, "for I know I shan't like the
+cousins. I think--I really do--you are the only playmate I ever cared
+for; not that we've _played_ together, but that's the word every one
+uses. Dr. Bell said I wanted playmates; and Ingleby says so; and Uncle
+Crannie says so; and so did that dreadful Mrs. Thompson. Ah! when I had
+my Nino, and Muff and Puff, I wanted nobody;" and Dorothy was beginning
+to cry, when Ingleby, hearing the children's voices, now came from
+another room, where she had begun unpacking, bearing in her arms a
+bundle of clean, fresh clothes for Dorothy.
+
+"Well, you have been asleep ever since eleven, and it is nearly four
+o'clock. You must want your dinner, I am sure; and then Miss Packingham
+is to go to her grandmamma's house. Your box was taken there, my dear,
+and so I cannot give you fresh things, but I must brush your frock and
+bend your hat straight."
+
+The children were ready in a few minutes, and presented a strong
+contrast, as usual.
+
+Dorothy was a little _too_ smart in her pale blue cashmere with grebe
+trimming, and it was hard to believe she had been in the train all
+night; for they had left Paris in the morning of the preceding day,
+and had reached San Remo at half-past ten. Irene, on the contrary,
+looked travel-worn, and she was a good deal more tired than Dorothy,
+who had slept off her fatigue and her sorrow for poor Nino's loss,
+and looked--so Ingleby said to herself--"as fresh as any daisy."
+
+When the two little girls reached the sitting-room, which, like Lady
+Burnside's, opened on a verandah, they heard voices outside, and
+presently a boy and a girl stepped into the room.
+
+Ella shrank back, but Willy, who never knew what shyness meant, said,--
+
+"Grannie said we might come and fetch Irene--she is to come home now, if
+she is ready."
+
+As Willy surveyed the two girls, he wondered which was his cousin. The
+thought passed through his mind, "I hope it is the pretty one!" and
+advancing, he said to Dorothy,--
+
+"Grannie has sent us to take you to the Villa Lucia; are you ready?"
+
+Ingleby, who was busy looking after the travelling basket, from which
+she was taking some of Dorothy's favourite biscuits, said,--
+
+"Your cousin, Miss Packingham, had better take her dinner before she
+goes with you; perhaps you will sit down with her and Miss Dorothy. Now,
+my dear," Ingleby continued, addressing Dorothy, "I hope you will be
+able to fancy something," as Stefano brought in a tray with coffee and
+crescent-shaped rolls, and a dainty omelette done to a turn by his wife.
+
+Willie now put his hand out to Irene, and said, in a tone in which there
+was a little ring of disappointment,--
+
+"Then _you_ are my cousin?"
+
+"Yes," Irene said, "and I am very glad to come and see you all--and
+grannie."
+
+"Do you remember her?" Willie asked.
+
+"Just a _very_ little, but she always writes me very kind letters, so I
+feel as if I remembered her."
+
+"Come, Ella, don't be so silly," Willy said, pushing his sister forward;
+"go and speak to Irene."
+
+Irene took Ella's hand, and then, at Ingleby's advice, they all sat down
+to their meal together.
+
+Two thick-edged white cups were brought by Stefano, and Willy and Ella
+enjoyed the good things more than the two tired travellers did.
+
+Irene could scarcely touch the omelette, and Dorothy, in spite of
+Ingleby's entreaties, only nibbled a quantity of her own biscuits, which
+were, as Ingleby said, "not fit to make a meal of." They were those
+little pink and white fluffy light balls, flavoured with vanilla and
+rose, a large tin of which had been bought in Paris, and were Dorothy's
+favourite food just then.
+
+They found favour with Willy, and he took a handful from the box several
+times. Dorothy did not approve of this, and said to Ingleby,--
+
+"Put the lid on the box, Jingle; there won't be any biscuits left."
+
+This was not very polite, and Willy shrugged his shoulders, and said to
+himself, "After all, I am glad she is _not_ my cousin."
+
+Irene was really thankful when Willy said it was time to go, for her
+head ached, and she was far more tired than Dorothy was.
+
+And now poor Dorothy began to cry, and say she did not want Irene to go
+away--that she must stay with her, and not go and live with that big boy
+who was so greedy.
+
+"Hush! hush! my dear," said Ingleby; "you must not forget yourself."
+
+"I don't mind," said Willy, good-temperedly; "she is only a baby, and is
+tired."
+
+"A baby!" sobbed Dorothy. "I am _not_ a baby, and I love Irene, and she
+is _not_ to go away with you."
+
+Ingleby was anxious to cut the parting short, and said to Irene, who was
+trying to comfort Dorothy,--
+
+"Make haste and have it over. She will forget it, and----"
+
+"I shan't forget Irene. You said I should forget Nino--dear, dear Nino.
+I don't forget him, and now--now I have lost him, I want Irene, I do!"
+
+"I shall see you very often," Irene said, kissing her; "don't begin to
+cry again."
+
+"Dear me!" Willy said, as they left the house; "she is worse than you,
+Ella. At first I thought her so pretty, and now I find she is only a
+little spoiled thing. However, we will soon teach her better, won't we,
+Ella?"
+
+Ella, who had possessed herself of Irene's hand, said,--
+
+"You must not be so rude to Dorothy as you are to me, Willy, or you will
+make her cry."
+
+"No, I'll cure her of crying. But here we are. This is Villa Lucia."
+
+Irene followed Willy into the house, and very soon Irene felt she was no
+longer lonely--a stranger in a strange land.
+
+Irene had not seen her grannie for some years, and, with the instinct of
+childhood, she had discovered, without being told, that her father did
+not care much for her grannie. He rarely mentioned her, and, indeed, he
+always called her step-mother's mother "grannie" when he had occasion to
+write of her.
+
+Till Irene had seen Lady Burnside she felt no difference between them.
+Mrs. Roscoe was a very grand, fashionable lady, who had called on her at
+Mrs. Baker's sometimes, and sent her large boxes of chocolate and French
+sweets.
+
+But _that_ did not make Irene feel as if she belonged to her; and now,
+when the gentle lady by the fire rose to greet her and folded her in a
+warm embrace, Irene felt a strange choking sensation in her throat, and
+when she looked up at her grannie she saw tears were on her cheeks.
+
+"I feel as if I had come home," she said, simply, "and it _is_ so nice."
+
+Happily for every one, a loud voice was heard at the door--"Let me in!
+let me in!" And when Ella ran to open it, there was Baby Bob, who came
+trotting across the room to Lady Burnside, and said,--
+
+"I want the cousin; is that the cousin?"
+
+"Yes. Go and give her a kiss, and say you are glad to see her."
+
+But Baby Bob sidled back towards his grannie, and suddenly oppressed
+with the solemnity of the occasion, hid his round, rosy face in her
+gown, and beat a tattoo with his fat legs by way of expressing his
+welcome, in a manner, it must be said, peculiar to himself.
+
+  [Illustration: Mountain Scene]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+DOROTHY'S LESSONS.
+
+
+Every child who reads my story must have felt how quickly strange things
+begin to grow familiar, and before we are reconciled to what is new it
+becomes almost old.
+
+So it was with Dorothy, and in a less degree with Irene.
+
+It was New Year's Day, and Dorothy was seated at the table in the
+schoolroom at Villa Lucia, writing to her uncle Cranstone.
+
+She wrote a very nice round hand, between lines, thanks to the patient
+teaching which Irene bestowed on her. To be sure, the thin foreign paper
+was rather a trial, as the pen was so apt to stick when a thin up-stroke
+followed a firm down-stroke; but still the letter, when finished, was a
+very creditable performance to both mistress and pupil.
+
+Lady Burnside had wisely decreed that Irene should have no lessons while
+she was at San Remo, for she was very forward for her age, having gone
+through the regular routine of school, and writing at ten years old
+almost a formed hand, while Dorothy had only _printed_ words when Irene
+took her up as a pupil.
+
+"It will be a nice occupation for Irene to help Dorothy with her
+lessons," Lady Burnside said; and Dorothy felt the importance of going
+to school when, every morning at ten o'clock, she was escorted by
+Ingleby to the Villa Lucia, and joined the party in the schoolroom.
+
+Dorothy had a great deal to learn besides reading and writing and
+arithmetic, and as she had never had any one to give up to, she found
+that part of her daily lessons rather hard.
+
+Baby Bob, in whom Irene delighted, tried Dorothy's patience sorely, and,
+indeed, he was a young person who required to be repressed.
+
+Dorothy had just finished her letter to her uncle, and with aching
+fingers had written her name at the bottom of the second sheet, when
+Baby Bob appeared, followed by Ella.
+
+"We are to have a holiday, because it is New Year's Day, and go on
+donkeys to La Colla."
+
+"Yes," said Willy; "I have been to order Marietta's donkeys--the big
+brown one for me, the little white one for Dorothy, the little grey one
+for Ella, and the old spotted one for Irene. It's such fun going to La
+Colla, and we'll put Ingleby and Crawley on as we come down, and----"
+
+But Willy was interrupted by a cry from Dorothy--
+
+"He's got my letter! Oh, my letter!" and a smart slap was administered
+to Baby Bob, who, I am sorry to say, clenched his fat fist, and hit
+Dorothy in the mouth.
+
+"Put the letter down at once, you naughty child!" Crawley said. "How
+dare you touch Miss Dorothy?"
+
+The letter was with difficulty rescued from Baby Bob, in a sadly
+crumpled condition, and Irene smoothed the sheet with her hand and put
+it into a fresh envelope.
+
+
+  [Illustration: THE DONKEY EXPEDITION TO LA COLLA.]
+
+
+"I was only going to the post," Baby Bob said. "Grannie lets me drop her
+letters in the post, o' course."
+
+"Well, wait till you are asked another time, Bob; then you won't get
+into trouble; but I don't think you deserved the hard slap," Ella said.
+
+Dorothy, who was still crying and holding her apron up to her mouth, now
+drew herself up and said, "I shall go home to mother, I shall. I shan't
+stay here, to be ill-treated. Mother says Bob is the naughtiest spoiled
+boy _she_ ever knew."
+
+"She has known a girl as much spoiled, anyhow," said Willy.
+
+"Come, Dorothy, forget and forgive," said Irene; "and let us go and get
+ready for our donkey ride."
+
+"I shan't go," persisted Dorothy; "I don't want to go; and just look!"
+
+There was undoubtedly a tiny crimson spot on Dorothy's apron, and she
+began to sob again at the sight, and say she must go home that minute to
+Ingleby.
+
+"Go along, then," said Willy, roughly; "we don't want a cry-baby with
+us. Look at Bob; he has quite forgotten the thump you gave him, and
+wants to kiss you."
+
+I am sorry to say Dorothy turned a very unwilling cheek towards Baby
+Bob, who said--
+
+"I'll never take _your_ letter no more, Dolly."
+
+Dorothy had, as we know, several nicknames from her uncle, but she had a
+particular aversion to that of "Dolly," and just touching Baby Bob with
+her lips, she said, "I hate to be called Dolly."
+
+"Well," Willy said, "here come the donkeys, and Marietta and Francesco,
+and no one is ready. Come, make haste, girls."
+
+"Come, Dorothy," Irene said, "let me put on your skirt." For the
+children had each a neat little blue serge skirt which they wore for
+their donkey expeditions. "Come, Dorothy," Irene pleaded. But Dorothy
+said she should stay with Lady Burnside till Ingleby came for her.
+
+"You can't stay with grannie--she is very _busy_ with _business_; and
+Constance has one of her headaches, and is in bed."
+
+"Then I'll wait here till Jingle comes."
+
+There was a wonderful amount of obstinacy expressed in that pretty, fair
+little face; and then Crawley came in to say the donkeys must not be
+kept waiting. Irene, finding it useless to say more, went to get ready,
+as Ella had already done, and left Dorothy in the sitting-room playing a
+tattoo on the window as she curled herself up in a circular straw chair.
+
+Ella made one more attempt when she was dressed for the ride.
+
+"_Do_ come, Dorothy dear. We have got three baskets full of nice things
+to eat at La Colla, and the sun is so bright, and----"
+
+"Go away," said Dorothy; adding, "Good-bye; I hope you'll enjoy jogging
+down over those hard rough stones on the donkeys."
+
+A little girl, the daughter of a friend of Lady Burnside, came with her
+brother to join the party, and Dorothy watched them all setting off,
+Crawley holding Bob before her on the sturdy old brown donkey; Willy
+and Jack Meredith riding off with Francesco running at their heels, with
+his bare brown feet and bright scarlet cap; then Ella and Irene under
+Marietta's guidance; Ella looking back and kissing her hand to as much
+as she could see of Dorothy's hair, as she sat by the window under the
+verandah.
+
+Then Dorothy was alone; it was no punishment to her, and she fell into
+one of her old meditations.
+
+The chirp and twitter of swallows were heard, for, as we know, Dorothy
+had taken flight from England with them. And as one perched for a moment
+on the big aloe which grew just outside the verandah, Dorothy said, "I
+wonder if that's my old mother swallow; it looks just like her."
+
+Presently another joined her, and the two twittered, and chirped, and
+wagged their restless forked tails, and turned their little heads from
+side to side, and then darted off in the warm sunshine. Glancing at the
+little timepiece which stood on the table, Dorothy saw it was not yet
+eleven, and Ingleby never came till twelve o'clock.
+
+After all it was rather dull, and there was no need for her to wait for
+Ingleby, who often did not come till half-past twelve. A little more
+meditation, and then Dorothy uncurled herself and put down her legs
+slowly, first one, then the other, and then, with something very like a
+yawn, which ended in "Oh, dear!" her eyes fell on the letter which had
+been put into the envelope by Irene. It had a stamp on it, but was not
+addressed.
+
+So Dorothy thought she would address it herself, and taking the pen,
+made a great blot to begin with, which was not ornamental; then she
+made a very wide C, which quite overshadowed the "anon" for "Canon."
+"Percival" would by no means allow itself to be put on the same line,
+and had to go beneath it. As to "Coldchester," it was so cramped up in
+the corner that it was hardly legible, but imitating a letter which
+she had seen Mr. Martyn address one day, she made up for it by a big
+"England" at the top. The envelope was not fastened down, and Dorothy
+remembered Irene said she had seen some dear little "Happy New Year"
+cards at a shop in the street, and that she would ask Ingleby to take
+her with Dorothy to buy one, and put it in the letter before it was
+posted.
+
+"I'll go and get a card," Dorothy thought, "and post my own letter, and
+then come back, or go home to mother. I'll go and get ready directly."
+
+As it happened, Dorothy's hat and pretty velvet jacket, trimmed with
+lovely soft fur, were kept in a little closet, with a window in it,
+behind the schoolroom. They were put there when she came to the Villa
+Lucia every morning by Ingleby, who never failed to send her in to see
+Lady Burnside, drawing secret comparisons between the appearance of her
+darling and that of Miss Packingham or little Miss Ella Montague.
+
+Dorothy had some difficulty in getting herself into her jacket, and her
+hair notched into the elastic of her hat, which, springing back, caught
+her in the eyes, and made them water. Then, when she thought she was
+ready, she remembered she had not taken off the apron which was stained
+with the little crimson spot. A little rim of white showed under the
+jacket between the fur and the edge of her frock, but she pushed it up
+under the band, and then went softly down the hall to the glass door,
+and lifting the _portiere_, or thick curtain, which hung over the outer
+door, she found herself in the road. For the Villa Lucia did not open
+into the garden which lay between the Villa and sloping ground and the
+blue sea, but from the back, into a road which led towards the old town
+of San Remo.
+
+Dorothy held the letter firmly in her hand, and walked on with some
+dignity. It was rather nice to go to the post by herself, and she
+measured the distance in her own mind, as she had often been there
+with Ingleby and Crawley.
+
+The shop where the New Year's cards were sold was near the post-office,
+and she had two shillings in her little leather purse at the bottom of
+her pocket.
+
+Several Italian women, carrying heavy burdens on their heads, passed her
+and smiled, and said in a pleasant voice, "Buon gionno!" and one young
+woman, with a patient baby tightly swathed and fastened to her back,
+called out,--
+
+"Ah, la piccola bella!"
+
+Somehow Dorothy was so lost in meditation upon herself and her own
+cleverness in finding the way to the post, that she missed the first
+turning which would have led her down to the English part of the town.
+She took the next, but that brought her out beyond the shops and the
+post-office.
+
+She did not at first notice this, and when she found she was much
+farther from home than she expected, she began to run, but still she did
+not get any nearer the shops and the post-office. Now the street of the
+English part of San Remo runs almost parallel with the sea, and there
+are several narrow lanes between the houses, which lead down to the
+quay, where all the boats sail from the pier, and where a great many
+women are mending the holes in the brown nets.
+
+There are streets also leading up to the old town--that quaint old town,
+which was built on the steep sides of the hill, long, long before any
+English people thought of erecting their new houses and villas below
+it.
+
+The streets of the old town are so steep that they are climbed by steps,
+or rather ridges, of pavement, which are set at rather long intervals.
+These streets are very narrow, and there are arches across them, like
+little bridges, from one house to another.
+
+The houses in old Italian towns were built with these arches or little
+bridges because they formed a support to the tall houses, which were
+sometimes shaken by earthquakes.
+
+Now it happened that as Dorothy was wondering how it could be that she
+had missed the post-office, she caught sight of a little white fluffy
+dog, with brown ears, running up towards the opening of one of these
+narrow streets.
+
+"My Nino! my Nino!" she exclaimed. "It must be Nino." She did not stop
+to consider that Nino would have answered her call, if, indeed, it had
+been he. She did not stop to consider that he was old, and could never
+have run so fast uphill as this little dog could run. She turned out
+of the broad street into one of the narrow ones, and chased the little
+white dog till she was out of breath.
+
+There were not many people about, and no one took much notice of her;
+and she never stopped till she found herself in the market square of the
+old town, where, out of breath and exhausted, she sat down on a flight
+of steps, hopeless of catching the dog, who had now quite disappeared.
+
+An old and dirty-looking church was before her, and several peasant
+women, with their baskets on their heads, were passing in and out. Red
+and yellow handkerchiefs were bound round their dark hair, and some of
+them wore pretty beads round their necks. One or two stopped to look at
+Dorothy, and talked and made signs to her; but she could not understand
+what they said, and they smiled at her and passed on. The streets
+leading up from the market square looked very dim and very steep, and
+Dorothy began to feel lonely and frightened, especially when an old
+woman, who might have been a hundred years old, so wrinkled was her face
+and so bowed her back, stopped before her as she sat on the steps, and
+began to mumble, and make grimaces, and open her mouth, where no teeth
+were to be seen, and point at Dorothy with her lean, bony, brown
+fingers.
+
+Dorothy got up and began to run down towards the town again as quickly
+as she had come up, when, alas! her foot caught against the corner of a
+rough stone step before one of the tall houses, and she fell with some
+violence on the uneven, rugged pavement, hitting her head a sharp blow.
+
+Poor little Dorothy! Getting her own way, and doing exactly as she
+wished, had brought her now a heavy punishment. While Ella and Willy and
+Baby Bob, with their two little friends, were enjoying the contents of
+the luncheon basket at La Colla, Dorothy was lying all alone amongst
+strangers in the old town of San Remo!
+
+  [Illustration: Swallow and Butterfly]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+LOST.
+
+
+Ingleby arrived at the Villa Lucia at the usual time, and went, as was
+her custom, to the schoolroom door, and knocked.
+
+She was generally answered by a rush to the door by Ella and Dorothy,
+and a cry of--
+
+"Grannie says she is to stay to luncheon to-day," or, "Don't take her
+away yet."
+
+But to-day silence reigned, and when Ingleby looked in, the schoolroom
+was empty.
+
+She turned away, and met the maid who waited on Constance with a tray in
+her hand and a cup of cocoa, which she was taking upstairs.
+
+"Where is Miss Dorothy, and where are the children?"
+
+"All gone out on donkeys to Colla," was the answer. "Her ladyship was
+glad to get the house quiet, for Miss Constance has had a very bad
+night."
+
+"Talk of bad nights!" exclaimed Ingleby; "my mistress has done nothing
+but cough since four o'clock this morning. Well, I hope Miss Dorothy was
+well wrapped up, for the wind is cold enough out of the sun, though
+Stefano is angry if I say so. I wish we were back in England. I know,
+what with the nasty wood fires, and the 'squitoes, and the draughts,
+and----"
+
+Ingleby was interrupted here by Lady Burnside, who came out of the
+drawing-room.
+
+"Good-morning, Ingleby; how is Mrs. Acheson?"
+
+"But very poorly, my lady; she has had a bad night."
+
+"Ah! that is why you have not gone to Colla with the party. But I am
+sure Crawley will take care of Miss Dorothy, and Miss Irene is quite to
+be trusted."
+
+"I knew nothing of the party going to Colla, my lady. I hope it is not
+one of those break-neck roads, like going up the side of a house."
+
+"It is very steep in some parts, but the donkeys are well used to
+climbing. Give my love to Mrs. Acheson, and say I will come and see
+her to-morrow."
+
+Ingleby walked back rather sadly. She wished she had known of the
+expedition, for there was safety for her darling when she could walk
+behind the donkey going uphill, and by its head coming down again. What
+did it matter that the fatigue was great, and that she panted for breath
+as she tried to keep up? She held Dorothy's safety before her own, and
+all personal fatigue was as nothing to secure that.
+
+If any little girls who read this story have kind, faithful nurses like
+Ingleby, I hope they will never forget to be grateful to them for their
+patience and kindness in their childish days when childhood has passed
+away, and they no longer need their watchful care. Ingleby's love was
+not, perhaps, wise love, but it was very true and real, and had very
+deep roots in the attachment she felt for her mistress, whom she had
+served so faithfully for many years.
+
+Between Stefano and Ingleby no great friendship subsisted, and when she
+returned alone from the Villa Lucia, he said,--
+
+"Where's the little signora, then?"
+
+"Where? you may well ask! gone up one of those steep mountains to Colla
+on a donkey."
+
+"_Si!_ well, and why not?"
+
+"Why not? Because it is very dangerous, and I think fellows who take
+other people's children from them ought at least to give notice of it."
+
+"_Si!_ well," was Stefano's rejoinder, "that's a fine ride up to Colla,
+and there are more books there than there are days in the year, and
+pictures, and----"
+
+"Come now, Stefano," his wife called, "it is time to stop thy talking,
+and to get the luncheon ready. Gone to Colla, do you say, Mrs. Ingleby?--a
+very pretty excursion; and there, high up in the heart of the hills, is
+a wonderful library of books, and many fine pictures, collected by a
+good priest, who starved himself to buy them and store them there."
+
+But Ingleby was not to be interested in any details of the library at
+Colla, which is visited with so much delight by many who spend a winter
+at San Remo. She was anxious about Dorothy, and Stefano said,--
+
+"It will be wonderful if they are home before sunset."
+
+"Home before sunset!" exclaimed poor Ingleby; "well, I should think Mrs.
+Crawley will have sense enough for _that_, though I don't think much of
+her wisdom, spoiling that baby of three years old as she does."
+
+Stefano chuckled.
+
+"Ah, _si!_ but others are spoiled, as well as _Bambino Bobbo_."
+
+Ingleby had now to go to Mrs. Acheson, and tell her that Dorothy was not
+coming home to luncheon.
+
+As this often happened when she stayed at Lady Burnside's, Mrs. Acheson
+was not anxious. Ingleby kept back the expedition to Colla, and Mrs.
+Acheson asked no questions then.
+
+But as the afternoon wore on, and Dorothy did not return, escorted as
+usual by Willy and Irene Packingham, Mrs. Acheson told Ingleby she had
+better go to Lady Burnside and bring Dorothy home with her.
+
+"I have not seen the child to-day," she said, "except when I was half
+asleep, when she came to wish me a 'Happy New Year!' And this present
+has arrived for her from her uncle at Coldchester. Look, Ingleby; is
+it not sweet? I could not resist peeping into the box. Won't she be
+delighted!"
+
+The box contained two little figures like dormice, with long tails and
+bright eyes, in a cosy nest. The head of each little mouse opened, and
+then inside one was the prettiest little scent-bottle you can imagine,
+and inside the other a pair of scissors, with silver handles, and a tiny
+thimble on a little crimson velvet cushion.
+
+How Ingleby wished Dorothy Dormouse, whose name was written on the
+card tied to the box, was there, I cannot tell you; but how little
+did Ingleby or any one else guess _where_ she was at that moment!
+
+Ingleby put off going to the Villa Lucia till the last moment, and
+arrived at the gate just as the donkeys came merrily along the road.
+
+Francesco could not resist the delight of sending them all at full trot
+for the last quarter of a mile, and Crawley, grasping Baby Bob tightly
+with one arm, and with her other hand holding the pommel of the saddle,
+jogged up and down like any heavy dragoon soldier; while Irene, and
+Willy, and Ella, and the Merediths came on urging their tired steeds,
+and asking Crawley if it was not "jolly to canter," while poor Crawley,
+breathless and angry gasped out that she had a dreadful stitch in her
+side, and that she would never mount a donkey again.
+
+Marietta came on behind, with the ends of her scarlet handkerchief
+on her head flapping in the wind, and though apparently not hurrying
+herself, she took such strides with her large, heavily-shod feet, that
+she was soon at the gate.
+
+There was the usual bustle of dismounting, and some scolding from
+Crawley, and a few sharp raps administered by Marietta to Francesco for
+making the donkeys canter; while poor Ingleby's excited questions were
+not even noticed.
+
+"Miss Dorothy--where is Miss Dorothy?--do you hear me, Miss Packingham?--do
+you hear me, Master Willy?--speak, won't you?--has she fallen off one of
+these brutes?--is she--is she--Master Willy--Miss Ella--Miss Irene!"
+
+Then Ella turned from giving a parting pat to her donkey, and seeing
+Ingleby's distressed face, said,--
+
+"Dorothy did not come with us; she is not hurt?"
+
+"Oh, Miss Ella, Miss Ella!" exclaimed poor Ingleby, holding up her hands
+and sinking back against the wall. "Oh, Miss Ella, Miss Ella! oh, Miss
+Irene!"
+
+"Why, what is the matter, Mrs. Ingleby?" said Crawley, who had set down
+Baby Bob to toddle into the house, and was settling the payment for the
+donkeys with Marietta. "Why, you look like a ghost."
+
+"Miss Dorothy! Miss Dorothy! Where can she be?"
+
+"Well, she is safe enough, isn't she?"
+
+"No," said Ingleby; "she is gone! she is lost! she is lost!--and oh,
+what will become of me?"
+
+"_Lost!_" the children all repeated; "she can't be lost."
+
+And then they all ran into the house, and Lady Burnside, who was sitting
+with Constance in the room upstairs came hurriedly down.
+
+"What do you say?--little Dorothy has not been with you to Colla? She
+must have gone home, then."
+
+"No, no, my lady," Ingleby said. "No, no; I have been waiting for her
+there till ten minutes ago. She is lost--lost--and oh! I wish we had
+never, never come to these foreign places; and the mistress so ill!"
+
+Lady Burnside was indeed greatly distressed, but she took immediate
+action. She sent Willy to fetch Stefano, anxious that Mrs. Acheson
+should not be alarmed and she despatched him at once to the Bureau of
+Police, and told him to describe Dorothy, and to tell every one that she
+was missing.
+
+Ingleby tried to follow them, but her legs trembled, and she sat down on
+a bench in the hall and burst into tears.
+
+And this was the trouble which little Dorothy's self-will had brought
+upon every one; this was the end of her determination to do as _she_
+liked best, without thinking what it was right and best to do, and what
+other people liked best--a sad end to a day that might have been so
+happy; a hard lesson for her to learn!
+
+  [Illustration: Swallows]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+IN THE SHADOWS.
+
+
+At first Dorothy was scarcely conscious of what had happened to her, and
+when she really recovered herself she found she was in a dark, low room,
+where she could hardly see.
+
+There was a great chatter going on around her, of which she could not
+make out a word. As her eyes got accustomed to the dim light, she saw
+the figures of two women, a boy, and an old crone sitting by a wood fire.
+The room seemed very full, and was very hot; a smell of smoke, and dried
+fish, and of tar, made Dorothy gasp for breath. She was lying on what
+seemed to her a wooden shelf, but was in reality a bed, and she felt
+something cold on her head. She put up her hand, and found her forehead
+was bandaged with a wet cloth.
+
+"I want to go home," she said, struggling to get down from the bed; but
+she was seized by a pair of strong arms, and a great many words were
+addressed to her as she was almost forced again to lie down.
+
+But Dorothy now began to cry and scream, and presently the narrow
+doorway was filled with inquiring faces, and the strife of tongues
+became more and more loud and noisy.
+
+Not one word could Dorothy understand, except, perhaps, "signorina,"
+with which she had become familiar, and a few words which she had caught
+up from Stefano.
+
+The brown hands which held her down were firm, if gentle, and, though
+she fought and struggled, she could not regain her feet. Presently she
+felt something warm trickling down her cheek, and then there were fresh
+exclamations, and Dorothy, putting up her finger, saw it was stained
+with crimson blood.
+
+She gave herself up for lost, poor little girl, and began to sob and cry
+most bitterly; then, to her surprise, the pair of strong arms lifted
+her gently from the bed, and carried her to the smoking embers on the
+hearth; and, looking up, she saw a kindly face bending over her, and
+she was rocked gently to and fro, just as Ingleby had often rocked her
+by the nursery fire at Coldchester. More wet bandages were put to her
+forehead, and the boy, drawing near, touched the long, silky hair, and
+said,--
+
+"Bella, e bella."
+
+"Oh! do let me go home--take me home--please--please----"
+
+But no one knew what she said, and the woman only began to sing as
+she rocked, in the soft Italian language, while the rest talked and
+chattered, and raised their hands in wonder, and gazed down at the child
+with their large dark eyes; and if Dorothy could have understood them,
+she would have known they only intended to be kind.
+
+To be sure, they told Giulia that the little signorina must belong to
+rich English, and she would get a reward; and that she ought to go down
+to the town and inquire at the hotels and the villas.
+
+A good deal passed through Dorothy's mind as she lay in the arms of the
+rough though kindly Italian woman. How long ago it seemed since the
+morning, since she had been angry with Baby Bob, and had refused to go
+to Colla. Oh, how she wished she had gone now. How she longed to say she
+was sorry, to kiss Baby Bob, to throw her arms round Irene, and to tell
+mother she would never, never be naughty again! Convulsive sobs shook
+her, and she clung to the kind woman's neck, praying and entreating to
+be taken home.
+
+But where _was_ home? No one knew, and no one could understand her; and
+at last, worn out with crying, Dorothy fell fast asleep.
+
+Neighbours came in and out, and looked curiously at the little
+golden-haired signorina, whose head seemed to make a spot of light in
+the dark dwelling.
+
+"They will miss her, and search for her," the neighbours said, "and then
+you will get a reward, Giulia. She is like an angel with the light round
+her head in the window in the church."
+
+"She is like a sorrowful little lost kid bleating for its mother," said
+Giulia.
+
+So the hours went on, and the sunset gleamed from behind the old church,
+and brightened the grey walls of the houses in the square, and made the
+windows glitter and shine like stars.
+
+
+  [Illustration: "DOROTHY FELL FAST ASLEEP."]
+
+
+But Dorothy did not wake, and still Giulia sat patiently with her in her
+strong brown arms, and crooned over her the words of a hush-a-bye with
+which the dark-eyed boy, who stood notching a stick by the open
+fireplace, had been lulled to sleep in his turn--
+
+  "Ninni, ninni, nanna,
+   Allegrezza di la mamma!
+   Addormentati, addormentati,
+               Oh, mia bella!"
+
+This answered to the "Hush-a-bye, baby," which we all know, and really
+meant--
+
+  "Joy of thy mother, sleep, sleep!
+   My pretty one, sleep."
+
+The sunset faded from the sky, and the smouldering wood ashes and embers
+on the hearth now shone with only a dim red eye in the middle; and still
+Dorothy slept, and still Giulia swayed her body to and fro, and sang on
+in a low, soft voice.
+
+It was really very kind of Giulia, for a heap of brown net and a ball of
+stout twine, into which a huge bone netting-needle was thrust, lay by
+the rough wooden bench near the small window. And Giulia did very much
+want to finish that net, and send her boy down to the quay with it to
+the master fisherman who had given her the order to make it.
+
+But Giulia could not find it in her kind, motherly heart to risk waking
+the child by laying her down on the bed again, and she dreaded to hear
+the cries in the English tongue, which she could not understand, and so
+could not heed.
+
+It was nearly dark when at last Dorothy opened her eyes and sat up,
+with a prolonged yawn. The sleep had refreshed her, and she had been so
+quieted by it, that she did not resist or cry when Giulia put her down
+on a low wooden stool; and throwing another bit of wood on the fire,
+a flame leaped up, which was pleasant and cheerful, and made the red
+petticoat which the old crone by the fire wore look bright and warm.
+
+Then Giulia lighted a small lamp, which was hung to a hook on the
+ceiling, and putting a big iron pipkin on the fire, began to prepare
+some broth for the little signorina.
+
+Dorothy watched her as if she were still dreaming, and saw how the big
+gold earrings bobbed up and down, and wondered why Giulia had such a
+very wide waist, and why any one who had such a shabby petticoat should
+wear earrings, and have shining gold pins in the handkerchief which was
+bound round her head.
+
+Dorothy did not like the smell of the soup at all, and when Giulia
+crumbled into it some dark bread, and finally offered it to her, with a
+large wooden spoon, she turned away in disgust.
+
+But Giulia persisted, and Dorothy, having tasted nothing since
+breakfast, was really hungry, and swallowed a few spoonfuls.
+
+An orange which a neighbour brought in hanging on the bough, with its
+dark green leaves, was much more tempting, and when she took it from
+the woman who offered it to her, she said, "Grazia"--she knew that meant
+"Thank you"--for Francesco always said "Grazia" when he took the little
+copper pieces of money, which seemed so many, and were worth so little,
+from her hand or Irene's when they had dismounted from the donkeys.
+
+Presently a familiar voice at the door made Dorothy stop eating the
+orange, and she turned her eye anxiously towards the new-comer.
+
+It was Francesco himself, who began to tell what grief there was in
+Villa Firenze, and how a little signorina was lost, and he held up a
+crumpled wisp of paper, and said he had picked it up in the market
+square.
+
+"Oh! it is mine, it is mine, Francesco. Don't you know me, Francesco?
+It is my letter to Uncle Crannie. Francesco! Francesco!"
+
+The boy began a series of jumps of joy and springs of delight, and
+clapped his hands.
+
+"Trovata! trovata!--e la piccola signorina" ("Found! found! the little
+lady is found"), he said.
+
+"Let me go with him! he knows where I live. Oh, tell them--tell them to
+let me go with you!"
+
+A voluble stream of Italian was poured forth by every one, which Dorothy
+could not understand; but Giulia got Dorothy's hat, and the white scarf,
+and the pretty velvet jacket, and then she was dressed--not without many
+expressions of profound admiration for the soft white feather and the
+velvet--and made ready to start with Francesco. Not alone. No; Giulia
+was not going to trust her to the donkey-boy without her, and Francesco
+made a funny face and showed his white teeth between his bright red
+lips, and whispered in Dorothy's ear the one English word he perfectly
+understood--
+
+"Money! money! she get money for the signorina--ah! ah! ah!"
+
+I will not say that there was no thought in Giulia's mind that the
+mother whom Francesco had described as crying bitterly for her lost
+treasure might not add some silver coins to her stock kept in the old
+stone pipkin in the cupboard--a store which Giulia liked to see grow,
+because, when her Anton was big and strong, she would pay it to the good
+master fisherman who employed her to make and mend his nets, and had
+often said her dark-eyed Anton was born to be a sailor.
+
+Dorothy felt strangely dizzy and bewildered when she began to walk,
+and though she held fast to Giulia's strong hand on one side, and to
+Francesco's on the other, she tottered and tumbled about from side to
+side, and was not sorry when Giulia took her up in her arms and carried
+her with swift, firm steps down into the wide street of San Remo.
+
+It would have been quite dark now if it had not been for the light of a
+crescent moon, which hung like a silver bow over the sea. Just as they
+reached the upper road the doctor who attended Mrs. Acheson passed them
+quickly. He turned as he passed the group, and recognised Francesco, who
+was a little in advance of Giulia and her burden.
+
+"Hi! Francesco," he said; "has anything been heard of the little lady?"
+
+"Oh, Dr. Forman! Oh, Dr. Forman!" exclaimed Dorothy.
+
+"Why, here is the lost lamb," said the doctor. He had a little girl
+of his own, and he was as delighted as possible that Dorothy was safe.
+"Why, Dorothy," he said, "your poor mamma has been made quite ill with
+fright; and your nurse, and Willy Montague, and that nice little friend
+of yours, have been hunting for you high and low. Where have you been?"
+
+But Dorothy was sobbing too much to speak, and Giulia told Dr. Forman,
+who understood Italian as well as his own language, the story of
+Dorothy's fall, the cut on her forehead, and how she had taken her into
+her house and done all she could for her.
+
+"Well, bring her home," the doctor said; "and, Francesco, run off and
+try to find the searching party; they must be worn out."
+
+"Please, Dr. Forman," Dorothy gasped, "this woman has been very, very
+kind to me." Then she lifted her little hand, and stroking Giulia's
+face, said,--
+
+"Grazia, grazia."
+
+"The little angel!" Giulia said. "She is just an angel, and I am glad I
+found her; that I am."
+
+In another five minutes the doctor and Giulia, carrying her burden,
+arrived at the gate of the Villa Firenze. A group was collected there,
+for, as we all know, when we are waiting for anyone about whose coming
+we are anxious, we always go out to watch, and hope that every minute
+they will arrive. They don't come any the quicker for this, but it is a
+comfort in some unexplained way.
+
+"Let me take her to her mother," Giulia said to Dr. Forman; and he could
+not refuse. So he led the way to the drawing-room, opening the door
+gently, and standing for a moment behind the screen which protected the
+room from the draught of the door.
+
+Lady Burnside, who had been with Mrs. Acheson all the afternoon, rose to
+see who was coming.
+
+Oh! what a relief it was to hear Dr. Forman saying,--
+
+"The child is safe; here she is;" and then Giulia strode in, and
+kneeling down by the sofa where poor Mrs. Acheson lay, she put Dorothy
+into her arms.
+
+You may be very sure that Giulia's store of coins in the pipkin was
+increased, and that the delicate English lady put her arm round the
+Italian one's neck and kissed her, saying the pretty word by which
+Dorothy had won her heart--
+
+"Grazia, grazia."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+WHAT FOLLOWED.
+
+
+The consequences of self-will do not always pass away as quickly as we
+hope and expect. Sometimes we have to suffer by seeing the suffering of
+others, and feel bitterly that we have caused it. I do not think any
+pain is more keen than that sorrow which is caused by seeing the pain we
+have given those we love.
+
+Lady Burnside had been afraid on the first evening of Dorothy's return
+that, in the rapturous joy of poor Ingleby and the general delight of
+every one, Dorothy might be brought to think lightly of the fault which
+had caused so much trouble.
+
+Seated in a low chair, her hand in her mother's, and the other children
+gathered round her, while Ingleby stood feasting her eyes upon her
+darling, Dorothy became something of a heroine; and no one, in the first
+joy of receiving her safe and sound, could find it in their hearts to
+reprove her for what had passed.
+
+Lady Burnside felt that it was not for her to speak seriously to Dorothy;
+and yet, when she saw her carried away to bed by Ingleby, with her
+uncle's present clasped in her arms, and heard her say, "I feel _quite_
+like Dorothy Dormouse now," she did long to say more than Mrs. Acheson
+did--"Dorothy will never run away by herself again and frighten poor
+mother."
+
+As it proved, the fright and long watching had a very serious effect on
+Mrs. Acheson. The next day Dr. Forman ordered her to keep in bed; and
+her cough increased so much that for some days there was great anxiety
+about her. Dorothy was so accustomed to see her mother ill that it
+did not strike her as anything unusual; but one morning, when she was
+starting gaily for the Villa Lucia, Ingleby called to Stefano from the
+top of the stairs that he must take Miss Dorothy, for she could not
+leave her mistress.
+
+"I can go alone," Dorothy said; for neither Stefano nor his wife were
+very great favourites of hers.
+
+"No, no," Stefano said; "the little signorina is not to be trusted;" and
+taking her hand in his, he prepared to lead her along the sunny road to
+the Villa Lucia.
+
+But Dorothy snatched away her hand, and said, "You should not speak like
+_that_ to me."
+
+"Ah," Stefano said, "someone must speak, someone must speak at times to
+little signorinas who give pain and trouble."
+
+Dorothy felt her dignity much injured, and repeated, with emphasis,--
+
+"You should not speak like that to _me_."
+
+Stefano only shrugged his shoulders; and as they had reached the door of
+the Villa Lucia, he left her, saying,--
+
+"The little signorina will have to hear hard things, like the rest of
+us, one day."
+
+Irene met Dorothy with the question--"How is your mother? Grannie is so
+anxious to know."
+
+"Mother is not up yet," Dorothy replied. "Jingle is sitting with her."
+
+The other children now came clustering round Dorothy with the same
+question; and Irene, after helping Dorothy to take off her jacket and
+hat, said,--
+
+"Come and see grannie."
+
+"Before my lesson?"
+
+"Yes; she wants to speak to you."
+
+Dorothy felt a strange misgiving at her heart, and said, sharply,--
+
+"What for? What is she going to say?"
+
+"I think," said Irene, gently, "she wishes to comfort you; your mamma is
+very, very ill."
+
+"No, she isn't!" said Dorothy, desperately. "No, she isn't; not a bit
+more ill than she often is. I saw her last night, and she looked _quite_
+better--her cheeks pink, and her eyes bright."
+
+"Well," Irene said, "I know Dr. Forman thinks her very ill, and he has
+sent for Canon Percival."
+
+"For Uncle Crannie? for Uncle Crannie?"
+
+"Yes," Irene said, "two days ago."
+
+Dorothy stood irresolute for a moment, and then, with a great effort to
+control herself, said,--
+
+"Let me go to your grandmamma; let me go."
+
+But Irene put her arms round Dorothy, and whispered,--
+
+"I have been asking God to make your mamma better, and I think He will.
+Have _you_ asked Him and told Him all about it?"
+
+"About what?" Dorothy said.
+
+"Everything--how sorry you are that you gave your mamma such anxiety;
+and have _you_ asked to be forgiven?"
+
+But Dorothy said,--
+
+"I never _tell_ God anything. I say my prayers, but I did not, could
+not, tell Him about such things as my slapping Baby Bob, and getting
+angry, and staying at home while you went to Colla. He is so far off,
+and besides----"
+
+"Oh, Dorothy!" said Irene, seriously, "God is very near, Jesus is very
+near, and He cares about every little thing."
+
+"Are you _sure_?" said poor little Dorothy. "Then He knows and cares
+about mother--mother----"
+
+A sob choked her, and yet she tried not to give way; to cry very much
+would show that she believed her mother was very, _very_ ill, and she
+could not, _dare_ not believe it! But she said simply--
+
+"I _know_ I am not good; but I love--oh! how I _do_ love mother!"
+
+Lady Burnside received Dorothy with her calm, sweet smile, and
+Constance, lying on her couch, put out her hand, and said, "Come and
+kiss me, Dorothy."
+
+Constance had not generally taken much notice of Dorothy. She had looked
+upon her as a spoiled little thing, and had felt, like many invalids who
+have been accustomed to be the centre of attraction and attention, a
+little vexed that every one admired the child, and were, as she thought,
+blind to her faults. Even Willy, though he was blunt and rough to Dorothy
+sometimes, was really devoted to her. So was Jack Meredith, and as to
+Irene and her own little sister Ella, they were ridiculously fond of
+her. Irene particularly would always give up to Dorothy, though she was
+so much younger than herself. Baby Bob had, in his own way, the same
+feeling about Dorothy that Constance had. He strongly objected to anyone
+who could possibly dethrone him from the position of "King of the
+Nursery," which was Crawley's favourite title for her youngest child.
+Baby Bob had ruled with despotic power, and was naturally unwilling to
+see a rival near the throne. But Constance was now touched by the sight
+of the little figure in the blue dress, over which the cloud of light
+silky hair hung, when she saw the wistful questioning glance in those
+blue eyes, which were turned entreatingly to Lady Burnside, as she
+said,--
+
+"Tell me _really_ about--about mother."
+
+Then Lady Burnside drew Dorothy close to her, and said,--
+
+"Your dear mother is very ill, Dorothy, but we must pray to God to make
+her better."
+
+Dorothy stood with Lady Burnside's arm round her, still gazing up at the
+dear, kind face bending over her; and then, after a pause, she said, in
+a low tone,--
+
+"Is it _my_ fault? Is it all my fault?"
+
+Lady Burnside made Dorothy sit down on a low chair by her side, and
+talked so kindly and wisely to her. She told her that her mother had
+passed a very bad night of coughing the night before New Year's Day;
+that when the news came of her loss, which Stefano had abruptly told
+her, Mrs. Acheson had, forgetting how easily she was chilled, run out
+into the garden with only a shawl thrown over her; that it was with
+great difficulty she had been persuaded not to go herself to look for
+Dorothy; that she had paced up and down the room in her distress; and
+that that night, after the excitement and joy of her return were over,
+she had been very faint and ill, and now she had inflammation of her
+lungs, which she was very weak to bear up against.
+
+Lady Burnside had gone through many troubles herself, and she had the
+sympathetic spirit which children, as well as grown-up people, feel to
+be so sweet in sorrow. There were no reproaches, and no hard words, but
+I think little Dorothy never forgot the lesson which she learned from
+Lady Burnside that morning, and often when she was beginning to be
+self-willed and irritable, if that self-will was crossed, she would
+think of Lady Burnside's words,--
+
+"Take care when the first temptation comes to pray to resist it."
+
+She did not return to the Villa Firenze that night, nor did Irene take
+her into the schoolroom that day. She read to her, and amused her by
+dressing a doll and teaching her how to crochet a little frock for it.
+
+Early the next morning Canon Percival arrived, and Dorothy was taken by
+him to see her mother.
+
+As they were walking up the road together, Dorothy said,--
+
+"Uncle Crannie, do you know _all_, all that happened on New Year's Day?"
+
+"Yes, Dorothy; I have heard all."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Crannie, to think of Baby Bob's taking my letter to you
+beginning all the trouble!"
+
+"Nay, my little Dorothy, it was not Baby Bob who began the trouble; it
+was _you_. We must never shift the blame from our own shoulders, and
+say, if _he_ had not said that, or she had not provoked me, _I_ should
+not have done what I did."
+
+"But it _was_ tiresome to squeeze up your letter, which I had taken such
+pains to write."
+
+"Yes, very tiresome; but _that_ does not alter your fault."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Crannie, Uncle Crannie! I _wish_ I had not run off; but then
+I thought I saw Nino."
+
+"Poor Nino!" exclaimed Canon Percival; "in all the trouble and sorrow I
+have found here I forgot about Nino. I have something to tell you about
+him, but----"
+
+Canon Percival was interrupted by meeting Dr. Forman.
+
+A few words were exchanged between them, and then little Dorothy, with a
+sad, serious face, was taken by her uncle into her mother's room.
+
+  [Illustration: Lake Scene]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE LOST FOUND.
+
+
+Many days of deep anxiety followed, and poor little Dorothy's heart
+was sad and troubled. Irene proved a true and loving friend, and, with
+wisdom far beyond her years, encouraged Dorothy to go on with her little
+lessons, and learn to knit and crochet. "To make a shawl for mother by
+the time she gets well" became an object of ambition; and Irene helped
+her out of difficulties, and turned the troublesome corners at the four
+parts of the square, and would read to her and Ella while she pulled the
+soft Pyrenean wool in and out the long treble stitches.
+
+They were very busy one morning a week after Canon Percival's arrival,
+when they saw his tall figure coming up the garden. He looked happier
+than he had done for some time, and when Dorothy ran to meet him, he
+said,--
+
+"Good news to-day; mother is really better; and Dr. Forman thinks she
+may soon be as well as she was before this last attack of illness."
+
+Good news indeed! If any little girl who reads Dorothy's story has ever
+had to feel the weight upon her heart which a dear father's or mother's
+illness has caused, she will know how, when the burden is lifted, and
+the welcome words are spoken, like Canon Percival's, all the world
+seems bright and joyful, and hope springs up like a fountain within.
+
+"Yes," Canon Percival said, as Dorothy threw her arms round his neck,
+"we may be very thankful and glad; and now, while I go and see Lady
+Burnside, will you get ready to take me to visit the old town, and----"
+
+"Giulia, and the old woman, and Anton!" exclaimed Dorothy.
+
+Oh yes! the children were soon ready, and they all set off towards
+the old town, all except Willy, who had to wait for Mr. Martyn, and who
+looked with longing eyes at the party as they walked away.
+
+"_Bother_ this horrid sum!" he said; "it _won't_ come right. What's the
+use of asking such ridiculous questions? Who cares about the answer?"
+
+But Willy got the answer right in spite of his grumbling, and had the
+pleasure of hearing Mr. Martyn tell his grandmother that he had improved
+very much of late, and that he would take a good place at a school when
+he was sent to one.
+
+It was a lovely spring morning, that beautiful spring of the sunny
+South, which comes early in the year with a sudden burst of flowers
+of all colours. All the acacias and mimosas in the gardens before the
+villas were waving their golden tassels in the breeze, and the scarlet
+anemones and the yellow narcissi were making a carpet under foot.
+
+Dorothy danced along in the gladness of her heart, and Canon Percival,
+when he thought of what _might_ have been, felt thankful and glad also.
+As they climbed the steep street leading to the square before the big
+church, a little white dog with brown ears toddled out.
+
+"Oh, that is the dog I thought was Nino! How could I think so?" Dorothy
+exclaimed; "his legs are so ugly, and he has such a mean little tail.
+Ah! my poor Nino was beautiful when compared with _you_," she said,
+stooping down to pat the little dog. "And, Uncle Crannie," she said, "do
+you remember that sad, dreadful day, when you took me to see mother, you
+said you had something to tell me about Nino, and then you left off."
+
+"Ah!" Canon Percival said, "I believe I did say so, but, Dorothy, can
+you wait to hear what it is?"
+
+"I don't know," Dorothy said, doubtfully, "I don't know; it can't be
+anything very happy."
+
+"Well, I advise you to wait," Canon Percival said.
+
+Dorothy looked up at her uncle, and said,--
+
+"Is it that his dear dead little body has been found?"
+
+But Canon Percival only repeated, "I advise you to _wait_."
+
+"How long?"
+
+"Till we all go back to England."
+
+They were at Giulia's house now. She was sitting on the doorstep,
+netting so fast, and such a big brown net lay in a heap behind her.
+Anton was the first to see the visitors, and exclaimed,--
+
+"Madre! madre mia! la signorina!"
+
+Giulia flung down her netting, and starting up, to Dorothy's surprise,
+caught her in her strong arms once more, and kissed her.
+
+And now, what seemed to the children very wonderful, Canon Percival
+began to talk to Giulia as fast in Italian as he did in English. And
+such a history was poured forth by Giulia, and then followed such
+gestures, and such exclamations! and Anton was caught by the arm, and
+shaken by his mother, and then she pointed to Canon Percival, and when
+Dorothy caught the word "Grazia," she knew that her uncle was promising
+to do some kind thing. Ella, who from long habit could understand a
+great deal of what passed, told Irene and Dorothy that Canon Percival
+was promising to pay the money for Anton's apprenticeship to the master
+boatman, and that he was writing the name in his pocket-book, and that
+he said he would go down to the quay and harbour to find him, and if
+he gave a good character of mother and son, he would have an agreement
+made, and the boy should be made an apprentice, without touching that
+store of silver pieces in the old pipkin in the cupboard.
+
+Then they all went into the house, and Dorothy showed the bed where she
+had been placed, and Ella and Irene quite agreed with her that it was
+very stuffy in the little low room, and the smell of tar and smoke
+anything but nice.
+
+Then there was the old crone by the chimney-corner, who muttered and
+murmured, and beckoned Dorothy to her side.
+
+Poor little Dorothy bore the kiss which was given her with great
+composure, but she could not help giving a little shudder, and told Ella
+afterwards the smell of garlic and tobacco was "dreadful."
+
+Canon Percival said a few words which were not intelligible to Dorothy,
+but Irene whispered to her--
+
+"He is speaking to them all about the Lord Jesus; that's why Giulia is
+crossing herself. That is her way of showing reverence."
+
+Poor Giulia's eyes were full of tears as Canon Percival went on. He was
+telling the story of the Cross, simply and earnestly, to these poor
+people, as they seldom, if ever, heard it, in their own tongue, the
+soft Italian tongue, which is so musical.
+
+When they left the house they were all very quiet, and could Dorothy
+have understood what Giulia was saying as she stood on the large stone
+step, watching them down the narrow street, she would have known she was
+praying in her own fashion that blessings might follow them.
+
+Canon Percival next went down to the harbour, and there, from the pier,
+is a most beautiful view of the old town, rising up, higher and higher,
+to the crest of the hill till it reaches the large church which belongs
+to the lepers' hospital. Canon Percival inquired for Angelo Battista,
+the master fisherman; and a fine sailor, with a face as brown as a
+chestnut, and big dark eyes, smiled when Canon Percival disclosed his
+errand.
+
+"Yes, Anton was a good boy; his mother had a long tongue, but she was
+very industrious--industrious with tongue and fingers alike," he said,
+and then he laughed heartily, and two or three men standing near joined
+in.
+
+At last all was settled, and Angelo Battista was to bring up a written
+document that evening to the Villa Firenze, and bring little Anton with
+him, to make the needful declaration required in such cases by the
+notary, that he agreed to the terms proposed.
+
+Canon Percival left San Remo the next day, saying that Coldchester
+Cathedral could not get on without him. He was so cheery and so kind,
+the children all lamented his loss.
+
+But now golden days came for them all, as Mrs. Acheson got, as Ingleby
+expressed it, "nearer well" than she had been for years. She took long
+drives in the neighbourhood, and they visited several old Italian towns,
+such as Taggia and Poggio.
+
+The road to them led along the busy shore of the blue Mediterranean, and
+then through silvery olive groves, where flowers of every brilliant
+colour were springing.
+
+And when May came, and the swallows twittered on the roofs of the
+villas, and were seen consulting for their flight northward, the whole
+party set off with them, _homewards_.
+
+Canon Percival met them at Paris, and they stayed there a week, and saw
+many of its wonders--the beautiful pictures in the Louvre, and the noble
+galleries at Versailles, where the fountains play, and the long, smooth
+avenues which lead to La Petite Trianon, which are full of memories of
+poor Marie Antoinette.
+
+Nothing made more impression on the children than the sight of her
+boudoir in the palace at Versailles, where whoever looks up at the glass
+panels sees, by their peculiar arrangement in one corner, the whole
+figure without the head. It is said the young girl Dauphiness glanced up
+at this, and starting back with horror, said--"Ah! J'ai perdu ma tete!"
+A strange coincidence, certainly, when one remembers how her head was
+taken off by the cruel guillotine in later years--the bright hair grey,
+the head bowed with sorrow, and the heart torn with grief for her
+husband, who had preceded her, and still more for the children she left
+behind.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At last the time came to cross the Channel once more, and the passage
+was calm, and the children enjoyed the short voyage.
+
+At Folkestone a very great surprise awaited Dorothy. She hardly knew
+whether she was dreaming or awake when in the waiting-room at the
+station she saw a man in a fisherman's blouse with a white dog in his
+arms.
+
+"Nino! Nino! Oh, it must be my Nino!"
+
+There could be no doubt of it this time, for the little dog grew frantic
+and excited, and leaped whining out of the fisherman's arms, and was in
+ecstasies at again meeting his mistress.
+
+This, then, was Canon Percival's secret. And he told the story of Nino's
+discovery in a few words.
+
+The day when he was at Folkestone, on his way to San Remo--summoned
+there by Mrs. Acheson's illness--he saw a fisherman on the pier with
+a little white dog by his side. It seemed hardly possible, but the
+fisherman explained that, near one of the Channel steamers, in his
+smack, he had seen a little white dog fall over the side, that he had
+looked out for him as they crossed the precise place, and found his
+little black nose just above the water, making a gallant fight for life.
+They lowered a little boat and picked him up, and read the name on his
+collar, "Nino."
+
+That collar he still wore, and it was evident that the sovereign Canon
+Percival gave him did not quite reconcile the man to the parting. "His
+children had grown so fond of the little beast," he said.
+
+But Nino, though he gave the fisherman a parting lick of gratitude,
+showed his _old_ love was the stronger; and I do think it would be hard
+to say which was the happier at the renewal of affection--Dorothy or her
+dog Nino.
+
+Certain it is, we always value anything more highly when we _recover_
+possession of it, and Nino went back to Coldchester full of honours;
+and the story of his adventures made a hero of him in the eyes of the
+vergers of the Cathedral, who in past times had been wont to declare
+this little white dog was a deal of trouble, rushing about on the
+flower-beds of the Cathedral gardens.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+With the homeward flight of the swallows we must say good-bye to
+Dorothy. A very happy summer was passed in the Canon's house, brightened
+by the companionship of Irene, and sometimes of Ella and Willy and Baby
+Bob. For Lady Burnside took a house for a few months in the neighbourhood
+of Coldchester, and the children continually met. But it was by Mrs.
+Acheson's express desire that Irene did not return to Mrs. Baker's
+school. She pleaded with Colonel Packingham that she might have her as
+a companion for her only child; and they shared a governess and lessons
+together.
+
+Irene had the influence over Dorothy which could not fail to be noticed
+in its effects--the influence which a child who has a simple desire
+to follow in the right way _must_ have over those with whom she is
+associated.
+
+Dorothy's flight with the swallows had taught her many things, and with
+Irene for a friend, she had long ceased to say she did not care for
+playmates. She was even known to devote herself for an hour at a time to
+share some rioting game with _Baby Bob_, while Nino raced and barked at
+their heels.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained. One change was made
+to the text. The word "to" was added before the word "Dorothy's" in the
+sentence:
+
+Dorothy edged away, closer and closer to Irene, who, to Dorothy's
+surprise, spoke out boldly.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Flight with the Swallows, by Emma Marshall
+
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